"I hear the little children of the wind crying solitary in lonely places" William (Fiona McLeod) Sharp
From this tiny rental casita and directly across the street lies the Parque Juarez and the children’s playground.From my rooftop terrace in the colonial village of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico and at nearly 6,500 ft., the morning sun is as bright a white light as I have ever seen.
For many decades, the days of sun and searing light have attracted artists and writers, dreamers and believers; the uneven cobbled streets and dusty paths are home to generations of families, and new ones from once distant borders. From what I have been told, this is a place of opportunities and second chances. People seem to co-exist in an easy harmony of acceptance – live and let live.Family here is key.It is the mechanism, perhaps, from which all else functions and thrives.It is the nurturing nucleus; the heartbeat of San Miguel – of the Mexican culture.
There is an old saying that those who visit certain islands get sand in their shoes – meaning they have found “home” - and never leave.
Here, those from away get dust in their sandals and in places they didn’t know they had places, until the unexpected finding of a trail or pocket of dust.And on those eerie days, of blinding sun and razor-sharp wind, eyes full of grit.Newcomers and natives alike tend to believe that just maybe milagros can happen in a place with an other-worldly light, where fireworks explode beneath a star-studded sky.A place that celebrates death as intensely as life; a town where color bursts like confetti beneath a blazing sun, and church spires shatter like glass a cloudless ceiling of blue.Where you can wander the streets and smell earth and clay and tortillas, jasmine and hair and the fur of burros – all baking beneath an unrelenting heat ~ el sol.Where spirits stand guard at windows and balustrades like watery visions, mirages of the past straining to keep a watchful eye on the most precious -- the children of the zocalo, the hope and future of San Miguel.
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My days here begin with a morning ritual: equipped with my mug of strong Mexican coffee, I step into the clear morning air and listen to the overlapping sounds, like water across soft stones, of nesting birds, laughing children, barking dogs and the occasional peal of an ancient church bell. The harmonious cacophony is perhaps the most hopeful music one will ever hear. From early morning until well past sunset, the children, most accompanied by a parent or parents, sport hats made of twisted balloons and carry puffy clouds of pink and blue cotton candy.They fill the air with contagious laughter.It is a sound I have come to look forward to.
Two blocks from my casita, straight up the steep and uneven cobbled streets, many dating back to the 16th and 17th centuries, is the calle named Sollano.Turning left onto Sollano I walk by a literal melting pot of color – stately Colonial homes, some with Moorish accents, hidden behind ornately carved doors, their façades dressed in hues of mango and chocolate, persimmon, pomegranate and butter yellow, ochre and periwinkle – a swoon of pastels and juice tints that makes one long for a cool agua fresca followed by a midday nap. Tucked alongside these grand casas are shops offering lovely home furnishings and quality Mexican arts and crafts from Oaxaca to Dolores Hidalgo.
It is what lies in between that paints the complete picture, tells the whole story.
One afternoon, in search of La Ventana, a tiny window opening onto Sollano and selling fragrant coffee beans from Chiapas, I gazed across the street upon another set of dark, ancient carved doors, some ten to twelve feet high.Upon closer inspection I saw the brass plaque and scrolled letters of Casa Hogar Don Bosco.
Safe House ~ Orphanage ~ Refuge ~ Home.
Sugar and spice, and everything nice.That’s what little girls are made of.
The girls are named after Saints and sweets and fragrant flowers.
Some have been orphaned or raped or emotionally abused, hungry and cold, abandoned and beaten.They are small and vulnerable and in their few tender years, have experienced a darkness and hell to which no child should ever bear witness, let alone be victim of.
These are the stories of the girls of Casa Hogar.It is also a story of milagros in the forms of children, resilience, and the healing power of love and the human spirit.
Not so long ago, found begging, malnourished, lice-ridden and anemic due to lack of funding for their most basic needs, many of the small girls from Casa Hogar Santa Julia survived on little more than a few tortillas, rotting vegetables discarded by a local market, and without fresh water to drink or in which to bathe.And yet, these were the better times, free from their previous horrors of fractured homes and lives, they were sheltered now, in the protection of loving Madres, but struggling still to find the few meager pesos needed to provide a nutritious meal, a healthy body, clean clothes – a normal childhood.
A native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internationally, including the NYT, Bangor Daily News, SCOOP New Zealand, Wolf Moon Journal, Media for Freedom Nepal, and Banderas News in Mexico. She's finishing a memoir about her husband's death from ALS and how travels in Africa became one of her greatest sources of inspiration and hope. She is a Managing Editor for OpEdNews.
This piece is a Valentine to all the children of the world who have "once battered bodies and wounded hearts." Jan's descriptions read like love poetry and these children certainly could use a love poem or two.
My friend, Roz Carr, who is in heaven now, created just such a haven for children of the genocide in Rwanda. Called, Imbabazi, "All the Love a Mother Can Give, Imbabazi remains Roz's legacy.
I have a strong sense that Roz is smiling down from heaven on this piece of writing.
by
Georgianne Nienaber (145 articles, 46 quicklinks, 13 diaries, 338 comments)
on Thursday, February 14, 2008 at 11:25:31 AM
Once in awhile I am reminded in this way about the things that are truly important. There are indeed wonderful people in our world, to me it is the 'silent hero' who creates positive change that is more valuable than our elected leaders who hold themselves up as 'better'.
by
Roger (0 articles, 0 quicklinks, 0 diaries, 335 comments)
on Thursday, February 14, 2008 at 1:27:35 PM
...and I certainly wish the minions who write for these pages would take a minute or two from their frantic blogging and recognize this piece of truly excellent writing.
Geez!!!!
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Georgianne Nienaber (145 articles, 46 quicklinks, 13 diaries, 338 comments)
on Thursday, February 14, 2008 at 5:49:11 PM
Georgianne and Roger. Things are moving behind the scenes - monetary contributions, an offer to donate computers - so fortunately, there are readers who, while not posting comments, are making things happen for the girls of Casa Hogar.
Thank you for the kind words.
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Jan Baumgartner (49 articles, 136 quicklinks, 10 diaries, 243 comments)
on Thursday, February 14, 2008 at 7:16:07 PM
exploding with color images and then you tell the touching story of the kids joining a circle, at the school, where they were feeling lonely, until their "madre" brought them together.
thanks for this gift.
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Rob Kall (761 articles, 3850 quicklinks, 320 diaries, 1642 comments)
on Thursday, February 14, 2008 at 9:26:38 PM
What an exquisite adventure I had, riding on the beauty of your words! I am so grateful to read about GOOD news! Thank you for a special Valentine filled with love.
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Meryl Ann Butler (41 articles, 31 quicklinks, 3 diaries, 304 comments)
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 12:12:09 AM
The most profound sentence in the wonderful piece is:
"The girls of Casa Hogar want nothing more than to be treated like normal children; a chance at a normal life."
A Chance at a normal life. What all children deserve. Thank you Jan for reminding us that one person can make an infinite difference in a child’s life. Giving, supporting, helping in any way, provides that chance at a normal life.
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James Callner (4 articles, 0 quicklinks, 1 diaries, 7 comments)
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 1:57:10 AM
As usual Jan Baumgartner has produced another excellent piece of writing. I am feeling that I am in the place from where Jan Baumgartner has gotten the idea.Though English is not my mother tongue, but still I am feeling happiness after reading this piece.
Thank you Jan Baumgartner for creating such fine piece.
by
Muhammad Khurshid (286 articles, 31 quicklinks, 178 diaries, 145 comments)
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 6:49:35 AM
I'd love to see some "slice of life" writing from you, which gives us glimpses of what life is like for you, your wife, kids, family, in Pakistan. Who knows. You could end up turning it into the next KITE RUNNER (a hugely successful, bestselling novel.)
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Rob Kall (761 articles, 3850 quicklinks, 320 diaries, 1642 comments)
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 7:37:52 AM
Thank you very much for your advice. I shall certainly do what you have told me. From today I shall start writing about my areas and life here. Frankly speaking writing of Jan is very impressive. I cannot write like Jan, but I shall try to write something.
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Muhammad Khurshid (286 articles, 31 quicklinks, 178 diaries, 145 comments)
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 9:30:12 AM
In the former country of mine Anton Makarenko ( a forgotten name) had developed a set of orphanages for boys and girls who lost their families in the Civil War. Those were called communes and he wrote two books about them. Eventually those orphanages were abused- used by Secret Police to harbor the children whose parents were killed by the NKVD in the years of terror. Makarenko died fairly soon after the transformation started.
In the 1930s- 1940s Poland Dr. Goldshsmidt ( I wrote about him in my Human and Divine) organized an orphanage in Poland for the orphaned Jewish children ( not only them). He went with them to Auchwitz. Dr. Goldshmidt had developed a system of childcare and pedagogy long before Dr. Spok. He also wrote a lot of children's books.
What am I up to. Those people are everywhere, they are forgotten heroes, they did what they could. We need chronology, we need recording, we need memory. And of course, again, where are the boys?
by
Mark Sashine (47 articles, 19 quicklinks, 235 diaries, 3360 comments)
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 9:47:09 AM
The boys, some 30, are at the Mexiquito site of Casa Hogar. Three sites in all. I didn't visit the boys site so only wrote about the girls. Additionally, and while this was not my reason to focus only on the girls of the Casas Hogares, overall, their sites get less funding than the Mexiquito site. All three locations operate under the umbrella of Casa Hogar, however, each has a separate operating budget and when donations come into one location, they stay there.
Someone is working on a new website now that will include more detailed information on all the Hogares - Sollano, Santa Julia, Mexiquito. The boys of Mexiquito are not forgotten - there are community volunteers who spend time with the boys, take them out for activities, etc.
Orphans, street kids, those abandoned, abused, etc., are everywhere as you state. Hopefully, one by one, if we can shed light on a few, it will make a difference no matter how small. No child wants to be forgotten or ignored. Thanks for your comments, Mark.
Jan
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Jan Baumgartner (49 articles, 136 quicklinks, 10 diaries, 243 comments)
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 10:26:36 AM
My grandfather was an orphan as a child on the streets. My father was a refugee and evacuee, so was my mother as children when they were about 11. I myself was a refugee and a vagrant in refugee settlements and nearly lost my 4-years' old son during that. My son is the first person in practically 4 generations who grew up with his own choices and without such things as food shortages. That's why I consider that the worst possible crime we here witness now is the crime against the young. Those people you have described so eloquently stand 'on the wall' against the wave of evil and they must be preserved, helped, nourished. I try to help couples here who adopt children from my former place from time to time although it is sometimes contraversial. But If I see a loving heart and a child does seem happier and healthier that way, I help. Not much, I suppose. Whatever it takes.
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Mark Sashine (47 articles, 19 quicklinks, 235 diaries, 3360 comments)
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 2:11:48 PM
you have a unique view of the heartbreak, and if I may say, triumph, that can rise from such horrors. Your son is one of the fortunate ones - to not know of that darkness and to be so loved - is a gift every child should know. He's a lucky boy.
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Jan Baumgartner (49 articles, 136 quicklinks, 10 diaries, 243 comments)
on Friday, February 15, 2008 at 4:17:52 PM
Another one Jan that brings "real life" to the fore. My fave of all from the Bible is, "OK, it's obvious", "become as little children". Before the mind is trained to judge the energy is felt and responded to. A wonderful piece. A nice break from the election :-). When our kids become our our number 1 priority we will have arrived. It can not be said enough, "only love and kindness will work, all else leads to . . .
by
davy (1 articles, 0 quicklinks, 0 diaries, 241 comments)
on Saturday, February 23, 2008 at 11:56:06 AM
