Younger Thinner Blonder

by Sue Watson

  At first, the children were quiet but as Sunita and I handed them out-of-date cereal bars for their breakfast they were soon shouting, laughing and fighting.

  As they ate, Sunita told me what had brought the children to this place. “Domestic violence, parental death, poverty and natural disasters all orphan our children,” she explained.

  “It is imperative that we keep the orphanage open, but I am so worried we will have to close soon as there is no money. The alternative is child slavery, trafficking...drugs. We keep them safe from the streets: without us they will have no protection, and no love.”

  “Where is your funding from?” I asked her as we sat down.

  “We have some government grant, but this is very small.” She said. “We also have some charities from other countries, but it is not enough.” She sighed and shook her head.

  The orphanage was old and dilapidated, with no amenities and due to lack of money, few trained staff and equipment. To me, the hygiene was a serious problem, but none of that really mattered to the children – it was their sanctuary from a cruel world. I watched them eat and chatter, unaware of the possibility that their safety net, their home – their future – was in danger.

  After breakfast, we cleared up and Sunita and a couple of assistants helped the children wash their hands in the tiny sink in the hallway. Then everyone, including me, sat on the floor in a circle for prayers. These tiny pre-school children in clothes that were too big and noses that dripped were of many different religions, with different abilities and different problems. I watched them all lisp their prayers – baby faces, big brown eyes, some with cleft palates, others with deformed or missing limbs – but all of them smiling.

  And then Sunita said “Tanya, teach us an English song.”

  “Oh... Er, I don’t know...” I said, backing away. At this point, the children reached out to me. The little hands that had been up noses and on filthy floors as they’d played patted my arm and touched my face. I had an overwhelming sense of panic.

  My reluctance to sing caused several of them to try and clamber onto my knee, saying “Tanya sing”. I laughed awkwardly and smiled, while gently pushing them away. I was very uncomfortable; children had no sense of personal space and these ones hadn’t seen a bath for days. I was struggling with this situation in my head, when suddenly everyone turned towards the entrance; Ardash appeared and was walking slowly into the room, clapping in rhythm and smiling.

  “Buddy you're a boy, make a big noise, Playin' in the street gonna be a big man someday...”

  He was singing the opening lines to We Will Rock You.

  The children erupted, abandoning me to rush over to him, hugging and climbing up him, swinging from his belt like baby monkeys. “Ardash” they yelled, “Rock You!” while some of the slightly older kids joined him in the rhythmic clapping, singing the words.

  “They know this song?” I said to Sunita.

  She nodded: “Yes, Ardash teaches them the English songs, he’s been helping me for years. He used to live here, his own parents died when he was a baby.”

  “So, Ardash was an orphan too?”

  “Yes, he’s now like a son to me. He came with his sisters, who were very young.”

  Ardash and the kids were singing and clapping and he looked over and smiled at me as I clapped along, joining in the chorus. It was odd for me to see him in this new light and in such a different environment away from the camp and the mountains and there was something quite lovely about the way the kids reacted to him. I felt a little tug of my heart as he gently bent down to lift up one of the smaller kids. He’d make a lovely dad I thought, feeling a wave of regret for what might have been in my own life.

  Almost all of the children were involved in the impromptu singing session but I was suddenly aware of a little girl of about three, who wasn’t taking part, she just watched me. She was sitting on the floor quite close, yet she looked away when I smiled or tried to make eye contact. She had a dirty face and damp eyes.

  “Hello,” I said, leaning towards her. I didn’t want to get too close, she clearly hadn’t washed her hands, but she had a sweet face. “Namaste” I tried. She didn’t speak, just stared then looked away again. The singing and laughter continued, but I couldn’t stop looking at her. Then just as We Will Rock You was reaching a crescendo and everyone was singing and clapping in rhythm, she moved. Slowly, like a little cat, she came towards me, cautiously climbing up onto my knee like I wouldn’t notice. She was as light as a loaf of bread and I barely felt her thin little arms slowly winding round my waist where she held on tight and after a few minutes, buried her head in my chest. My heart was in my throat. Such intense and immediate trust both touched and scared me at the same time. I was a stranger, yet this little one’s need for affection was so present, so deep, that she would take it from anyone.

  “Her name’s Maya and sadly her parents both died,” Sunita explained, getting up and coming over to me. “They died from AIDS and Maya is HIV-positive.”

  “Oh...” I looked down and – I’m ashamed to say – for a split second I almost took my arms away from her, wondering at the wisdom of holding a child with HIV so close.

  “She’s fine – and so are you,” Sunita nodded kindly. I knew the facts, we’d done HIV enough times on my programme for me to despise the ignorance involved and, surprised and ashamed at my initial instinct, I embraced her back, rocking her to the music. After a little while, I felt the need to pull her closer, I didn’t care that she smelt of old clothes and her hands weren’t clean. For the rest of the morning, little Maya stayed by my side or on my knee, clinging to me – never smiling, never speaking but nevertheless communicating in her own way. If I moved across the room to tidy up toys or help another child, her tiny, cool little hand found a place in mine.

  The few ‘toys’ at the orphanage were very old and were kept in a locked cupboard. “The older children sometimes take them,” Ardash explained. “Orphans have nothing to call their own, you see.”

  Later, as Maya and the other children had their nap, I considered popping up to my room to put on some make-up and brush my hair. I’d been filming all morning ‘sans make-up’ and was desperate to cover up the wrinkles but Sunita had other plans for me. “Come to the baby room while the children sleep – there’s lots to be done,” she said. I froze in horror.

  “No, Sunita. I can’t go to the baby room, I am sorry, I just can’t.” She smiled at me and took my hand.

  “Come,” she said. I followed her, protesting, through the courtyard into another building, all the time being followed by the camera, where I heard the sound of babies crying. We went up the stone steps and into a large, relatively airy room with rows of mismatched, shabby old cots made from cheap plywood. The hot, acidic stink of urine-soaked nappies made me gag but ignoring my retching, Sunita asked me to start changing nappies.

  “Sunita, this is... This is too hard for me. I’m sorry…” I said, with my heart hammering.

  “Yes, you can, Tanya.” she said calmly. “These babies need you. Please, let’s start.”

  I took several deep breaths and counted to ten in my head.

  “Which baby shall I change,” I asked slowly.

  “As many as you can,” she said. There must have been 25 babies in the room and only one other carer at the far side who was white and sounded American so was probably a volunteer.

  “I’m not quite sure what to do.” I said. “I don’t have children of my own.” My sister had had her babies in Australia and when you only saw your niece and nephew every five years you tended to miss whole stages in their development. I’d assumed that one day I’d change my own baby’s nappy, but that wasn’t meant to be.

  “Nappies are here, cream for nappy rash is there – use sparingly as we have very little, thank you,” Sunita said, and disappeared. The cameraman was present, as always. As I looked down into a large cot where four pairs of huge, brown eyes looked back at me, I felt totally helpless, a rising panic building up
through my chest. They were all so vulnerable, so completely at the mercy of strangers and I wanted so much to do something to help them. But I couldn’t.

  I saw Ardash carrying some boxes of baby stuff through the room and called him over. “Ardash, Sunita asked me to change nappies... I’m not sure I can.” I said.

  “Why?” he looked at me without smiling.

  “Well, I might catch something... I might be sick... I can’t stand anything dirty... Lots of reasons,”

  “Lots of reasons not to change the nappies, Tanya... and all beginning with ‘I’,” he smiled sadly and walked away.

  “No... no... I...” Calling after him was pointless, oh God, I’d disappointed him. He’d obviously thought I was a better person than I really was. I thought about what he’d said and what he must think and even though it was the last thing I wanted to do I reached in and lifted the first baby out of the cot. It was a little boy (I only discovered this when I changed his nappy – no pink and blue gender ID here in clothes and blankets) and he clung to me as I tried to lie him on the floor. I began to undo the pins. There were no disposables, all the nappies were cloth and I staunched the urge to vomit as I placed the warm, dripping nappy away from the child on the floor. I began dabbing and cleaning his red-raw bottom with cool water and an old towel, trying not to breathe in, then I applied a tiny amount of cream. I thought about all the creams and lotions and potions and wipes I got through daily – not to mention the extortionately priced products I used on my face. The money I spent on one pot of youth elixir would probably have kept every bottom in this room soft and pain-free for a year. I made a mental note to arrange a shipment of supplies when I got back to Britain...though where I’d get the money from, God only knew.

  I used the dripping, foul-smelling threadbare cloth as a guide and taking a clean one, carefully copied, folding it into the triangle shape. I gently placed the struggling baby onto the cloth then fastened the well-worn material around him. I held him, gave him a little, awkward cuddle but feeling his tiny body close, an unexpected rush of love swept over me. His trusting eyes locked onto mine and I realised how vulnerable these tiny babies were. In this moment, I was all he had. Making this baby comfortable and clean was almost like the sensation I experienced when washing my own hands or after a thorough shower. I had a feeling of pure contented clean, but this time on someone else’s behalf.

  The next baby was bigger and a little feistier, making the whole process even more of a struggle. But the clean, creamed bottom, the big, trusting eyes, the cuddle and the tickle that caused the baby to giggle at the end was worth the acrid smell and dripping cloths.

  Ten baby bottoms (including a couple with gag-inducing diarrhoea) and an hour later, Sunita arrived. “Thank you Tanya, they all look happy and content,” she smiled.

  “Yes, but wouldn’t it be so much easier with disposable nappies?” I offered.

  “Money, Tanya. It’s cheaper to have the cloth nappies.”

  “Yes, but your laundry bills must be high?”

  “Ah....” she smiled and nodded. “Please, I will show you.”

  I followed her out of the room and down the stone steps into the courtyard, where at the far end was a large tub containing water. A tiny, well-worn piece of soap sat on the rim.

  “This is where you will wash the nappies,” she smiled.

  “Oh, you wash by hand?” She nodded. “But isn’t the water cold?”

  “It’s freezing,” she smiled. “And if you don’t hurry, night will come and you will be washing in the dark.”

  I retched. “Sunita, this is too much, I have to leave now.” I said, feeling tears pricking behind my eyes. “I found it so hard to change the babies and now this...it’s more than I can do. I am sorry.” And I turned away from the camera and sobbed. I saw Ardash crossing the courtyard towards me. Great, I thought, I’ve disappointed him again.

  “Tanya” he said softly.

  “I know you think I am spoiled, Ardash and I suppose you are right. But you don’t understand – I can’t do this.” I whispered.

  “Yes you can, Tanya. Look, I have these for you.”

  And with a smile, he gave me a pair of industrial strength rubber gloves, and a bottle of disinfectant. I could have kissed him. “Please try” he said.

  I wiped my eyes. “OK, Ardash. No promises, but I will try.” I said.

  So for the next two hours I gagged and scrubbed and retched and heaved. The water was cold and my back was breaking but I just kept on scrubbing those filthy nappies until they were clean.

  * * * * *

  Once I’d washed what felt like a hundred nappies I headed into the main hall, where Ardash was playing with the kids, a child on his shoulders and several little hands in his. The staple (and only) meal of rice and lentils wafted through the orphanage and I guessed it was time for tea. On spotting me, Maya ran to me, wordlessly, her little hand pushed its way into mine and my tummy did a somersault. This day was turning into an emotional minefield with motherless babies everywhere and now Ardash with the kids and Maya with her desperate need for human contact made me want to cry again. Something like love and adrenalin filled me with a feeling I’d never had before.

  After I’d helped serve their evening meal, Ardash stood by me and watched the children.

  “In my world, what people pay for dinner would feed these children for weeks,” I sighed. “I know people who tweet pictures of their pets’ breakfasts, yet here...it really is another world. I had no idea children still struggled like this. I’ve read about global poverty, child hunger, I’ve seen it on the news but I just assumed someone was dealing with it.”

  “Yes, it is sad when the world forgets. Here, there is very little food, no medical supplies, no money for toys – the simple things that keep children alive, keep them safe and happy.”

  “Keep them children,” I added. “I promise I won’t forget. I will send stuff. I’ll get toys and medicine... Whatever they need.”

  “Like many people, you are not as you first appear to be, Tanya,” he smiled, watching the children but looking sideways at me. “Your heart, she is not selfish.”

  After tea, the cameraman worked on some shots of me playing with the children. I went into the courtyard and they held my hands, hugged me, thirsty for affection, desperate to be loved, touched. The filming stopped and Tiffany asked if I wanted to go for dinner with her and the rest of the crew. “No thanks, I’d like to help put the children to bed,” I said, as three of them swung from my hips.

  “We’re not filming it my lovely, you don’t have to, you can come with us, we’re off now.” she said.

  “I want to stay,” I answered.

  Ardash stayed behind with me and agreed with Tiff to escort me to the next destination and we sat around talking with the kids. They taught me some Nepali songs and Ardash told us all a Nepalese folk story about a parrot. He pretended to be the brightly-plumed bird, making parrot noises throughout, which made them all giggle hysterically. Watching them and hearing their laughter made me giggle too.

  At 6pm the children all trouped up to bed.

  We left the orphanage and I promised to return soon. It had been a wonderful experience but as we walked out into the evening, I realised it had left me with an overwhelming sense of grief.

  “I can’t believe the lives those kids have had to endure already,” I said. “Who knows what will happen if the orphanage has to close? And there’s me worrying about my life and whether or not my boyfriend will come back to me.” I shook my head.

  “Everyone has different problems and if it hurts your heart, you are right to worry. Do you love him, yes?”

  “Yes, I do, no-one knows what he’s really like. When we’re alone he’s different, and he does love me whatever anyone else says. Other people have always caused problems in our relationship, so it’s just not worked out for us. But seeing those children today made me realise that a family, even if it’s only a family of two people, is worth fighting for.

&n
bsp; “Ah, so true,” he smiled, guiding me down the path and out onto the street.

  “I’ve always believed that people are responsible for their own destinies. I thought that if you wanted something badly enough you just had to work for it. But that’s not the case here, is it? Some people are victims of circumstance, accidents of birth...”

  “We have droughts, political unrest – which leads to violence – and we have poverty,” Ardash said. “It is often beyond an individual’s control. So yes, you are right, it doesn’t matter how much a child needs food or security, they are at the mercy of society, the climate, God, if you like. It's easy for a child or woman to find herself alone here in Kathmandu,” he sighed. “Children are orphaned because their mothers are widowed or divorced – perhaps for failing to bear a son or because of a dowry dispute. Often the poor are forced to sell their children or put them in orphanages; there are no unemployment benefits here, like in your country.”

  “God, we take so much for granted in my world!” I looked at the fire in his eyes.

  “It is true, life here is hard and there is much sadness. But I tell you Tanya, Nepal – she gets inside your blood – she will draw you in.”

  We both stood together outside the orphanage in silence.

  “I think we have some time until your reward,” said Ardash suddenly. “Would you like me to show you my city?”

  “Yes,” I said, slowly. “Yes I would.”

  “Come, Tanya, this way,” he said. He gestured for me go first as we walked out into the dusk together, into the bright lights, the shouting and the car horns.

  Ardash took me to a cafe where he ordered deep-fried chilli chicken momo (dumplings) and cold beers. We sat on cheap plastic seats and as I bit into the squidgy dumpling filled with spicy chicken, my jaw tingled. I realised I hadn’t eaten for hours.