Money and Children

I recently went to an orphanage here on The Moon.

But I get ahead of myself. Years and years ago (well, maybe like four years), I worked at Falcon Children’s Home in Falcon, North Carolina. It’s maybe a 35 minute drive from my prestigious alma mater, Campbell University, but if you’re on I-95, it’s barely a 30 second scoot.

I was a temporary helper for the Summer Program. In my charge were about 10 young boys who were roughly about 10 years old, give or take two years. My responsibilities were to entertain them during the day with games, swimming, snacks, crafts, reading, etc., and of course a peppering of Bible studies here and there, made easy by the use of a cartoon Jesus and disciples telling the NT stories.

I actually really enjoyed the summer. My personality has changed a bit since then, so I don’t think it’s really the thing for me anymore, but way back in the day I had a great time. The boys were tough to handle sometimes, but there were always weeds to pull and swim time to take away and snacks to withhold, so we did ok.

We went deep sea fishing, ice skating (at Fort Bragg nonetheless), and to Busch Gardens. We played basketball, kickball, hockey, football, softball, and went roller-skating, and we had a Nintendo 64 and every snack a child could ever dream of. There was a nice pool and a full gym. Every boy had a room entirely to himself, replete with his own personal toys and clothes. The houses were air-conditioned, had televisions and were air-conditioned.

Wouldn’t you think this was every child’s dream come true? That they would be living in child-heaven itself?

Most of the boys had no respect for any authority other than the vague suffering brought about by physical labor. Many had serious psychological problems, and several could not control their anger whatsoever. All summer long they complained about the activities, fought with each other, threw temper-tantrums, stole things from one another, whined incessantly, and were generally indifferent to the immense amount of luxury they lived in and attention they received.

Now move forward four years to April 2006.

I’m in West Bengal, India. A man there has started an orphanage for 200+ children from a tribal background. He told me that when he found them, most of them lived “like animals,” unclothed, uneducated, certainly unloved, and rarely fed.

Every morning the children wake up at roughly 5 o clock. First off is mandatory morning worship service. Then it’s a meal of rice, potatoes, and dhal (a lentil soup), and various chores around the compound, which is a cluster of roughly made cement and tin buildings. Chores may include washing clothes, cleaning one or another of the buildings, sweeping the grounds, tending to the cows, ducks, geese, rabbits, or dogs, and of course, getting ready for school.

The temperature can easily get up to and stay at 110 degrees Fahrenheit in the hot months, and there is no air-conditioner. There aren’t even any fans, because for most of the day, there is also no electricity. Water is either hand-pumped from a well or drawn up in large buckets by children as young as 4 or 5.

Lunch is again, rice, potatoes, and dhal. The afternoon, if they’re not at school consists of staying in the shade to avoid the absurd heat. As the day’s heat breaks the kids run outside to play with sticks, dirt, old tires, rocks, a couple of old, dirty balls that someone gave them one time, and maybe to terrorize the many animals who are trying to hide from them.

At night, the children have another worship meeting, which can last up to a couple of hours (a loooong time for small children), and then go to dinner, which is, you guessed it, rice, potatoes, and dhal. They wash their plates, pull out their grass mats, and go to sleep two or three per bed, on the roof, for the boys, and on the balcony of another building for the girls, because it’s too hot to sleep inside.

Now, I will say that I wasn’t able to speak their language very well, and that may have changed things some. But some things don’t need language.

These kids were much, much happier than the kids at Falcon Children’s Home.

I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.