Orphanages (Part 3)

The Girl would spend the next five years at her new "home". Initially things went quite well, and it seemed that she finally had found a place that "fit her." She began to progress rapidly through school, graduating sixth grade, then electing to continue to pursue the Honduran equivalent of junior college (grades seven through nine). Like most of the older children, she was given various positions of responsibility at the orphanage--sometimes in one of the kitchens; sometimes supervising younger children in the yard (playground); sometimes in the laundry. She seemed happy and hopeful. The only complaint I ever heard from her is one I hear from most of the older children: "I'm bored." Eventually, like most teenagers, she began to yearn for freedom. In her case, freedom from the monotony of an institutionalized existence. And please understand, even for all the good they do--saving children like the Girl from poverty, crime, abuse, and misery--most orphanages are institutions. They simply cannot handle the sheer magnitude of the numbers of children they care for with the workers (most volunteers) they have. I first noticed the Girl's restlessness one day when I looked in her Spanish Bible. Written inside the cover, in perfect English: "one day I want to fly away."

I guess my wife and I visited the orphanage about three times a year on average during this period of the Girl's life. We began to explore ways to help her. She seemed to pick up English words quickly whenever we visited, so we brought her some language training cd's and and a Sony Discman so she could study at night. We were delighted on our next visit a few months later to find that she had learned remarkably well. We could actually have basic conversations in English (my delight was equally matched by her frustration that my attempts to learn Spanish were not progressing nearly as well). We began to see that this ability with English might be her "ticket"--so we continued to encourage her at every opportunity. As time went by, I became a convinced that she might just "make it". That is, she might have an opportunity to become an educated woman with a chance for a better life than the one she had come from.

The question was "how?" This is the question that many young women face in Honduras. It is the hole in the safety net of the orphanage "system". The day eventually comes when the child grows up and is ready to leave to begin an adult life. Since they have been cared for by the orphanages for most of their childhood (in a regimented, controlled environment), they have little idea of how to function in the "real world." Worse yet, they have no support structure to begin their reintegration into society. This is analogous to a parent raising a child here in the U.S. until the day she walks off the stage with her high school diploma, handing her a suitcase, and saying "goodbye and good luck". And unfortunately, the results are predictable. Statistics indicate that about seventy percent of Honduran girls are pregnant within six months of leaving orphanages. Thus the cycle of poverty continues and the orphanages are not in any danger of going out of business.

We were determined that this would not be the case for the Girl. She had dreams--to become a teacher, or perhaps a missionary. We wanted to help. We researched Honduran colleges, scoured the Internet for information, talked to people. But the conclusion we reached was always the same: she has no reliable family, no where to live, no way to survive without "in country" help. And so we made a decision--and a request. It seemed like a small thing at the time, but I believe it was a turning point in the Girl's story.

Next post: Transitions