A Sunday Afternoon

“Hello baby” I say to the bright eyes in my lap. She returns with a beautiful baby smile and tiny giggle. Though her clothes are filthy and her hands are sticky, I can't help but kiss her smooth baby cheeks.

The pre-teen sitting to my right looks around her little two room home that is currently crammed with people, a handful of them, American. Maybe she’s thinking: “What is America like? It must be very different from Romania. Why did they come here?”  She puts her arm around my back and scoots just a bit closer.

Her little brother starts tugging on hands, skirts and legs all around the room, desiring attention. When that doesn’t work he tries to strum the guitar we just used to muddle through a song. This week we are minus the normal song leaders. He’s still not getting the attention he seeks.

In the one other room in the home a fire burns much too strong for so much body heat in one tiny home. I cuddle the baby close anyway. Her mom looks like she must be even younger than me. She sits on the other end of the sofa holding her toddler. She is beautiful, but so young and thin. Was she even 16 when she had her first child? Where is her husband? Is he kind? Does he find work so that their small family can eat? What are this young mother’s greatest fears?

I smile at the matriarch of this home. She smiles back a gap-toothed smile as she bounces a baby on one hip. She stands beside her pregnant, teenage daughter. A precious babe growing beneath a red satin shirt that may pop a button if the baby kicks in just the right spot. That babe is warm and well now, but will that be true in life outside the womb? What if there are complications? Will this mother and babe get the help they need? I hope, but can’t be sure. I’ve seen prejudice inside the hospitals; there is no guarantee. Our little church service is over and I steal a few more kisses before handing off the little one to her young mother.

The door bangs open and shut as little feet pitter in and patter out. The wellsprings of youth and energy know no bounds. As soon as we exit the house, little hands reach up begging to be held, swung, chased and laughed at. Braids flop and fly, too-big-pants sag creating tiny plumber's cracks, smiles change to smirks and puddles are jumped in as we make our way down the dirt path between their homes.

One little girl begins to cry. Another child grabbed her arm where she has recently been burnt. She painfully makes her way home. Before long she runs up to me again. We play a little more. Someone asks if I’ve seen the burn on her arm. I have not. I ask her if I can look at her arm. She lets me check. No bandage covers an awful burn inflicted by a hot stove. I can’t imagine how she endured the pain. I ask if she’s putting on the medicine they had brought earlier in the week, she just nods her head and changes the subject. I worry about infection. I hate to leave her. Who am I to walk away from her in such need. But, here I am still heading to the car.

I’m getting pounded with hugs and farewells. I dash to the car door that is opened only at my arrival and must be quickly locked as we can’t take in stow-away passengers. We drive away and I breathe deep. I feel like I am leaving joy and peace behind. Such qualities found in a place where the world says they should not exist. My emotions are running rampant. I tell myself I’ll go back, that doesn’t soothe the ache.

All photos credit to: Lisa Ronco Photography
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