Something Good

Walking away from the hogar on my first day as a volunteer, I won’t deny that my initial thought was, “What have I gotten myself into?” Now, I’ve worked with kids before. I’ve worked with kids with behavior problems. I’ve even worked with kids whose behavior problems stem from having had very difficult childhoods, involving abuse, neglect, alcohol or drugs. But I’ve never worked with such a large number of kids who all have had very difficult childhoods in some form or another, thrown together into one house, with very little structure and without the comfort and support of their own families. So it shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise that this would be one tough job


But regardless, it did come as a surprise. I had never seen such a wild bunch of little girls. Girls who climb things, girls who play in dirt, girls who hit each other, girls who fight over almost everything, and girls who half the time I can’t even understand (Chilean Spanish is NOT making my job any easier). When the Tías (pronounced Tee-uhs: the women who work in the home) left me in charge of some of these girls on my first day (come on, ladies, my first day?) so they could have a meeting with the director of the institution, I thought I might cry. I couldn’t even keep all the girls in the same room, let alone stop them from throwing dirt (seriously, why the obsession with dirt?) or jumping on the broken couch with missing cushions and pieces of wood jutting out (seriously, why the broken couch?). And of course the 2-year-old had to have a poopy diaper when I was in charge. But poopy diapers don’t scare me, so I left the girls to their unhindered task of collecting dirt and jumping on broken couches, and headed inside to change her. It wasn’t until I was told that there were no baby wipes that I got a little scared. According to one sassy 8-year-old, I had to remove the poopy diaper, plop the guagua in the shower and then rinse her butt off with my bare hands (seriously??).  So, naturally, when the gate to the house – where I will be spending almost all of my days for the next year – clanged shut behind me on my first day, I wondered, “What the h#@% have I gotten myself into??” (Yeah, I guess it was thought with a bit more oomph…)


Fast forward ahead 3 weeks, and I still think it’s a tough job. But things have gotten so much better. (Yes, let’s hear that sigh of relief. And Henry, you don’t have to buy your little sister the first ticket home after all). The first week was rough. Very rough. But since then, things have definitely improved. Mainly because I feel like I’m starting to connect with the girls now, which obviously makes a huge difference.  When a 4 year old runs out of the house to jump into your arms when you arrive, it’s a fantastic feeling. When a teenager puts her arm around your waist and leans her head on your shoulder affectionately, it’s a fantastic feeling. Even when a 10 year old rolls her eyes and says “Tiiiiiaaaa” in an whiney tone (but when she does it with a smile on her face and a giggle) after I’ve done something embarrassing or dorky (like dance like the white girl I am, while they’re all dancing like sexy Latinas to Reggaeton blaring from the speakers… yes, even the 4 years olds know how to dance like sexy Latinas, which is scary, impressive and funny all at the same time) it’s still a fantastic feeling


The teenagers and the Tías might constantly make fun of me for my lack of Spanish (read: lack of Chilean Spanish), there might be one 5 year old who I’m pretty sure hates my guts and who never listens to me, and many of the girls still resort to playing in the dirt and jumping on broken couches (considering the lack of toys in the home, I really don’t blame ‘em), but regardless, things are definitely lookin’ up. I’ve stopped worrying so much about what every girl is doing at every moment, I’ve started realizing I’m allowed to relax and enjoy a long lunch (and later tea) with the Tías rather than feeling like I have to get up right away and do something, and I’ve started to appreciate small accomplishments and simple moments that happen here and there with the girls. At the end of the day, those moments are what keep me going back to the hogar. What have I gotten myself into? I’m still not sure. But at least now I’m starting to feel like it’s something good.


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So, because I can't possibly have a blog post with NO pictures (but am not allowed to post any pictures of the hogar or of the girls for safety reasons), I'll leave you with a few pictures of my apartment: something else good. It's cozy, in a beautiful and safe neighborhood, has a balcony with a view of the Andes, and comes with two extremely nice, chill roommates (a Chilean girl and a French guy). 

My Room (with a door to the balcony)

Living Room

Kitchen

Balcony

The View from the Balcony (look closer... see the mountains?)

See 'em?

And what they look like now, minus snow and clouds (but with a setting sun)