On these trips, the hardest stories are not the stories of children who's parents have passed away. The hardest stories are of the children who's parents willingly leave them behind.
There are siblings at the orphanage named Srey Na, Srey Neath and SokHeng. Srey Na and Srey Neath are the most beautiful girls. They sing well, are humorous and sweet. They can also be very somber; and you would be too if your parents dropped you at an orphanage. SokHeng is the most precious boy; big ears, goofy grin and such a lover. Last year, their half brother was also at the orphanage. Pan Ya was about one and was left with the others because mom was pregnant again (3rd dad) and didn't want to take care of them. I met her once last year, she came to our celebration party dressed inappropriately and ate the food intended for the kids. Fast forward to this year. She has taken Pan Ya back, and she sold her 5th baby for $1200. Rumor has it she came to the orphanage shortly after, wearing new gold jewelry. I don't know where their father is, but SokHeng proudly showed me a photo of him once. He looks just like him.
There is a family that lives nearby that I have known for years. There are nine children, so the younger kids live at the orphanage while the older kids live at home. The oldest son is married with one child and another on the way. The second oldest son has a 9 month old boy named Dom. He is the most precious, even tempered baby. Unfortunately, both mom and dad are drug addicts of some sort and so Dom has been taken away and is being cared for by Grandma and his uncles. Throughout the day, Dom is passed from one relative to another, and I grab him whenever I can. His Grandpa asked me to take him back to America with me, but Grandma isn't too keen on that plan. Although Dom's dad hardly notices him when he walks by, Pou Rath and Pou Niroon give him lots of Cambodian style love.
Today I spent a lot of time in the village of Andong. Per usual, I attracted attention from local children; wanting my bracelets, to know my name, to practice counting and touch my hair. As I sat there, I received an occasional glance from an adult gambling nearby. The children continued to warm up to me and began to climb on my lap and on my back. I went back to the orphanage for lunch and ensured them I would return, which I did an hour later.
There was one baby in particular who was about 18 month, running around completely naked. He crawled up onto my lap, wrapped his arms and legs around me and nuzzled his head into my chest. The other children kept pointing to his ears and one girl brought me a pack of Q-tips. I cleaned his ears, which were oozing liquid, and gave him some water, then he nuzzled back in, falling asleep. I sat there for what seemed like hours, with this child on my chest, thinking how strange it was that we were here together.
Did he have parents?
Where were they?
When was his last meal, bath, hug?
How desperate was this poor boy for love that he would cling to a complete stranger?
Eventually, another little girl of about five walked up and started to pull the boy off me. He started screaming and crying, holding on to me tightly. The adults around the card tables started to stare and I let the girl pull the baby off me. A white woman clinging to a naked slum baby seemed like a bad situation. The girl drug the baby over to the women's gambling table and a woman picked him up and pulled him close, as the screaming and flailing continued.
She looked over at me, cold and expressionless; I looked back, my sunglasses hiding the tears pooling in my eyes.
I am not a mother, and I may never be. I do not think it is an easy duty and the responsibilities last a lifetime. To bring a child into a world of already so much pain and sadness, and not do everything in your power to create a loving, safe upbringing seems unforgivable. My heart breaks for the unloved.
