A life Altering Opportunity

We were to be honoured guests for dinner. We arrived before noon to visit briefly with the children before the evening hour meal. We honked the horn and the rusty metal gates parted welcoming our van into a paved yard - no grass, no vegetation - simply a paved yard. An open sewer ran along the inside of the perimeter wall and glass shards and barbed wire ran along the top - in some instances, clothes appeared to be purposely placed to dry in the humid heat. But we did not pay particular attention to those details, at least not immediately. The white villa seemed alive - it beckoned us with the spontaneous sound of children cheering and waving at us lined along its 2nd floor veranda. A drum beat from inside and a chorus rhythmic chant of children erupted as if to say - hope has arrived. We knew our place was to go inside. Instead, we were drawn to a back corner of the paved yard. Several pieces of blue plastic were hung on twigs formed into the shape of a small 4'x3' tarp enclosure. No door - simply a pot on the floor. As we turned away, we noticed 2 other pots just outside the tarp enclosure, with one having the contents of its last visitor. The odor and its location made it convenient to pour its contents into the open perimeter sewer. A few feet away we saw 3 adult female volunteers. One woman had an infant clinging to her back without the aid of a sling or any devise - seemingly effortlessly. The woman hunched over at a 30 degree angle with the child clinging to her back while she walked around the yard performing her chores. Another woman was pulling on a rope that went up and around a pulley and down into an open well. We quickly learned that the well was unclean. Not surprising since 90% of the population of Sierra Leone do not have potable water. Perhaps that explains the average life span of 40 years. By their count, I should have already been dead 5 years. Another two half naked infants sat on concrete slab inside a dark stone shell, seemingly neglected and staring back at us with an empty glance. A small soiled piece of foam lay nearby - a makeshift bed perhaps. I could not avoid picturing my 4 year old daughter sitting so helplessly in the same way. An immediate sense of hopelessness and despair came over me. And here we were the symbol of hope for these children. But how? 80 orphan children. No running water. No utilities. No furniture. No appliances. No television or toys to escape their misery. Simply bare concrete floors with ten children sleeping to a room. No wonder half the children suffer from pneumonia. No wonder 2 or 3 die each year in the orphanage. No national health care. No social welfare net. Babies brought to the orphanage when found in dumpsters - at least those that are fortunate to be found in time. A generation of children left over from the vicious civil war that spanned from 1991 to 2002. These children are the victims of the brutal war, many having witnessed brutal acts â€" killing, butchery, rape, and other indescribable acts of horror. And yet they smiled and greeted us. Grabbing our fingers and hairs on our arms. I remember the constant touching of tiny yellow hands. A swarm of children seeking comfort in strangers visiting them from a faraway place. We left after spending two hours of touring the compound. We returned at 5pm - speeches and more singing and dancing by the children performing for us â€" and then - finally the meal was served at 7pm. We paid for the meal in our honour - it would have cost $50 for a bowl of rice for each of the 80 children - but we paid $100 to ensure the meal included some scant pieces of chicken. Many of the children clearly showed signs of protein deficiency. The children ate with one hand grabbing the rice and the mystery green sauce between their fingers and fitting the loose ball of rice into their mouths. All 80 of them sat on the floor of what would be described as a family room. The headmaster carried a stick but the children were obedient and patient. There was 1 fold out table with 4 chairs for us â€" their honoured guests and a low bench intended for children along one wall, now seating the adult volunteers, minister and house mother. I could not bring myself to eat. I pictured the yellow water pulled out of the well and the mystery green sauce, the lack of hygiene, my fear of diarrhea, malaria and other illnesses. I simply could not compel myself to eat at the risk of becoming sick. And yet, here were children content to eat their only meal of the day. There are some days they don't eat. But during all the days we were there, we made sure the children ate and we left them with sufficient money and supplies to know there would be food for several days after. So where is the hope? This orphanage (Network of Children in Need) and another orphanage (Wellington Orphanage), both in Freetown, comprise about 160 children. Just outside of Freetown is 11 acres donated by the government intended for these orphans. Through the engagement of Rotary, here and there, we intend to ensure the children have appropriate facilities to reside, to learn and to play. And, with the involvement of 2 NGO's, there will be potable drinking water, sanitation, crops grown and 4,000 layer chickens providing a source of sustenance and revenue. Why Rotary? Several reasons: 1) Rotary ensures accountability and transparency in the handling of funds raised; 2) Rotary - local, district and international - provides a matching grant scenario where $1 by a local club is matched by district and then international - potentially turning $1 into $3; and, 3) Rotary provides the organizational infrastructure necessary to undertake a project of this magnitude. Quite Honestly, I had reservations about going to Sierra Leone, and once there, I really wanted to be home, and once home, I knew I could not get the children's faces and desperation out from under my skin. People generally talk of a life altering experience. I like to think of it as a life altering opportunity to make this world just a little better, a little brighter for children half way around the world. Karmel Sakran Special thanks to my travel companions, Don Smith and Ebbe Marquardsen, for their courage and conviction and taking me along in their journey.