Article written by Volunteer and student Rachel Forseth

The Elusive Gift of Play

By Rachel Forseth

My journey in Honduras was filled with extremes -- beauty like nothing I could have imagined, but brokenness and hurt that I could not quite comprehend. Heart warming stories and heart wrenching tragedies. Laughter and joy that was contagious, but tears and burdens carried by all. On our third day there, I found myself at a loss for words while staring into the face of a starving, crying orphan living in a poor rural area near La Ceiba, Honduras. Saying “Jesus loves you” felt oddly hypocritical, or maybe just an understatement. It took everything out of these small children to squeeze a smile upon receiving relief supplies that might last them a month. I asked an 11-year old girl named Diane what she wanted most in the world. Her answer was simply, “para poder jugar”... “to be able to play”.

Diane takes care of her three siblings, and they live together with other children orphaned by injustice in a part of town known as “Grandmother's Kids”. I would have given anything I owned at that minute to bring hope to just one person. All I had in my backpack were pens, a chapstick, a few powerbars, and a hat. The small portion of food was probably all that the three of four children who split it would eat all day, maybe even for the next few days. The less than three dollars worth of spare change I gave to a 75-year old woman brought her to tears saying, “Gracias a JesuCristo.”

At the Hogar de Amor orphanage where we worked, the children were starving for love, but they seemed to have plenty of love to give. These kids have nothing but each other. They are a makeshift family but that is all they seem to need. From the second I met 4-year old Lourdes ("Lula"), my heart experienced a new kind of love. After holding her in my arms the entire time we were there, I found it hard to put her down. I carried her across the river on my shoulders. I watched her interact with other kids at the orphanage. Lula changed my life simply by being who she was. Lula had been living with an abusive father. She has a scar on her forehead that marks the trauma she has suffered.

While we were driving through a jungle road one day, Lula pointed to a house across the river and calmly explained to me that her older sister had died there. Lula had a habit of climbing up a tree in the backyard to collect beans that she used as jacks. On the last day of our visit, Lula screamed with delight when I brought her plastic jacks and marbles. When she went into her room to stash them in her pillow case (her safe haven for the most prized belongings), another girl named Patricia was crying on the bunk next to her. Without hesitation, Lula handed Patricia her jacks. She did not stop crying. Then Lula handed over her favorite pink shirt. Then her bandana. Nothing stopped the crying. Finally, Patricia told Lula she was crying because the “tios” and “tias” ("aunties" and "uncles", as they called us) were leaving that day. Lula broke down and started crying as well.

These kids are so desensitized to their own pain that they carry each other’s burdens without even realizing it. It was a cruel thing to leave these kids after the bonds we developed with them. We thought the goodbyes were heart wrenching, but to them it was more painful than we may ever understand. I will never forget Lula clinging onto my neck and crying for ten minutes. I had to peel her off with tears running down my face as I boarded the bus. She said “Jesus es el puente de tu y yo.”... "Jesus is the bridge between you and me". These words were uttered by a 4-year old.

These kids live a life as if Christ died yesterday and will return tomorrow. They have faith that is immeasurably great, especially considering the life they have been given. This is just one story of one child. All of the children at the orphanage have experienced horror that most of us will probably never have to endure.

Something that really made an impression on me is how those with the least are the ones that give the most. One day a group of us walked with a 13-year old named Eloisa on her daily 4-hour round-trip hike through the jungle to get to school. Upon arriving at her house, her mother -- surrounded by five of her children -- cooked us all the food they had -- food that was meant to last for the rest of the week. We could not help thinking, “Why don’t you eat it?” But selfishness is out of the question when there is nothing but need all around you. With a small contribution of change each of us carried in our pockets, we gave this family more money than it could earn in six months. That shows how far a small gesture can go.

Another site we visited was home to over a hundred small children, their mothers, and their grandmothers. I did not see a father or an older man. The supplies they needed most: birth control. It is not that teenagers are having unprotected sex; it’s because girls who were 12, 13, and 14 years old are being raped and are having children for whom they cannot care. This tragedy fuels the poverty in Honduras. The girls can barely take care of themselves. Without being able to protect themselves from the selfish acts others, these girls are left with numerous offspring to provide for as well.

Some of the things I saw and heard were too difficult to describe. I tried to take photographs of faces and situations that capture the desolation, but I felt like I was robbing them of something. I told myself that it would not be in vain. Leaving food and clothing and education is merely a quick fix. What I was seeing had to be broadly exposed and embraced.

It takes a while to process even a small portion of the grief that exists in the world. A lot of us who traveled to Honduras were left with confusion and anger. How could these things happen? Who is to blame? Where are the answers? The only answer I can think of lies within me. I am the only one whose actions I can control. Those with the experiences and the knowledge of what is out there, and the ability to do something to make a difference, have a responsibility to act. Each of us simply has to do what we can with what we have at this moment... and stop pointing fingers at others. This doesn’t mean that we have to sell everything we own or move to another country. It doesn’t mean that these problems have easy solutions. It means that we need to be conscious, and that apathy is not an option. (7/20/10)

Note: The author is a 15 year old high school student from California. The orphanage she visited is run by Helping Honduras Kids (HHK), a 501 (c) (3) non-profit based in La Ceiba.