Nothing To Compare

We spent 6 weeks visiting Aaron's institution twice each day. Those visits were a new and raw experience. His institution shocked us, but we had nothing with which to compare it. We really didn't know how baby houses or other institutions compared to what we were seeing.  We saw only glimpses of the boys in the laying down rooms in the hidden buildings. We could only imagine what lay behind those doors.  Our perspective was limited, confined to what was visible, like these walls and their chained gates:

like these perfectly kept flower beds along all of the paths:

like this row of wheelchairs outside a building with absolutely no handicapped access:

like the sheds where the boys sat whenever they were outside:

like the infirmary with no running water or bathroom:



like the dining sheds with no doors:

like the rusted "playground equipment" that was really only used to dry clothes.

We never got to take an official tour of Aaron's building or his room, but we both managed to slip into the building and see what it was like. Most of the caretakers eyed us suspiciously. We felt watched and on edge. Perhaps they did as well. Occasionally, we received a kind smile from someone on the staff. Once, one of the ladies from the kitchen brought us a treat. Every so often, one of the maintenance men who spoke a few words of English tried to strike up a conversation with Rob. But those times were rare; usually, they all left us alone, and only spoke to us when they wanted to reprimand us for violating some cultural standard (like allowing Aaron to sit on the ground). 

Since we had never seen anything better, we didn't really understand how utterly desolate Aaron's world, the world of the Lost Boys, truly was-- until the end of our time there.

Until the day we were finally finished with the waiting, and the court, and more waiting, and the second court, and still more waiting.  Until the day when we were finally able to drive away from Aaron's town in a broken-down rattletrap tinpot car to finish the paperwork so that we could take our boy home. It was on this trip that our eyes were opened to the reality of the Lost Boys' world. It was on this trip that we fully understood what transfer really meant.  It was on this trip that our hearts were completely broken.  It was on this trip that we realized that we could not just grab our son and run, but that we had a responsibility: a responsibility to be a voice for the helpless Lost Boys across the ocean who will all endure what our poor son endured unless God's people intervene.

... to be continued....