The orphanage is located in a Paradise-like village, on Mountain Taita. Children everywhere. Tiny and big, everybody crying and saying what they have on their minds. Life is running its course. There is no order; rather, chaos reigns. And yet, some kind of sweet irregularity exists in all of this. Nothing is constant, who knows what tomorrow will bring? Volunteers and visitors ready to donate are coming, then going. The kids have no parents, but after all, everybody is everybody’s sibling here. Sometimes they seize upon each other, but they also watch out for each other. They know each other very well. I’m playfully trying to introduce some order, to play with them – with more or less success. I realize that by performing my evening children’s tales, I sweep them off their feet. From this moment on, it is a rule that if their room isn’t tidy, there is no fairytale. It works. At least during nighttime, when after the tale is told, everything goes quiet (with only a few babies cooing persistently even during the night) and the stars envelope the house.

However, from 5.30 at dawn, cacophony and chaos erupt again. One of the kids screaming, another one singing, the third one bawling, the fourth one having a fit: this is pretty much the way it runs on until the evening. Yet after all, this isn’t a surprise at all if thirty-six children are living in one house, with only four daytime nannies and two for the nighttime to take care of them. Not to mention the serious interest enforcements in progress, fights about toys, about attention, and a bit of love. Then for the bigger kids, off to the kindergarten or school. From 7 in the morning until 5 in the afternoon, and they even have homework for the evening.

The school system still has multiple flaws, but at least it finally exists! One flaw is that in everything, quantity is a bit more important than quality. Sometimes it nearly makes me bang my head against the wall. But it will take a good many years until this can change. Other things bother me, too, for example the impossibility of arranging matters rapidly and effectively. But I pick this up very fast, nothing to be done, this is what we have here. Here, we have pole-pole, as they say, which means: slowly-slowly... And perhaps there is something to it. They don’t scramble so much, don’t think so much about things that were or will be: they live in the moment. We can also find things to learn from them!

Here, somehow expectations and needs aren’t that high. The whole society is permeated by hakuna matata (= there is no problem). And this also has an element of peacefully accepting fate. (Of course, as a mzungu – white man – it isn’t always easy, especially on the street, they are trying to sell something upon every step you take. They are also trying to trick me and I catch them telling smaller or bigger lies, as well. But at least, after a while, I begin to see who can be trusted, and when. Not an easy job; on the contrary, a very tedious one!)

During the day, the babies stay at home. With those who can already walk, we go out into the courtyard every day. We visit the piggies, calfies and goats. They watch them every day with the same enthusiasm. :-) The babies cry a lot but when I pick them up, I see a huge gratefulness in their eyes that they are also taken care of. They like listening to Hungarian folk songs, they make them feel relaxed.

During the evenings and on the weekends, we play a lot but only the simpler games, since the more serious ones are a challenge, so, I’m not forcing them. They love drawing, coloring, painting. They never do these things either at the kindergarten or at school. We handicraft all kinds of beauties for the Hungarian families who support the kids. They are very thankful for these. Then we color the rooms with the children’s motley handprints. They love it that they can smear the paint over themselves. We apply sparkly tattoos amid huge fights about who should get which one, but finally everybody gets one and the party can start. We insert the music and the dance is on. It’s in their blood, even for the smallest ones. I hand them mops, buckets, sticks, rattles, and behold all the rhythms blend together!

Going to the beach is a big event. They have been talking about this for weeks; their joy is huge when they can finally arrive. They love frequenting the meadow, playing football, climbing on trees, gathering mangoes – sometimes barefoot, their clothing a bit torn – but courageously. They are real little wild children, spending all their day outdoors. They are nature’s children.

Then we also cook frequently. The bigger ones even help make the chicken stew, in the end, licking the casserole dish clean, they like it so much. Finally, something different, finally a bit of meat. Then we cook hot chocolate for dessert. Some kids, like little squirrels, hide it in small bags and take it to their bed. They say so that it can last longer. :-) They have so little that is theirs, anyway. They don’t really know what this even means, sharing everything with each other. But sometimes, it is good to hide a bit of their own in the bed, even if the bed isn’t really their own because two kids sleep in each one.

And finally, the proverb-turned words that we say every night: “Good night, sleep tight, sweet dreams, bye-bye.” Switching off the lights.