Slowly I climbed the steep hill toward my destination. Reaching the place where I was to turn, I paused for a moment to catch my breath. The subtle morning breeze caused the edge of my scarf to flutter as it cooled and refreshed me. Turning to my right, I gradually descended along the dead end street to a high wall partitioned by a heavy metal gate. Through the vertical bars making up its top half, I could see a concrete courtyard with some trees behind a curb at its far end. I could hear the voices of children at play and figured this must be the place. Slipping between the unchained gates, I went in.
Children from ages four to fourteen were scattered all over the yard engaged in various activities. Some were chasing a ball as others were grouped on a bench whispering to each other in confidence. Still others were just wandering about looking for something to do.
Promptly realizing a stranger had arrived, one to the counselors quickly approached me to determine the purpose of my presence. I told her that I had come to visit the children and deliver some items that a friend of mine had discovered were needed. The counselor welcomed me and showed me into the lobby of the four-story building contained within the walls. After checking in the items I had brought, another counselor offered to give me a tour of the facilities. I happily accepted, as I wanted to see the condition in which the children lived.
Taking the stairs, as there was no elevator, we went up a few flights to the living quarters of the children. That floor, like the others, consisted of several medium size rooms crowded with five or six twin beds and an equal number of inexpensive wardrobes lining an adjacent wall. All the beds were covered with comforters of the same design. It was all very tidy, but quite impersonal for children of such young ages. I wondered about what degree of privacy a child would have in these circumstances. Although the halls for the boys and girls were separate, it seemed that modesty would be greatly compromised when a child had no choice but to dress and undress in the presence of others.
We moved on to an upper floor where the children take their meals. From the last step of the stairs, I could see a large room filled with long rectangular tables lined with child size chairs. Each table was covered in a tablecloth to make it feel a bit more like home, but the constant chatter of the children echoing off the concrete walls would beg to differ. No matter how much one might do, the meals of these children would never have the warmth of a cozy kitchen table. My heart ached for them all.
About that time all the children came hurrying upstairs. Another guest had arrived to celebrate their daughter's birthday with these children. Bring out a massive cake covered in frosting and bags of aerosol perfumes as gifts for the children, the family distributed the gifts as the cafeteria help passed out the square pieces of sugar overdoses to each child. I could see the disappointment in the faces of the counselors of the facility, but once the family had come through the gates with cake and presents in the children's plain view it was too late to suggest a healthier alternative and gifts that would not be a danger to the children's eyes and lungs. The counselors were forced to let things be for the moment and promptly deal with the ramifications of excessive sugar and having to collect the aerosol perfumes before one of the youngsters got poisoned.
As I watched all this, I began to notice the teeth of the children. Although I had seen toothbrushes in their communal bathrooms, it was obvious that if events like this took place very often no amount of brushing could prevent decay. As one of the counselors put it, "These children don't need cake, candy, or presents, they need people they can depend on."
As the impromptu party drew to a close, I ventured back down to the courtyard with the children to spend some time with them. Many of them were curious as to why I had come. Telling them that it was to visit with them, they happily obliged and engaged in conversations with me. From among those children, there was one who stood out with intellect and maturity beyond her years. She told me of her relatives and how disappointed she was in them. "They said they would come visit, but they don't. They're all liars," she confided in me. Trying not to upset her, I changed the subject suggesting that no matter what they are she could make something out of her life and be happy. With a depth of hopelessness I had never heard in anyone's voice before she replied, "What can I do?" It was as if at the tender age of eight she had already decided that she had no prospects for the future. Like many of the other children living in this facility, she may not technically have been an orphan, but she felt like it.
What a heavy burden I felt after visiting these forgotten children. It was the verses of the Qur'an and the Prophet's having been an orphan that had pointed out their existence to me and compelled me to visit them. So now I ask you to lighten this burden by sharing it with me. Let us not forget the precious place these children hold in Allah's eyes and our obligations to them in our religion. Let us work to give them hope. It is a societal responsibility that we cannot afford to neglect.
