ONE THOUSAND AND ONE DISHES

I am a story
coming from a story
entering a story
to become a story

Do I exist? Or am I just a narrative?

SEVEN COLOMBIAN ESTONIANS

A year and a month had passed since I saw my last Estonian. Not to forget the language my journal I patriotically kept in my mother tongue. But could I still speak it?

Our language has just over a million speakers, considering that I was not really counting on meeting anyone, though hopefully kept asking all random acquaintances if they had done so. To my surprise several had met Estonians in youth hostels in Panama or Nicaragua, one guy even worked on a farm with a whole bunch of my fellow countrymen in Costa Rica.
“They always speak Estonian and talk about must leib (black rye flour bread - the sacred dish and eternal yearning of every Estonian who lives abroad)” he said. So there were Estonians wanderers in Latin America after all! The question was just how to cross paths with them.

Still in Costa Rica I received an email from my Estonian friend Arvo who starting from February 2009 was to become a volunteer in Colombia`s capital Bogota. Arvo invited me to stay at his place if I was to come to Bogota. To meet an Estonian for real! - of course I was going to Bogota, wherever that was!

This is how after too long a break, on March 31st 2009, Arvo, an international relations volunteer at the National University of Colombia, became the first Estonian I met. Same night I met my second Estonian - Arvo´s friend Marianne - who kindly allowed me to live in her apartment for over a week in exchange of taking care of her rabbit Miguel while she herself was on Easter vacation. Third was Eve, a beautiful Estonian lady married to a Colombian lawyer Ernesto who on several occasions invited me to her home, fed me, taught me traditional handicraft, gave me must leib - black bread to take along and showed me around. Their two kids Rafael and Lena I would not count here as Estonians considering that they are growing up in Colombia and the environment shapes their national identity more than blood I believe. Although thanks to Eve they do speak some of the language and like to play the “Mom, I’m going to Estonia now, what shall I get you?” game.
For Easter I was again kindly invited to Eve´s place where I met my Estonians number four five and six: Eva-Liisa - volunteering for one church in Bogota and Kariina and Margus - a couple travelling around the world on a motorcycle.

Late night of April 17th, I came to one little orphanage in Mesitas looking for Siiri – the seventh Estonian I was to meet in Colombia. Arvo had told me about Siiri - a volunteer working with kids in a little mountain village, on the first night of our meeting.

“So what are you plans?” he asked me with a cunning smile. The phonecall of my possible coming and helping her out had already been made.

DAY ONE

The farm

The organization that Siiri worked for was called Alma de Niño (Child`s Soul). It had four branches in different places: “Taller Juvenil”, also known as “La Finka” (the Farm) for sixty boys and “Villa Ruth” for forty girls were in the little village of Mesitas del Colegio. Just by the side of Bogota, in a place called Madrid there was a huge orphanage “Ciudadela” for nearly two hundred girls. In contrast “Casa Egreso” in the capital, hosted just thirteen 15-17 year old boys.

From our house it was a twenty minute walk up the hill before we reached The Farm. I saw little white buildings with thatched roofs, a big swimming pool, palm trees, a lot of green, children playing. If one was only to forget why these kids were there, it could very well seem like paradise.

“This is my friend Carina, she will work here for two-three weeks”, Siiri introduced me to the kids who had come to greet us at the gate.
“Well, actually we just met last night for the first time”, I added with a smile greeting each and every one with a handshake. Unfortunately I forgot most of the names I heard on our first encounter.

I found myself working in the kitchen washing dishes. Though it was a spontaneous decision – I had wanted to make myself useful and there was always something to do in the kitchen, I soon learned that it was quite a strategic place.

Who were they, what had they been through to get there, I thought when I quietly looked into each boy’s eyes as he brought his plate.

To most of them the first word I said was “Thank you!”
When I received a “Thank you” or even just a smile back in return, it made me unutterably happy. They were definitely curious, but only a few of them stopped to ask what I was doing there.

“Washing dishes”, I usually replied also curious if they would want to continue the conversation.

They did not know how strategic that place actually was, they had no idea that I was there to see and observe them, to be able to meet each and every one of them, to often hear their voice without forcing them to speak, giving them a chance to stay and talk to me for as long as they felt like it, to make a favor to them by washing their plate and thus deserve the quiet “thank you”.

Interestingly so, the last book I read before coming to Mestias was Astrid Lindgren`s “Rasmus and the Tramp”. It was about a nine year old kid who had run away from the orphanage because he thought that no-one would want to adopt a big kid with straight hair (as everybody only wanted little curly-haired girls). Rasmus dreamed of being found and so went looking for a family who would want him despite his straight hair.

I looked at the boys playing marbles. The youngest was seven – did they at all hope to be adopted? I wondered. Did they dream of getting out of there? They would come to the kitchen when it was time to eat, become quiet when being scolded.

I helped to pile up their clothes in the laundry room, made small piles of shirts, jackets and pants – by colours. BY COLOURS! Did they not have their own clothes? Siiri explained later that most of them did, still each day they had to wear a uniform of certain colour.

Henzerth came to me holding something in his fist. He opened his palm revealing five colourful marbles. “How beautiful!” I said. I then carefully took each and every pearl looked at it in the sun and then placed on the table. “I like this one best!” I said. The boy suddenly collected all of them and ran away. A moment later he was back, and opened his palm again. The marbles were wet, Henzerth had washed them to make them even more beautiful! He was so proud of his treasure.

Marbles

Boys, they looked like all other boys, but then there was something different in their eyes. I sensed a lot of sadness in these eyes, often tears. Abandoned, abused, I could only guess what they had been through to get there. Probably it was too sad to tell, so it remained in them. I could see it in their eyes. Children should not have eyes like that!

“Can you swim?” asked one kid after they had pushed Siiri into the swimming pool.
“Yes.”
“Who taught you?”
“My parents,” I replied, and only later thought that I was among kids without parents. I had no idea what that felt like.

When in the evening I saw them washing floors, carrying chairs, cleaning the kitchen I felt my eyes become wet with tears. They were good boys – yes, even the one who had been hiding under the table in the laundry room, the one who had just taken three bites from his plate and then had pushed it demonstratively away, the one who had given his piece of meat to the dog and had gotten scolded by the educator for it, they were all good boys, curious, sweet, kind-hearted…

And yet they had no-one to trust or to count on.

“How long have you worked here?” I asked the psychologist Juan Carlos.
“Two months.”

“How long have you worked here?” I asked the cook Mirjam.
“Five monts”

And I would also go soon.

They had no-one to count on; so small, yet completely alone.

WHAT DO YOU SEE IN OUR EYES?

On April 25th all the kids of Alma de Niño were being brought together for Children´s day celebration. It was 3.30 AM when we arrived to “Ciudadela” – the huge orphanage for girls in Madrid. The only two thoughts I had were how cold it was and that I wanted to sleep.

Instead of going to bed, we came to the kitchen.
“Are they going to eat now?” I asked confused.

Obviously.

So I served the food and washed the dishes wondering how one could eat at that hour.

Now? Sleep?

I heard music in one of the houses.

“The party is not over yet?” I asked ironically.

“This is a wake-up call,” someone replied.

What, at 4 AM? It is still dark!

I kept walking, feeling angry, and trying to think. I stopped at one point to look at two blue photos on a brick wall: a little girl on the street sewing, and two boys begging. Were these supposed to make kids happy that they were there instead of being in the street?!

Photos on the wall

I stood looking at the house where the music was coming from.

“Come to sleep now,” said Siiri waking me up from thought.

I looked at her for a moment, then said: “No, I am going to work!”

Not too long after I was already knocking on the door that had “kitchen” written on it.

“Good morning, my name is Carina, I am a volunteer from Mesitas. I would like to help out. I can do anything - wash dishes or floors, help cook, serve…tell me how I could help,”
I said almost demanding a chore.

The lady I spoke to looked quite astonished at first, but then her expression changed:
“Have a cup of coffee,” she said and invited me in.

A moment later I was scraping big pots – a perfect assignment to calm me down. I put all my upset into that noble activity.

“Good night,” said the kids sarcastically as they entered the dining hall.
“Enjoy your meal,” I replied with a smile as I served them their breakfast.
Many seemed shocked. They stumbled to look at me, some mumbled a “thank you”. As the morning continued and more and more people started coming in, the feeling of something different happening became even stronger.

Had no-one ever said these words to them, I wondered. Children looked confused, they looked back, they whispered. I did not let myself be bothered but kept looking into their eyes wishing them a “Good morning”. Was this really so insane?

When our boys came in, they smiled, they said “Good morning!” to my “Good morning” and “Thank you!” to my “Enjoy your meal!” Oh yes, there was something very different about Ciudadela, something scary.

I was washing dishes when I heard someone screaming. The dining hall was full of people -educators, kids, everyone was there, and right in front of them, in the middle of the room four big girls were beating a little one. I ran out to help the kid. “No, profi, don´t,” I heard the big girls tell me. I ignored them and took the crying girl back to the kitchen. The cooking staff surrounded her to ask what had happened.

Two educators soon joined the circle.
“It is our business to interfere! Dana did not bathe today and was being punished,” said one of them obviously annoyed with the whole situation. As they started scolding the girl, I felt my eyes filling up with tears - did they truly believe in and practice such methods of education here?

“Oh, no!” I heard myself thinking, but it was too late. I was already crying hiding my face against the wall. “So embarrassing, where to find a hiding place?” with that thought I ran out of the room.

A few minutes later I was back washing the dishes and for a while did not look into anybody’s eyes but my own.

“Carina!” I heared a familiar voice.
“Umaña!” I replied looking up.

Brian Umaña was a sixteen year old poet from our Farm. He reminded me a lot of myself when I had been his age - always alone, singing or writing something, always a bit sad.

Umaña´s eyes were also wet with tears. We looked at each other for a while and he came over to my side.

“Please sing, you have a beautiful voice,” I told Umaña and the boy started singing.

We were interrupted by Viviana, a coordinator of Villa Ruth, the girls ` house in Mesitas.

“I wanted to thank you for interfering today,” she said.
“But…” I replied waiting for the “You should not have bothered,” continuation of the sentence.
“What do you mean?” asked Viviana a bit confused.
I told her what the educators had said.
“There is no “but”, thank you for interfering,” said Viviana with a smile.
By the time our conversation was over, Umaña had disappeared.

I saw Umaña again when I had to leave the kitchen for a moment. He was sitting alone on the bench. I sat by his side.

“What happened?” I asked.
“I am alone.”
“Not anymore”

We sat quietly for a while. Umaña began to sing. Then I sang. After that we sang together. I taught him one Japanese song and one English song. Umaña started laughing.

“Look, you made me laugh,” said Umaña gratefully.

Only much later I learned that Umaña had tried to run away that night.

I went back to the kitchen – we had to peel potatoes for five hundred people. Only for a brief moment I thought about sleep again, but then took a knife in one and a potato in another hand. Having washed all the dishes after lunch, it was time for dinner. 380 people, each had two plates, a cup and a spoon making it altogether 1520 dishes, I counted to understand how that simple activity could have taken so long.

I was allowed to go to sleep. It was 4 PM. I slept for twelve hours and at 4 AM went to the kitchen again. It was dark, cold and quiet. There was no music.

“It is Sunday,” said the guard. “Today everyone gets up at seven.”

I sat on the stairs in front of the kitchen door and started writing my journal.

Dear Diary...

Later that night, after a day´s work, when the buses started leaving Madrid, I was called away from the kitchen. At the doorway I saw two girls, Erika and Daniela.

They looked for a while quietly into my eyes and one of them asked: “What do you see in our eyes?

“Sadness,” I said honestly, to which I saw how their eyes filled up with tears.

“What else?”

“Happiness,” I said hoping that through the word it would magically appear there. But it just was not in them.

Our boss in the kitchen was Clara. I always asked her if I could serve the food. “It is my only chance to see their eyes,” I would say.

Once when we were in the dining hall serving the children Clara asked: “What do you see in their eyes?”

“Always something different: often sadness and unease, sometimes curiosity, concern, warmth, still more so it is indifference, detest, alarm, exhaustion, boredom,” I replied.

“Stay here, we need you,” said Clara “Please do not leave!”

I did not tell her why I had to go, I do not know if I myself knew it really.

Ciudadela was just too big to grasp. Too much like a factory, too disciplined to be human. A never-smile-land…I was not yet prepared to work in a place like that, afraid that instead of warming them up, I would become cold like them.

MUSIC CLASS
Inspired by the music of and mail correspondence with Angelo Spinazzola

Umaña ran away again. I was so sad the day I learned that. I did not even say goodbye!
I talked to one of Umaña´s friends, asked him why that had happened.

"He got beaten every day here," said Logan.
"Did anybody know?"
"No."

"Us adults, we can be so stupid and blind!" I said, and left the table.

So I learned that many kids got beaten by their comrades every day. The aggression was caused by pain, I thought, trying to understand WHY, and beating someone was a way of expression of that aggression. If only they had another way to express themselves - like music or art for example.

Umaña

Umaña loved to sing. When I would have time he would teach me ome songs in Spanish and I would teach him some in English. When he was sad, he would sing. That would comfort him.

When I was struggling to accept the thought that I would not see Umaña ever again, I heared the strangest conversation:

“Can you serve Umaña, please,” someone asked the cook Mirjam.
“Umaña is not sick, he should come and eat himself!” said Mauricio.
“Umaña ran away” I noticed bitterly.
“Well, he is back now, sitting in his room and does not want to go out!”
“What?!”
I ran out of the kitchen.

I found Umaña in the cellar, alone. We talked and cried and then I found an old keyboard one of the shelves and started teaching him to play. “If you want to be a musician one day, then you better learn to play!” I told Umaña and taught him the names of the keys. He learned fast. I taught him to play a song I had learned as a child.

It was quite a scene – we were playing a song on a piano that had no sound.
I needed to find a real instrument.

Someone had told me that th Culture House (Casa de la Cultura) in the village would have one. One day when I went to town to get my sandals from the repair I saw the gate to the Culture House open. I walked in and saw a man giving a music lesson to two children.

Excuse me, do you happen to have a piano here?” I asked.
“Upstairs we have a keyboard,” said the man.
“Could I play that?”
“Would you like to learn?” asked the man.
“Is it possible to take music classes?” I felt a light bulb of a great idea appear above my head.
“I am a volunteer in an orphanage for the boys Alma de Niño,” I continued, “Some of them would really love to learn music. Music can cure I believe, and these boys more than anyone need that! Would it be possible for them to learn here?” I asked eagerly.
The answer was positive and the classes were supposed to be completely free of charge.

Next week six boys started coming to music classes with me. Unfortunately Umaña was not among them.

FRIEND

Umaña was depressed. He was always alone, sitting behind the kitchen or in the laundry room, writing poetry.

“What should we do with Umaña?” asked me Marisol, the Farm´s social worker .
“Artists always suffer,” I said, “that is where their inspiration comes from.”

When I served Marisol her dinner later that night she said: “There is a new boy, Wiliam, in the Farm. I would like you to talk to him. The police brought him in just for this night.”

After I had finished washing the dishes, I went to look for Wiliam.
“Let´s have a walk!” I told him.

As there were not so many places where to walk, we started circling the pool. Wiliam asked me where I come from and I told him what the seasons looked like. At one point I saw Umaña. “Come join us for a walk!” I called him.

So there were three of us. “This is Wiliam,” I told Umaña, he is leaving tomorrow. “This is Umaña,” I told Wiliam, “he is a poet.”

“What happened to your teeth?” asked Umaña and a thirteen year old Wiliam told him how he had lost them in the fight.

“I would like to go with you to Bogota,” said Umaña.

“I don´t think you want to go where I am going. They are putting me in a nut house."

He showed him the sole of his shoe: "Hide your knife in here when you go, they won`t find it then."

Wiliam told Umaña about drugs he had been forced to take and how they had made him feel, about fights he had been in, many things about institutions where everyone carries a knife in their sleeve.

We sat down on the bench.

“Do you have dreams?” asked Umaña.

Wiliam

Wiliam looked at him with a strange spark in his eye: “Dreams?” he asked again ironically, then answered: “To kill the president”.

“Would you like to stay here?” I asked Wiliam.
“No, I would get bored soon and run away. I always run away."

“I write songs”, said Umaña, “I want to be a musician”
He opened his notebook.
“Can you read?” I asked Wiliam.
“No,” said the boy, admiring the neat writings of his new friend.

“I will sing a song for you then,” said Umaña and started singing.

“ Do not feel alone anymore
Do not feel bored,
I give you my
acquaintance,
I give you my song,
I give you my poem…”

sang Umaña

Wiliam put his head down and listened. When the song was over, he asked:

"Could you sing it a bit faster?"

"No," said Umaña.

“You have a beautiful voice, you should be a musician,” said Wiliam then.

I think I do not want to go anymore…said Umaña.

The next day as Marisol had said the police took Wiliam away.

Something changed in Umaña after meeting Wiliam. The boy started coming out and eating with others, playing ball, helping with chores. From time to time he remembered Wiliam:

“So he is gone…” he would only say, “where do you think he is now?”

THE BOY WHO ALWAYS RAN AWAY

Edison

The scene in the music class was the last picture I took of Edison - the boy who always ran away. Edison had run away from his family as well as from each and every institution he had been in.

He was not interested in music so much; he just liked to walk with me to the class.

I will always remember the game we played the other day:

"You are my mother and I will call you..."

His mother had not contacted him for over two months.

I answered "the phone" and told him how much I loved him and that I had lost track of him and that I had not known where he was and that I was so glad that he had called and that I would definitely come and visit him and bring him home and that I did not want him to run away because it could be dangerous and that I wanted him to be safe.

The saddest game I have ever had to play.

The past few days Edison was with us, he kept asking me for a present.
"Give me these two pieces of paper", he said at last "something to remember you by".
I gave him the papers but only understood later what he meant...

Edison was caught packing his bag that night. The next morning he was gone - the boy who always ran away, ran away.

THE FIGHT

It was lunchtime and the dining hall was full of people.

“Two are flying”, I heard one of the educators say, Juan Carlos, the psychologist, left the table immediately barely touching the food.

Half an hour later, his plate was still on the table, he never returned to eat his food. A bit later I saw him at the bathrooms covered from head to toe with mud.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Brandon and Mauricio were running away,” he said. “I tried to hold Brandon and we had a fight.”

I brought coffee to the office – the boy, covered with mud, eyes wet with tears was surrounded with educators for the questioning. What a horrible picture! I brought him a tissue and a glass of water.

Later that night I saw him watching the stars.
“Beautiful, aren´t they,” I said.
“They are.”
We talked about nothing and everything.

“It is not easy to be a child,” I said, “everyone telling you what to do, adults who think they know what is best for you. I believe you know yourself what is best for you, and let no one tell you otherwise. Please always remember that. And when you grow up and have kids, do not forget that. Please be a better adult!

Brandon

I have not told anyone, but in truth I admire kids who have courage to run. I also wish they would not be brought back - this is not why they ran.

"We give you food, we give you clothes, we give you shelter - what were you thinking running away..." It is always the same thing the runaways get to hear. The adults argue with reason, kids with emotion. They cry because reason can not explain how they feel. Besides the educators would not hear them anyway. They would not understand that there are things that are more important than food, clothes and shelter.

Kids know better.

THE LITTLE RED KNIFE

I had a little red Swiss Army knife, a gift from my co-workers from the Kadriorg Art Museum. Several times when working with it in the kitchen it mysteriously disappeared.
“Why are you not smiling?” the boys would ask me the following day.
“I have lost my knife.”
“You can buy a new one, can´t you,” they would suggest.

“Not, like this one, I can´t” I would say and tell them the story of how I got the knife and how many thousands of miles it had traveled with me. In return I would ask them to tell me about the special things or gifts they had that they would not want to loose.

It would not take long before I would get my knife back. The educators never had to interfere.

WHO ARE YOU?

Very often during lunch I would sit and eat with the boys. It was always fun. They would ask me to teach them Chinese or Japanese or English, we would talk whether or not it is a good idea to adopt a tiger, they would ask me about my travels, about my past or future, or we would not speak at all, just look at each other and play “serious”.

“What did you do back in Estonia?” Heraldo asked me one day.
“It is kind of a secret,” I said mysteriously.
“Tell me…”
“I was an educator.”
“Then why are you working in the kitchen?”

Disguise

"I do not want to be an educator by name - an educator who has to discipline, who has to tell right from wrong, teach you stuff in the hours where you do not feel like learning at all, but want to play with your friends, who has to scold you and has no time to listen to you because of the responsibility he or she has for all the other million things. Rather, I always want to have time for you, and if you want to learn something, you can come to me and I could teach you – whatever that is -chinese, dance, singing or geography. If you want to escape I want you to know that you can come to me and I won’t give you in; if you want to talk, you can talk to me; whatever you are looking for, you can ask me and I can help you find it. Always I want to be free for you and give you what you need, yes, even if it is just food and drink, or washing your plate after you finish your meal. If someone is an educator, it does not matter what he or she is wearing or what he or she is doing. Although I am washing dishes, I am still an educator. Your eyes do not see that but your heart knows it. That is why you come to me."

THANK YOU

ARVO

without you, I would never have found Siiri

SIIRI

without you, I would never have had an opportunity to work in this orphanage. Thank you for all the Estonian language we spoke; for taking me into your world; for being tolerant and patient with me all that time; for picking up the idea of an art class with such passion up to literally wanting to “break the wall” to create it; for being crazy enough to want to come to travel with me; but most of all for being a friend!

JUAN CARLOS

Thank you for your quiet way of being; for becoming my greatest Spansih teacher through your skill of listening; for no matter how tired you were, always answering “yes” to the question “would you like to have some tea”; and for no matter if good or bad, always drinking it; for the public apology you made to make peace with Logan; for the walk in Villeta and then in the mountain in the night; for the ping-pong match; for being more than a friend and a colleague - for being a brother to me.

MARISOL

Thank you for being the “older sister” of all the boys in our "Farm family” - yes, of educators and psychologists and bosses too :); for being so passionate about your work; for being demanding, for always trying to realize all good ideas and coming up yourself with so many of them; for your support and trust in me; for wholeheartedly trying to stop me from leaving! Thank you for seeing me!

EDNA

Thank you for being a great travel companion on our hike in the mountains for the recipe of tea of “Mora con Limonaria”, for the conversations we had, for being a wonderful English student and a beautiful person!

DOÑA MARINA

I learned so much from you about plants and
traditional medicine, about coffee and about life. Thank you for your hospitality and all your help; for so quickly making the recycle centre happen; for borrowing me your shoes on two occasions when I was barefoot; for helping out with Siiri´s surprise birthday party; for taking me to the mountain; for being like family to me!

DON EDGAR

Your project is magical and has a lot of potential! I will treasure dearly this experience of working here and continue my journey in hope that this is just the first stepping stone for me and that I can continue working with orphans in my future. Thank you for seeing through my disguise of a servant girl and giving me the floor to speak. Thank you for a very much unexpected financial donation for the journey!

EVE and ERNESTO

Thank you for your time and attention to the case of Brian Umaña, and although there are no results yet, we truly appreciate the work and thought you have put into helping a boy you had never in your life met.

MARIANNE and KAREN

Your reaction to my plead for second-hand clothes came with cosmic speed. Every time I see the boys wearing one of the things you brought I smile! To many of them you made May feel like Christmas!

MAPI (María del Pilar Sánchez)

When I saw that you actually bought new shoes, I almost cried! Thank you so much for your help! I can not wait to give boys the presents tomorrow!

SPACES

I thank the house I lived in, the kitchen I worked in, I thank the Farm, Villa Ruth, Ciudadela, Casa Egreso, Villeta. I thank all the roads that I had to take that connected these places, the crazy bus that always broke down and the forever patient bus-driver. I thank the internet place that for some reason always had a discount for me or was free of charge, the culture house with all its opportunities for just being there, I thank the skies and the mountains for their beauty, I thank Mesitas for being such a great host and last but not least COLOMBIA which has welcomed me in a very special manner and which I am sure holds for me even more hidden treasures of wonderful memories that are ahead.

EVERY CHILD

Thank you for each look you gave me, each word you spoke to me, each smile, each sigh, each poem, each song, each dance, each letter, yes and even each dirty plate of yours you handed me to wash. I wish it was just as easy to make all dirty things clean, all the wrongs right, all the lies truth, make all scolding into praise, turn all tears into smiles, bitterness into sweetness and anger into joy! You were my teachers, I was your student - it is you that I owe most gratitude to:

THANK YOU!