CUSCO ORPHANAGE

By Mark Gambol

The moment I walked through the large wooden doors at that orphanage I knew I would be changed for better, not worse. The children were laughing, giggling, with a fascination that I had not experienced before. They were surrounding me to see who I was. They seemed to be looking for the attention that they so desired and deserved.

It was a situation that I was not expecting. I was being climbed on and pulled in every direction possible. Some children wanted a hug from a complete stranger while others were looking for a high five and a smile. They just wanted someone to know that they were alive. And this was the way it was for the next seven weeks. I would be at the center of their world if only for a brief moment in time. And all I had to do was show up and just be there, ready to offer a smile, a hug… friendship.

One of the most amazing things that I observed in this time, and I don’t know how it was this way, were how happy the children were. There was always laughter running around the courtyard and smiling faces to go along with those laughs. But it wasn’t the kind of sound you expected to hear. These sounds were coming from children who couldn’t hear, or speak. It was a muffled, wordless sound. You could tell it was laughter and yet it wasn’t a familiar laugh. It was like the sound a one year old makes as they discover their own voice but are not sure where it is coming from or how they make it or put it all together.

It was just a noise at first but then it started to come across as a language of sorts. It was a language all its own, spoken by those who could not hear it to those who could not respond to it. There was frustration on my part to understand any of it let alone tell the child I could understand them. Sometimes I would just smile back and they seemed to accept that as an answer. At other times you could see their frustration. Eyes would roll back and heads would turn up as they tried to make you understand what they were saying. Even if you never understood their meaning and what they were trying to say, they would still laugh, their way of course, and go about playing with their friends. All having a good time but never hearing how much fun they were having.

How could these children always appear to be so happy? They were inside the walls of the orphanage day in and day out. Hardly ever getting past the great wooden door that kept them inside like prisoners, prisoners from the outside world and prisoners from the sounds of all life’s treasures. Singing birds, street musicians songs, the laughter of their friends, or the sound of the rain falling on the roof telling them that, before they wake up, they were going to need their raincoats.

I tried to make sense of their world in my own thoughts and experiences. Could I be happy without hearing? No. Would I miss the sound of my daughter’s laughter? Absolutely. (It could be the greatest sound I have ever had the pleasure to hear). And do these children who smile so eagerly and welcome in a complete stranger without compromise understand what they are missing. Can you truly miss what you never had or experienced? I hope they don’t was the only answer I could come up with.