Cazeau. It was as it always is: Indescribable.
I realize that in all three sets of journals from my previous trips, I’ve never even attempted to put Cazeau into words. It’s always seemed so futile.
So here’s at least an attempt: If you can imagine the feeling of being hugged by 70 amazingly beautiful little children simultaneously, with at least two of them kissing you on each cheek, twelve of them running their figures through your (curiously Caucasian) hair, and some unknown combination of them removing your watch and then putting it back on again – upside down – repeatedly, over and over again…that just barely scratches the surface.
I don’t know if other people have had this same experience, but for me – at both orphanages, in the various schools, and around in the different villages – there’s always one child that you seem to end up having an extra-special connection with. Maybe there’s something about them that gets your attention, and you feel drawn to them…or maybe there’s something about you that gets their attention, and they seek you out…or maybe it’s both. I’m not really sure. I just know that it always seems to happen for me that way.
So for me, at Cazeau, right from my very visit, among all the amazing children, there has been one who has had a special place in my heart. I have never learned her name, but have always just called her “my little angel.” If you’ve seen any of my previous journals, you’ve seen pictures of her with both me and my daughter Bethany (photos below).
No one knew we were coming, but Sonja and John – sole caregivers for the 72 children at Cazeau – were amazingly gracious and hospitable as always. When we first arrived, the throngs of children immediately crowded around us. I saw the one little girl I was looking for – she first grabbed Carl’s hand, and then came running over to me. Again, knowing even just a minimal bit of Creole made all the difference in the world…
I stooped down and said softly in (probably ill-pronounced) Creole, “Do you remember me?”
Apparently my pronunciation wasn’t too horrible, because she nodded her head and smiled.
“What is your name?” I asked her.
I couldn’t hear her the first time, so I asked her to please repeat it. This time I heard, “Sherlonda” (pronounced Share-lan-da’). I repeated it back to her to make sure I was saying it right, and she nodded and smiled even bigger.
I spent the rest of our time there with her pretty much glued to me, along with the twins (Fanika and Janika, photo at top), several other little girls and boys, and – at times – all of the children simultaneously. We would take turns singing to each other – them to us, us to them, and all of us together on the songs we all knew.
As always, the only bad thing about Cazeau is having to leave Cazeau.
