Open Heart Surgery

Tirichuli has no stoplights. Luckily, however, there are children in abundance, and though I live about 10 minutes from the ODAM office, the number of times I am brought to a complete halt by an onslaught of youngsters has made my journey long - I never leave the house without a due supply of water to get me through the haul. It works like this: In a morning daze, as I pass the local vendors, I turn onto a long dirt road. I am usually aimlessly wondering if the bug bites on my ankles will disappear, or if I'll develop another blister from my sandals. Sometimes I'm fretting about the state of my sari or hoping that today I will digest breakfast, when suddenly I will hear a single lone cry "PHOEBE!" And a speedy domino effect takes place. When I lift my head, where there was once a single child 50 feet in front of me, there is now a cluster of 25 charging in my direction, each screaming my name, holding out his or her hands; there is no escape. Although they all repeat my name with a host of variations "veebee, peevee, fifi, beefee and veefee" as they rush towards me, once they are close enough to touch me they scream "Mam, what is your name?! What is your name!" I drag them along with me, somewhat glad for the workout in a country where I seem to otherwise be eating every 5 minutes or recovering from what I ate, and I tell them my name, and my father's name and my brother's and my mother's, until satisfied that, once again, I have told the truth, they let go, and disappear, where to, I have no idea.

I had thought the stampede of children was confined to the roads. I had also thought when I embarked on this journey that I would encounter color, spice, communication barriers and goats. Little did I know that there are no limits in this country, and that as private as my heart may have been - did I not control, after all, how it functioned? - that it would no longer be mine, but in the care of each Tirichuli resident. I was not prepared for my emotional open heart surgery, though, apparently, I had made the appointment. The other night, 3 children rush into my room. I do not recognize a single one from the streets. They are laughing gaily, they pull me from my bed, they explore every inch of the room, gleefully exclaiming at my small flashlight, turning my water bottle in their hands with amazement, fixing my hair into a tight braid and smearing a very, very bright lipstick onto my face. Their attention and care and lightness of heart is infectious so when they insist that I put a long dress over the one I'm already wearing, and pull headphones over my ears I am ready for the next and most ridiculous order. And there I am, in true clown fashion, draped in two dresses with a line of red as bright and as thick as chili peppers adorning my lips, and when the music starts (their choice of "I would walk 500 miles"), which they can't hear, they scream "DANCE! DANCE!".I start an impromptu Irish jig, my braid braving the whir of the fan and the stomp of my feet, and those three, precious children can barely sit they are laughing so hard. And I am laughing too like I haven't in years and there is no yesterday or tomorrow, but just this.

What is this place I've come to? Nothing here is mine, we are all sharing together, and when you share your heart....oh, how big it is.