Mami

March 4

Few things touch my heart as much here as when a kid calls me mommy.

Benjo is fifteen or sixteen years old. Oh my goodness everyone in the world needs to know someone like Benjo. He is who he is. He is funny and clever and intelligent and kind. I love teaching him. We joked around with each other last semester, but ever since I’ve had him in class we have really become buds.

We have this ongoing joke because he jokingly took one of my gel pens (which I let him keep) and last semester I gave him my baseball cap as he really liked it and so every time he asks me for anything at all I say Really Benjo? You want that, too? You just want all my things? Do you want my clothes? Do you want my house?

Might sound not so funny but hey it makes him laugh and for joking around in Spanish I’d give myself an A+.

The other day I was sitting in the library by myself doing paperwork for hours. I was going through to see if all the students had the files they needed. There are 68 students, so it was taking a while. Benjo walked by. I yelled his name through the door to get his attention.

Si, Teacher? he asked, thinking I needed something.

How are you? I asked.

He smiled, walked over, and asked me what I was up to.

We talked for a little while. He tried to teach me the difference between two words in Spanish and I pretended really well that I understood what he was saying. He tipped my chin, smiled at me, and started walking out of the room.

Hey, Benjo! Your mom is really on top of it. She has all your paperwork in.

He looked at me. That’s you, is it not?

What? I asked, thinking he had misunderstood me. Your mom. She has all your paperwork in.

That’s you, is it not?

Ahhhhh I said smiling ear to ear. My son Benjo.

He left the room, that happy Benjo walk, that giant smile covering his face.

Yesterday little Josue was sitting next to me at the table. Bismar, a kid from last semester who holds the hearts of so many, was being ridiculous. Josue looked at me.

Your son is crazy, Teacher.

I laughed. Josue, what am I going to do with my son?

He sat a little closer to me and put his little arms around my neck.

I’m your son too, right Teacher?

Yes, Josue. You’re my son too.

Tonight during worship he gave me a giant hug and said I’m never letting go. I’m staying right here with my mom.

Since I live with the little boys, I pretty much spend most of my time with boys. Almost everything is segregated here. We sit separately for meals, for worships. We swim in different parts of the river.

But somehow I have managed to get really close to Fabiola. She was one of my students last semester. Every morning she would walk into class, throw her arms around me and say I love you so much, Teacher.

She wouldn’t go to recess without a hug and telling me how much she loved me.

Before I knew it she called me mom.

But this semester, I haven’t seen her as much as I haven’t had class with her. I can truly say I miss her. She is so joyful.

Thankfully she has come to visit me a few times at my house. And as a result, we are still close. And she still calls me mom.

Oh, Mami Darian. Te quiero mucho, Teacher. Te quiero mucho.

Tonight after supper I was walking out of the Big House when I saw her walking in. I held out my arms for a hug, but the normal smile didn’t stretch across her sweet face.

How are you? I asked. She didn’t respond.

Fabiola is always a bundle of laughter and joy, so I knew something was really wrong.

I took her outside and sat beside her on the step. She wouldn’t talk. Before I knew it kids were gathered all around, screaming and shouting and asking me questions and Fabiola just leaned her arm against my leg and her head on her hand and cried. After a little bit I took her over to another place, far away from everyone else.

She laid her head in my lap and lost control. She was really crying.

Fabiola, what’s wrong? I want to help you but I can’t when I don’t know what’s going on.

She was silent for a long time. Finally I heard her little voice speak through the tears.

Teacher?

Yes?

I am not happy here.

Silence.

Is it because there are so many new kids? I know it is a huge change. But Fabiola change takes time. It’s only been three weeks. And you are so sweet and kind. You are going to make friends. You just need to have patience.

Teacher I don’t have any friends.

But Fabiola you will. You will make friends. It will be okay. Just have patience.

Silence. And so, so many tears.

Teacher?

Yes?

I love you.

Oh, Fabiola I love you too.

Teacher?

Yes?

Can I go home with you tonight?

We walked together to her house so I could tell Courtney and Candace where she would be.

On our way over she wrapped her arms around me and said through her tears

I love you so much. I love you so much. You’re my mom. You’re my mom. I have a mom.

She waited outside as I went and told Courtney I had her. By the time I came back out she was a pile of tears. I walked her a little ways away from the house. She was gasping. She was crying so hard.

Fabiola, what’s wrong? Is it the same thing as before?

Teacher, I miss my mom.

Is your mom at your house?

Teacher, my mom is dead.

Please tell me what I am supposed to say.

Tell me what I am supposed to do.

Tell me how I am supposed to comfort this precious, beautiful, broken child.

Tell me how I am supposed to hear her call me mom for three more months and tell her I love her back and then walk away.

Please. Tell me.

Because I don’t know how.

I held her there for a while. Then we walked together to my room. By the time we got to my house she was singing and we lit a candle in my room and laid in my bed and talked and laughed and laughed.

And then I walked her home.

But I can’t stop thinking about her.

Before I left the house, I looked at her asleep in her bed, her little body curled up under her mosquito net, wearing the exact same clothes she wore to worship. I wondered if any of the girls told her goodnight and thought

Oh Fabiola how I really want to be your momma.