Robenson Joy having some oatmeal

All cleaned up on my bed

I found him naked, covered in bugs, sitting in the dirt in a dark corner. When we walked into the house, no one was in sight. The mother was off to work and the neighbors were busy doing laundry. There was no one in the two room hut and I would have turned around and walked out had I not heard what sounded to be light knocking. I looked down and saw him there. His name is Robenson Joy. He is five years old but physically and developmentally looks to be 2 year s old. It was unclear to me what he had but it seemed to be cerebral palsey. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t chew and would drool all over himself with his spitting tongue. He only had a few teeth and even those were rotting out. He had no control over his arms and legs. While he couldn’t move his legs at all, he would sometimes thrash his arms about uncontrollably. He couldn’t do anything but sit there in that corner. The mother, 23 years-old, has to leave him every day for work because there is no one to watch him and as a single mother, she was responsible for bringing food to the house.

I had heard of this little boy from a friend who was working in the area just a few days prior. He had informed me of the situation and asked if there was anything we could do. At 9:30 this morning, he took me to see the family. My heart sank when I saw him there. What struck me most was his smile. I kneeled down to squeeze his hands and a big smile spread across his face equipped with two large dimples. A neighbor was passing by and when I told her that I was planning to take him away to where he can be better taken care of, she smiled and said “Mesi, Bondye” (Thank God). She gathered some water in a bucket and a bar of soap and offered to bathe him for us. She knew the mother and said that she would be so thankful if we could find a safe place for him. By the time she was putting his shoes on, the mother returned from the fields she was working in and greeted me with a kiss. I explained to her that I would be going to La Charite (Mother Theresa’s organization) and that I was going to plead the little boy’s case and ask the sisters to take him in. I told her that they have a wonderful room upstairs where he will be with other children like himself and will work with a physical therapist every day. I also warned her that if they said no and couldn’t take in another child, that I would have to return with him until we could come up with another option. She understood and asked me to try anyways. All I had was a motorbike, and just enough room to bring Robenson with me. I told her that she could visit him in town anytime and to give him a kiss in case she may not see him for a while.

When I arrived at La Charite, I met with the mother superior and pleaded Robenson’s case asking that they take him in. I told her that we couldn’t bring him back to the conditions he was living in. It was amazing that he had survived this long. She gave me the ok and we brought him upstairs to start his very first physical therapy session with Cassandra, a physical therapist and Shirley, an OBGYN nurse from Maine. I’ll be making the 5-mile trek to see his mother tomorrow morning to give her the good news.

I had to take a minute and write this out because I can’t stop thinking about him and how I found him. I can’t close my eyes without seeing him sitting there on my bed with clean clothes, that big smile and looking at me as if he’s known me his entire life. He never cried and he never pulled away. When I would put my arms to him, he would push his body forward to fall into me. I know that he will be loved and cared for at Mother Theresa’s but there’s still something about taking him from his mother that is driving me absolutely crazy. A child’s connection to his mother is unlike any. It kills me to know that he won’t be there for her to kiss anymore. That she can’t hug him or come home from a hard day’s work to find him there waiting for her. I don’t know if she’ll ever decide to go and visit and I fear that if she doesn’t, he’ll grow up not knowing of his mother who did the best she could taking care of him.