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The boy appears to
be mentally limited. He resides in a state
orphanage for teen orphan boys in Oradea .
Somehow in his mind, he believes it is his job
to push a wheelbarrow around sweeping up fallen
leaves. He doesn’t realize that as soon as he
sweeps up the leaves more will fall. When there
are no leaves, he spends hours pushing the empty
wheel barrow around the concrete courtyard.
On the day of our
visit, the boy finds a treasure in a pile of
leaves. He finds a baby bird. I hold my breath
wondering if he will squeeze the life out of the
bird. But, he is quite gentle. He holds it up
very carefully to show the other boys. He throws
it up in the air to see if it can fly away. The
bird flutters to the ground. Then I think he
might take it to his room to care for it.
Surely, it will die.
Then, the boy
does something amazing. Carefully, he lifts the
bird and places it on the roof of a nearby shed.
He stands looking at the bird and then returns
to his wheel barrow to continue with his “work.”
Somehow, this boy instinctively knows that the
little bird needs its mother. The only way for
the bird to survive will be if its mother comes
back to rescue it.
Oh, that this boy
and the others locked behind the high “prison”
walls of the orphanage could be rescued. These
boys are our friends. We play with these boys at
camp in the summer. They are the ones who return
to Popesti during the Christmas holidays. FCE’s
volunteers have known many of them when they
were little boys at Popesti orphanage. After
their 8th year at Popesti “special”
school they are sent to the Oradea orphanage to
continue their schooling . . a dead-end place
for the boys. After this, maybe they can get a
job making shoe laces in a factory.
Fred and I and a
few of the Popesti volunteers visit with Farkas,
Gyuri, Cipri, Mihai, Sorin, and Florin. A
friendly staff person chats with us. He says he
has worked as dorm staff for eight years. He
hopes to be able to do some sports with the
boys. I wonder if that will happen. Right now,
the only place they have outside is a bare
concrete courtyard with piles of rubble and high
cement walls. In the center is a basketball hoop
with no net. There are no balls to play with.
All of these teenage boys . . . with TV as their
only activity. Sadly, we give goodbye hugs, huge
metal doors close with a bang behind us and we
walk out to the street. From the outside no one
would know about the “broken wings” waiting to
be set free.
Blessings,
Karleen
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