Culture Shock

The last few days have been difficult to express, so I'm going to try and paint you a picture.
It's a hot day in South Africa as you drive toward Khayelitsha where you will begin your first shift at the children's home. You are apprehensive as you make your way from the more established areas of south Africa towards the townships where few taxis venture. Standing in the fields  as you drive by are children no older than 12-13. They are prostitutes. You watch as they stand around in the hot sun, bones showing and vulnerable. Then your attention is drawn to the radio talking about a 6 month old baby who was raped by her uncle, and needed ten operations to repair the damage. Suddenly you come to the realisation that this is going to be an experience unlike anything you've ever known. You arrive at the children's home and go straight to your room in which you will reside for the next 6 days. It's guarded by 2 locked gates and 3 locks on the door for your own protection. Already you're mentally drained. You hesitantly make your way down to the baby room where you will meet the 12 children you're going to work with for the rest of your stay. You step around the corner and before you even know what's happening, there's 12 fragile bodies screaming at you with excitement at the chance for attention. Next thing you know, you're on the ground with 5 children climbing all over you, shoving their hands in your mouth and cuddling you. You look at them and try not to stare, but how can you not. One childs face is completely covered in freshly opened cuts. Another looks to be the result of FAS, and one barely has the capability to walk. He is one year old. You look at him with curiosity and wonder what his story is and where his parents are, but you will never know and neither will he. He is so fragile and ill. It's unlikely he will make it past the age of 12. As you play with the children, you begin to notice things. Their pot bellies from malnutrition. Their shoes that are 2 sizes too small, or too big. Collapsed rooves. Bits of glass all around the children's play area and possible hazards in every direction. In fact, the rooves are protected with scraps of water proof material held down by large bricks. You're only thoughts are, this would never happen at home. As you're feeding the children lunch, many  begin to nod off including the one year old who is bundled in your arms. Already, each and every child had captured your heart. Once they are in bed, you go on your break where you begin to reflect on what you have just seen. You try to remember the children's names and before you know it, your break is over. As you go to wake them, you're hit with the smell of poo. Most of the children have diarrhea, and it's not a pretty site. You clean them up, and throw away the 1000 used baby wipes and then some music starts to play. You walk out into the play room to see the children dancing, clapping their hands and singing. You take in the moment, absorb their laughter and your heart is warmed with love. Before you know it, you're laying in bed with thousands of thoughts resounding through your mind, when suddenly you hear the sound of a child screaming in agony outside the premises. The worst part is, there's absolutely nothing you can do. At that moment, a word pops into your head. Injustice. This word stays with you for the next few days as you witness more and more. The children are only allowed to drink one glass of water a day in this hot African heat. In result, you are constantly finding the children drinking out of the toilets. INJUSTICE. The children are covered in infected wounds that could easily be controlled with salt water, but they are not tended to, leading to infections and painful medical procedures. INJUSTICE. The children are then prescribed medication in which the carers neglect to use. INJUSTICE. You struggle to understand the carers and the way they do things but you struggle even more to comprehend that the children are better off in this home than they are with their parents. What's more, that they are some of the luckier children in Africa. Then it hits you, it's only day 3. You haven't even begun to understand the meaning of culture shock yet. However, you find yourself wishing that it was only day 1, because you know that come one months time it will be over and you will never see or hear about the wellbeing of the children again. Each child is so precious and unique and you plan to make the most of every moment with them. Every poopy nappy, snotty nose, tear, cuddle and smile  is worth it. They are worth it.