Wishing Words

Another morning in the park, and one which has brought a smile lasting for the rest of the day. It began with the usual search for two shoes the same size and two same size shoes which fitted Deepa. It is always a mission as I kneel down searching through the small cupboard as Deepa retains our connection by holding onto my head, and more often then not enjoying to unwrap my head scarf revealing my wiry hair which the tricky lice love so much. Then the activity will attract kids from the active section – usually the little Chinese boy who will jump on me before finding a suitable patch of my skin to blow raspberries on, and a little boy who has a crush on Deepa – or rather finds great amusement watching Deepa's response to the random toys which he loyally and courageously brings for her.

After the shoe puzzle has been solved, and the attention of the mini army of active children re-distributed, the next hurdle is any last demands from the Sister. Today it came with two conditions the first of which was : “Make sure she wears a hat” to which I replied by holding up the blue woolly beanie. And then the follow up “comb her hair before you put the hat on.” I managed to exit without performing this second task, as Deepa no longer has any hair left to comb, after it was all shaved off military style. In fact she is still mistaken for a male missionaries cadet. Trying to put the beanie on as she walked to temporary freedom was hilarious, and I laughed a 'thank you' to the Sister for the amusement. Deepa usually hates anything on her head, but today after pulling it off with lightening speed reactions, she tried an alternative tactic and pulled it all the way over her face. Genius. Her nostrils and mouth were free, and this way she was saved from the cheek pinches from the random Sisters and nosey visitors.

Into the park and Deepa flew up the slide just to sit on the top and listen to what appeared to be silence, or perhaps it was the yells from the bigger orphanage nearby, or the stealth like climbing of the local builders as they scaled the bamboo scaffolding, or the craw craw of the crows. Who knows – but she listens while I try to imagine what she might possibly hear. Her ears continue to be much more attuned to life than mine. Eventually she began to push herself down the non-slidey slide and found my arms at the bottom.

Flicking the small blue beads on my bracelet as she led me over to the sea-saw, the precision of each of her step left me (as always) so proud. Once on the sea-saw today she was super happy...the hinges were singing a high pitched and croaky creaky song, which Deepa hadn't heard before. Sitting back to front with the hat pulled over her eyes she listened as I slowly pushed the sea-saw up and down. When I stopped she protested with a loud and clear order of 'Abar' – 'again'. With immediate thoughts of Climber Woman, while smiling out a 'Hurrah Deepa' and sending her back up towards the sun to the sound track of the sea-saw, I was reminded of the knowledge and abilities which Deepa does have, but only chooses to share, when the time – or the silence is right.

Deepa hasn't said many words since I have returned, but she is continuously making sounds – a big improvement from last year. But her memory of 'abar' was obvious as she successfully gained a little control over her amusement but commanding me to continue. Perhaps it is because the order doesn't always work, or perhaps she lacks confidence in saying the words she clearly has the ability to pronounce and the intelligence to understand. But by providing her with a space to explore the words without pressure is definitely a winning technique and exactly the same pattern was repeated moments later on the swing; as soon as we stopped swinging, the magic words filled the silence as Deepa loudly and clearly said 'abar' - again and again. My cheers and Deepa's words caught the attention of a visiting Swiss man, who appeared to use the momentous moment to share his own victories and frustrations...

The visiting Swiss man was with his soon-to-be daughter. His soon-to-be-daughter was holding her new present of a pink balloon and sitting quietly as her father-to-be pushed her swing round and round. “She doesn't yet understand” said her father-to-be . “My son was easier. We adopted him from the disabled section three years ago. They told us he was 'retarded' but now he is fine”. A promising fable. He returned to speak German to the little soon-to-be-daughter who tomorrow he will take from the orphanage to begin a totally new chapter of her young life, with the only continuity being the new brother she has not yet met.

Later Deepa took me over to the same merry-go-round swing and stood in front of a painted pink seat with a million dried birds poops on. With perfect control over her body language, she stretched her arms out as an instruction for me to lift her up. As I did so she held on to the cool chains and waiting while I began the momentum of the invisible spin. I stood back as the merry-go-round swing continued its job. DDeepa sat, shoulders curling into her body, woolly beanie pulled deep over her eyelashes.

I wonder what she imagines the spinning swing is? If she imagines colour. If she realises why the park is so quiet and the nursery so full of noise? If she knows why I come and go? If she knows the importance of the sounds around her? Talk to me Deepa. I want to know you. I want you to take your power. I want to fight this fight with you. I want to speak with you.

I wish we could speak.