Who Was Helping Whom?

Our grandson, Calvert, had a great idea for his Boy Scout Eagle Project. His family was living in Germany at the time, and some friends told them about an orphanage in Meknes, Morocco that needed clothing for the 240 children in their care.  Calvert got to work and held a spaghetti dinner fund raiser, which brought in $1,500, enough, he hoped, to buy some clothing for the 238 boys and two girls in the orphanage. 

Why so many boys and so few girls? We were told that in Morocco boys are adopted much less frequently than girls. In addition, the only girls who were still at the orphanage were older, and families generally wanted to adopt younger girls who were thought to be less set in their ways and therefore easier to handle.

The orphanage social worker came with us to nearby Fez, built in the 9th century, and teaming with open markets and trading stalls. With her skillful bargaining powers and knowledge of the children, we stretched Calvert’s funds far enough to buy a piece of clothing for each child. 

One of the most fascinating sights in the market was a ladle attached to a pole by a thin chain next to a hand pump with a bucket underneath it. Passersby picked up the ladle, dipped it into the bucket, and eagerly sipped the water. No one cleaned off the ladle or seemed the least bit concerned about sharing it.  As thirsty as we were, we couldn’t bring ourselves to use it to get a drink. Were we wimps? I think not, just prudent as we were very far outside our usual microorganism biome.

The two girls at the orphanage came with us to the market, and we quickly felt a bond with each of them. Even though we all knew that in all likelihood they would live in the orphanage for just a few more short years before being turned out to make their way in the world on their own, the girls relished in the moment and seemed to enjoy every minute of the outing.

We decided to buy the girls a treat and selected a big chocolate bar. Both girls wanted to hold our hands as we walked down the narrow, crowded streets. Every time they wanted to take a bite of chocolate, they let go of our hands, moved the chocolate from their left hand to their right hand, took a bite, then put it back into their left hand, reached for us with their right hand and held on tightly. We later learned that in Morocco it isn’t polite to eat anything with the left hand.

Reminiscing on our walk through Fez, I am struck by the thought that while there was value in the tangible gifts we gave, we received at least as much, if not more, in return through the valuable lessons we were taught of the power of gratitude and the joy of savoring each moment of life as it unfolds. 

Here's to Failing Forward, 

Calvert and Anne