Casa Jackson

Before my first day at Casa Jackson (the center for malnourished infants), I could not have possibly imagined the stress, chaos, and physical exhaustion that would come with being there. Recently, all of the babies at the center (around 20) have been sick, so everyone is quarantined to their own room and sanitation is even more important than normal. Yesterday our group of seven spent the morning scrubbing every room’s walls and floors free of unknowable grim and dirt using brooms. All the babies had to be shuffled around in their giant cribs so we could clean, making maneuvering around the building quite a challenge. On top of all that, it was "visiting day" so there were a lot more parents than normal, making it that much more crowded. 

I was not prepared for just how heart breaking it would be to sit with this babies-- many of which have swollen bellies from their malnourishment, yet still don't want to eat or won't take a bottle. Some have severe skin problems, many have low muscle tone and trouble breathing and although some are over 2 years old, none can say a single word. They cry and scream and just want to be held and sung to, and it hurts each time I have to walk away. 

I spoke with one of the mothers (as best I could), who was visiting and staying with her son yesterday. She couldn't have been any older than twenty and her son fifteen months and new to Casa Jackson. She told me she is there five days a week and her husband comes for the other two. She asked me a few questions about where I was from and I explained why we were there. She asked if I had kids. In that moment I felt insignificant in my life experiences, and unworthy of my position-I will never understand what it’s like to be in her position, a young mother in deep poverty, hoping that her son will survive and thrive. Although our conversation was brief and shallow due to the language barrier, her youthful face will stay with me. It was hard for me to look into her eyes, which looked sad and tired, and tell her I go to college; and that I get to walk away in a few weeks and not have to deal with that stressful, loud environment every again.

In the mile long walk back to our hotel, we mostly go in silence. At the end of just a four hour shift there, our fatigue is profound and our stomachs grumble. It’s hard to imagine being there as a worker for more than a week, let alone a parent of one of the children.