Page 8 of River
CHAPTER 2
Bali
The moment we arrived in Bali, my senses were bombarded with impressions. The streets were narrow and in poor shape. The shops were colorful and nothing like back home. I felt like I’d stepped into a different world with the strangeness of the sounds and smells.
I’d traveled extensively, but always in Europe or other western countries. My eyes were wide open as we drove through the streets, and I tried to take everything in.
Palms and flowers were everywhere, and within thirty minutes of driving, I already understood that Indonesia was a country with incredible craftsmanship. They had intricate statues of animals and humans in their roundabouts and along the street.
One thing that scared me was the amount of traffic and how a million scooters were zigzagging in and out between the cars.
“Oh my God, Max.” I pointed ahead to a scooter with a whole family out together. The father was steering with the mother sitting behind him and two children between them. The mother also had a baby strapped to her back. None of them were wearing helmets.
“It’s the way of Indonesia,” Maximum said and didn’t look shocked at all.
We drove for an hour and a half until we finally pulled into a narrow street and stopped in front of an iron gate with exotic flowers overflowing the surrounding wall.
“This is the hotel,” Maximum told me and paid the taxi driver. “It’s only a ten-minute walk from the orphanage and will give us a place to breathe.”
Once inside the gate, we found a charming boutique hotel that was clean and welcoming, with a lovely little pool. We only stayed long enough to unpack and shower before we walked to the orphanage.
My steps slowed when we approached the building. If I’d been here alone on vacation, I would have passed the place without a second thought. Part of the building’s façade was crumbling. Windows were cracked and the green paint was chipping off. It would have been easy to take the sad place for uninhabited if not for the four children sitting on the doorstep watching us.
“Hi there.” Maximum waved at them, and it made them light up.
“Mr. and Mrs. Robertson?” Their pronunciation of our last name sounded a little funny, but Maximum understood and nodded and confirmed that we were here to see them.
It touched me to see their happiness and the way they opened the door and called for their friends. Soon we were surrounded by excited children pulling us inside.
The leader of the orphanage was a local woman named Maya, who had lived in the US for six years when she was younger. She was in her mid-forties but looked older with her gray hair and dark circles under her eyes. I instantly liked Maya. She had a beautiful warm laugh and showed us around with pride even though the facilities were horrendous.
“This is where we do most after-school activities.” She pointed to an outside area nestled between the three buildings, which formed a U. “Let me show you their rooms.”
I gaped when I looked into the first bedroom. The walls were green like on the outside and seemed equally old and uncared for. The ceiling had black spots, which concerned me because it looked like mold. The floor was covered by large white rectangular tiles, but many of them were cracked. My eyes fell to a stack of seven dusty and dirty mattresses pushed against the wall, and the closet with a door hanging loose. There were no windows in the room, and it smelled like a damp basement.
“How many sleep in a room like this?” I asked Maya.
“Right now, we have ten girls sleeping in this room. Over here, we have a smaller one for the six boys, and in the third room, we have myself and the two babies.”
Maya showed us around, and it was the same as in the first room. It was hard for me not to wrinkle my nose up when we came to the bathroom, which was tiny, dark, and offering nothing more than a hole in the floor and a shower hose connected to a small sink with a mirror on the wall.
I had never seen poverty like this and followed Maya and Maximum without saying a word.
The small kitchen was also like no kitchen I’d ever seen before.
“How often do the children eat?” Maximum asked.
“Three times a day, breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
The children looked well fed. A few of them looked shy and kept their distance, but the rest were smiling, and I even had three girls around the age of six or seven who followed me and hugged me every time we came to a stop.
“River and I have rented rooms close by. What time do you want us to come in the morning?”
“We have a guest house for volunteers.” Maya pointed to a small building in the same miserable condition as the rest of the place.
“Thank you, but we already paid for the rooms.”
Maya and Maximum discussed the practicalities of what time she needed the most help. She explained that the older kids were helping the younger children with homework and that every child had chores depending on their age.
