Since my return from humanitarian efforts with the Chernobyl Children’s Project International (CCPI) at the Vesnova Children’s Asylum in Belarus, this past October 2005, I’ve been asked to write about my experience. For someone who enjoys writing, this has been the most difficult experience to write about. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve started, ending a few lines later with no where to go but just to sit with the feeling and most of the time…cry. How do I write about something that has no words?...Only a feeling, so profound, attached to each memory in my heart? How do I put words to the faces and the experiences of the children and the people I’ll never forget? I’m still trying to sort these images in my head and in my heart. In the following, I attempt to share some of the salient memories – memories that fill my heart and memories that haunt my solitary thoughts.

The next morning we were awakened by the sharp contrast to the midnight hour. Children moving through hallways, our door opening and closing – just to get a glimpse of the new arrival of volunteers. We learned early on that the lock on our door was our safeguard to securing any sense of privacy. These young people have a curiosity of everything outside the Asylum, and rightfully so they do. What did we bring? Invited and uninvited guests alike scan the table for something to eat.

A tour of the eight units of the Asylum was the first orientation round of the day. I felt like a pot of honey for bees as children clung to every limb, my waist - and then there were the ones that leap and, while airborne, manage to wrap their arms around my neck and legs, and around my ribcage. There is the child who looks at me at cries “Maaaaammmaaa!” over and over again, clutching to my shirt. Do I look like the mother who left him behind?...Or because I’m a woman, do I merely represent the image of a mother to any child there? I’ll never forget his tears and face of anguish – was my confusion over what was happening was some sort of betrayal to his plea for attention?

There is the image of children rocking back and forth, back and forth – hardly aware of our presence. In Unit 2, children sat on the floor, because they cannot stand. They scoot and slide to greet us as we cross the threshold of their room, the “mattress room”. There is one large mattress where the floor is soft. Then I wonder where the sharp smell of urine is coming from. The little boy in the red sleeper makes his way towards us. The light shines in from the window illuminating the wet trail behind him. I look closer and notice the shades of red in his sleeper. Up to his chest, it’s dark red, it’s wet red. I alert the caregiver on duty, motioning to my own bum and then pointing to his, I say “Pee-pee”. It becomes the international “word of the day”. This was my first experience watching a child being “handled”, let alone catching this entire sequence on film. He is taken across the hall, disrobed, left on the cold tile floor while a pot is filling with water. This was my first glimpse of a child with a genetic mutation. His spine, arms and legs reminded me of young leaves on a tropical plant that have not lengthened and opened yet. They remain curled and tucked – waiting for the right amount of sun, water and reason to open. I have no idea what the temperature of the water is. He is screaming and then curiously quiet, even stoic. The caregiver looks at me and shrugs her shoulders. The pot is full. He is placed in the pot (which is in a larger tub). No more than 30 seconds later, her is pulled out, dried off, dressed in another sleeper, taken back across the hallway to the “mattress room” to resume the socializing he had initiated. We exchange some touch, some smiles, exploring the straps on my bag, the length of my shirt, the funny printed fabric on my head and the pockets of my pants.

In another unit, there is a small group who hear us arrive and, in their excited alert, they can’t run fast enough to grab a hold of us, make motions of wanting their photo taken and then wanting to see the digital image. It’s the honey pot effect again. A young boy with Down’s syndrome giggles until I’m dizzy from swinging him around and asks for more swinging. Maybe if I change directions?....Oh, it’s a little easier until the motion catches up with me again and then I’m seeing stars. Does it matter?....Naaaaah! We’re having fun! Dizzy is fun! So we’re on the floor now, getting some ground, and there is a little girl who is clearly having trouble. It’s all too much for her. Quiet recognition.

The older kids that leave a salient memory are Sasha, Sveta and Misha, the Cobbler. Sasha is shy, doesn’t want to be seen much. The word around the Asylum is that he is depressed. Sasha is the “big” version of the little guy in the red sleeper. Sasha spends his days mostly in a wheelchair. He is a beautiful young man, strong body, a smile that sings and a brain that hungers for the books of doctors-to-be. Sasha knows what the world outside is like. He has visited Ireland on respite. Sasha knows dignity and opportunity. There is every reason why Sasha should be in school, studying to be a doctor. In Belarus, his body determines the fate of his brain. Sveta is the gypsy baby all grown up. 21 years ago, her family was passing though one day and literally left her behind when they moved on. Asylum life is all Sveta has known. Sveta is smart and she is strong. Sveta is “mother” to the little ones and thrives on her maternal responsibilities at the Asylum. When the invitation is open, Sveta holds hands, hugs and shares smiles. She is all grown up on the outside, carries the responsibilities of an adult, the dignity of a human - with the spirit of a child evident in every smile. Misha, the cobbler is a proud cobbler and now even more proud as he can speak. Fresh from surgery for severe cleft palate, he has a smile to show to every taker.

Unit 5 is where I spent most of my time. It’s the High Dependency Unit. These are the most ill of kids and usually the youngest of kids. Sergei learned to walk! Given a chance, Tanya can use a walker. Marina is all smiles, and then there is Maxim - little brave man.  We were alerted to the trend that each volunteer seems to develop an attachment to one child in particular. Maxim became “my guy”. On January 16, Maxim will be 6 years old. He looks like he is 3. At first look, his image is reminiscent of the children I’ve seen in the “Save the Children’ campaigns on television, emaciated, without movement and near death. Maxim was not expected to be alive when we arrived. Like many of the children there, Maxim has a form of Cerebral Palsy. He was abandoned at birth. He cannot speak, he does not cry; instead, he wails. He is visually impaired and, upon our arrival, had the worst bedsore I had ever seen. Maxim doesn’t really look at people, but that week, we often caught one another’s gaze, and I could not have been more smitten. I wonder if he ever thought about the funny lady who smiles, sings and cries all at the same time.

Each day, I woke for Maxim first. He is incapable of swatting the flies away, so it was a morning routine to wipe his hands and face with baby wipes. This is when I learned of his touch sensitivities. I’d watched the caregivers and nurses wipe him, and that’s when the wailing began. I tried holding the wipe in my hand for a while, warming it up and started slow. First, using resting hands without the wipe, talking to him, telling him how beautiful he is, and that’s why the flies visit him at night. He is just so cute they have to be near him! They don’t mean to leave specks behind, that’s just what flies do. That’s okay; we are here to wipe them off every morning. With a warmed corner of a baby wipe, I’d begin. Before the end of the first wiping session, I had a quiet Maxim, falling asleep and seeming content.

This was just the beginning. Everyday, I held Maxim for hours. I learned that he is easily startled – no one knew this. I learned how to hold him so his bedsore didn’t hurt any more than it would have to. I learned that he could see me. I sang to him, rocked him gently, walked with him and took him to the sunroom everyday. That week, I took the job of feeding him. I got him feeding from a small plastic spoon that I had saved from the airplane food service. We kicked the bottle and were finishing most of our cereal! Maxim had been malnourished because he could not keep food down. Something had changed. I have never been in the care of a child before, and this was working!

I could go on and on about the details of my days with Maxim and the children of Unit 5, but it would take pages and pages more. The important thing to note is that in one week, change occurred. Today, Maxim lives. His bedsore is healed, and I can’t wait to see him again. Leaving Maxim and the children of Unit 5 and all the children of the asylum in Vesnova was one of the most difficult things to do. I remember arriving and thinking “7 days and counting.” Arriving seemed hard at the time. Now, arriving is something I can’t wait to do again. When I think of going back, my knees and feet start to bounce – like when you’re anxiously waiting for something...It’s almost here, but just not quite yet, and you think you’re just going to burst! Leaving is the hard part. I came undone, slumped over Maxim’s bed. I cried so hard, it hurt. It hurt so much. The pain in my heart was reminiscent of the pain I’ve felt when someone close to me died. It hurt so much. I tried, I really did – I tried to contain the tears as I made the rounds to say “goodbye”, but I just couldn’t. I’m not sure what the children made of it – I most remember Marina’s face. The smiley little girl in Unit 5 who smiles at anyone who looks at her – such big heart-full smiles she has!...Only this time, her smile had look I’d never seem before. I can only go by my own interpretation, but it was like she didn’t understand my cry. What’s there to be so sad about? I believe that – I believe it for them – as this is all they know, and despite our own conclusions about where they live and the conditions they live in, it’s all they know. As long as there are people who care, they are generally content. My friend Michael had to pick me up and lead me out as I apologized to the children for leaving. I felt so guilty. I could have done more….yet, I would not have changed a thing. Part of me died that day and part of me came to life for the very first time.

I continue to receive praise, I am told the children are so fortunate to have had me there, how brave am I to have gone to this unknown region out in the middle of nowhere to visit a group of children that nobody knows and few care about. Many people admit that they wouldn’t be able to do it. I think they could – if they had to. I believe there is strength in all of us that many of us don’t know about, and the greatest strength is in children like the children of Vesnova. This is one week out of my life. I understand that by common western measure, that is brave. The children are the brave ones. The caregivers are brave – there are no queues forming around the block of the employment office for this job. They are eager to learn and were so open to allowing us the time and space to share our work. These children and all these people wake up every morning to the reality they live in. I get to go home. I am fortunate to have known these children. These children have far more to give than I could ever offer them, ever. It is my great fortune and honor to have shared time and space with these beautiful souls and for my life to be changed forever. Life will never be the same.

 

HOME AGAIN 

When I returned, it took 2 days to begin unpacking. I began pulling clothing from my bag. The smell…it was Vesnova. It was the Asylum. I started to cry and then I nearly started to panic. I kept pulling, frantically pulling more clothes from the bag. Did the next item smell more? How much of Vesnova could I extract from my bag? I cried, and then I sobbed. Finally, slumped over this pile of clothes on the floor, I became unraveled. Doug (my husband) ran in to the laundry room to see what was going on. I stood up, holding a shirt, I asked “Can you smell it? It’s Vesnova, it’s the Asylum, it’s the children. Can you smell it? Can’t you smell it?” My knees gave out as I sobbed. Doug held me up, he cried, and I cried out that I had not done enough. I could have woken up earlier in the morning. I could have missed more meal times. I know it was all emotions speaking, but it’s where I was at the moment. I needed that. It was good. I felt lighter afterward. It’s interesting that the very odor that struck me as I walked through the doors of the Asylum that first night was the odor that turned my stomach every time I had to walk through it, and now it was the very odor I was searching for, even craving – as to not let Vesnova go. This emotional release has happened many times since and with varying intensity. It’s our very private moment that I’m sharing to illustrate the depth of the impact something like this can have. It has taken one month for me to completely unpack. I realize now that I’ve been resistant to unpacking because it symbolizes that the trip is really over. Life will never be the same.

 

ANGELS AMONG US 

It's so important to me to share this. It’s a feeling that is so visceral, it's so difficult to put to words. I just returned from a short hike with my dog today, now Dec 7, 2005. I cherish this kind of time when I can watch him be free in the meadows of where we live. He runs with freedom, looking back every once in a while to make sure I'm still there -as we are each other’s guardians. It is also my time to think. My thoughts are free from phones and computers.....and I was thinking about breakfast. Being home affords me the time to reconnect with my best of friends. I had breakfast with a gal-pal this morning. We got together as a belated “birthday breakfast” for me. She gave me a gift. It's an angel that illuminates by the light of a tea candle that sits behind it. She said it reminded her of me, for the work that I do around the world. "You are an angel to those children in Belarus, you are an angel to the world, Suzanne.". I looked at her, and because we are so close, I knew it was safe to express exactly what I felt. I said, "I am no angel, the children are. They are the angels." In that moment, we looked at one another in realization. She reached out to hug me, and I become unraveled again - right in the cafe. There is a deep well of tears inside me, and each moment the well opens is unpredictable. I truly believe the children are the angels. They are here to remind us of our own good fortunes and to teach us there is joy to be derived from each day. I believe this with all my heart. Children are a reason for each day to be a celebration – all children.

Unplanned, I went to Unit 5 one day and saw Peter. Peter volunteers as a builder, and has one of the biggest hearts I know. Like all the other builders, he makes his daily rounds to visit the children. On this round, he noticed some of the bed frames needed repair. Without any further delay, Peter got to work. I walked in and we looked at one another. We hardly shared words - what we shared needed no words. Our eyes and our reach expressed the mutual admiration we have for one another and if there was a word, it was "amazing". "You are amazing" I said to Peter and Peter said to me, and then we both stood in the reality that this is only true because of the children. It is they who are truly amazing. Angels they really are, here to help us reach our highest potential as human beings. It is our role to help them fulfill their mission of sharing true humanity.

 

INTO THE VILLAGES

 

The blast at the Nuclear Power Plant in Chernobyl, Northern Ukraine happened 20 years ago this April 2006. That event became most real when we were called out into the neighboring villages. We met the “old people” of Belarus. Igor, one of the liquidators, from the clean-up and build-up project survived and lives in a little house in the country. Igor is from Uzbekistan, and like all the others who were called out for this job, he was not told of the dangers. He never returned home, due to chronic illness. CCPI staff visits him whenever they are out there. We collected our own food to take Igor a care package. It was interesting to be giving Igor directions on how to prepare Quaker Instant Oatmeal.

When CCPI is in town, families hear about it and they travel far distances to ask if CCPI can visit their home to help. We made some of these visits. One really memorable visit was to the apartment of a mother and her two girls. The place looks post-nuclear war. Given the situation, this is not a metaphor, really. We were greeted by stray dogs outside the building. We walked up this dark, broken and narrow set of concrete stairs. Up the first flight to the first door on the left. I could immediately smell potatoes boilng – as the smell streamed through the hallway. We walked in to be greeted by the Mother and one girl. The first thing that hit me was the heat on the apartment – it’s cold outside, and the contrast really struck me. Then the fly situation. The apartment is really tiny, so Jennifer and I scooted into the kitchen where the older daughter was siting. She is the main reason why we are here. She sat in the corner on a chair – barefoot, dirty bare feet. Nearly unaware of our presence, Jennifer and I made our way in with video cameras around the kitchen. I had to use the night vision setting. It was day outside, but inside it looked to be nightfall. This is when I noticed the chunks of lard on a plate on the tiny table, and covering the lard are flies. Flies are everywhere – hovering over the potato pot, sitting on the curtains, the walls, everywhere. It was like an infestation. Lard was breakfast, lunch and dinner. We move into the larger room to get a better look at the girls, and this is when Jennifer and I looked at each other and confirmed the overwhelming odor of mold coming from the walls. We could hardly stand it. We worked with the family and learned that the father left years ago. A man lives there now, but is not related – and he was not home at the time. We assessed the situation and left Mom with a parcel of food and massage applications to help provide sensory stimulation for the older girl – who is 19, but looks about 12. We made our way outside. Mom gave us pumpkin seeds as a ‘thank you’ gift….she couldn’t thank us enough. We accept them and give them away to the next family. Eating the locally grown food here is not a good idea – remember, the radiation is everywhere. Outside the moldy apartment building now, we are greeting by a number of women of the building. It’s a spectacle. We take photos and before we are on our way, one of our crew has a need for the toilet. She makes her way, escorted by another CCPI member to the outhouse that’s been pointed out for us. I thought of going, but decide, on intuition, not to. She came back, we got in our van and she announced that she couldn’t do it. Imagine the worst outhouse situation your mind can create – that’s it and probably worse…this is what she told to us. The shocker – that’s the only outhouse for two apartment buildings, and most families here have at least one child with special needs. Let your mind do the rest.

Belarus remains the hardest hit country from the fallout and is currently 99% contaminated. Belarus was considered the Breadbasket of Europe. Now, the people of Belarus are trying to survive, and the people outside of the capital city of Minsk are at greatest risk. The radioactive pollutants are in the ground and water and affect every aspect of their life. Cesium, a primary radioisotope, has a half-life of 72 years. The problems the people of this region are faced with will not peak for another 50 years. The event at Chernobyl changed their lives forever, and it changed mine – only I didn’t know it, really, until now, and I believe it will continue to change my life forever. Thank you, deeply, Belarus!

Practical Information:

April 26,1986: The Nuclear Reactor at Chernobyl, Northern Ukraine Explodes. Radioactive dust and debris blows by way of the wind that day – into the country of Belarus. Only 3% of the radioactive material contained at the nuclear reactor escaped that day. Today, 97% remains. With that, 99% of Belarus is contaminated (water tables, ground/earth and air – due to airborne contaminants). The sarcophagus that was built around the reactor continues to deteriorate. It’s stood strong 10 years beyond the life it was built for.

2006: Economic, Social, Industrial and Health Challenges continue to plague the people of Belarus. There is hopelessness. It’s palpable. So there is depression and alcoholism. The people are told that vodka will help flush the body of radiation. The alcoholism perpetuates the depression and then there is violence.

Physical and mental state is determined at birth. The English translation on the birth certificate of a child born with special needs is ‘Imbecile’. Imbecile! Their fate is sealed. Unwanted, they are taken in by the government.

How a child is viewed influences how a child is cared for. The label 'Imbecile' pretty much sums up the fate of the quality of much of the care these children receive.  

The role of CCPI is to keep families together. For the children who have lost their families, CCPI attempts to keep them in a stimulating environment, healthy, and safe from the dangers of typical government run institutions. Once the children outgrow the Children’s Asylum, they are moved to the Adult Asylum and live a life of hard labor. Because CCPI’s focus is the family and the child, they do not work with the adult Asylums, where the young adults are housed with the undesirables of Belarus: criminals of every kind, perpetrators, murderers, thieves and seriously mentally ill people. Sveta, Sasha, the Cobbler and every child in Vesnova will eventually end up in the Adult Asylum. It is our hope that we can provide them with the training, the skills and the sense of self and hope to survive.

CCPI rebuilds run down buildings. They converted a former Nazi headquarters into a beautiful community care and resource center in the town of Zitkovitchy. They are teaching families about herbal farming to grow immune enhancing plants. They train and hire people to staff these facilities and provide medical care and supplies, life saving surgeries, respite summers in Ireland, and they are joining efforts with Ali Hewson (husband is Bono of U2) to provide hospice care – something totally new to the people of Belarus. Pfizer Europe donated a tablet-making machine to make apple pectin tablets – a fat-soluble dietary fiber that is said to assist in extracting radioisotopes from the body. All these efforts are lead by Adi Roche and Sheila Byrne in Ireland and Kathy Ryan in the USA. Adi is CCPI’s founder, and she is one of the most extraordinary people I know. In Ireland and Belarus alike, she is local celebrity, but when in Belarus, she stays at the same hotel frequented by prostitutes, visits the scientists working at the Nuclear Reactor at Chernobyl, visits the families in the area and is committed to doing all she can in the life she lives.

My involvement started with seeing the movie Chernobyl Heart on HBO. My role, along with three other Americans, was to bring my area of work and skill to the efforts CCPI is making in Belarus. In my case, it is nurturing and compassionate touch: Baby Massage. I was one of three Americans to be the first to visit Belarus on humanitarian efforts with the CCPI - Ireland Medical Team. My colleague, Michael Curtis and I were the first to bring compassionate touch into the Asylum ever and Jennifer O’Dea was the first Pediatric Occupational Therapist to work as part of the team. Together with Nurse Aoife (pronounced ‘eefah’) of Ireland and our local translator and Physical therapist, Valentin, we facilitated positive change that week.

We did our best to reduce the risks associated with visiting this area of the planet. I didn’t shower, drank only bottled water brought in from outside Belarus, brushed my teeth with bottled water, covered my nose when walking in the fields and by all means, ate only food we brought ourselves. I went prepared with antibiotic packs and my own herbal pharmacy – all of which I left for the kids. Doug and I want a family, but we are advised to wait at leat 3 months after my last exposure.

I’ll be returning in February 2006 on another trip to assist the medical team in compassionate touch approaches with the children in Vesnova.I can’t wait!...and I imagine my life will change all over again. I still can’t wait.

One more note before I close: This paragraph is written on December 20^th, 2005 – I just received word from Valentin, the Physical Therapist and translator we worked with in Belarus. He works for CCPI and visits the Asylum in Vesnova on a monthly basis. He delivered news to me about Maxim – the little brave man I absolutely fell in love with. Maxim has gained weight, he’s eating and keeping it down (no kidding!), his bedsore is healed, he’s making eye contact, even smiling, and he doesn’t wail when he is touched. He sent photos, which I’ve posted in a sub-album on http://www.dougandsuzanne.com - and here, you can see the ‘Maxim of Unit 5’ (before) photos and the ‘Maxim Today’ (after) photos. Note: These improvements have occurred in less than two months since I worked with him and his caregivers. Oh gosh, I cried, I just cried! I cried and laughed, cheered and clapped my hands together – everyday is a celebration!...and today is a Big one! I called Doug in to see the photos, and he cried! Django (our dog) joined us in my office just to make sure everything was all right – it is all good news! I’m nearly jumping out of my skin – this is the BEST Christmas present ever! I can’t wait to see him again! Thank you, Valentin!

I suppose now, in the end, I’ve managed to write quite a bit, and it’s still deficient. It’s like talking about baby massage – I could go on for days! If you wish to learn more, please visit CCPI at http://www.ccp-intl.org/.

Thank you for sharing your time to learn more.

Suzanne P. Reese, Infant Massage Educator & Trainer and CCPI Volunteer