Santos

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the favorite tv show of most Ugandans, and most of my kids, is none other than a Spanish soap, “La Tormenta” dubbed over in English. Every day another episode in the exciting drama is broadcast multiple times, so if you miss the first three showings, don’t worry, you can catch one of the other showings.

Having never been a soap watcher, I find it ironic that upon coming to Ug I am exposed to not only a soap opera, but a SPANISH soap opera on a semi regular basis. The show has many characters, all involved in some kind of small town drama; death bed confessions, secret marriages, secret wills, and a canteen (or bar or something??) called “la tormenta” which is the center of all the chaos.

I generally zone out whenever it is playing, so I don’t know the characters, or really what is going on in the show, but my kids sure do. One of the lead characters on the show is a macho hombre by the name of “Santos Toriaba”. I am actually looking forward to the next forced viewing of the soap so I can figure out which character he is, and hopefully gain some insight into one of my boys here at the children’s home.

Let me introduce you to my “Santos”. There is a young boy here at the children’s home who came in 2007, around the time I was leaving, so I didn’t really have the opportunity to get to know him. He is an unassuming child, moves to his own beat if you will. You are just as likely to find him playing with the other kids as to find him alone, just being by himself. He is only in second grade, but carries himself like he is much older. He walks tall, keeps his own counsel, and views outsiders with skepticism. All the other kids love to get hugs from their Aunts, they love to tell us stories and interact with us, join us in our silly games, and greet us every morning. Santos keeps to himself.

When CC and I first came to UG in 2006 one of the biggest things we did was introduce “hugs” to the kids. We were told not to hug the kids as many of them had come from recent loss (parents died), or from really bad home environments (abuse). The no touch ban lasted for about a day. It just didn’t make sense not to hug hurting kids. It took a while for them to get used to the concept, but the day came when we were no longer just giving hugs to hurting children- they were asking for hugs and giving them in return.

Fast forward to today: the original kids still love getting hugs, and give some of the best bear hugs there are, the new kids have been introduced to hugs by the older ones, and even the young neighborhood children run for hugs every time they see us. Not Santos.

I still like to remind the kids at the children’s home what a hug means- it means I see them, they are a special kid, and knowing them brings joy to my heart. Each day I am make sure I hug each child at least once. Generally they all get dozens throughout the day; taking a break from running around they come to lean against us, first thing in the morning they come for their morning hugs, you get the picture right? Not Santos.

I would watch this “old” young boy and wonder what he was thinking. Can any child be that independent? Is it really possible that he doesn’t need someone to “see” him; or has he just convinced himself that he can make it on his own?

Bekah and I shoved two big tables together in the large room so each meal time we can all eat together. While waiting for dinner I make my rounds, joking with the kids, giving hugs, reminding them to wash their hands before eating. We pray together and then talk about our day. All the kids chime in with their two cents, not Santos. One night I made it a point to try and draw him into the conversation. I kept asking him questions and he wouldn’t even look up, just kept eating.

It isn’t as though he is shy, or moping, he isn’t fearful looking or timid, he just has an air of separation about him. You know how in movies they portray the misunderstood adolescent? Kind of James Dean, rebel without a cause; he is not a bad kid, just too old for his age. Is that making any sense?

I decided not to press the issue at the dinner table; just dropped the questions. After eating though we cleared the table, had our nightly family meeting, and sent the kids off to bed. I gave them all hugs. Santos remained seated. Hugging him in his chair I whispered “do you know what this is? It is a hug. It means I see you, you are a special kid, and I am happy to know you” and then I walked away.
For the next two days I continued seeking him out, repeating the same mantra, hugging him, and continued inviting him to join the conversation. He would remain silent, not responding, not engaging. The second night, at the dinner table, I addressed a question to him, with no response. “Wahurida? AB, are you hearing me?” He looks up, and says, “You can call me Santos.”

Santos? Bek and I looked at each other from across the table, shrugged, and the kids all began laughing. That’s when we gathered that Santos Toriaba is a character from “La Tormenta”. So I readdressed my question to “Santos”, and got a monosyllabic answer in reply.

The next morning, much to my surprise, Santos had cut the sleeves from his nice white polo shirt; cut the sides down in big arm holes. (Have you ever seen my dad’s favorite yard shirts or work out shirts? The ones he makes for himself? Yep, just like that) One of the older kids explained to me that Santos Toriaba wears shirts like that. Got it… not a big deal really, but an interesting development. From that point on, AB has become Santos. All the kids call him Santos now, as do Bekah and I. Ironically “Santos” seems to fit him so much better that his other names.
It was like a crack in his shell. When I began calling him Santos, and the others joined in, he somehow softened. “Santos, what is this?” I asked him the following night. “A hug” he whispered back. “And what does it mean?” I said “You are happy to know me” he whispered.

One late afternoon I called him and two other boys to join me in the field. We are going to compete I tell them, who can catch the most grasshoppers? They look at me skeptically and I see Santos crack a smile before quickly covering it. (Catching grasshoppers and chasing the other kids is one of his hobbies… the girls always squeal). For 30 minutes me and my three boys catch as many as we can (I can catch them no problem, it is the holding them in my hand that I struggle with). Santos is the clear winner (he keeps the caught ones in his pocket… brilliant!) We walk back to the house together and he walks with us.

Santos walks tall. He keeps his own counsel. The air of independence is still strong; but he no longer views us as outsiders. He is quietly joining me in my activities, participating, and even laughing.

Today after lunch he came and asked me to play a game of uno with him; just the two of us. His smile is great, his stoicism and aloofness are mere hints of what they were two weeks ago. We laughed together, and he beat me by three cards.

Tonight after dinner I will again make my rounds, giving each child a bed time hug and wishing them sweet dreams. I will hug Santos for an extra second, because now he knows- I see him, he is a special kid, and I am so happy to know him.