Western Mom - Eastern World

Slum-Dog Curly Hair

I’m not sure how to write this post. I’ve just had this overwhelming sense of gratitude for the strength of character that God has given my son. In a world where he is constantly judged, excluded, laughed at and pinched, he continues to love everyone and offer himself as a friend to anyone who will accept him. 

Example? Yesterday we took him to KFC because they have an indoor playground. There were a couple kids playing already when we arrived. Mavvo took his shoes off and started toward the slide. When he got to the top, both of the kids who were already up there, hurried down, laughing and saying, “A white kid! A white kid! Run! Don’t let him touch you!”

This was not the first time that something like this had happened. In fact, it wasn’t even the first time this week. Mavvo played by himself for a few minutes, then he came over and told me that he wanted to play with “Kakak” (older brothers and sisters/ friends). He said, “they run away”.

I told him that they were just shy because they can’t speak English. I encouraged him to go over and invite them to play, in Indonesian. He did the first part. He walked over to the kids, who were a few years older than him, sitting at the table with their parents. He gently held the little girl’s sleeve, and said, “Ayo, Kakak. Let’s play. Come on”- mixing his languages together as usual. 

The girl pulled away, screamed, and hid under the table. Her brother followed. 

Mavvo came back and said, “Kakak is hiding”. Feeling bad for him, but not wanting to teach him to say bad things about other people, I suggested that maybe they were just tired and didn’t want to play on the slide. I offered him his toy trains that he had brought with him, and told him that he could go play on the slide, by himself, with his trains. 

He took the toys, walked to the bottom of the slide and stopped. He turned around and went back to the table where the kids were whining to their mom because-they-wanted-to-play-on-the-playground-but-there-was-a-“weird boy”-there. Mavvo lifted his arms up over his head and plunked his toy trains down on their table. 

“I’ll share my trains with Kakak”, he said. When they didn’t respond, Mavvo took a train and put it in the boy’s lap. “Ayo, let’s go!” he said. And the three of them ran off together. 

This is a pretty typical scenario. Mavvo arrives… playground empties. It’s hard for him to make friends, because not many children will give him a chance. But there is one place, though he was excluded there at first too, where Mavvo has real friends. The slum. 

This is the slum where we have our little church. It’s actually pretty nice for being such an ignored part of the city. Or maybe I just think that because I’ve been in African slums? Anyway, here are a couple (terrible quality) pictures of the church. 

There is a little boy named Vian who’s parents live near the church. He is two months younger than Mavvo and they have been buddies since they could walk. They are so cute together! Mavvo speaks mostly English and Vian speaks mostly Javanese dialect, but they communicate amazingly well. They hug, kiss, share toys and food… all the things real friends should do. 

Last week, while my husband was in church, Mavvo and I were playing with Vian and his mom. When Vian made a trip to the public bathroom, Mavvo ran over to a neighbor’s house. There were several little kids sitting on the front porch. Uninvited, Mavvo went right on into the empty house, plopped himself down on the mattress that was on the floor, and sat there watching Tom and Jerry in Indonesian. 

I apologized to the woman who’s house it was. She didn’t mind. Eventually, all the other kids followed, including Vian. They jumped on the bed, sang along with Indonesian karaoke-style children’s songs, took turns dancing with a tattered doll and for the most part, got along beautifully. It felt so good to see my boy playing with other children who loved him. His smile didn’t fade all night long.

We stayed well after church had finished, walking the alleyways and meeting new people. By the end of the night Mavvo was filthy, from head to toe. He had eaten spoonfuls of several strangers’ dinners, been invited into houses of people we’ve never met, been treated to more than one jelly-skewer (Yupi) and even given a brand-new toy fire-truck! And all this by people who are underprivileged, ignored by the government, and are living in a slum. 

I have to say, and I’m sure Mavvo would agree- that slum feels much more like home than the middle-class playground at KFC. In fact, Mavvo is so comfortable there, in the dark, damp alleys, that I gave him a new nickname… Slum-dog Curly Hair. Lame, I know. But it fits, right?