Yayasan Kasih Peduli Anak

Yayasan

Bali is known as a paradise where there is no violence, no crime, a perfect tropical paradise somehow where the grace of the people is beyond the normal stresses of the regular world.

The mistruth of this impression was expressed to me by my fourth driver named Wayan, Wayan Ubud., “well, if they told anything else to the tourists, they wouldn’t come.”

Everything in my existence here has changed since I started volunteering at Yayasan Kasih Peduli Anak –lit. Loving Care for Kids shelter.

Ibu Putu, a lovely, heavy-set woman who used to own a laundry in Denpasar, had the message in her heart to help street kids in Bali.

Yes, there are street kids here in Bali. Putu somehow became friends with the prostitutes in the slums of Kuta, and saw the overwhelming amount of kids working the streets. Much like the kids in Slumdog Millionaire, they are forced to make money for their families or their street bosses. The majority come from Karangasam- a village north of Mt. Agung, the most holy Volcano in Bali. Here the sex trade has thrived for the last 20 years.

You don’t think about Bali as having a sex trade. Thailand, yes, Vietnam, yes, Bali, no. But there is. And for some reason, which no one I have yet talked to can figure out, Karangasem village is the place where the proverty is thick, and the abuse is thicker.

Putu, has 17 kids in her Yayasan (which means non profit organization). It took me four visits to find out anything about the orphanage. I was nvited by a beautiful Italian ex-pat, Kikka who teaches the kids English, and offers a lot of time and money to the Yayasanan. Because she feels her Italian is not that great, she’s had Steve, the yoga manager/teacher at Desa Seni helping her teach. Steve went out of town and I begged to step in. This was the extent of what I knew.

Both previous times I arrived, somewhat hurried, having been driven here sweaty from teaching yoga class and running out quickly at the end of a two hour session to return to teach another class. The first time we were learning parts of the body, “Head fingers knees and toes, knees and toes, head and fingers knees and toes eyes ears, tip of the nose”, and family members. “Mother, sister, father, brother…”. Immediately I thought this was an odd topic.

Of the 17 kids, Kikka asked me to sit with the older ones and have them write sentences about their family. Great. Aren’t they orphans? Do they have a family. I knew nothing, absolutely nothing about the background of the kids. Did they come from the trains, like the kids in India, wait there’s no trains in Bali…where do the Balinese “The lovliest people on earth” deposit their orphans. I decided to push forward, there was no space for questions.

“My mother is Surya….” Ayu writes. Conversation didn’t work so well. My four: Ayu, 15, pretty, shy, speaks better English than she tries. Merta, 12- obviously smart, spends most of his time drawing, Pisak, and Tista. We go down the list sisters, cousins, are, etc. I start embellishing the conversation by drawing pictures and explaining relationships.

Somehow I never got a chance to talk to Kikka between week one and two. She, too is a busy clothing designer with a family We had the intention to. But then the Jiva Mukti workshop came with Sharon Life and David Gannon, and then I went to Ubud, and she runs a clothing company, and and and….

I’m here again. Back in the Yayasan. Equally uninformed about these kids status, holding more questions. Kikka tells me to go teach the four older kids about the verb “to be” which is not used in Indonesidan.

I am on my own. I have no translator. The lesson goes like this:

“I am…” I point to myself “a girl”

The girl and the three boys each point to themselves, “I am a girl”

“No,” I say, I point to Merta “You are a boy”

He points to me, “You are a boy…”

“I am tall..” Again I point to myself.

They all point to themselves, “I am tall.”

This was useless.

The next week, I go on a different day, without Kikka, because whoever was teaching them English on Tuesdays has apparently quit. I bring along my friend Martina, who is fluent in Bahasa Indonesia.

I share with her my frustration about not knowing anything. I have 400 questions, and no program. Finally, we arrive early, Martina and I and find Putu there. We have a long sit down. I ask everything. This is what I find out.

Most of the kids come from Karangasam. Putu, who has always been friends with the prostitutes and street kids (backstory unknown), from her heart decided to open a shelter. Her partner, an American Registered Nurse, Michael, from San Diego and she have opened their house, to these kids. At first there was 35, but now there are 17. They are not really orphans, they have families, but some have been abused, most have some boss, pimp, sex trade person they have to beg for and report to, some have just been abused by their families. Sometimes they leave and go back to the streets.

Jana and Lana are eleven year old twin boys. Jana is normal size. Lana is about two and a half feet tall.

Pika has deformed feet. A man, posing as her father, used to carry her to beg with. Because she was forced to walk on her feet, she has an ulcer that went to the bone- literally a hole in her foot the size of an orange. Alit is deaf. Wirya is blind. The rest seem to have various stages of physical or emotional abuse. They are all bright.

I think Putu must be a saint.

The Yayasan ,open for 2 years, has received non-profit status, but now the needs are piling up. Alit needs a sign language teacher. Pika needs a wheelchair and at least three operations. Two boys Jana and Sandi might have Tuberculoses. Putu looks exhausted. Michael starts to breathe heavy sighs as of relief as I tell him how we care going to help them. Martina and I tell her how we will help and help raise money.

The landlord of the house has decided that instead of being 30 million rupias a year, it will be 10 million. That’s $3000, to $10,000. It costs about $1700 per month to operate. Who in their right mind would take this on. Even as I look at these numbers and think how small they are , truth is to a Balinese person they are astronomical.

Martina and I decide I will teach yoga, and she will translate. She is brilliant. The kids love yoga. Especially the boys. They do crow, and Surya namaskar, and handstand, screaming and laughing in delight. It flows very well. Martina is so tender with the girls. When Ayu is beside herself that her shirt will come up if she does a handstand, Martina tells her in Indonesian, “Don’t worry, don’t worry, Tara gets it, she will help you.”

I leave, now obsessed with the desire to help. I decide to bring in the big guns.

I know from teaching yoga at Desa Seni that there are expats here who want to give. They want their yoga to have a karma aspect, and they just need to know where to put their energy. Tom, the owner/visionary of Desa Seni comes with me on Thursday. Kikka, Tom, Myself and an Australian yogi, Susie sit down and begin to hash this thing out.

The Yayasan needs money. It needs teachers. It needs soap. It needs computers. It needs eggs.

“I noticed that Merta likes to draw, and Yanti loves to sing, Pasik plays guitar and loves to dance, we could pair expat/mentors with these kids to help them develop there talents, “ I say, overwhelmed with ideas.

“We need a place to live, “ Michael says. “We need rice.”

“We need a list, “ I say. Even this does not exist. Well it does, written in magic marker, in this order:

Eggs

Rice

Shampoo

Komputer

Sauce tomat

Soap

Englis teacher for Tegil Beach

I tell Putu I need two lists, one with small items, and one with the bigger lists.

Tom sees that the kids are working on cutting out cards. They draw pictures and the Yayasan sells the cards for $2.

We grab one hundred that sell at desa seni in almost four days.

TO BE CONTINUED...