In March of this year, my husband, Jim, traveled to Transnistria, a tiny and very poor country in eastern Europe, with Sweet Sleep, a non-profit organization that builds beds in orphanages.  He used my blog to write about his trip and to post his photographs of some of the children here.

After that piece, detailing the problems with Transnistrian customs, the beds were finally assembled by Pastor Serghey and some other residents of the city of Dubasari.  However, there were only enough beds for about half of the children at that time.

In October, Jim had an opportunity to return to the same orphanage in Dubasari and help build beds for the rest of the children.  Since the bed frames were built in Transnistria this time (instead of neighboring Moldova), there were no customs issues, and the assembly went smoothly.  This also gave Jim a great chance to bond with some of the children, especially the boys, who were very eager to be able to use power tools!

But it was a little girl who stole his heart, and who changed him in ways that I'm not sure I can fully absorb.  (Although when I look at his photographs, I get a glimpse of understanding.)

Her name is Alena, and she wasn't at the orphanage in March.  She was one of the first children he saw when he went back in October, standing in the gymnasium, watched over protectively by two of her teachers.  (Teachers who, by the way, say that their work at the orphanage in Dubasari is not a job - it is their life.  And this is obvious from the way the children are cared for.)

Even given the vagaries of translation, it is fairly certain that Alena was born with a metabolic disorder, Phenylketonuria, also known as PKU.  It is the inability of the body to metabolize the amino acid phenylalanine, which builds to toxic levels in the blood, and often causes seizures and cognitive disabilities.  All babies in the United States and Canada are tested for PKU immediately after birth, and the condition can be controlled through diet and medication.  However, in a country like Transnistria, such post-natal testing and treatment are not readily available, and so a treatable condition can become a lifelong disability.

But Jim didn't know this when he first saw her.  All he saw was a child whose every expression was an immediate and unfiltered reaction to the world around her.  Everything was right at the surface, and since she is, for the most part, non-verbal, all of this emotion was concentrated in her facial expressions and body language. This made her a fascinating subject for Jim the photographer.  But even without his camera, Jim found himself deeply affected by her trusting nature, her vulnerability, her unselfconsciousness, and her joy. 

Of course, one can't overlook or romanticize the very real challenges that Alena faces, both now and in the future.  And I think it is this realization that has made Jim all too aware of the limitations imposed by poverty, and the forces that profit from the existence of poverty.  In a way, he says it has made him more cynical.  But then I see the expression on his face when he looks at the photos, or the little drawing that she made.

What I see is not cynicism.  He has carried her joy home with him.

He wants very much to go back.  I think I can understand why.

Here, without any further comment, are some of Jim's photographs of Alena.  

She is truly the face of joy.