Keeping Kids Warm. A visit to an orphanage in Uzbekistan

A little girl smiled and stepped toward us. Several of her front teeth were missing, giving her that roguish look that six-year-olds sometimes have. Holding a bunch of flowers, she stood confidently in front of the guests who had come from far away. Then she recited two poems—a request for world peace, the interpreter told us, and a thanksgiving for our visit. The other children followed with dancing, singing and energetic banging on tambourines.
    After six years and 150,000 handmade sweaters, I finally found myself on that sunny October day more than a little nervous at the Kibry Orphanage for mentally and physically handicapped children, on the outskirts of Tashkent, capital of the former Soviet republic of Uzbekistan. In our truck, along with huge pallets of medicines, mattresses and other necessities (including bags of toys brought by volunteers) were large cartons from the Guideposts Sweater Project.
    About 20 children were performing at Kibry, telling us things in a language we couldn’t understand. But for me the little girl with the smile and no front teeth communicated beautifully. She had a vitality and poise as she held up her flowers toward us. The pink blossoms were securely pressed between her forearms because she had no hands.
    I saw her again later that day in her bright red Guideposts sweater. I looked around for an interpreter. I wanted to know where this elfin child had come from and how she had faced such a terrible physical challenge.
    Her first name was Karomat (meaning prediction) and her last name was Topiboldieva, meaning, in Uzbek, found girl. As well as having no hands, she had no feet. Nigora, one of her caretakers, was obviously devoted to her. She told me that she considered herself Karomat’s mother. She described how the little girl struggled as she learned to walk. “For her it was so hard,” said Nigora, “but she had discipline and strength.”
    Heart to Heart International, a care organization based in Olathe, Kansas, had organized this airlift to Uzbekistan, bringing large quantities of urgently needed pharmaceuticals and other basic medical necessities. Also joining us were some physicians. I had come as a volunteer with the Children’s Project. We were there to bring aid to the neediest of Uzbekistan’s children, and that aid included sweaters knitted by GUIDEPOSTS readers from all over the United States.
    This was the second shipment of Guideposts sweaters to Kibry Orphanage and some of the children were already wearing theirs the day I met them. One little boy—about two—came up to me in his yellow-and-blue striped number and put up his arms. No power on earth could have stopped me from picking him up. I carried him around for quite a while. Of course, when I went to put him down, he began to howl. Eventually I had to get to work, so I handed him gently to one of the nurses, but I can still see his precious little face as I write.
    My own journey to Uzbekistan began in my English childhood when I knitted sweaters for those we then called DPs, short for displaced persons. It seemed a quaint piece of history when I shared that experience with the readers of GUIDEPOSTS magazine and Daily Guideposts. The response was astonishing. Thousands of you wanted to make sweaters for needy children. And that is how, in 1996, the Guideposts Sweater Project began.
    Over the years I heard from so many of the knitters and crocheters. They often asked where the sweaters went, which children had been helped, and did I know where their particular sweater had gone? Since the sweaters were shipped through experienced relief agencies to where the need was greatest I had no answers. Now at last I saw the sweaters at work, keeping the children snug and warm and looking great at the same time. Even though they are all made from the same basic pattern, each one is unique in color combinations and sometimes stitches.
    The next stop on my journey was Karshi, a city south of Tashkent, where we delivered more sweaters to an orphanage called Muruvat Uy or Mercy Home. It housed 164 mentally retarded children. First we visited the children who were bedridden. My feelings were such a powerful mixture of wanting to help and feeling helpless that I found it hard to watch them. Around 50 of them were small babies, badly handicapped and lying quite still in a room with cots lined up wall to wall. Hoping for some kind of connection or reaction, the other volunteers and I touched them, stroked their cheeks and put Beanie Babies into their hands.
    We left the little souls and joined the older kids, who were playing with the balloons that Heart to Heart volunteers had twisted into all sorts of animal shapes. These children had been abandoned by a culture that is not well equipped to deal with handicaps. We gave the youngsters new sweaters, and each child picked his or her favorite with great care—the brighter the colors, the more popular the sweater.
    Our next stop in Karshi was a boarding school for blind children, many of whom would be able to function normally with minimal surgery or even strong glasses. Unfortunately, neither option is widely available in Uzbekistan.
    The older children here were a mixture of blind and partially sighted. I wondered how to reach out to them since we didn’t speak the same language and many of them couldn’t see me, but then I discovered a small miracle: I took a photograph of one of the partially sighted kids and showed it to him on the screen of my digital camera. He held it up close to his face and squirmed. Soon he called over all his friends. Immediately kids with any sight at all wanted a picture. I was surrounded by a crowd of excited children.
    Then one of the partially sighted kids tugged on my arm and pointed emphatically. He and his buddies made it clear that I should take a picture of one boy who was completely blind. It seemed a useless gesture to me, but I did it anyway, happy to oblige. When the boy’s face came up on the little screen, they held my camera up close to his eyes and all talked at once. I was certain they were telling him about his picture, making sure he did not feel left out.
    I learned a lot in Uzbekistan. The sweaters are more than just a source of warmth. The patient work of your fingers carries the message of your caring and the grace of God to those children. I have another half done already, each stitch a prayer for the cold and needy. Many wonderful and poignant moments have stayed with me from my journey, but the most vivid memory of all is of my new friend Karomat, the found girl, in her red sweater, holding out a bouquet of pink flowers. They are for all of you who participate in the Guideposts Sweater Project.

The above article originally appeared in the April 2003 issue of Guideposts. To subscribe to
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