Oh, Joy!

"My name is Mubarak", the cute boy of Indian descent said. "And this is Chin Meng. Dia cakap Cina (He speaks Chinese)," he said, pointing to the boy beside him.

"Ask me my name!" another boy exclaimed. I played along, "What's your name?" The boy answered, "Yohan!"

The children of preschool ages warmed up to me quickly. In seconds, they were all around -- several hugging on to my back, several more clinging on to my neck from the front. At times, I was at a loss of what to do. There were so many of them, all wanting piggyback rides and fascinated with my blue-backlighted watch.

Thankfully, before long, the rest of the GK team arrived to start the tutoring session. By then, Chin Meng has started counting in Mandarin, "Yi... er... san... si... wu..." Not wanting to be left out, Mubarak cut in with his own version, "Yi, er, san, si, wu, liu... " all the way to shi (ten). Chin Meng, unfluttered, beat Mubarak by counting to the next ten. "...Er shi! (Twenty!)" he proclaimed, and I praised him. The manager, Nirmala, asked me what the boys were doing.

"Oh, they're counting in Mandarin!"

Siew Fung had prepared a poster themed "Occupation" for the kids. No sooner had we introduced them to the soldier, the teacher, doctor and farmer, one kid -- armed with a red colour pencil -- coloured in the drawings. Others rubbed their plastersines and fingers on the soldier, teacher, doctor and farmer. That was the end of the poster.

[Edit Dec 15, 2006: The short-lived Occupation poster was actually drawn by Biology student, Jamsari. Sorry for the miscredit.]

A girl of about six years old caught my eye. I encouraged her to draw and talk about her drawing, and immediately got lost in her world. She drew a big house, complete with a picnic table -- and on it, a plate of fried rice and a syrup drink. A girl stands in front of the house. "My kakak (my sister)", she explains.

"Write your name here", I said and learnt her name: V-i-j-a-y-a-l-e-t-c-h-u-m-i. Proceeding to drape her house in technicolour, Letchumi talked about her family: "Vijay is my brother's name. I have another big big brother." Then putting her palm close to the floor, "and I have a little sister only this big -- She's zero years old!" "Just born?" I enquired, and she approved.

She pointed to a "Bunny and orange" drawing on her long elliptical pencil case. "This is me," she pointed to the bunny, "and this is you," she pointed to the small orange beside the bunny. "You -- very small." She paused. "I like small people. Hate big big people. My brother is big. My mother is big." She continued, "My father is very big."

Without warning, a Chinese boy came over and stomped on Letchumi's face. I was flabbergasted. But Letchumi did not cry. Despite her meagre age, she was far more mature. Her eyes welled, her hand rushes to ease the pain, the teardrops fell: One... two. There was no more.

Letchumi went over to the Sister to complain. The Sister says that the boy would not be allowed to go home. Satisfied, Letchumi comes back to continue her drawing. The boy has now sulked into a corner, holding a calculator. I realized the fact that here was the only place most of the children called home.

"My father will come to visit later!" Yohan exclaimed during our meeting earlier.

To describe her feelings, she added tears to the girl standing in front of the house -- which she quickly covered up with brown crayon.

It was fellow GK member, Michael's first time as a volunteer tutor, too. He was trying his best to speak to Amir. "Sangat baik (Very good)", he says in his Australian accent, pointing to Amir's drawings. Amir doesn't respond. Michael is a history major on exchange to USM.

Grabbing another sheet of paper, Letchumi draws a car -- and a line underneath it to form a road. She lets me add another car. "Draw me KL Tower," she says. I obliged her. In a series of additions to the drawing, we both drove cars to visit KL.

"Now my car goes here. Draw your car here!" she squeals.

Two hours is much too short a time to spend with children, and soon we said our goodbyes. An observant boy from earlier fetched my bag, to my amazement.

I never expected to have so much joy, never thought it would be so much fun. Surely, I would return again soon to see my newfound little friends at the Children's Protection Society.

[Note: The Children's Protection Society (CPS) is a non-profit, non-governmental organization catering to the needs of neglected and/or abandoned children of 4-12 years of age, and also teenage girls. They welcome donations such as foodstuff, school uniforms, shoes and stationery. CPS is located at 118A, Jalan Scotland, Penang. Contact Ms. Nirmala Devi, 04-8294 046 for more details.]

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