Shampoo

It was hot.

Somehow, heat has a way of bothering Russians. As soon as the weather hits 75, they begin to lament the fact that they're alive. When July rolls around and the mid-afternoon temperatures get to somewhere around 90 degrees Fahrenheit, it's tough to find a happy person. Old grandmas who smile and cheerfully greet you on the street when it's -25 and the icicles are large enough to kill a person who might be foolish enough to walk under them, turn into mean old women.

Even this American was thinking a trip to the river was about the best idea in the world (but then, it doesn't take much to get me into water - just about any kind of water). We couldn't go to the river, though - it was 3 miles away, and though that's a nice trip by bicycle, a couple of the more...shall we say resourceful boys had taken all the bikes apart and sold the parts so they could buy cigarettes. So, no bikes = no swimming.

Tempers were rather short, and who could really blame the kids? They were every bit as Russian as the grumpy old women who were sitting in the shade, wishing for snow.

I sat amongst a group of kids, trying to think of exactly what to do to break the monotony.

"It's so hot; I'm gonna explode." Vera sighed, fanning herself with her small hands.

"Jen, think of something to do! I'm so bored I'm gonna explode." Tanya, another girl, addressed me as she absently kicked her sandal off and watched it land about a metre away.

I considered the options. We still had a good 2 hours until dinner; inside several of the younger kids were watching a Brazilian soap opera. I shuddered. Think of something to entertain them - anything but soap operas!

"We could play volleyball." The volleyball was still flat from Vlad's temper tantrum that had sent it smashing through a window the week before, but not so flat we couldn't make it work.

"Nah, we already played volleyball for like 30 hours today."

"There's only 24 hours in a day, though."

"You know what I mean. Volleyball is boring. I'm sick of volleyball."

I conceded that, unfortunately, it had been an overused activity as of late.

"Well..." I racked my brain, but everything I could think of, I instantly shot down before it became a suggestion.

We could go on a walk, but...as bored as these kids are, they'd find some sort of mischief to get into and I'd come back with half the number I'd left with.

We could have a water fight, but the lady on duty hates anything loud - she's likely to send them all to bed right after dinner if we do.

We could...play a game, but they already think they're too old to play games.

"This is dumb. I'm going to wash my hair." Vera rose to go inside, and suddenly, I had an epiphany.

"Girls! I have an awesome idea."

They knew that tone in my voice - immediately I had the attention of seven girls and two boys who had been building something in the sandbox.

"What is it?!" Anya nearly jumped up and down. For a split second I stopped and just took in the faces before me. There was something overwhelming about the amount of trust they had in me - something that made me realize how hard we'd worked to earn that trust, and how hard we must continue to work never to let them down.

I reached into my pocket and came up with a few rubles, knowing my idea wasn't exactly going to be a free one. It would be worth it, though.

"Hold on; you'll see in a second."

I went inside, followed closely by several curious, excited kids.

Approaching the caretaker on duty, I knew I'd sound ridiculous before I even started, but...well, sometimes you just have to sound ridiculous.

"Anna Alexandrovna, I was wondering if you still have those big bottles of shampoo we gave the kids."

My friend and I had been blessed with money for gifts for the orphanage from friends in the states, and we'd been able to go buy all sorts of useful supplies at the beginning of the summer.

"Of course we do. Do you need it?" She was already moving to unlock the supply cabinet.

"Well, actually, I'd like to buy it from you. Or I can go tomorrow and buy another one to replace it."

Her look should have been photographed; these ladies were used to out-of-the-ordinary requests and statements from us, but still we caught them off guard every once in a while.

"You don't have to buy your own shampoo! You're the one who bought it in the first place! Here, take it!"

I took it, but once again, reiterated that I wasn't just taking it; I'd replace it.

Turning to the girls, I saw several perplexed faces, a couple of eager ones, and one - predictably so - disgusted.

"Shampoo? There's nothing exciting about shampoo. That's stupid; I'm leaving."

Ah, Yuliya - always quick to judge, never patient enough to see things through...

I held up the bottle of shampoo and shrugged.

"If you don't think it's exciting, you don't have to join us." I walked to the washroom, still surrounded by a group of girls.

"Okay, girls - we're all gonna wash our hair." The tone in my voice still suggested to all of them that we were going to have more fun than usual, so they quickly dunked their heads under the faucets. It was then I saw that the curious caretaker had followed us and was watching suspiciously from the doorway. I smiled what I hoped was a reassuring smile at her, and she shrugged, then returned to her place in front of the TV.

As soon as the girls' hair was wet, I announced we were going to play. Squeezing a generous amount of shampoo into my hand, I walked over to Vera and began to lather up her hair. The rest of the girls stood, hair dripping, watching rather warily, until I began to form it into spikes and other silly things. Their laughter was like salve to my soul, and they all quickly caught on. Over the next hour we had everything from Santa Claus beard contests to mohawks. At one point one of the caretakers, a different lady, came marching in and began to reprimand the group - me included, she wasn't discriminatory - for wasting shampoo.

"But it's Jenni's shampoo; she's letting us use it!" Once this was confirmed, the lady told me in a rather frustrated tone that I shouldn't waste such a thing as my shampoo on orphans.

I figured a $2 bottle of shampoo was a small price for 2 hours of happiness and innocent fun - but then, like I said, I thought a lot of things they considered were weird.

The boys joined our fun as well - although with the classic orphanage haircut - buzzed with long bangs left in front, all we could really do was give them soap beards. It was pretty awesome, though.

As we were cleaning up and getting ready to go to dinner, one of the girls asked me a question I will never forget.

"Jenni, when you have kids of your own, will you let them play with shampoo like we did today?"

"Of course I will!" I smiled, and she glanced over her shoulder before continuing.

"Just don't forget, okay? It's important. When you have kids, make sure you love them. Make sure they know that you love them."

I won't forget. And I will never forget the amazing things I learned living in a Russian orphanage - nor will I forget the 130 kids I tried every day to make sure knew I loved them.