"I Love You, Uncle Ignat!"

BY IGNAT IVANOV
President of Mission Possible

Once again, I am in our warm, cozy shelter home in Moscow. Sunken in the recliner, I am watching the children play.

At the moment, we have several little ones in our home, 3-5 year-old children of drug addicts. That’s good. In a few years, it is unlikely they even remember the cold, hunger, and the dangers that were a part of their lives on the streets with their parents.

A ringing phone interrupts my thoughts. Lena, a former resident and our current cook, hands me the phone. “There is someone on the phone that would like to talk with you!”

“Hello.”
I hear nothing.

I am about to hang up the phone when I hear a shaky voice: “Uncle Ignat, it’s me, Natasha. Do you remember me?”

Of course I remember! That voice is deep in my memories! The voice of a small, thin, pale girl. The street patrol in St. Petersburg had found her in the Fall of 1997, and we decided to take her to our recently opened shelter home in Moscow

It is there that three wild boys from the streets took their first steps into a normal life. It would be good to have a girl to be there, to balance the group.

The first days were not very encouraging. Vasya, Roma, and Sasha were teasing and chasing Natasha. The girl ran behind my back to hide.

A week went by and I had to return to Finland. The separation was difficult for Natasha, because she had found her only defender in me during these few days. She squeezed my hand. “I’m going with you. The boys are mean and they hit me.”

"I am scared! I want to come with you!"

I order the boys to stand in front of me. I make a stern face. I scowl at them. The wild boys stand still. Slowly, I say to them:

“This is my child, and whoever teases her, will experience the holy anger of Uncle Ignat!”
I move my large fist slowly in front of Sasha’s nose. He follows it with his eyes, until his eyes go crossed. The trio nods.

Since that day, Natasha was like my own child. Every time I would visit the shelter home, she would tell me about what the boys were doing, and every time I would chastise them.

A few years passed. Natasha grew taller, passing the boys, whose growth had been stunted due to the glue sniffing. One day, someone again came tattling to me, but this time it was the blond-haired Sasha. “Uncle Ignat, please tell Natasha not to hit us, she has such a heavy hand!” I couldn’t hide my amusement.

Natasha completed the primary school and turned 16. We were able to get her the identification papers, after a lot of hard work. Soon after that, she got a job at a kindergarten and moved in with her relatives.

- Uncle Ignat, do you remember me?a voice asked.
- Of course I remember! I never forget you, for you are my daughter, and I love you. How are you doing, my dear child?

A pause.
- I'm doing well. Although it is quite hard. I go to work, take care of children. I miss you, Uncle Ignat.
– I miss you too, Natasha.

Shelter home behind, life ahead!!

- Uncle Ignat, I love you like you were my own father.
- I love you too, Natasha. I hope we’ll meet soon!

Although Natasha were the only child we were able to get off the streets in the past 10 years, all the work and effort would have been worth it!

The children play on the floor. I hope that there will be a day when the phone rings again, and one of them says, with a quivering voice: “Uncle Ignat, it’s me, do you remember me?”

Translated by Jari Vesterinen, Jamtrex Language Services