see Rebecca dance

The girls were still at it. I had had enough of dodge ball. Even as a young girl I hated playing dodge ball. Although I have to admit, playing with a bunch of girls in dresses is much more fun then in a gym with both of the sexes at war with one another. But these girls can throw! Getting hit in the face hurts just as much as ever.

I decided to sit on the side and play with my camera some more. The music was still playing in the background from the day’s earlier festivities. It’s the first day of the new year; the community surrounding the orphanage, including any living relatives of the orphans had been invited to join in the celebration. The kids had shared their talent of singing and dancing with the guests, but with not nearly as much gusto as I saw Rebecca dancing before me now.

Rebecca had noticed me picking up my camera and without any hesitation, she started dancing before me. I gave in to her silent request to adore her, snapping photos of her every move. She didn’t even bother to exit the playing field. She just kept swinging and swaying right as the other girls continued running past: back and forth, back and forth.

Rebecca can dance. She’s only nine and knows how to swing her tiny almost non-existent hips, while swaying her arms in perfect rhythm with every beat. I’ve decided all Africans can dance, and although I’d tried to pretend that I could dance as well as these kids, joining in their every step and sway, I now look back on the pictures and videos and admit I’ll never be as smooth.

But why is Rebecca dancing for me? She doesn’t bother to run to me, to see the pictures like usual. She’s finding sheer delight in the fact that I’m watching her.

Only now do I look back on that day and wonder how much that afternoon had impacted the childrens’ hearts? Although all the relatives of the kids had been invited, few had actually shown up. Even if they did come, they barely spoke to the kids or showed any form of affection. I know for certain that Rebecca’s relatives were not present. The caretakers of the orphanage later shared the story of finding Rebecca and her sister Deborah in a one-room house. Their mother had passed many years earlier and their father had been heavily addicted to drugs. Since the time that Rebecca had been taken into the orphanage, her father had never once shown his face at events such as this, nor made contact with any of the caretakers.

I can only wonder how much Rebecca longs to be watched: to be watched as any young girl who longs to be adored by her father, longs to be loved by her mother.

Advertisement