Simon, Isaac, and Joyce are the new kids on the block.
Although Isaac and Joyce arrived only four months ago, it seems like they’ve been around for years.
They’re so well adjusted; They are small – the smallest orphans in the group – but they are growing and adapting to the way of life, the routine, and the school work. They seem to be flourishing on so many levels. No matter their size, they find a way to stick up for themselves – Isaac is a quick and agile footballer – his size allows him to whiz in and out between the older boys. Joyce is a tiny girl with a big personality. She’s feisty and doesn’t let the older girls baby her.
Isaac has even received a nickname and although I’m sure it’s not entirely of a positive inclination, the kids affectionately shout out: “Muzungu!”– the Swahili word for white man. One day he walked into the Shamba with white pants, with no forethought to how dirty his clothes would become. Apparently white people do the same thing…
Simon is a different story.
He arrived a week before I came on the scene. The story goes that after his mother died he would go to her grave to cry and cry and cry. His grandmother pleaded for them to take him in. To take him far away from the ghost haunting him to attend to his mother’s resting place.
Simon stays mostly to himself. Swinging on the swing and lost in his thinking. His eyes give it away that his head is full: Thinking, thinking, thinking. He wears a green woolen hat that seems to keep his thoughts from falling out of his ears.
He was left as an only child, and it shows. He doesn’t seem to know how to handle sharing life with thirty other brothers and sisters. Playing with others isn’t appealing to his little-full-head.
The most loved and celebrated activity of all – dancing – leaves him shell shocked and standing frozen. He’s either in awe of what he’s seeing because he doesn’t know how to dance – or he’s never seen children displaying such glee and fun; expressing such joy seems foreign and strange. (And I have yet to meet an African that doesn’t dance, but perhaps I’m horribly stereotyping here…)
Simon doesn’t know how to read – yet. Even so he was placed in class above his level and he carefully copies the words on the blackboard – letter for letter. Unaware of the spaces indicating word changes and giving meaning to the shapes. He is however faithful to mimic what he sees and his handwriting is not without practice. Although most of the school’s day is taught in English, his knowledge doesn’t extend past “Hello!” and “How are you?” as being replacements for “Habari!”
I spent a lot of time with him reading and re-reading Baby’s First Word books. I pointed to the pictures and he took his guesses… and over time his guesses turned into recognition… and delight with every new picture.
“Dog”
“Apple”
“House”
“Flower” … were his favorites. Although sometimes “apple” was used for every round looking fruit and “house” for every form of shelter whether for a dog or a cow. Even so, I gave him an enthusiastic high-five to congratulate his even-close-to-right answer!
As the days passed, Simon seemed to come to life.
He stopped wearing his green-woolen-thought-hiding hood and babbled off in Swahili during our evening tutoring sessions. He would just look me straight in the eye as if I understood every word (thankfully the others were quick to translate and catch me up to the story). He even braved the football field to play with the others … his head finally free of all the thinking.
I miss those kids. They are small, but they make a big impression on your heart.
in revision 