There is a girl named Diane who helps me get water. More on her later. Today, Diane brought a friend so even more water could be collected for me. Her friend brought her baby sister, carrying her wrapped tight on her back. As the two girls left my house with buckets and the promise of candy and coloring books upon their return, the baby sister was left with me. Somewhere between two and three, this child definitely spoke no English and had no background knowledge to know that she should be nice to the strange, white lady. She sat on my porch with me for awhile, until my cat came out and scared the bloody hell out of her (kids here run from cats and dogs - but beat spiders and snakes with a fearlessness and determination). She cried and cried and kept on crying. If I was at home, if this was of one my nieces or nephews, I would have picked that baby right up and spoke words over and over again until she started to quiet down. Then I realized, I am home.
I put her on my hip and I walked out into my front yard, through the speedily growing grass, letting the cool drops of water from a previous shower graze against my legs. She kept crying but that was okay. I told her it was okay again and again and I held that baby to my chest. I even managed a few words in Bemba - your sister is coming. We stood by the road and watched as cars passed. Older community members walked by and greeted me, taking no notice of the child clinging to my shoulder. It was the first time I’ve held someone here. Held someone close to me, and rocked back and forth on my feet, shushing and feeling like someone needed me. She was afraid of my cat, but she wasn’t afraid of me. Her sister had no reservations about leaving her in my care. Those older community members didn’t blink an eye. I felt trusted. Eventually she fell fast asleep, her snot running down my arm and back, her hot head pressed against my collarbone. I didn’t put her down for awhile. I kept her weight cradled in my arms and continued to feel needed for just a little while longer. Holding her reminded me of one time I truly felt what pure love feels like. When one of my nieces, climbing out of the bath before bedtime, gave me a fierce hug and said, “I love you Helly” with no prompting or me saying it first. She ran away, naked, leaving me with my heart growing two sizes too big. It’s a memory I’ll never forget. Kneeling there, with an empty towel before me, feeling loved and feeling needed. Her sister and Diane came back and the baby woke up. The older girls practiced writing down all the English words they knew, then they drew some pictures in the Elmo coloring book, and eventually they went back home. Diane is in Grade 4, just one year shy of being in my own class. Next year though, I will teach her, and we’ll go through all the letters of the alphabet and read small, small words until we can tell stories and write about our families. Even though I miss my own family, it’s okay, because I get to learn about other people’s families here. Sometimes, they share their families with me, sometimes without even thinking twice. The kids in my Grade 5 and 6 classes are energetic and they want to be taught. They are bright, cheerful, and they make going to school, something I’ve been doing for 16 years now, fun. Even though it’s overwhelming, especially with those small 5th graders who still can’t read English, they make me feel needed. I know not everyone feels needed all the time, because I’ve been there a lot too, so I’m trying my best to feel grateful for the experience. To be able to hold someone close to my chest and rock them back and forth. I hope that one day, they will feel like they need me just as much as I need them.
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Author's note:Hi, I'm Helen. Welcome to Lifted ~ I write to lift myself up. Archives
March 2021
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