And they sat next to me on a concrete bench, the girl with both legs in casts, the boy with scars on his arms and face. These two children were the happiest people I have met in my life. Because they had something I did not, something that I, and most people, seek quite dearly. After all of my life being told to feel sorry for the poor African children, I didn’t pity them. And for the first time, I didn’t feel sorry for them. In their small life they have probably endured more pain and hardship than I ever will. I had no idea what these children had been through. I watched the two of them smile, laugh, and talk in Swahili that was too quiet and fast for me to understand. She sat next to Nuru and smiled at the ground, occasionally laughing to herself. I lifted her up by her armpits and carried her over to the bench.
“Jina lako nani?” What is your name? She just giggled more. “Mzungu, mzungu!” She grabbed onto my jeans and giggled. She slid off of the bench and waddled over to me. He walked with his little six year old legs and sat down on one of the concrete benches next to a tiny girl with casts on both legs. “Twende, Nuru!” Let’s go! He took my hand and we walked around the field passing other children playing checkers with lego pieces or shoots and ladders. Feeling slightly awkward, I asked what his name was. We stood there together, not talking, just looking around. We threw the ball back and forth a couple of times, before some other child took it, and ran away with it. Do you want to play with me? I nodded, showing I understood and he tossed the ball into my hands. “Unataka kucheza kwa mimi?” He asked nervously. I looked down to see a small boy standing next to me, a slightly deflated volleyball in his small, dark hands. One boy kicked it, undeterred by the casts on both his legs, another boy headed it onto the red metal roof with crutches laying on the ground beside him, forgotten. A group of boys were playing in the middle of the lawn with a four square ball. Newborns to 18 year olds sat on the grass and benches talking, sliding down the yellow slide, playing board games.
Concrete and tiled benches lined the edge of the lawn. In front of me was a small grassy field, a play set with a slide in the middle. The sound of happiness overwhelmed me as I walked past a wall covered with colorful, African themed plaques with names of donors on them. By Anna Eby, Age 13, Freshman at Bozeman High School
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