Well, service sites are over already. Fourteen days have past faster than I can process, and we now only have one week left in the beautiful KwaZulu Natal province before heading off to Cape Town. I hope that I never forget the things I have seen and experienced this past month.
For some reason I fell inclined to journal about this one girl, Sane, who is thirteen and came to the Drop-in Centre daily. I don’t exactly know what it is, but she had an odd draw to her that made me want to get to know her better. However, because of the language barrier, I was too shy to start up conversations with her before this week. I really only started to talk to her two days ago, and it was clear that there was a lot going on in her life, and her mind. It seems strange because a lot of our interaction just consisted of us looking at each other, trying to read the other’s expression. Because of this, I feel like I learned more about her from just her eyes than from anything else.
Eyes. The windows to the soul. Sane’s eyes would laugh with her, or become nonchalant when her cocky tom-boy attitude kicked in. She would look at you with the most intense gaze of trying to read you through your eyes, and suddenly we were the same age. With a blink, they were gone, and she was just a thirteen-year-old kid dancing to some music again. Her eyes were slightly yellowed, which made me wonder if she were on ARV medication, which is so so common in this area. Parents with HIV won’t take the proper precautions when they end up getting pregnant, so the baby is born HIV positive too. Maybe that is the reason for the underlying sadness and pain and obvious burden just behind the surface of those deep brown eyes.
The biggest regret I have is not asking the questions to find out why her eyes looked at me the way they did. I was too reserved to ask her who she was, and for that I am very sorry… though sorry doesn’t seem to make up for the fact that I could have made a friend, that I could have shared my story, that I might have been able to make a difference and share some hope in this clearly troubled youth’s life.
I walked away yesterday, and for some reason she and I just kept silent eye contact. It was as if we both knew everything and nothing about the other at the same time. A chill ran over me despite the record heat, as I acknowledged the truth we both likely understood: I may never look into those beautiful, deep eyes again. I only pray that God protects them.
Well, service sites are over already. Fourteen days have past faster than I can process, and we now only have one week left in the beautiful KwaZulu Natal province before heading off to Cape Town. I hope that I never forget the things I have seen and experienced this past month.
For some reason I fell inclined to journal about this one girl, Sane, who is thirteen and came to the Drop-in Centre daily. I don’t exactly know what it is, but she had an odd draw to her that made me want to get to know her better. However, because of the language barrier, I was too shy to start up conversations with her before this week. I really only started to talk to her two days ago, and it was clear that there was a lot going on in her life, and her mind. It seems strange because a lot of our interaction just consisted of us looking at each other, trying to read the other’s expression. Because of this, I feel like I learned more about her from just her eyes than from anything else.
Eyes. The windows to the soul. Sane’s eyes would laugh with her, or become nonchalant when her cocky tom-boy attitude kicked in. She would look at you with the most intense gaze of trying to read you through your eyes, and suddenly we were the same age. With a blink, they were gone, and she was just a thirteen-year-old kid dancing to some music again. Her eyes were slightly yellowed, which made me wonder if she were on ARV medication, which is so so common in this area. Parents with HIV won’t take the proper precautions when they end up getting pregnant, so the baby is born HIV positive too. Maybe that is the reason for the underlying sadness and pain and obvious burden just behind the surface of those deep brown eyes.
The biggest regret I have is not asking the questions to find out why her eyes looked at me the way they did. I was too reserved to ask her who she was, and for that I am very sorry… though sorry doesn’t seem to make up for the fact that I could have made a friend, that I could have shared my story, that I might have been able to make a difference and share some hope in this clearly troubled youth’s life.
I walked away yesterday, and for some reason she and I just kept silent eye contact. It was as if we both knew everything and nothing about the other at the same time. A chill ran over me despite the record heat, as I acknowledged the truth we both likely understood: I may never look into those beautiful, deep eyes again. I only pray that God protects them.
Such powerful writing Shelli!! Welcome to the life of a beacon of light for our Lord and Savior!
ReplyDelete