I felt like a celebrity as I drove through the villages in Uganda. Kids ran to the side of the road flailing their arms and waving while yelling “Mzungus!”, which means white people. I waved back and received a smile worth the long flight, jet lag, and uncomfortable situations.
Through all the troubles, pain, death, and all their young eyes have seen, their smiles stick out and show true happiness. The kind of happiness we dream about having.
After the long wait, we finally made it to the first orphanage we would be working with. As soon as we walked through the gate, the kids screamed and ran to us as if we were Miley Cyrus or Zac Efron.
My eyes landed on a soccer ball, and I was ready to play some African children in soccer. As I continued to play around, somehow I was drawn to this certain boy, and in no time I was able to bond with him. His name was Jovan. At just 13 he was already a leader to the other children.
We moved to the noisy porch and took a seat. Kids scattered by, playing with the other members of the group. I got an awkward feeling, but before I could say anything Jovan asked his first question.
“Tell me about America,” he said.
I didn’t know how to answer… Coming off like a bragging, boastful American was the last thing I wanted to do.
After a bit of contemplation, I told him about the heat and cold. I think it was a completely stupid response, but he was as interested as anyone has ever been toward anything I had to say.
“How about the sports? And school? Your friends?”
Question after question he kept surprising me. Why did this African boy care so much about me? Shouldn’t I be the one asking the questions?
Confused, I kept on answering, keeping the conversation flowing.
Time flew. I spent most of my time with Jovan who easily accepted my friendship.
The next day I was as excited as I’d been because I would be returning to the orphanage.
However, I was unable to find Jovan, until right before we left.
As we greeted each other and took a picture, he was much quieter than the day before and seemed a bit standoffish. As he took us to our van, he suddenly stopped.
“This is where I say goodbye,” he said.
Animals scurried across the land around us. The African sun beat down on my pale white skin. Dirt rose up because of the children running around.
But none of it mattered.
As I looked into his eyes I could see the emptiness he felt.
He looked away, while moving his head down towards the ground.
I was speechless. This was goodbye.
As I watched him walk back down the dirt road, back to a life full of death, pain, and terror, I wish we could trade places just for day.
He deserves that chance. Everyone does.
But is that what’s best for them? In America, we have money, cars, electronics, running water, and etc., but how many of us are truly happy?
The children in that orphanage don’t have anything close to what we have been given, but they are truly happy.
While we whine about our food getting messed up, not getting the right car, and slow internet connection, those kids in Africa are content with being alive.