The Boy Who Didn't Know Any Better

The following is not a complaint of any sort. Just some observations.

Earlier this week, I met a group of children at an orphanage. Great place. Some of the children seemed really happy to have a new playmate (even if it was just for a half an hour) and I had a blast. However, I noticed something; the older children, say age 6 and up, where much less receptive to me, much more skeptical. I got looks from the older kids that screamed, “What are YOU doing here?” While the 3, 4 and 5 year-olds were all smiles, the older kids just stared.
Sunday morning at church, I met up with this same group of kids, as they go to church together every Sunday. I don’t really think any of them recognized me, and since we were in a church setting I couldn’t talk to them to spur their memory. Therefore, almost all of them gave me that “Who the hell are you?” look. Except one.
There is one boy who, at both meetings, LIT UP when he saw me, and automatically reached to hold my hand. He is probably about 6 and his smile is unlike any other I’ve seen; he smiles with his entire face. So bright, so honest. He doesn’t speak, just smiles. Both times he nuzzled against my hand, and in church he laid his head in my lap and looked up at me with heart-melting eyes. At one point all of the other children left to go to Sunday school, but he stayed, tapping my hand with his fingers and looking at me for approval. I stayed a half an hour later than I planned just because I enjoyed his company so much, and he seemed to enjoy mine.
So, what makes this boy different? Why did he, out of all of those children, choose to trust me, choose to not look at me like I was an alien?
Upon meeting him it was explained to me that he was “slow”, mentally disabled. If you just saw a photo of him you wouldn’t be able to tell; you’d think he’s just a beautiful little boy. I don’t know much about his condition, perhaps it’s a combination of poor nutrition and education from before he was brought to the orphanage; who knows. I do know that being aware of his situation creates a bittersweet feeling; playing with this child and holding his head in my lap during church, but also knowing that the only reason he was so open with me was because he doesn’t know any better. Any better. What does that mean?? Are the other kids better off because they can see and are beginning to comprehend the complex boundaries between themselves and mzungus? I imagine the older kids must be jaded at this point- seeing mzungus come in, play for a while, then leave. Who can blame them for not getting excited at all of these fleeting meetings?
However, I can’t help but be somewhat discouraged by this. Trust me, I am NOT expecting a sea of a thousand African orphans swarming towards me with huge grins and open loving arms because I’m white. Puh-lease. However, I am trying to figure out what I do expect. Really, I should expect nothing from these children; it would be selfish to do so. Maybe I can expect from myself the patience (and patience and patience and patience and patience) to take those “Who the hell are you?” looks that I get from everyone and greet them with my smile, as that’s all I can really do. Maybe I need to take a lesson from this boy and smile for no reason and not get offended if I don’t get a smile in return.

But then there are the people who take that smile to mean something completely different; namely men. side note: WHAT A DIFFERENCE it makes traveling with Finn, who in Malawi I refer to as either my fiancée or husband as this has a tendency to really weed out the seedy characters who want to talk to me for a) my money b) my ass. “Oh, sorry, my husband is waiting on me at home…” that usually does the trick. It is HILARIOUS to see the expression change on these men’s faces!
So I usually just don’t say anything (or smile) to strangers that I pass, which is a shame. I feel like I have to shut a big part of Kaitlin Houlditch-Fair down when I do this. I feel like by not smiling I’m perpetuating another stereotype of the white lady who doesn’t really want to interact with the locals….. “oh, look there. She probably lives in a nice house and the only Malawians she knows are her cooks. She thinks she is too good to eat nsima and drives a nice car while people are starving." On the other hand, I feel like if I were to smile I would be a target… “ohh, look there, the dumb mzungu who thinks that Africa is simply a land of beautiful sunrises and lions. She will totally give away her money because she thinks she can save everyone.” 

Maybe I’m analyzing this too much. Who knows what the hell people think when they see me. In the end I guess I really shouldn’t care. But though I am “busy” I have plenty of time to think about it all. Plenty. So what do I do? In a way I envy the boy who doesn’t know better because, perhaps in his mind, I am just another person he can love, and that is all he really needs to know.

Simplicity and complexity live in the same house.