People looking at me suspiciously till I say “bon jour”, then they get a big smile and return the gesture. I am a “blanc”. All of the children keep reminding me of this fact, as if I forgot. They touch my arms because they are somehow amazed that my arms have hair on them. When I hold the children they run their hands through my hair. I am the minority.
They seem so full of joy, yet have so little. Hunger is no stranger to these people. I go there to help, but where do I start? I am used to completion, except for home projects. I am in a perplexed state. I generally have the answer, but not to this problem. These people have become my friends. I will join them in their plight, not with expectations of great revival, just to let them know that they are not alone in their fight for a better life.