sienna says.

Perfection. This is the word that swarms my mind when I look at African children. I say it all the time. To Signe. To Corinna. To those I’m around. “Look at their faces. It’s perfection to a tee”. I don’t even say it adoringly. I say it matter of factly. I say it in truth. God gave the african skin such purity. I see no blemishes. The skin is smooth and spotless. All the same tint. It is without stain. Each time I look at them, I state the obvious. I see it especially as I look into Blessing’s face. Her round cheeks are noticed first. Then her pure, shiny forehead. Her lips are perfect. Her nose is perfect. Her eyes are beyond words. All I can do is comment on the art of them. I comment. Others don’t seem to see it as I do or maybe they’re used to it. I talk with them, all the while, distracted by their perfection.

On Thursday I traveled to Boumi County in the Land rover with my Human Resources team. The school we normally teach at was on vacation so we went to Boumi County instead to tour three of their villages. Our Community Development Team has been busy educating and working along side Liberians building bridges, wells, and latrines in their villages. We went to check out their progress. Bungi Town stuck out to me the most. I keep thinking about it. The children, of course. We went to see the the work that had been done in the villages to improve their living but the children stole me. Bungi Town is actually where Housekeeping (Macullough) goes each Friday. They’re helping build a church there.

“SARAH, SARAH, SARAH!!!!” All the children yelled in unison as they poured from the mud huts and ran towards the land rover. I had been confused over the greeting but found later they had mistaken me for one of Macullough’s coworkers, Sarah Woodington. They came in huge numbers, more than the previous village or others I’d been too. These ones defined the word, energetic (showing or involving great activity or vitality). They grabbed our hands, asked our names, stated theirs with confidence, and my favorite, they spoke c-l-e-a-r-l-y. I understood. I could understand each word. I don’t know why it was that these kids seemed quite unique from the rest but I was instantly endeared. Even the youngest ones spoke to my understanding. As I stood their repeating my name to the many inquiring faces I felt something touch my knee. I looked down to see perfection. A little one smiled up at me. She lifted her hands wanting to be held. This surprised me too. Normally, the young ones are frightened by white people. They don’t see them often and would rather stay near their brothers and sisters, those that look exactly like them. The 6 and 7 year olds, just to get a laugh, will drag their terrified 1 or 2 year old siblings towards us. They pick them up, grabbing them around their stomachs, and stand right in front of the white people (me) as the 1 year olds burst into tears and begin screaming at this white alien they’ve never see before. This form of entertainment among the 6 and 7 year olds is a common practice. I’m used to being the spectacle of something terrifying. That’s why this little one in Bungi Town, tapping on my knee with her hands raised, surprised me. But I dropped both the children’s hands that I held and picked her up. Her smile was comfortable. I asked her name. “Fifian”. I asked again, not understanding (as usual). “Fifian”. “Fifian”, the other’s repeated, looking at me to say it too. “Fifian?”, I asked. They sort of nodded. “Ohhh. Vivian!! that it?” “Yes. Yes.” Their nod was confident. Others were named “Fanta”, “William”, and my favorite, “So”. More than once they all burst into song. All 50 of them. Singing in perfect unison. Clapping their hands. Stomping their feet. It was like they were thanking us with their voices. Their strong, african voices. Vivian clapped and mumbled along.

Macullough asked later that evening where I had been during the morning. I told him I had gone to Bungi Town and told him how freakin brilliant those children were.

“yeah. they are.” He commented, less then excited. But his words were true.

Yes. They were. They really were.