Eyes of a Child

By spending my time teaching and attending schools around town, I’ve encountered just how much of a privilege my own schooling has been. But for someone who just finished college, in this time and place I don’t feel educated anymore.

When my host siblings have questions on their assignments, they turn to their father for help. I want to fill my role as the older sibling and be part of their learning, but too much is lost in translation between Malagasy, French, and English. My explanations and understandings of math and science are tied up in a complex web of language barriers and cultural differences around learning.

The simplification of my communication has made me feel like a kid again. In this place and time, I am still a child. I’m just learning the rhythms of life: to eat, to speak, to go to school, and so much more. I stare like a “piso mijery tele” (cat watching tv) at grown-up conversations, at first trying to understand, then drifting off to my own thoughts until I am directly and simply addressed… or an English speaker summarizes the last 20 minutes of conversation for me in a single sentence.

People kindly bend over backward to translate, point at each word of the hymn we sing, or praise me for my feeble attempts at Malagasy saying, “efa mahay!” (You already can) when its certainly not true. Their care, sheltering, and the amount of grace they give me for not knowing the fomba (ways of life) is one of many ways my privilege shows up here. I can’t help but feel ashamed when I imagine what it would be like if one of my English Center friends with a vocabulary broader than mine fulfilled their dream of going to America. The passes and extra chances I’m so freely given here would be held much more tightly by skeptical Americans.

So what can I do with this knowledge? Understand how special my place is here, value it, and use as inspiration to be the best guest I can be.

At the dinner table, my brother and I sometimes play “tsy mikipy” (don’t blink) and have a staring contest. In English, I could tell him all about the cells and parts of the eye, their pathways to and through the brain, give a physics explanation of the lenses of his eyes and glasses, and even tell a story about dissecting human eyes in school. But when he gazes into my face and says, “blue”, he teaches me something new.

Between my frustrations, I’m learning that it’s a benefit to have the eyes of a child. The depths of our knowledge can blind us to the simple truths and beauties that we tend not to notice anymore. In Luke 18:16, Jesus says, “Let the little children come to me, for theirs is the kingdom of God”. The things I experience that challenge my understanding are an opportunity to rediscover how simply beautiful the works of God’s hands are.

So my friend, I invite you to pause for a moment. Rest a while. Just close your eyes and breathe. Then open them and soak in the beauty of creation. Fill your heart with wonder. In these past months, these have been the most holy moments I’ve encountered.