“Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”  -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Each day at the community center where I’m placed, we share merienda with the kids at around five o’clock.  I hadn’t heard of it before arriving, but basically it’s the third meal of the day and usually consists of bread, yogurt and a fruit.  I was mildly confused by it at first, it seemed like it was turning dinner into “fourth meal”, but I’ve come to embrace it.

Each Tuesday and Thursday, we take the kids via bus to a pool for swimming lessons.  They’re divided into two groups, and the younger kids go first, have their lessons first, return to the community center first, and eat merienda first.  The older half of the kids follow suit.

A couple of weeks ago, while at the pool, one of the 10 year old girls from the older group called me over (I know it’s wrong to have favorites, but this girl happens to be one that I’m especially fond of).  She told me her stomach really hurt, and was near tears as she was telling me.  So I asked what she’d eaten that day.

“Nada.” She said.

“You haven’t eaten anything, all day?”

“No, nada.” 

She asked if she could go back earlier with the first group and arranged with one of the teachers to do so.  But, I really didn’t know what to say to her.   It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and she’d eaten nothing all day.  I just gave her a hug and rubbed her back and told her to go ahead with the rest of the group.

I lagged behind with the stragglers of the younger group, and rushed with them to meet up with the rest of the group who were now waiting at the bus stop to return.  As we approached, I saw that my friend, who had eaten nothing all day, was busy combing and fixing the hair of a 7-year-old girl.  She was patiently and gently untangling a knot that had found its way into the little girl’s hair during the swimming lessons.  Then, she made sure the younger kids all got on the bus before she boarded.

She hadn’t eaten all day.  Her stomach hurt so badly she’d cried.  And then she’d cared for the little kids.  Patiently and kindly, putting their needs before hers. 

My year here is about others- it’s about learning and caring and community.  But when things are still new to me and the language isn’t 100% clear to me, I forget and I often think of myself, first.  When I’m hungry, I can let it be my excuse for not giving as much of myself in whatever I’m doing. 

We have these basic needs- food, clothing, shelter.  They are instilled in our brains and in our ways of maneuvering our lives as the most important things.  But we also have this incredible need to be cared for and to care for others.

I didn’t tell you the name of my friend in this story, and this is why:  I don’t want her name to be associated with something you think of as starving, or as struggling.  I don’t know how often it happens that she doesn’t eat until we share merienda, I don’t know how many of the other kids I see every day wait to eat until five in the afternoon.  I don’t know if this whole not eating thing was some fluke and rarely happens to any of them.  I just know that she showed me, completely unintentionally, that as humans, we not only hunger for food, but we also hunger for interdependence and companionship. And a simple, small action can fulfill that need.  I think this girl could be anyone, for any of us.  Whether it’s a warm hug from a good friend, or a stranger stopping to hold the door; these small gestures can sustain us in times of need.

Once, I heard a Hurricane Katrina survivor talk about being trapped on his roof after the flood.  He said, “I was up there with my little dog, and I looked at him and said- ‘If I can just take care of you, I’m going to be all right.’”

Sometimes that lesson is best explained to us through the action of a child.