It warms my heart to look at a previous post, Yogurt and Tissue , and know the people mentioned have now become our friends. With the increase in our language ability and the familiarity of our living here, we have been able to slowly get to know each other better. I now regularly spend time sitting with our 'tissue lady' under the tree in front of our building talking about life and family. Iz is still eager to buy tissues whenever she sees our friend and generously adds a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek to the few coins out of Mom's purse. Our friend in turn always picks out the little tissue box with the prettiest pink design for our little princess.
We also regularly see our 'yogurt girl' and her little brother in front of a nearby grocery store. The kids see D and I from a mile away and come running barefoot, racing towards us and cumulating in flying leaps into our arms. Their mom is a hard worker, often looking for parked cars to wash or heavy boxes to lift. Despite living the life of a beggar, she rarely asks us for anything but instead always has a smile and a kind word.
A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling particularly confident in my language (which is definitely NOT a regular occurrence) and decided that if the opportunity arose I would invite my little friends and their mom to a nearby McDonald's. Sure enough the next morning I was picking up some groceries and there was my little friend sitting outside the store on a folded cardboard box. I mentioned the idea to his mom and both of their faces lit up. I told them I would return to the store to meet them after I dropped of my groceries. On the way back to my apartment butterflies began to to invade my stomach. What if they don't like McDonald's? What if they felt inferior or embarrassed? What if we can't understand each other? What if we just sit across from each other in complete silence? What if all the the other street kids wanted to join? There were a lot of questions, but there was no turning back at this point.
My questions melted away at the sight of my little friend. This little boy, almost four years old but smaller than our two year old. When he saw me coming he jumped up off his little cardboard box and started bounding along toward me. His mom called him back and carefully retrieved an old pair of flip flops for his bare feet and, in typical fashion for moms around the globe, began grooming her son. As he struggled against her mother grip she dumped water all over his head and scrubbed this beaming little face in an attempt to wipe away the layers of dust and grit from his daily surroundings. She grabbed an extra 'clean' shirt for her daughter (who, at six years old, was 'working' further down the street) and we were off. My little friend tightly gripped my hand as we made our way to McDonald's. Proud as punch, he waved to passersby and swung my arm with sheer joy. Upon sight of his sister he began yelling, in Arabic, across the street "We are going to McDonald's, we are going to McDonald's we are going to McDONALD's!!!!". At this point I don't even know if his little feet were even touching the ground. He was so excited. His mom struggled to pull the clean shirt over the head of his excited sister while she grabbed my other hand and we skipped the rest of the way to McDonald's.
As we waited for the food (it is definitely not 'fast food' here), the kids played in the outdoor play place while I chatted with their mom about being a mom. The kids were so excited to legitimately be allowed to play in that tiny, incredibly hot and sweaty play place. Most of the time we have gone there with our own girls we have groups of street kids standing outside the fence of the play place begging for our leftovers. Once they get them they often fight over them in desperation. To go to McDonald's here can be a heart wrenching experience. This day though, my little friends were on the play side of the fence. They didn't need to fight or worry or beg. They could just be kids. And kids they were! A little later when our food arrived, I realized that maybe in some ways three year olds around the world are all alike as my little friend's big brown eyes filled with tears when he discovered they were only serving breakfast during that time of day. He really had his heart set on some french fries!! He quickly got over his despair though and gobbled down some pancakes with syrup (first time ever), pleasantly surprised by their sweet taste and played to his heart's content.
As I walked home, my little friends' mom introduced me to her sister and her mom. For the first time ever she introduced me as her friend. In that moment, this trip to McDonald's seemed like so much more than food for a poor family, it was a feast for our relationship. It wasn't a solution for poverty but an opportunity for me to show her that she and her children are worth spending time with and I was blessed to be with them.
We also regularly see our 'yogurt girl' and her little brother in front of a nearby grocery store. The kids see D and I from a mile away and come running barefoot, racing towards us and cumulating in flying leaps into our arms. Their mom is a hard worker, often looking for parked cars to wash or heavy boxes to lift. Despite living the life of a beggar, she rarely asks us for anything but instead always has a smile and a kind word.
A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling particularly confident in my language (which is definitely NOT a regular occurrence) and decided that if the opportunity arose I would invite my little friends and their mom to a nearby McDonald's. Sure enough the next morning I was picking up some groceries and there was my little friend sitting outside the store on a folded cardboard box. I mentioned the idea to his mom and both of their faces lit up. I told them I would return to the store to meet them after I dropped of my groceries. On the way back to my apartment butterflies began to to invade my stomach. What if they don't like McDonald's? What if they felt inferior or embarrassed? What if we can't understand each other? What if we just sit across from each other in complete silence? What if all the the other street kids wanted to join? There were a lot of questions, but there was no turning back at this point.
My questions melted away at the sight of my little friend. This little boy, almost four years old but smaller than our two year old. When he saw me coming he jumped up off his little cardboard box and started bounding along toward me. His mom called him back and carefully retrieved an old pair of flip flops for his bare feet and, in typical fashion for moms around the globe, began grooming her son. As he struggled against her mother grip she dumped water all over his head and scrubbed this beaming little face in an attempt to wipe away the layers of dust and grit from his daily surroundings. She grabbed an extra 'clean' shirt for her daughter (who, at six years old, was 'working' further down the street) and we were off. My little friend tightly gripped my hand as we made our way to McDonald's. Proud as punch, he waved to passersby and swung my arm with sheer joy. Upon sight of his sister he began yelling, in Arabic, across the street "We are going to McDonald's, we are going to McDonald's we are going to McDONALD's!!!!". At this point I don't even know if his little feet were even touching the ground. He was so excited. His mom struggled to pull the clean shirt over the head of his excited sister while she grabbed my other hand and we skipped the rest of the way to McDonald's.
As we waited for the food (it is definitely not 'fast food' here), the kids played in the outdoor play place while I chatted with their mom about being a mom. The kids were so excited to legitimately be allowed to play in that tiny, incredibly hot and sweaty play place. Most of the time we have gone there with our own girls we have groups of street kids standing outside the fence of the play place begging for our leftovers. Once they get them they often fight over them in desperation. To go to McDonald's here can be a heart wrenching experience. This day though, my little friends were on the play side of the fence. They didn't need to fight or worry or beg. They could just be kids. And kids they were! A little later when our food arrived, I realized that maybe in some ways three year olds around the world are all alike as my little friend's big brown eyes filled with tears when he discovered they were only serving breakfast during that time of day. He really had his heart set on some french fries!! He quickly got over his despair though and gobbled down some pancakes with syrup (first time ever), pleasantly surprised by their sweet taste and played to his heart's content.
As I walked home, my little friends' mom introduced me to her sister and her mom. For the first time ever she introduced me as her friend. In that moment, this trip to McDonald's seemed like so much more than food for a poor family, it was a feast for our relationship. It wasn't a solution for poverty but an opportunity for me to show her that she and her children are worth spending time with and I was blessed to be with them.
