Dear LaZack,
You may not remember me but I am the ‘azungu’ who came to your village for a month when you were little. You ran out to meet me when we first arrived, probably curious about this white-skinned foreigner. The only words I knew were Mudi bwanji (how are you?) and Ndini bwino (I’m fine, how are you?). But we communicated through smiles and high-fives and hugs. I spun you around in circles until I either got too tired or too dizzy. Sometimes when we were building that playground you would try to sneak up on me and tap me, but I was too fast and I would spin around before you got to me and playfully chase you away.
One night I was standing on the back steps at dusk admiring the Malawian sunset. You snuck around the back with a cautious smile and carefully approached me with your hand up ready for a high-five. We tapped palms. Enthused with your prize, you sprinted back around the corner and disappeared until the next day.
We became better friends when school started and I got to see the class-clown side of you as well as the quiet/tired side. I got to see you make progress in counting the numbers zero, one, and two, and learning the first six letters of the English alphabet.
You reminded me of the childlike joy that I always want to have. That our lives are about more than just avoiding failure, but taking risks. And not being afraid to try new things and learn. And to give love freely instead of waiting for other people to love first. Most of all, I will remember your infectious laugh – the kind where you’d through your head back and invite everyone around you to join in your joy.
You may not remember me but I will remember you.
Sincerely,
Zach
