Child Wonder

Malawi
April 2019

He slides his fingertips along the curves of my white skin, following skeletal ridges and swollen veins. He examines it for patches of disease or discomfort - both his own and mine - with his eyes tracing the sketches of his artistic touch. First the angles of my bony elbows, then my freckled shoulders. And a silent squeeze to my kneecap to confirm I too had the same bones in the same inconvenient places. He tugs the whisps of the strange arm hair carefully, between his alternating fingers, mesmerized. He concentrates on the skin texture, the specks of dark and light, and the sensation of my white under his fingers. It's a test, a checkup with a cheerful child clinician aboard a bus. His family sits across the aisle. He never asked for permission; they didn't scold. I didn't mind, for I was mesmerized too.

Young millions dance to this tune, but I'm rigid and hear nothing. My eyes follow their playful paths, where bare feet chase the lowly joy of aluminium hoops and plastic margarine lids. The pure shrieks of happiness borne in repurposed rubbish echo from dry lots, my ears virgin to the animation, to the unprovoked proclamation of soulful abundance somehow coalescing from my privileged presumption of nothing. It's in my hands, too, as I confirm that their open palms clasp mine in equal clammy curiosity. Theirs is a skin soft with innocence, yet unwrinkled with the indelible calluses of labor and inequity.

Our wonders meeting in wondrous feat capture me. My spirit strives for conscious connection, seeking redemption in replicating their delight. Their whimsical zeal spills forth uninhibited, a sweet nectar dripping in abundance from the fruit of a vibrant tree. It withers in the wealthy world, but flourishes here. They bound unencumbered among the baobabs, and the joy I seek is theirs to speak. Exuberance radiates, reducing me to a parallel ascendant bliss of innocence, touched by seeing what I've never heard before. I'm a man of another way among throngs of children, a boy in awe as they impart their pure youthful tones to my estranged senses. We clasp hands again in mutual wonder and stumble through the sand. The distant drumbeat grows, and my heart fills my veins in a new rhythm.