The stench of trash and urine invade my nose as the feet of an 8 year old girl creeps down my neck and over my shoulders. Before I realize who is above me, she swings from the soccer goal I’m guarding and lands on my back, sending me crashing to the cement slab used as a soccer field. She wears the same clothes as when I visited her last week and I can feel her sweat on my skin. Her hands cover my eyes and we play a quick game of ?guess who?.
A new boy staying with us from the streets steals my water bottle from my hands and runs off calling me a monkey in spanish and laughing uncontrollably. He is missing a few teeth and his shoes are worn to the sole. He likes to hug me a little too tight and mess with my hair.
Im stirring beans in the kitchen and running behind on the lunch schedule when a 3 year old girl taps my knee and holds up an arm signaling me to lift her up. She itches her head from lice and holds the newest puppy in her hands. After picking her up and putting her back down 3 times, she pulls me into the other room and points towards the swing outside.
The people here greet me with hugs and smiles. They are almost always in my personal bubble and the smell of wherever they come from lingers on my clothes long after our hours together. Sometimes they get frustrated with my soccer abilities (rightfully so) and give me headaches from their paint thinner. They make promises they cant keep and tell stories that aren’t entirely true. They live and love like they’ve been taught. Regardless, these people are beautiful.
Though, to truly know the depths of beauty in these people, one must experience where they come from. A crash into cement from a leap on my back becomes priceless instead of painful when put into comparison with the quiet and timid stare I previously experienced with this 8 year old girl. An uncomfortable embrace from a new street boy turns into a blessing rather than a nuisance when I picture the bottle of thinner he used to carry around in his left hand. A missed lunch because of an energetic 3 year old wanting to play on a swing is transformed into a display of redemption when I remember the trash and emptiness of the community where she once lived.
Beauty may not be the word that comes to people’s mind at the thought of sweaty hugs and dirty feet, but when accompanied with the places they come from, there may not be a more perfect description.
