There are moments in each person's life they treasure. These moments seem to jump out from the string of other moments, which together create an event or day; it is these singular moments that grab our attention and shine in our memory. One of the wonderfully enduring characteristics of these moments is that they do not usually consist of grand events. Instead, they are made up of the simple things: the majesty of a sunset or sunrise, a smile from the one you love, a shooting star, the smell of freshly baked bread, a kind word spoken, the smell of flowers, the first sip of coffee in the morning. Even though these moments are simple in nature, they have an ineluctable quality which continually draws the mind back to relive the intensity of the sensation. One of these moments, which so constantly returns to my mind, took place in a migrant camp in Mexico in 2002.
It makes me laugh to think about the girl I was on this trip; fourteen years old, eager and wholly nieve. At fourteen I was very excited to go play with the children who, along with their families, populated the migrant work camps. These camps were something in themselves, made up of rows of shiny, sweltering shacks - each home to a family of four to ten people. I was, as most people of our society would be, aghast at the living conditions in these camps, and for good reason. The camps were polluted with dirt, lice, and germs of every variety that would make our sanitized North American skin crawl simply at the thought. When you are involved in a mission of this sort for the first time, you go and expect to change so much, to help these people in such a way that they will be forever grateful. You might also feel that you have acquired some sort of radiant glow about you, effectively indicating what a good person you are. In actuality, I don't think that we changed a whole lot for these people. And the only glow I acquired was of perspiration from the intense heat. However, even though some of my nieve expectations were not fulfilled, I returned with a changed mindset and a memory of a smile that still makes my heart sing at the thought of it.
The Story:
She steps off the bus at the migrant camp and surveys the surroundings. The jobs to be done were delegated before the group left for the camp, and the eager participants were armed with whatever they may need to accomplish their respective mission. When it came time to assign the task of washing the children's hair, only a couple of hands rose. Not enough to adequately fulfill the requirements. She raises her hand in a manner that, to the outside observer, suggests that she is eager to get her hands in the little, lice-infected, heads. There is, however, a hesitation which results from the thought of actually having to touch the tiny parasites.
As she heads over to the shampooing station to get set up, the children start skipping alongside and she smiles at them, trying to communicate with hand gestures and the very little Spanish she has amassed through impromptu lessons. It is not going well, but the attempt almost becomes a game which amuses both parties. The setup does not take long and she soon develops a system for washing the kids' hair. She must admit that this is turning out to be kind of fun, and the children seem to love the attention even though they are bent over a bucket at an awkward angle for the majority of the experience.
Most children collect a fair share of dirt from playing all day, and the layer of dust which coats their hair indicates that these kids are no exception. It does not appear as if their hair undergoes any sort of cleansing ritual very often, which makes the dust even more evident. In reality, under all the dirt, they have thick, beautiful hair which, when it is cleaned and brushed, acts as a striking fame for their beaming faces.
As the next little girl with exceptionally long, thick black hair steps up, she notices that her back is starting to ache from bending over for so long. She smiles and invites the child up, and begins the process of pouring water over the little head. She begins to lather the hair, her fingers massaging the shampoo through the locks, watching as the white suds begin to expose the pitch black color. As she looks down at the little girl's face to ensure that no wayward bubbles have found their way into her eyes, the child glances over and offers the most amazing smile as thanks for the shampoo treatment. The girl seems to glow as she is bent over the bucket with soapy water streaming down her face. The realization slowly dawns that there is a deeper meaning which exists behind the simple act of 'lather, rinse, repeat,' which transcends mere cleanliness. It involves a connection and a love offering through the act of shampooing.
I have since come to the realization that there is something very personal about washing someone's hair. The smile which this particular little girl bestowed upon me still radiates in my mind as a reminder of the importance of connection and thankfulness. I realize that I tend to take advantage of a lot in this highly materialistic, western society. That smile has ensured that I will forget my aching back and the army of lice that had made a home of these beautiful little heads before I will ever forget the radiance which emanated from it.
Each person has had remarkable moments which stand out as unforgettable in their lives. Of mine includes a smile framed by streaming water and shampoo suds. What started out as a task that was a little too 'hands on' for my liking, turned into one of the most profound, poignant moments I have been blessed to experience.
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