Speculation

Tessa attends elementary school with several Somali children (some of whom have become favorites of mine on the playground due to their bright smiles, incredible manners, and the compassion shown to Tessa when she had an inevitable playground injury that caused tears but not blood). One child in her class speaks Somali but not English.

I'm trying to speculate about this. I'm trying to wonder what it feels like to be in a room full of strangers speaking another language all day...at the age of five. I'm trying to wonder what it feels like to have an alphabet placed before you when you can't figure out why or what it's for. I see how worn out Tessa is from her day at kindergarten, and I can't get my mind around what it's like for a non-English speaker in an English speaking classroom. I can't even imagine.

I'm trying to imagine what the Somali children have witnessed in their lives. I started doing internet research this morning, and I found myself weeping. I am not reading about distant people in a distant land....I'm reading about Tessa's classmates. I'm not reading about faceless people, I'm reading about little children and I can see their faces before me.

How can I not weep?

Americans are advised not to travel to Somalia because of the violence in the streets. The violence, I read, is unpredictable.

What are these children's stories? What did they see before I met them on the playground? What horrors have they coped with?

I know that I lose my temper with Tessa, being grouchy and loud with her, when I've had a hard day. I wonder what a hard day looks like to a Somali. I bet it makes my hard days look pretty easy.

It's all speculation, and I want to be careful to remember that these are individuals, just children, and not representatives of their nation. But I also want to be sensitive to what they may have witnessed in their lives.

Reading about Somalia, I wanted to run to school to grab these children and hold them in my arms and weep with them. Of course, I will do no such thing, and if I did I'm pretty certain that I'd terrify them rather than comforting them....I'm not crazy, and I know at least that much. I can't erase the memories that I imagine some of them have seen. And I can only speculate what those memories might be. And maybe they're lucky, maybe they don't have the kind of memories that I'm thinking of. But somewhere, some children do. It's hard to know what to do about that kind of information except to weep.

I am grateful that my daughter will learn friendship with these children. When she grows up, and she reads about Muslims in the news, she will not think of Islamic terrorists, she will think of her friends. I am so, so grateful for that.

Even as I weep.