Language Has No Boundaries

Reflections of my time living beside a refugee camp in Eastern Africa.

Walking up to the tin door, I open it, voicing my greetings to whoever is on the compound. Little faces scream in excitement as they realise who it is. They run up to me; arms open wide; it has been too long!

Every week, this is the greeting I get as I walk into my friend Amena’s house next to the market. These once shy little boys always want me to come and sit with them, play with them, and take hundreds of photos with them.

I have loved getting to know their little personalities. Strong, extroverted Abdiel, gentle chatterbox Humzah, and we can’t forget Aaron, who I could never get to smile. Now his face lights up, especially whenever there is a camera involved.

Last week, I sat there tickling them, none of us knowing the word in Arabic. They probably have never experienced it. (I think it is more of a western culture thing) Abdiel continued to grab my hand and place it on his stomach. It was his way of saying more, more.

Or the time when I kissed Aaron’s head, and he leaned over and placed a big wet sloppy kiss on my cheek. We are not from the same culture; we definitely don’t look the same.

They know more Arabic than me (although it is not their native language) but, we somehow can understand and speak some sort of language together.

Seeing them and their mum’s Amena and Fatima, is definitely a highlight of the week. There are days when I really wish I could stay and watch them grow up.

I hope that one day we will meet again when they are older.

*All names changed for privacy. ** Specific location withheld for security reasons.

I wrote this piece while living in rural eastern Africa. Life was hard, but there were also many beautiful memories. Photos regularly come up on my computer memories, and I am reminded of all the sweet and generous people I was friends with when I lived in Africa.

It’s been over five years since I last stepped foot on those dusty roads. I often wonder where my friends are and what they are doing.

Soon after writing this reflection, Amena and Humzah returned further north to live closer to Amena’s family.

I continued to visit Fatima before returning to Australia five months later.

Although people in this community lived off very little (and I mean like nothing), they rarely asked for anything and often gave what they had to others.

I will never forget their kindness and generosity to me, a westerner who did not speak their language or know anything about their culture. Kindness transcends even the most challenging barriers of language.

This article is an experiment with different styles of writing. If you would like to read more of this genre, please let me know.

Melissa is a new writer to Medium who has recently embarked on the adventure of becoming a freelance writer. She has previously worked in healthcare and is passionate about building authentic and healthy communities.

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