Through Canaan's Eyes

This is why I haven't posted much this week :)) I've been working on my assignment for my adv. fiction class. I got the idea on the way back from Florida. This issue has been heavy on my heart. I hope you enjoy :))

Through Canaan's Eyes

Sometimes I wonder if what I want is what I am supposed to do. Supposed to be. Supposed to follow through with until the end. Sometimes I’m not exactly sure, but then I think about the circumstances that brought me to where I am now in my life and then I know that what I want is exactly right in sync with what I am supposed to do. Three years ago I would never have wanted to do this, ever… Fast forward to the present, and I am a completely, polar opposite of what I once had been. I try not to be selfish, to have a servant’s heart for others. This is one of these unselfish journeys. I pray that I can somehow overcome the ever-changing obstacles in front of me. They always say that you have to deal the hand you were dealt, yet sometimes I almost think it’s not a matter of dealing it yourself, that you’re helped along the way by others and the hands they were dealt. Maybe this will be the one journey that changes me somehow – through the eyes of the Zimbabwean.

The clanging cups hitting against the dangling, crudely-fashioned spoons of various sizes woke her up, its echo rushing Hadassah back to reality. Back to the dirt packed streets of the small village just outside Ngezi – where she had come to know yesterday. Back to the gazillion reverberations and sounds around the makeshift Relief-Aid station where everyone for miles around seemed to gather. The sounds of small children crying, begging for relief pierced her ears as she searched for the team leader of the group. There he was – over by the second feeding station.
Looking at her with a relieved smile, he motioned her over his way. “There you are. I need someone to cover this station until they run out of beans. You think you and Jacoline can handle it?” he asked, wiping his brow with a swipe of his forearm, placing his hat back on his head firmly before walking off.
“Sure,” was all Hadassah could get out before he was gone.
He turned back to yell something, “I’ll take over in a couple of hours,” he hurriedly said, rushing over to meet with the other relief effort group’s leader.
“Anything to help,” she whispered into the air.
Hundreds of Zimbabweans, women with children mostly – holding the hands of small children, balancing infants in a sling on their backs, caressing the backs of those who really felt the pangs of hunger – stood in a single line a half-mile long. One woman, Hadassah guessed no older than her early twenties, sat with her four small children, the oldest no more than five or six. The son she intently stared at, his big brown eyes asking once more for something to eat, sat motionless. Still. Unmoving. It seemed nothing the young mother cooed to him broke the stare; only the relieving blinks, long brown lashes following in sync momentarily stole the grasp hunger had won.
Or maybe he’s daydreaming? Hadassah asked herself, dipping the ladle into the beans and pouring them into the wooden bowl, handing it off. Daydreaming of a world better than this, than the one he knows to be his own. There has to be more for him than this, than merely existing in a world ravaged of peace and unforgiving.
A small, light blue shirt was the only thing on his back to keep him from the chills that would soon come with the night air. Luckily the excruciating cold nights had yet to show their faces this rainy season; else he wouldn’t wake after closing his eyes to the melody and rhythm of his mother’s song.
His eyes were not as bright as they were meant to be. Against the beautiful make of his mahogany skin, they were meant to shine like the sun, like jewels, like sheer joy. Yet they didn’t anymore.
Hadassah ladled another bowlful, handed it off to another hungry Zimbabwean, and dipped the ladle back into the pot. This little boy has a story beyond anything I’ve experienced. For sure he is wiser beyond his years- beyond my own.
This little guy wasn’t far from the beginning of the line, maybe fifteen or twenty feet perhaps. Beside him sat a crying toddler, mercilessly tugging at her mother’s skirt, wanting relief. Her face was caked with a layer of dust, her lips cracked and painted with dried blood in places. Her eyes pleaded for sustenance – sustenance for the day, for her days to come.
Mhuri yakadini? I should ask how the family is. Or… maybe not? But, I don’t want to just stand here dishing out beans and not say a word to anyone. I care about these people, I want to know about them and their lives. I need to know.
Turning towards Jacoline, the Shano speaking translator, purposefully clearing her throat just a little, Hadassah cheerfully said, “Mhoro.”
A beautiful smile played upon Jacoline’s lips and into her dark eyes, “Mhoro.”
“Uh… can I ask you a question, Jacoline?” Hadassah quietly, yet not shyly, asked, handling another bowl before filling it.
Moving within speaking distance, to be able to hear her above the cries and many voices, Jacoline answered with a kind smile, “Yes. What’s your question?” her native tongue giving a beautiful flare to her English.
“I was wondering if we, the volunteers, could speak, uh, converse with the families?” Hadassah waited for the expected no, but was unexpectedly surprised when the woman wrapped her arms around her tightly, the ladle still in her hand, luckily empty at that moment.
Gently letting go, Jacoline whispered into Hadassah’s ear with exuberant happiness, “You are the first to ask today. We’ve been serving since seven o’clock, and it took someone five hours to ask me that.”
“Well, I’m glad I asked, then. I was about to chicken out; I wasn’t sure we could and didn’t want to be disappointed.”
“Who should I thank for asking me, dear girl?”
“Hadassah. Hadassah Zachary. And I already know your name, Ms. Jacoline.” Hadassah smiled, ladling the contents into a bowl.
“Oh no, no, no. Just Jacoline, my dear.”
Hadassah thanked her with a smile.
The line was growing longer and longer it seemed, and the sparse breeze dryer and dryer packed with a punch of smells that nearly took your breath away.
There he was. The little guy she couldn’t keep her eyes off of a few minutes ago had now come next in line for his meal, standing straight in front of her. The brown-eyed boy whose eyes didn’t shine, whose eyes grasped hers, pulling her in, into his world, into his disease-stricken family, into his hunger. The hunger for something tangible to satisfy his ravaging little body, the hunger for salvation from his experiences.
He had yet to become malnutritioned. But he would soon be in that very place – very soon.
Thank you, Jesus, for sparing him.
She decided to do it, to take the plunge. “Mhoro, wakadini?” Hadassah looked at him, right into this set of eyes that implored her to ask again. To make sure she actually cared. “Mhoro, wakadini?”
“Ungandibatsirewo?”
It surprised her – he spoke to her.
Quickly she whispered to Jacoline, “What did he say?”
“He wants to know if you can help him.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. She swallowed, “I don’t know.” Hadassah looked at Jacoline again. “Tell him, tell him I don’t know.”
“He- here. Here’s your beans, little guy.” Her lip quivered, two tears running down her cheeks. And there the young boy took his beans, as did his mother and his sister that could carry hers. He was gone, he was eating his beans. They had what they came for.
Handing her two more servings of beans, Jacoline nudged her head in the direction of the little boy. “Go, give these to the mother for her other two children.”
When Hadassah was about five steps away from the serving station, she heard, “And stay with him, help him.” She smiled at Jacoline in return.
“And don’t worry, I’ll manage while you’re gone.”
Hadassah took the longest steps in all her life, each step it seemed bringing another thought of what she should say, if she should even say anything at all, or even if she should turn around. She remembered she had the thin Shona pocket translator in her back pocket. It was a sign. She continued.
There they were, him and his family nestled in the grass by a group of small children. His mother, her features radiant from the new found joy, prayed with her head lifted to the sky. Tears rolled down her dark cheeks, her lips forming the words thank you, God. Hadassah couldn’t be more grateful that she hadn’t turned back. Instead of diving into the beans, the hot food they had waited all morning for, if not weeks for, she prayed and thanked God for it.
How giving these people are. In the face of starvation, they are still thankful. They are not greedy- like I am at dinner.
It made Hadassah feel sick inside. Not a sick like vomiting sick, but emotionally. She didn’t understand where their unselfishness came from. How they were so humble in the situation where she would’ve fought to be first in line to grab the first croissant.
Surrounding their mother were her daughters, his little sisters. The two smallest shared a bowl, the oldest one having her own. It was unimaginable to Hadassah that this mother would sit there with no food for herself. She gave all she had to her little girls.
Hadassah ventured into their area, greeting the mother and the little girls with the traditional hello, smiling as she placed the extra two bowls into the mother’s hands. She noticed the little boy wasn’t with his family, but he was sitting by himself about ten feet over, placing one bean at a time into his mouth, careful to savor every bite.
She walked over to him and sat, cross-legged just like he was. He looked at her, the same look in his eyes, the same hunger as before. Hadassah wondered how many meals it would take for him to be released from it. Five, maybe ten.
“Mhoro.” There, he spoke again.
She giggled inside, hopeful that this little guy was okay. “Mhoro… um… uh..,” Hadassah said, smiling uncontrollably, tucking stray wisps of hair behind her ears. Thinking of the small book once again, she took the Shona pocket translator out of her back pocket, and flipped through to find the common phrases section. What’s your name… what’s your name… she mumbled to herself as she skimmed the page. Here we go. Unonzani?
“Uunonzani?” she asked him, his eyes lighting up when he heard his native language.
“Canaan,” the little boy answered, a smile playing upon his dark lips as he took another bean and savored its taste. He touched the pocket translator and ran his fingers over the semi-smooth pages. He was mesmerized by its feel, and the characters on its page.
“Ah, Canaan,” Hadassah smiled, “It’s nice to meet you.”
He cocked his head a little to the right, and then slightly shook as if to say he didn’t understand.
“Oh, uh…” she began, stalling while she searched the page. “Oh, here it is. Uh, ndafara kukuziv,” Hadassah half asked, half stated, not sure she had the pronunciation down.
Canaan nodded.
I must have, Hadassah smiled. She looked, but she couldn’t find it anywhere. So Hadassah ventured out into Shonglish. “Canaan, how old are you?”
He wasn’t getting it, shaking his head with a confused look on his little face.
“Uh, shanu, tanhatu, nomwe…” Hadassah barely squeezed out, her Shona being a little rusty around the edges.
“Tanhatu,” he smiled, placing his half-eaten bowl of beans on the ground in front of him, then held up six fingers.
“Good. Very good, Canaan.”
Canaan suddenly stood up, wiped his little hands on his already soiled shirt, and took her hand. He pulled on it, saying something in his native tongue she couldn’t understand. Hadassah rose, and he led her over fifteen feet to the left, where there was an empty spot. He told her something once more, but again, she didn’t understand.
“I’m sorry. I- I don’t understand.” Hadassah reached for the pocket translator, but realized it was by his bowl of beans. She couldn’t exactly get what he wanted her to do.
Then he took both her hands, and started to move, dance maybe. Hadassah wasn’t sure. Yet he continued this movement. The patter of his little feet began to make a rhythm, and he moved to the right, bringing Hadassah with him in a swift circular direction.
Hadassah breathed a sigh of relief. He wants to dance.
They began to swing around, five or six times, faster and faster, each time it became harder for Hadassah make out the people around them. Canaan was giggling, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes smiled. His laughter was contagious, Hadassah catching the happiness radiating from his little face, his whole body.
His eyes were now bright. They were laughing, they were smiling – they even said he had joy. Deep down, he had joy. He’d had it all along, someone just needed to help him bring it out.
The swinging slowly stopped, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding on very tightly, squeezing her with his eyes closed. She gently pulled his arms apart, and knelt down to his level, face to face, eye to eye. Canaan gave her the most beautiful smile ever, his eyes said it all.
Something within her began to sob, a joyous sob – the kind you get when everything seems right with the world. She took him in her arms, placed his head on her shoulder, and cried. The tears wouldn’t stop. She didn’t know when they had began, she knew this was an amazing little boy that took the time to fall in love with life once again. He was only six, and she was twenty two. Yet, he taught her a lesson she might never have learned if it weren’t for him. He was a miracle, just like her beans were a miracle to him.
“It’s gonna be okay, Canaan. It’s gonna be okay,” Hadassah whispered in his ear through muffled sobs. She stood him back in front of her, and he whispered something unintelligible. Sensing her difficulty, he repeated himself, this time a little louder.
“Unonzani?”
I’ve heard it before, but what does it mean?
Canaan took his little finger, pointing to himself and said, “Canaan.” Then his little finger pointed toward her chest.
“Oh, Hadassah,” she pointed to her chest and said it again. “Hadassah.”
“Hadassah,” he smiled. The words were like a tickle on his tongue. He began to giggle, that same contagious giggle as before. It got both of them giggling at each other. It was a moment Hadassah would never forget.


His eyes had been like joy that moment. I don’t think I’d ever seen a kid that happy, and haven’t since. He was a such a blessing to me. He taught me that whatever or wherever life brings you, sometimes you have to make the best of it. Sometimes you just have to laugh, to giggle, to let it all out. Canaan was the kind of person you’ll never forget once you meet him. He wanted happiness, but he needed someone to help him, to help him dance through the hunger, to help him feel love. He definitely got his help, but he helped me more.
Sometimes I wonder if we’ll ever see each other again, or if he’ll remember me when he’s twenty two. Canaan helped me to see the joy in the little things of life, the happiness of a kid who has nothing, but through his eyes has everything anyone could ever want. He helped me that day, he really did. Canaan was what woke me up. Through his eyes I saw what I needed to see.




--- At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
“Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened around his neck and to be drowned in the depth of the sea.
Matthew 18:10-14
“See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that in heaven their angels always see the face of my Father who is in heaven. What do you think? If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go in search of the one that went astray? And if he finds it, truly, I say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that never went astray. So it is not the will of my Father who is in heaven that one of these little ones should perish.
—Matthew 18:1-6, 10-14 ----