NANA

She approached me that first day on the island, at a time when many were wandering through Kalifa’s house, their curiosity about this mansion on an island where most of the homes where concrete blocks with corrugated metal roofs.   Initially I wondered if she was mute or just incredibly shy. Her smile and forthrightness in walking into my room seemed to negate the shy theory.  Some days later observing her interactions with the other children, I let go of the mute theory as well.

Sitting on my air mattress, I looked up to see a beautiful little girl, hair in a million braids with colorful plastic clips of animals and figures swaying and bobbing as she moved about.  She kept her eyes on me as she began to cross the threshold.  I put my hand up to stop her and indicated she should wipe her feet.  She did so and smiled showing gaps of missing baby teeth.

My efforts to find out her name – the same gestures and words that had worked with the other kids, did not yield the desired results.  She kept her eyes on me, but no matter how many times I pointed to myself and said “Lydia” and then pointed to her – she remained silent. Then I tried writing my name.  I handed her the pen; she copied my name.

Several days later Kalifa found out that her name is Nana.  I was enchanted, and would encourage her to come over when I saw her wandering through the yard. There was something so endearing about her, and something that happened when our eyes met, although as the days wore on, she seemed not as interested in me. Perhaps the curiosity had worn off, perhaps the language limits seemed too much.

The first time I saw her fighting I thought it was just normal kid stuff.  Feeling a bit biased about her and in love with her smile, I was sure it was the other kid’s fault.  By the third fight I witnessed in a place where fights were few, I was really starting to wonder what was going on.  Had she somehow become the kid everyone picks on? Or was she the instigator?  It always seemed to end with her sobbing, not a few tears, but a heart wrenching sound that carried the weight of world with it.

I later discovered that Nana was one of three children whom Daniel and his wife “adopted” – in addition to having their own.  Nana’s biological mom was one of many who had fled Senegal during civil unrest, and upon returning to her home country left her child (ren) behind.  Whether an act of love or frustration or both or neither, I do not know.  Was that the source of the guardedness I had detected, the source of Nana’s pain –having been abandoned?

The last full day we were on Kassa, I heard the sounds of children tussling and turned to see that a girl a year or so older than Nana had her in a head lock and was pulling Nana’s hair at the roots. Amazed at how strong those little fingers were, it took longer than anticipated for me to pry them loose. The other girl walked away and Nana fell to the ground in hysterics.  She didn’t seem physically injured but her pain ran so deeply. 

At a loss for how to comfort her, comfort myself, I am trusting that the many adults on the island who are kind to her will support her until Nana can find her way to peace within herself.