Upon arrival, the children flooded in.
The atmosphere was set with joy and laughter from deep down, and the countryside was fully alive.
Immediately, we made friends upon surprise hugs, then colored, painted nails,
and even formed our very own kazoo band, the Kazoo Kings.
After a few minutes of encountering the abounding joy of these Nicaraguan children,
silence befell us as attentions steered away.
There they were, hands in pockets, dragging their feet, with eyes bound to the ground;
they slowly walked emotionless towards us as if they were walking dead.
I sat all things aside as I gently moved towards them in search of a smile – in search of some light.
Nothing.
For five and a half hours, we played games as our new friends lit us up with joy.
But still, these two siblings cracked no smile, not once.
Have you ever wanted to take a look inside someone's life?
I almost wished I hadn't.
Seeing the destruction done on these two children, both under four years old,
felt like my flesh was being ripped off slowly, even before I asked.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I tapped pastor on the shoulder,
"Why don't they smile? What's going on at home that they have no life left in them?"
I almost ran away at the response I received.
Mom is dead.
Dad is a drunk.
He doesn't care for them one bit.
Their aunt helps where she can, but still is no mother.
They learn to take care of themselves.
They live in a small house by themselves
and roam the streets scavenging love.
Both under four years of age.
