This picture embodies everything I came to love about Michael. Every, single day Michael appeared outside my house in his blue speedo, his neon pink 1990's shirt unbuttoned to expose his swollen stomach, and his rusting machete.
He would look up at me with a furrowed brow and asked the only words he knew in English,
"Obruni, where are you going?"
His scowl complimented the angry tone that accompanied his question. I couldn't help but smile as this little boy stood dressed in the attire of a middle-aged man vacationing in Hawaii, angrily uttering words that meant nothing to him.
It was an irony, really.
Here was a boy who reminded me of an over-indulgent American as his stomach swelled with the pains of starvation. And here was a boy questioning me with absolute self-assurance, mumbling the only four words he knew in English, the official language of his country.
But it was incredible, too.
It was incredible because this boy faced adversity I had, and probably will, never know and yet he carried on with absolute normalcy. He came to me everyday to try to connect by saying the only thing he knew I would understand, hoping to play. And what's more is that Michael is orphaned.
He came to my house everyday because he had no where else to go. He wandered the village with his machete, nourished by the love and meager remains of the people in the community, hoping to simply find someone to read, to talk with, to touch.
When I returned Darmang in 2010, I looked for Michael but he was no where to be found. He had all but disappeared from the streets. And then I went to an orphanage nearby...
and there was Michael sitting in a neatly pressed school uniform, smiling. He looked up when he saw me without a hint of recognition and asked,
"Obruni where are you going?"
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