September 19, 2015
“She looks like she’s dreaming she can fly,” the 16 year old Somali girl sitting behind me mused.
We’re watching a woman dance as a traditional healer plays shareero music.
I know that feeling.
All you hear is the music. All you feel is happiness. Worries don’t exist. Not when you’re dancing.
My new friend has lived in Lewiston, Maine for ten years. Before that, Atlanta for a month. And before that in a refugee camp in Kenya.
She’s scared of snakes. And dogs. She has braces and she thinks there’s nothing fun to do in her town.
As the wind rustles through the nearby corn fields and the sun begins its afternoon descent, I’m overwhelmed by a feeling of contentedness.
It’s that feeling of peace you really only get when surrounded by a happy, post-lunch, tight-knit community. It doesn’t matter to anyone that I’m new.
It doesn’t matter to me that I don’t understand the words swirling around me. You don’t need a translator to laugh and smile and just be.
It was the best kind of day.