On this scorching August 2000 day, they observed those
little kids eagerly awaiting our work breaks. Tempered by commands
from parents to "Not bother the Americans," these beautiful kids
obediently waited for those fifteen-minute shade and water breaks.
Then, only after asking us, would their parents let them be swung,
tickled, or played with by the Americans.
But most of all, they wanted the American to mime them.
They wanted him to make clowning faces while stuck inside his
invisible box. Miming made their beautiful smiles bubble over with
giggles and gave them funny dramatics to emulate.
Was it the innocents' giggles? The sweat of the
foreigners? Something" moved the young Muslims beyond calculated
observations to chatting with the Yanks.
Then, the handsome, strapping leader unfolded his arms. He stepped forward to move wood, haul bricks, mix cement, and help with a wall. He threw his muscles into helping our Habitat for Humanity team tear down the mud walled, leaky thatched roof, mice infested, dark, and
windowless little house.
As Ravi did, so did his gang.
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