it was nice

I once wrote a post about Manuel. He, has every Sunday that I've been in Chimoio for the past three months, come and sat by me in church. He likes to look at my liturgy and hymn books, he receives a sticker from me, and when the time comes for blessing the children, he walks in with all the others, his hands put together prayerfully in front of him. He sometimes comes with two or three of his siblings, and they usually all have a cover of dust on them, clothes that they put on the previous day, or maybe even Friday. So they sort of seem like a motley crew to the well-dressed church goers sitting around me.

This morning in church he found me in the very middle of a bench--the three people to my left three largish well-dressed Nigerians and to my right, a Zimbabwean couple with their little girl. There was no way for him to sit by me. So he sat right behind me. Halfway through the service, I felt a gentle touch on my hair. He stroked by hair for maybe five minutes. People around him told him to stop, to go outside, but he kept on, and I let him, because, well, I love when someone plays with my hair. The longer I let him the more courageous he got and soon he was giving me an up-do. That's all I have to say about it really. It was just nice.

I'd also just like to say that now Manuel can write his name and some of his numbers. Rebekah worked with him during the months she was here.