Scratched and Bruised

It was my last day in Addis. I had now spent a total of three weeks in the capital city of Ethiopia. Each day was different than the last, and each experience newer than the first.
I had just finished my last bunna ("coffee" in Amharic) at a small café I tended to visit regularly. I left and found myself walking through the piazza, when just then, a small hand slipped its way into mine. I looked down and saw a young girl. I realized I had seen her before on my many trips to this place. She was always walking around, begging for money. She looked up at me with her curious big brown eyes, and placed her fingers to her lips symbolizing her desire for food. It was then I noticed something else, her feet. They were scratched and bruised, and just as torn as the streets she walked day after day.

I knew she would follow me for a ways, so I continued walking to the nearest shoe shop, with her hand still in mine. I led her into a small store front. She wondered what I was doing placing shoes upon her fragile feet. It was then I received something from her that I will never in this lifetime forget, her smile. Her face lit up as she realized the gift she was being given. She looked at her feet, up at me, and back at her feet again. I then knelt down to her and she embraced me with a hug. I said, “God bless you” and “Goodbye” in Amharic to her, and she began to walk away, not being able to take her eyes off of her feet. Every few steps she would turn back at me with that same smile, wave, and then right back to looking at her feet again.
When I remember my trip to Ethiopia, that story is usually the first to come to mind. It reminds me that perhaps in our travels, or in our studies, or just in our day-to-day lives, the greatest memories may be the ones where we choose to place someone above ourselves. The times where we look at the scratched, bruised, and torn world we live in and try to figure out how we can make it a better place.