Dominic's Smile

by Omayra Caban (United States of America)

Making a local connection Swaziland

You know that comforting song that lifts your spirits or that word of encouragement that you really needed? That's how I felt about Dominic's smile. I still remember his little feet kicking up the mixture of dirt and dust resting on the schoolhouse floor, as he skipped around with a huge, cartoon-like smile on his face, biting into his sandwich with the same energy and enthusiasm. Three years ago when I volunteered as an assistant teacher at Zakhele Preschool, the Kingdom of eSwatini was called the Kingdom of Swaziland. This land-locked country is enclosed almost completely by South Africa. Teeming with thorn bushes, a faded rust-colored dirt, and free-roaming livestock, it is Africa’s last remaining absolute monarchy. The King decided to change the name of the country since then, so he did. “His name is spelled Dominic but it’s pronounced Dominique,” Khanyisile, the head teacher, explained strong and direct as she was, pointing to the roll call paper in my hand. Dominic’s name was the least of my worries. Being a Bantu language, siSwati names and words oftentimes had what sounded like “clicks,” at the beginning or even in the middle of words. More than 8,000 miles from home, my perfect American accent was a hindrance and not the advantage it normally was. Everyday after roll call, Dominic yelled the alphabet and numbers at the top of his lungs. With careful dedication, his cute little voice would rise as he passionately belted out songs and squeezed his eyes tight when saying a prayer. The echo of his voice resonated against the bleak cement walls of the schoolhouse and resounded in the walls of my mind. He was on fire for life. Despite being one of Africa’s smallest countries, eSwatini holds the title for having the highest prevalence of HIV. Seven in ten people in this country live in abject poverty. Dominic couldn’t care less. Tumbling down the slide, he bounced off the ground. His arms and legs bent every which way like a pliable and elastic piece of rubber. Taking a giant leap, he landed among the other boys. They were busy watching construction workers through a chain link fence, the steady rhythm of their digging and hammering stealing away their attention. Dominic picked up a piece of broken brick through a hole in the fence, discarded by the workers, and began to play. Using his tiny five-year-old hand, he separated the dirt to form a path for his brick. Speaking to the other boys, he urged them to do the same. They soon had a Hot Wheels racing track. They giggled while dragging their “cars” through the warm sand littered with the fallen and rotting leaves of a nearby Marula tree. Khanyisile, told me a little bit about Dominic’s background after I expressed concerns about some sores on his head. “He is often sick,” she looked down at her weathered hands, wearily shaking her head, “many times he misses school for up to a week at a time.” She didn’t tell me more, but she didn’t need to. Desperately fighting back tears, I watched the kids eagerly make their way back inside after recess. I couldn’t help but rest my gaze on Dominic’s mischievous little face as he hopped along to his seat. Although the day started out crisp, the brutal afternoon sun now prompted the children to shed their layers. Dominic wiggled out of his Spider-Man sweater, revealing a Batman tank top. A soothing breeze rushed in through the open door, scattering workbook pages as well as my thoughts. I caught a whiff of the burning firewood right outside of the building. In a few hours, this preschool would convert into a Care Point and feed the local children, the future of eSwatini. The future that was so visibly captured and depicted in Dominic’s smile. A future that is full of joy, resilience, and strength. A future made better by Dominic’s life.