Saturdays with Anna – 1
My thumb is sore but the repetitive motions of crocheting the small bag are remarkably soothing. I begin to meditate. My mind empties of all the worries and concerns that have been keeping me up these last few nights. (It may just be the heat, but I haven’t been sleeping well since I came to Haiti). Weave in, out, up down, over, under and through. Over and over again until a pattern starts to emerge and what was once just loose flowing thread is now a small, dense mat.
Anna is a remarkably patient teacher – I am a slow and stubborn learner. But she consoles me in my frustration. She insists that I will eventually learn how to do it. She makes me believe that I can learn how to crochet. And so I do. And I can’t remember being prouder of anything.
Later, i will read her story in one of her case files and my heart will break. She is a minor. She was raped by her brother. She bore his child.
I know I can’t be a lawyer – I hate legal work, regardless of the cause. But I feel like I can do good here. I just need to figure out what.