M a r h aba a n bikum fi k anada :
My experience volunteering with a Syrian refugee family. by laina tanahara
She looks up at me expectantly with her aquamarine eyes, outlined by her long thick lashes that reach towards the sky like flora hungry for the sun. She raises her arms and forms a “T” with her body and I know exactly what she wants. She doesn’t need to say a thing. I pick her up from her underarms and swing her high into the air, spinning her around maniacally as she shrieks with laughter. The sound that emanates from her communicates pure unabashed happiness—first a high-pitched squeal followed by staccatos of bubbly giggles. When I finally put her back down on her own two feet, she stumbles around drunk from dizziness, those lakes for eyes rolling to the back of her head for added effect. When she regains her center of gravity, we go through the whole routine again. No words are exchanged, but we’ve communicated fluently in the language of play. Even if she did say something, it wouldn’t matter. I don’t understand anything that comes out of her lips, and that’s because she only speaks Arabic. She is one of 26, 262 Syrian refugees that have come to Canada since November 4th, 2015.
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