When we presented the children with their gifts (albeit wrapped in small black garbage bags) I was also shocked at the fact that none of them were immediately responsive to opening what was handed to them. Did they not understand it was a present? Did I not understand how to approach the situation? To me, being handed a gift is so joyful, and to be blunt, fairly obvious that it is what’s inside that matters, not the outer wrapping (you can analogize that statement if you so choose).
The gifts we gave them however (and let me add that it was translated to them in Creole that the were indeed gifts) simply remained in most of the children’s laps until it finally became clear that perhaps the reason they weren’t opening the gifts was that maybe, just maybe, they had never received a Christmas gift before. Practically child by child, we had to instruct them and often unwrap the presents for them so they could enjoy the stuffed animals, books, and chocolate treats that we had stuffed inside.
Sensing we had to change the tone of the day, we decided that we would turn the music up a bit louder and try to get everyone to join us in dancing. For whatever reason, I was asked to be the first to start dancing in a room full of people sitting in confusion. Sure, I can feign my way dancing through nightclubs in New York, but it shouldn’t come as a surprise that a white girl like myself possesses very little in the way of dance moves, particularly in a crowd of people who are known for their inherent rhythm and dance to begin with.
Embarrassment aside, I tried my best to shake my stiff hips and lanky arms to the sound of muffled Christmas music and soon enough (thank god) we began a NON-DANCE REQUIRED conga line that ended up changing the entire vibe of the day. Suddenly the children were smiling, the parents were giggling, and we must have conga’d around the same small room for a solid two hours.
