Upon arrival at my Peace Corps assignment in Africa, one of the first words I learned in Liberian English was "pekin". It was a term used for little children. From a little research, I learned that it comes from Portuguese pequeno or Spanish pequeño which means small. Additionally, research indicated that the word could be used as a term of endearment for a younger sibling, an apprentice, or anyone younger than you. I never really noticed that usage. In my observation, it was always for little kids. And, those pekins were everywhere!
When I arrived in rural Africa, there was no television (or even electricity) in my town of Zwedru. When the pekins needed entertainment, the white man in their midst was good "television". Well, that wasn't the case for all of them. On rare occasions, while holding on to their mothers for dear life, some little pekins screamed at the top of their lungs. They'd never seen anyone with skin as lily-white as mine, and it was horrifying. Fortunately, that wasn't the case with the pekins in my neighborhood. I confess, I didn't like it when they were peekin' in my windows at all hours of the day, but there were other endearing moments. They loved to come to my patio to help me make chocolate no-bake cookies. They took charge of the situation by sweeping my porch, maintaining the fire in the coal pot (sort of an African hibachi), and then they gathered water from the well to wash the dishes. They also devoured the cookies. While I was a Peace Corps Volunteer, the only available "candy" was some sort of Halls Mentho-Lyptus cough drop, semi-melted in the African heat. That was not candy! My no-bake cookies were a little bit a heaven in their mouths, and maybe on their hands as well.
Fortunately, when I returned to Liberia in 2016 to paint murals with the US Embassy, life had improved in a lot of ways. All kinds of candy bars were available. Many stores had generators so drinks could be served cold. Some rural locations even had the internet and satellite television. And, it seemed that everyone had a cell phone and solar generated lights for their homes. All of that would have rocked my Peace Corps experience. There was none of that in 1989.
The little boy in the portrait lived not so far from my home. In my Peace Corps days, my home was beyond the outskirts of town. It was surrounded by lush greenery and there even was a swamp in my backyard (which partially may explain why I had malaria five times while living in Africa). By 2016, the population of Zwedru had at least tripled. Housing expanded way beyond where I once lived and the greenery was gone. I might have located my old home, but it was hard to tell. A lot of Zwedru was destroyed during Liberia's 14-year civil war and so much had changed.
The major way to get anywhere in Zwedru was by foot. Everyone, including Peace Corps Volunteers, walked a lot. That all changed by the time I revisited the country in 2016. There were motorcycle taxis in abundance. Still, Peace Corps Volunteers were not allowed to ride on them. (In the past, motorcycles were the main cause of deaths for volunteers around the world, so I understood the policy. I, however, had no such restrictions, and I rode them all over the place.) Anyway, this boy in the portrait lived near my old home and close to the high school where I painted my mural. His family sold household goods at a small stand in front of their home. So, I had several opportunities to see this pekin during my stay in Zwedru.
When I travel, I frequently see faces that I want to photograph. This pekin, with his joyful smile, had one of those faces. But, I don't always get those pictures. Sometimes I'm a little too shy to ask. On other occasions, people don't want their photo taken, and I have to respect that. However, on most occasions, pekins around the world love to have their pictures taken. And, very happily for me, this pekin was no exception. I think this portrait successfully captured the joy that I saw in him every time our paths crossed. And every time I see him, it brings a smile to my face.