So this summer I was in an impoverished village in Egypt, teaching kids there about healthy habits and things pertaining to the prevalent diseases in that area. The funny thing is that I learned WAY more from them than they learned from me.

To set the stage for this experience, let me tell you about these kids' living conditions. They are mostly middle schoolers. They are fatherless, which means no income. The father is the breadwinner in this culture, so if for whatever reason he dies, the family will, unfortunately, fall into poverty. The kids will then be forced to get out and find jobs to help out their family. As a result, most families live in tiny shared rooms or even with animals.

The three weeks I spent with these kids were the best three weeks of my life. Every single day they all arrived earlier than the time of our class, with huge smiles and immense amounts of energy. They were so in awe of us and were surprised when they found out that my best friend and I spoke Arabic just like them, despite having lived abroad for the majority of our lives. Any time we spoke English they were so eager to listen and learn some words.

The relationship we built with them during this time was beautiful. They would invite us to their houses, and offer to feed us. Their moms would pray for us, and their older siblings would invite us to their weddings. Their overwhelming love and welcome made the exhaustion of the busy days fade from my mind to the point where I would only be looking forward to going to sleep just so I can shorten the time until I could see them again the next day.

The last week was especially rough because we did not know when we would ever see them again. We all cried and prayed that life would allow us to meet again someday. What made me cry the most was the purity of their love. They had only known us for a couple of weeks but yet were worrying about how they would spend life without us. I realized that I was dreading our separation more than they were. These kids have no family, no income, no comfortable home. They do not have the luxuries that I overlook, like privacy, transportation, good food, running water, and so much more. Yet their zest for life was so much bigger than anyone I had met before. They put their love in people and experiences, instead of things and comfort.

They taught me things I will never forget.