It wasn’t an ambush. The boy stood still as I approached, which was a relief. I worried I might scare him and have to chase him, which would scare him more. But he stayed put, and I knelt. I smiled. We didn’t have a translator with us, so I did my best.
“Um?” I said, which means “mother” in Arabic.
The boy shook his head. I wondered if he thought I was saying I was his mother. So I touched my chest and said my name.
“Mary,” I repeated, before gently touching his chest.
What is Ibrahim most likely thinking in this moment?
