The entire Lao nation is covered in smoke. Each year at this time, rice fields are lit on fire to clean out the old crops and enrich the soil so new seeds can be planted before the rainy season begins. You can smell smoke everywhere. There are no blue skies, and the sun is blocked by the hazy mist that rises from the blazing fields.

And yet as I sliced through air  stickier than Lao rice for 45 minutes on the back of a motorbike, things became very clear.

It’s impossible to understand the Lao people until you meet them. They are hardworking and content. This is their life, and they are happy to be here and enjoy it as often as possible with family and friends. The children, complete with runny noses, dirty clothes and big smiles, light up every room in which they sit. They will crush your heart with cuteness, and pictures cannot do them justice.

When I walked down the rocky dirt road into the village of Phatheung, where our very first school was built, I didn’t know what to expect. A woman to my right, looked at me with a smile and  a warm “Sabaidee,” her leather hands sorting rice. She looked 60, but is most likely 40. Here, people tend to age faster.

I walked past fishing nets hanging on a wooden post and made my way through a tunnel of bamboo huts with thatched roofs. The path led me to an open field where for the first time I laid eyes upon the Phatheung preschool. I’ll save you all of the cliches I could drop here and simply tell you that my soul jumped for joy. This is what it’s all about.

I looked to my left and just in front of the primary school stood Monster, one of our more famous preschool girls, hiding behind a pole. I waved and shouted “Sabaidee.” She smiled, waved back, and hid again. I felt like I had spotted a celebrity.

Leslie and I waited about twenty minutes for the students to break from lessons. They poured out of the classroom to see their friend Daak Fai (Leslie) and the new falang (white person) she brought with her. We played frisbee, jump rope and duck duck goose. I think the perfect moment came as we were leaving.

The kids tried to give us the toys back, and we said “bo, bo” (no) and let them know that they were theirs to keep.  An American kid might not be impressed by a one cent plastic frisbee. But the Phatheung kids were just handed gold.

Over the last year I’ve looked at photographs, heard stories and screened video of these amazing children. Now that I’ve met them I can say with confidence: seeing is believing.

And these kids give you every reason to believe.

If you want to meet PoP students and see for yourself, sign up for our build trips to Nicaragua here: http://www.pencilsofpromise.org/blog/build-trips/