Live and Love

My brother Andrew. A good man. Genuine, dependable, ambitious, courageous and honest. He’s grown wings and flown, developed into his own person, and I’m more and more impressed each time my parents tell me of his adventures. While I couldn’t be happier for him, I’m a little disheartened that I’ve missed much of this great period of maturation in his life. Admittedly there was college, New York, and Africa, but I still wish I could be spending more time with him, he’s one of the best people I know-- for many reasons, but a particular instance is sticking out to me now…

I remember one Christmas season in Oroville. I was about 16 yrs old and my dad took my Andy and I to the video store for a rental. On the way out we passed a Santa Claus ringing a bell for the Salvation Army and my brother, only 12 at the time, pulled out his wallet and dropped a ten dollar bill into the red bucket. This may not seem monumental now, but at the time I was stunned, confused, and blown away. I hadn’t yet realized the importance of giving back, and this child, with no job or surplus of cash, gave an entire 10 dollars of his own. I’ve never forgotten that moment, even though my brother probably has, and it brings me to thinking of how there are many things we do that we don’t realize, and they make all the difference in the world to someone else. Such is the case with a recent occurrence of mine…

After a few days of not checking my email, I opened my Inbox to find a rather surprising letter. A perfect stranger, brought by way of our intertwined past, had written to tell me she’d come across my blog. Not only did she dive into my stories, but having recently gone through a dark period in her life, she had found the inspiration necessary to find her strength. Amazing. I was genuinely humbled and completely flattered that I had unknowingly reached this person in way greater that meets the eye. It was one of the most incredible moments I’ve had here, since particularly that’s what I strive for most in my life, a generic goal, but a dream manifested none-the-less.

There are some surprises that illustrate the beauty of being here, and still, I’m never too far away from the ones that don’t. Letting my guard down for one small moment can be detrimental to many aspects of my existence here. I was going through my journal and a particular entry portrayed this paradox quite well:

“…As I'm riding the 4w bus home to Dagoretti Corner, we turn on my street, Wanyee, and I'm reminded of a text I received a few weeks prior. A text from Austin reads: I just saw two dead bodies on Wanyee, their heads and limbs crushed by the rocks used to kill them, I'm about to vomit. I'm not shocked, I'm not even afraid. I think about this and realize how numb one can actually become living in this way for so long…”

Living these harsh realities is an everyday occurrence for me, but learning to live with them is a growing experience. The other day at school I witnessed a meeting between a 5th grade boy, his father, and two senior teachers. I couldn’t understand much because most of the conversation was in Kiswahili, until I was jolted by the familiar, SLAP! sound across the boy’s face. Again, SLAP SLAP! He was knocked to the ground as his father was shouting and open palm slapping him as hard as possible across the face, undoubtedly for something as little as not completing his homework from the previous day. I guess some things I just can’t ever get used to.