With A Heavy Heart

I thought the Maasai Mara Game Reserve was the most magnificent thing I’d ever seen… until I looked up.  Having (sort of) conquered my nighttime toileting fears, I almost enjoyed my 3:00 am venture through the dozing cows when I suddenly remembered my beloved universe.  There, in the African summer sky seemingly inches above my head, was the equatorial Milky Way.  It was glorious.  There were twinkling stars, and red stars, and shooting stars, and fuzzy stars.  Night shimmied in her starry gown as she danced between the horizons, illuminated by light billions of years old.  I was transfixed, and not a little abashed: the heavens were once again lighting my way.

My celestial romance has become the metaphor of my experience here in Kenya.  When I think I can’t be further intrigued, I meet lively sister wives of the same husband.  When I think I can’t handle more intense beauty, I lose my staring contest with a daddy giraffe, only because he’s dissolving into the tears suddenly hanging from my lashes.  When I think I have no more patience, I find myself surrounded by dozens of staring children, all of whom try to simultaneously touch me.  Breathe Katie, breathe.  When I think I can't be more broken, I watch toddlers wander trash-strewn streets alone in search of food.  When I begin to question the integrity of some with good intentions, I meet teachers who are doing the grueling work of integrating disabled students into their classrooms, trailblazing in a country where the powerful stigma of disability is often commuted to a life sentence of shame.  They are heroes and their commitment restores my hope.

I’d be lying if I said there aren’t reunions I’m looking forward to.  My people.  Coffee.  Plumbing.  A hot bath.  Chocolate.  Coffee.  Long walks.  Wine and beer!  Salad.  Dancing.  Coffee.  If I’m honest, even other mzungus.  The market comes to a screeching halt as vendors openly gape, children chase my car screaming “mzungu, mzungu”, babies burst into fearful tears certain I’m a ghost.  It’s uncomfortable and isolating, experiencing life as a minority.  As the only person devoid of the deeply rich color of my Kenyan friends, I now have the smallest insight into what my friends of color regularly experience at home.  And I’m humbled.

Like the other lessons I’ve learned here though, it enforces what I already believed: that under our race and culture and ethnicity, we’re more alike than we are different.  Parents everywhere want their children to be educated and fed and safe.  Children everywhere want to run and learn and explore.  Teachers everywhere want to help and teach and transform.  Humans all want to belong and befriend and believe.  And maybe all of us, every once in awhile, just want to pee under the galaxy. 

*I will post with minimal photos until I have enough wifi to upload more, thanks for your patience!!