Being Amazed, Being Grateful and Being Born...

  Simi Valley, California, United States
Tuesday, September 15, 2009

There was nothing special about the day. The weather wasn't particularly nice.  He didn’t have a lunch scheduled or a reason to leave the office.  Still, Mr. Mwangi just felt a strong desire to take a walk.  Coworkers stopped him in the hallway to ask him questions and to press him to join a meeting in one of the board rooms, but he maintained his stride for the door. 

Once outside and hundreds of yards away from his building, he suddenly heard a loud pop.  As he turned to look at where the sound came from, the entire building exploded in front of him.  It was the 7th of August, 1998.  The office next door to his and the intended target of the bombing was the American Embassy.  With the exception of one other coworker, everyone in Mr. Mwangi’s office perished that day. 

Even now, Mr. Mwangi can’t explain why he felt the need to leave his office.  He had never taken a walk in the middle of a morning.  In fact, he rarely left the building for matters unrelated to his job.  That day, though,

Obama Fan at IDP Camp in Kenya

he just 'felt different'.  He says he felt pushed by something or someone.  He is insistent that it was not coincidence or luck that was responsible for the pushing.  He merely believes he wasn’t meant to die that day.

When I heard Mr. Mwangi's story, I was sitting with 200 children in an orphanage at the edge of the Rift Valley.  I was in the birthplace of Obama’s biological father, the country of Karen Blixen’s Ngong Hills, and the home of over 40 different African tribes.  I had long since filled my "wow" quota for the week, much more so for the past year in Jamaica, England and now, Kenya.

The Youth at the Orphanage and I

 

Just arriving in Africa again was a “wow” moment.  On a superficial (cue: childlike wonder) level, a wild animal park lines the Nairobi airport.  Therefore, as you arrive or depart from the country, giraffes and members of the Big Five greet you or see you off.  It brings a whole new meaning to the word or concept of 'hospitality'.  Though I arrived in the evening and left in the evening, unable to see these famed residents, I could imagine long-necked herbivores gracefully nodding in the general direction of planes overhead and lions raising their manes from the belly of a recent kill to acknowledge visitors coming or going. 

Silly? Sure.  Childish?  Of course.  But, “wow” material?  Definitely. 

For the most part, I kept my wonder-filled imagination to myself as the driver drove away from the airport.  Though I secretly wished that I had brought my glasses from home as I strained to see shapes in the shadows, I hadn’t come to the country to watch impressive wild creatures beyond landing strip lights and tarmac.  It was just an added and incredible bonus.  As mentioned in the previous entry (IDP Camps in Kenya and Reason for Hope), I had been sent to the country by World Emergency Relief to perform an audit of an orphanage near the town of Naivasha and to facilitate strategic planning seminars with the director of the associated centre/compound. 

Milking with the Experts

 

I arrived on the compound to 200 children singing alongside the path of the car, and spent the next ten days meeting with government officials, conducting surveys with the staff and adolescent children, working on a 10-year vision with the director of the orphanage, interviewing IDP camp residents, lending a hand with daily activities, and even milking my first cow and goat. :)

In the evenings, I would work on reports and tally surveys performed earlier in the day.  When I found it difficult to sleep, I would work on speeches for the days ahead or edit my dissertation.  Often, this would involve Joan Baez on my IPod.  All in all, the combination of Baez, dissertation drafts, speeches, and M&E reports while sitting within a few hundred yards of a night watchman pacing the compound’s periphery with a poison-tipped arrow was definitely a surreal experience.  ;) 

Proud Milkmen

Another surreal experience happened the next week after I returning to England, when I submitted the final draft of the dissertation.  I (honestly) still can't believe that it is actually finished.  ;)  So far, an international development agency has requested copies of the final (copyrighted) version to use as a framework for its orphan care programs around the world, and a child welfare program has contacted me about writing an article for their national publication.  I truly can't believe it and am incrediblygrateful for how things have turned out with the paper.  Regardless of its final grade, it is fulfilling to know that the paper will be of use to practitioners in the field.

My last full day in the United Kingdom included turning in the final bound copies, picking up last minute prescriptions (go NHS!), purchasing UK to US adaptors/converters, posting packages home, packing for the flight, and saying goodbye to good friends.  ;) I went to bed at 2 in the morning and woke up a few hours later for the flight.  A close friend stayed the night, helping me pack and move last minute things.  I was really glad to not be alone.

The FInal Dissertation

When the taxi arrived at half-past five the next morning, the next door grocers (also known as my unexpected companions along the dissertation trail during those final months) were just receiving their fresh fruits and vegetables for the day.  With their 15x30’ shop’s never-ending supply of caffeinated drinks, they deserved part of the credit for my dissertation being finished, and I was particularly happy to have a chance to say goodbye to them.

When the taxi driver tried to purchase a newspaper from them, the gruffer of the two shoved an edition under his arm and insisted, “No charge! She [pointing in my direction] is a preferred customer.”  I laughed, unable to have asked for a nicer send-off, and hugged each of them goodbye. 

Milkmen and I

  Though I was just one of their customers and they were just my local grocers, their gesture confirmed what I already felt: It was more than that.   The same can be said of this past year.  It was more than a graduate program. It was more than a year abroad.  It was more than working in three countries.

Less than twenty-four hours after the taxi ride to Heathrow, I arrived back in the States to a new President, smokey California skies, Toto - the Wonder Dog, friends, family, and a freezer stacked with a record-breaking season of apple and boysenberry pies.  :)  So far, it has been good to be home.

It is now officially September 16th, and I just turned 34.  :) 

For the past week, my sister has been asking me for ideas for presents, but I haven’t been able to provide her with any. 

Birthday Boysenberry Pie - :)

   Save a job (;)), I don’t need anything.  I just spent the past year, studying and going to school.  I had the chance to pound out papers alongside passionate and intelligent peers in a graduate program, to be challenged by professors I respected.  I had the opportunity to work alongside  dedicated practitioners who provided examples of what I can strive to be in the field.  I met youth who continue to inspire me to push harder for human rights and improved universal child welfare.  I gained great friends, mentors and role models of all ages.  I had the opportunity to fall in love with a dissertation that will now see the shores of three continents. 

Ask for anything this year…? ;)
What could I possibly ask for?

Thank you for your support this past year and for making this journey possible.  I can’t express my gratitude enough.  You have made this experience a perpetual “wow” moment.  I am indebted.

Onto the next adventure...and with sincere appreciation, 
:)
Heather