It is not fair
Africa welcomes me with it dusty roads, dark alleys, barking street dogs, young men standing on the roadside in the middle of the night, your girls, maybe working girls by the so called highway…is this how I imagined Africa to be like…or is this how Africa really is…When the daylight arrives, I look through my window, continue to observe life. Do I feel different? Do I feel misplaced? Yes and No at the same time. I feel I want to help everyone, but I also feel hopeless, helpless…can I help one, two, how many is enough? Life has started here, these are our ancestors, we all are Africans…so why have we left our ancestors into poverty?
I go to a small Masai Village school, I sit on the floor, among the kids there. They are curious about me, I am curious about them…In a way they are kids, just like any kids, wanting to play, wanting to touch. But in way, they are so different than all other kids I had seen, there is somewhat of a pain in the eyes of smart girl singing and leading the classroom…I am captured by the meaning in her eyes….is it suffering? Is it possible that they are just kids, happy kids, not knowing any better life? Can you be happy when you are hungry or dirty or simply poor? I am touching their little black hands. Am I also touching their lives by being here, by being different, by trying to communicate or am I just being a tourist, observing and then leaving them as they are, in their dusty classroom sitting on the floor, back to my fancy life compared to theirs…I feel a joy by interacting with them, but I also feel humbled, heartbroken, wanting to scream “it is not fair”…..
December 29, 2015