A Gift by Any Name

Traveling on a dirt road into the heart of Luo land in Western Kenya, our eyes are met with flashes of color from women in head wraps, fruit stands, and children dressed in colorful, neatly pressed school uniforms. Our jeep manages to traverse the trails, jolting us back and forth while we pass scenes of deep, rich auburn earth contrasted brilliantly by the verdant green of the trees. There is no mistaking it… this is Africa. Away from the traffic of Nairobi and its modern buildings, vendors touting their wares, its business men in suits – here, farming is the main business of the day. We stop to take some photos when a small boy approaches. My few phrases of Swahili are useless here as the boy approaches us and tentatively asks questions in Luo – one of the 50 languages of Kenya. I mentally count how many Kenyan shillings I have in my possession when my colleague begins chatting with the boy. She reaches into her bag and instead of pulling out a shilling, she grabs a ballpoint pen and hands it to him. As we depart, he smiles and waves. His mother pauses from tending to some crops nearby and does the same, the look on their faces beaming with gratitude. Confused, I ask my colleague what the little boy had said. My colleague informs me that he did not have anything to write with at school and asked us if we could spare a pen. Humbled and taken aback, we continue on our journey. We spend two weeks traveling into the heart of Kenya, running across groups of children who had shout "Masugo" as we pass - an affectionate term for white person. The experience leaves me humbled and full of memories of color and life, of broad smiles and music. Above all else, the experience left me with a changed perspective of life and appreciation for everything that had brought me to that point. I don’t know if I will ever have the opportunity to go back, but I am grateful for the time I spent there and the gift of seeing life from the perspective of someone else.