I spent today luxuriating in an empty and solitary house. I enjoyed
every moment - which I mention only because I spend a large amount of
energy avoiding this very scenario. I'm not someone who typically enjoys
long periods of time alone. More often than not, I'd rather wrap my
schedule around the workings of friends and family than start a day
based solely on the demands of my own body and soul.
In
the wake of yet another trip across the Atlantic, this weekend has been
a welcome time to let my body and brain ease back into my ever-evolving
Nairobi life. Last night as I sat in a taxi, skirting downtown Nairobi
and climbing the newly finished road to Westlands, I felt like I was
experiencing the city as a stranger does. Somehow the result of my
pattern of movement between two continents and multiple homes has
unsettled the sense I briefly had of "knowing" this place. Relationships
aside, my surroundings feel strangely foreign and I find myself
retreating indoors in a vague need to distance myself from the spectrum I
know this town to be.
This afternoon I sat on the
balcony reading in the locked-in warmth of late afternoon sun. My
muscles tingled from doing laps as they gradually relaxed into
stillness, and I felt for a moment like I was at my family cabin in the
mountains (one of of the few places in which I know how to simply relax
and let the day be). In the approaching twilight I realized my profound
need to rest and gather myself against the raging competition of need
that is infinitely presented by the outside world - different here than
there, but existing, above all.
When I am exhausted or
brave enough to let this stillness in, it almost always results in a
need to write. Thus now I find myself comparing my pin-prick on the
universe life to that of this grand country I have crept in and out of
for the past five years.
For tomorrow, Kenya votes.
We,
the people who live here (if not all who will actually cast a vote)
have stocked our pantries and fridges, stored up on phone credit and
cash and determined to stay home until word is given that all is well.
We sense that the next few days are likely to be calm, but that the
chance of a runoff means we will repeat this preparation a month from
now as the two main candidates go head to head.
In the quiet
simplicity of my last two days, I realize that this election is just
like an individual life. It is full of earnest proclamations and damning
critiques aimed at limbs dangling from the same gangly body. It is
drenched in sound and energy, in the pulsing of the promise that victory
will surely propel the body forward, away from its demons and into the
next frontier. Perhaps such victories will ring true, but (as in most
places) the most innovative thinkers don't seem to
stand a chance. Surely, the status quo will reign - and as such, the
whole country may erupt in havoc for a time.
While I
hope this is not the case, I have to remember that should all hell
break loose in this election cycle, it will inevitably find its way back
to the stillness I stumbled upon this weekend. For in this moment I am reminded that the utter exuberance (and sometimes agonizing
confusion) of my life between two countries boils
down to a basic path of learning bit by bit what it means to be human. As an individual I need to understand this in order to know my role in
the larger world. More often than not, I need it to simply make peace
with the soul I wake up with and put
to sleep each and day.
If Kenya is not yet ready to
align with the best interests of its people, to unify as a nation and
not as a collection of tribes - it surely will be someday. For just as
any individual must recognize, there comes a time when whatever
distractions or challenges set give way to basic need. The body must be
nurtured, fed, rested and relaxed. It must learn to listen to its
deepest longings and guard against the banter when it threatens to drown
its unique cadence. There is true humanity and identity in this
stillness. I pray that both Kenya, and I, can find it.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
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