Hey
The Kenyan in Udaipur
When you travel, you not only 'go' to the country you are visiting, but you also 'go' to places all over the world -- through the people you meet on the road, usually other travelers. And sometimes, they take you to places that don't exist on a physical map, places that are only found in the head and heart... These encounters are a gift of travel, a reason to leave home and 'see' the world, if for no other.
Strolling through the twisting, narrow lanes of Udaipur, under the hot Rajasthan sun and amidst all the clamor and color of India, we came upon George.
"Excuse me, where are you from?"
To our surprise, standing before us was an African -- tall, thin, and very black. Indians passing by our group in the street, for once, didn't even take note of us. They couldn't take their eyes of George. Apparently, he was an unusual sight. Dressed in a threadbare soccer team shirt, holding a pair of pliers in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, George quickly ascertained that we were from America and told us that he wanted to learn about the 'common man' from our country -- the kind of people who he cannot find on TV shows or in the movies.
In a strong accent I wasn't used to deciphering (I'd just gotten used to the sing song English of Indians) he asked, "Do you have some time to talk to me?"
And then, with a directness that took me by surprise, he said, "I am from Kenya. What do you know about my country?"
Benjamin and I looked at each other. I couldn't think of anything but heat, poverty, drought, ethnic fighting, violent political rallies, AIDS... I couldn't think of anything positive to say, so I just smiled and replied, "It's a very interesting place." Perhaps Indian hospitality has rubbed off on me throughout my travels. An Indian would rather tell you 'yes' when the answer is 'no' so as not to disappoint you.
George told us about his family -- how his father is a politician. "I know he is corrupt," he said with a smile, "I do not like it." His family is now living in New Jersey, his sister attends medical school. George would also like to be a doctor, but a doctor in economics rather than medicine. It's too expensive to study in the states, so he's going to school in India. As he explained all of this to us, his voice became excited at the mention of getting his PhD. "I cannot wait for the day that I go back to my country with Dr. George printed on the plane ticket," he said with an enormous smile. His ambition was contagious. There was no doubt in my mind that George will return to Africa as a doctor.
He spoke passionately about Kenya, his jubilant mood turning dark as he told us of his country's problems with pollution and it's effect on the environment, and issues of drought and AIDs. He told us a story about returning to his village for a festival -- his voice cracked under the weight of pain, his eyes tortured by the images recalled in his mind. The number of villagers had dropped significantly from AIDs, the people not yet dead as good as walking corpses, with hollow eyes, skin stretched taught on bones. He had been looking for friends who were no longer there.
"Your country should not send aid money to Africa," George implored, "you should send people. Teach a man to fish." I smiled at the sentiment, Benjamin and I often use the same expression.
"The money is taken by the corrupt government. The people never see it."
At this point, I had to take a few steps back from George. He speaks with his hands and he was speaking with fervor, still holding the pliers and screwdriver, waving them about absentmindedly in my direction.
George noticed my nervous eyes on his tools and explained that he'd gone to fix a simple electrical problem in a local village. He was paid 800 rupees (about $20) for the job, a fortune for the amount of work done. He makes money in this way to pay for his expenses -- enough money that he's told his father not to send funds. He prefers to make his own way.
He came to India because it's cheap. "I know I can survive, even if there are times that I don't have a roof over my head and I have to sleep under the stars," he smiled. "That is life. Life is difficult, sometimes more and sometimes less, that's just the way it is." He spoke in a carefree manner, like a person who's never faced hardship... yet I knew that George has been witness to much suffering in his lifetime, suffering that is unknown to me -- despite the times I've felt like the world was caving in.
George knows how to take the bad with the good. Or maybe saying that he makes the bad good, good in its own way, is more accurate. He lives life welcoming difficulty as a simple fact of life -- part of the process of living a complete existence... the natural order of things.
George inspired me. He had such a fire in his soul, big dreams, and the right attitude to achieve his goals. He's the kind of person I might someday see in the news for humanitarian achievements or I might know of his fame for social work in Africa. There is no stopping someone like George, a person who loves life, hardships and all.
Strolling through the twisting, narrow lanes of Udaipur, under the hot Rajasthan sun and amidst all the clamor and color of India, we came upon George.
"Excuse me, where are you from?"
To our surprise, standing before us was an African -- tall, thin, and very black. Indians passing by our group in the street, for once, didn't even take note of us. They couldn't take their eyes of George. Apparently, he was an unusual sight. Dressed in a threadbare soccer team shirt, holding a pair of pliers in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, George quickly ascertained that we were from America and told us that he wanted to learn about the 'common man' from our country -- the kind of people who he cannot find on TV shows or in the movies.
In a strong accent I wasn't used to deciphering (I'd just gotten used to the sing song English of Indians) he asked, "Do you have some time to talk to me?"
And then, with a directness that took me by surprise, he said, "I am from Kenya. What do you know about my country?"
Benjamin and I looked at each other. I couldn't think of anything but heat, poverty, drought, ethnic fighting, violent political rallies, AIDS... I couldn't think of anything positive to say, so I just smiled and replied, "It's a very interesting place." Perhaps Indian hospitality has rubbed off on me throughout my travels. An Indian would rather tell you 'yes' when the answer is 'no' so as not to disappoint you.
George told us about his family -- how his father is a politician. "I know he is corrupt," he said with a smile, "I do not like it." His family is now living in New Jersey, his sister attends medical school. George would also like to be a doctor, but a doctor in economics rather than medicine. It's too expensive to study in the states, so he's going to school in India. As he explained all of this to us, his voice became excited at the mention of getting his PhD. "I cannot wait for the day that I go back to my country with Dr. George printed on the plane ticket," he said with an enormous smile. His ambition was contagious. There was no doubt in my mind that George will return to Africa as a doctor.
He spoke passionately about Kenya, his jubilant mood turning dark as he told us of his country's problems with pollution and it's effect on the environment, and issues of drought and AIDs. He told us a story about returning to his village for a festival -- his voice cracked under the weight of pain, his eyes tortured by the images recalled in his mind. The number of villagers had dropped significantly from AIDs, the people not yet dead as good as walking corpses, with hollow eyes, skin stretched taught on bones. He had been looking for friends who were no longer there.
"Your country should not send aid money to Africa," George implored, "you should send people. Teach a man to fish." I smiled at the sentiment, Benjamin and I often use the same expression.
"The money is taken by the corrupt government. The people never see it."
At this point, I had to take a few steps back from George. He speaks with his hands and he was speaking with fervor, still holding the pliers and screwdriver, waving them about absentmindedly in my direction.
George noticed my nervous eyes on his tools and explained that he'd gone to fix a simple electrical problem in a local village. He was paid 800 rupees (about $20) for the job, a fortune for the amount of work done. He makes money in this way to pay for his expenses -- enough money that he's told his father not to send funds. He prefers to make his own way.
He came to India because it's cheap. "I know I can survive, even if there are times that I don't have a roof over my head and I have to sleep under the stars," he smiled. "That is life. Life is difficult, sometimes more and sometimes less, that's just the way it is." He spoke in a carefree manner, like a person who's never faced hardship... yet I knew that George has been witness to much suffering in his lifetime, suffering that is unknown to me -- despite the times I've felt like the world was caving in.
George knows how to take the bad with the good. Or maybe saying that he makes the bad good, good in its own way, is more accurate. He lives life welcoming difficulty as a simple fact of life -- part of the process of living a complete existence... the natural order of things.
George inspired me. He had such a fire in his soul, big dreams, and the right attitude to achieve his goals. He's the kind of person I might someday see in the news for humanitarian achievements or I might know of his fame for social work in Africa. There is no stopping someone like George, a person who loves life, hardships and all.
posted by Cheryn at 7:33 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home