From January 21st to January 30th, I was either in route to, in, or returning from Meru, Kenya. Meru is a town, tribe, language (formally, it's called KiMeru) in Eastern Kenya near Mt. Kenya. There's a lot to say about it, so there'll be more posts than this. But below is the first thing I wanted to say about Meru... (Oh, and pics will be up by the end of the week.)
I spent the 7-hour bus ride back to Nairobi figuring out what I wanted to say here, which pictures I wanted to upload to Facebook, how I wanted to remember Meru. The narrative I’m constructing about my time here would be more about what I want to say about Kenya and less about what Kenya wants to tell me about itself if I didn’t know wakia pembe means roasted corn in KiMeru.
Yvonne, a friend I made while in Meru, taught me several words in KiMeru. I never saw a point in remembering any of it until the day I forgot who her mother was. I was walking with my host mother when Yvonne’s mother passed by. Though I had met her at church earlier in the week, I had completely forgotten her face, and, consequentially, walked by her without saying hello. My host mother called me back, and I bashfully admitted that I didn’t remember her. She was disappointed. Her slightly drooped mouth and heavy eyes asked me why I couldn't remember my friend's - her child's - mother? Was I not a part of their community? Folk remember folk here. Wasn't I folk like them?
She quickly forgave my lapse of memory, but I can’t forget her disappointment. It was in that moment that I knew I couldn’t actively forget certain aspects of my experience simply because I didn’t think of them as relevant beyond the time I’d be there. If I chose to block out the KiMeru Yvonne was trying to teach me because I probably wasn’t going to use it after I left, then I could forget her mother – and other people in the community – because I might not see them again.
Such an attitude seeks to evaluate the usefulness of an experience based on (very) limited assumptions. Such an attitude resists changes in perception and worldview. Clearly, such an attitude cannot survive abroad.
In my first blog post, I made a commitment to reject that very attitude. Bad habits die hard though. Seeing Mama Yvonne’s disappointment brought the necessity and importance of my commitment home to me. After that moment, I was open to letting Yvonne, the people of Meru, the students walking down the street from school, the cattle being herded on the road, the slopes of mountains and hills – the whole of Kenya – write its narrative through me.
Glad to hear you're growing. There's a concept in Japanese called 一期一会, you should look into it :) It comes from zen and tea ceremony but reaches into a lot of things, and is very similar to what you've just found. No idea is original they say, right?
ReplyDeleteLoosely translating from Japanese wiki lol, it means "A time like this one where we are meeting in a way like this, is once in a lifetime, something that will never come again. So, let's take this moment we have and treat it with importance, and turn it into the most excellent that we can." or the layman's definition, "You might afterwards, but there's a possibility that you may never meet someone again, so have your heart prepared for that fact and treat each encounter as if it were the last, as the a once-in-a-lifetime experience it is, and cherish it as such."
I need some practice in this as well.
*reads previous comment*
ReplyDeleteThat is definitely one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard. (Of course i know some fools who would use this line to get a girl in bed on the first date, but anywho...)
I think that there is something incredibly special about a once-in-a-lifetime encounter. Having traveled and met lots of people, particularly meeting friends of my extended family and other teens/young adults at hotel resorts and conferences, many of which I would have loved to keep up with and get to know on a deeper level, I've learned to appreciate the moment for what it is. When fully investing your time and energy into a complete stranger knowing that you will never cross paths again, I often get a bittersweet, nostalgic-like feeling, knowing that there is no future with with this person, yet also knowing that we are two souls who are making a spiritual connection just in sharing our humanity with one another.
I think people often try not to get too close to others when they know that nothing more than their own memories are the only that an interaction even took place for the sake of not having to feel disconnected after the fact. I personally think that this could be why people sometimes facebook friend people that they have only met once and never expect to see again (I don't mean to make a generalization, but I admit that I have done so, and for that very reason). Furthermore, I think that social networking sites like Facebook and Myspace that we use religiously in the US and other developed countries have desensitized us from appreciating the uniqueness of sharing a moment in real time with the soul of another being. The bittersweet sensation is an acquired one, yet one that tends to satisfy the soul, something understood by your host mother and people of that culture, that many Americans and probably more specifically, young Americans in general may not really understand.
agreed that miroku's comment is beautiful!
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