Black Hearts, Black Tears

I just returned from my Rural Homestay in Meru Kenya. I had such an amazing experience. It’s a pretty daunting thing to be thrown into someone’s family for a week. It is quite a drive to get there so we stayed in a hotel one night on the way and one night coming back. Both locations were ex-British camps where the colonizers stayed while tormenting this country. It was as if I was sleeping in a hotel on plantation land in the south. Actually, that would be much worse, but that’s what it was like. I didn’t like it at all. It was creepy.

I was very nervous about this homestay. I wanted to do and say everything right. Plus I know that not all Africans are that excited about us Black people. The media portraying us shooting each other and doing drugs creates a deep prejudice. But that was not what I saw in Meru. Once I got off the bus my host father (Henry) greeted me. Then he paraded me around like a prize cow, lol. Many of the other parents came around to gawk at me and shake my hand. One man even said “Black Americans, you are the pride of America”!

At home I had 3 sisters and two brothers, a mother with a fractured leg, 2 cows, 3 chickens and a rooster, a dog, a kitten, 2 sheep, and 3 goats. The dog and cat were not pets. The dog was for protection and was overjoyed when I petted him. The kitten was kind of a stray. It was not used to people but would run in the kitchen during meal times to beg for craps of food. Surprisingly to me my favorite animal was the female cow. I named her Cheka, which means laugh in KiSwahili. She made me laugh when I first saw how beautiful she was and I love ‘Laughing Cow’ cheese in the states. I named the ugly man cow Cheese. Cheka loved me back too. Believe it or not she could be laying down in the back of the pen but if I came over and called her she would get up and trot over to me! In fact I have a video to prove it!

We didn’t have electricity or running water. Going out to see Granny in the desert in Mobile prepared me. And I could reference Uncle Robert’s animals and the small garden Mama once had in the backyard. My younger sister Moreen was 18 years old and my main companion. She’s a bright and extremely caring individual. People say that singing helps you get through work easier. Moreen sang constantly. With our mom on crutches there was much work to be done. Floors to clean, chai to make, meals to cook, animals to feed, feed to collect, dishes to wash, clothes to wash, people to wash, food to buy and food to dig out the garden. The one thing I didn’t want to do was milk a cow. I thought I lucked out because Checka was too young to give milk. But ‘luckily’ our uncle’s farm was nearby and he had a milking cow. So one day I milked- or rather failed miserably at, milking a cow. That cow hating me, and I don’t blame her.

I ate Mangoes everyday!! The ‘worse’ mango I had in Kenya was still better than many of the mangos I’ve eaten in my life! I didn’t know bananas could grow so sweet as the ones I ate there. And I ate macadamia nuts fresh off the tree. I didn’t even know I like macadamia nuts! I ate sugar cane from the stalks and it is such an amazing sweet treat! God is so cool!

I went to the first Methodist church in my life on Sunday. The most interesting part was the auction. For tithes and offering if a member did not have money to give they brought whatever they did have. At the Alter laid a plethora of produce; bananas, mangos, chewing sticks, brooms, milk, avocados, and a chicken. And then one by one the items were auctioned off to the congregation and the money went to the church. I was awed. We got there at 10am, the auction was after a few scriptures and multiple choirs singing, and the auction ended at 1:52pm. Then there was a sermon. I could never see this happing at home! Even if they wanted to use this method they would schedule the auction either after church or the next day!

I got very attached to my family. One of my sisters had a son whom I absolutely adored! My mother was extremely loving, and my father was a strong leader and teacher. Each night after dinner he would read from my bible that had both English and Swahili text. First either mom or I would lead a praise or worship song, then Dad would read a passage in Swahili, then English. Then he would explain it in Swahili then English. My nephew was usually sleep by the second reading of the passage, and mom was usually sleep by the first explanation!  Each fellowship would end with my sister Moreen ending with prayer. This child has a God given gift. It was amazing to hear her pray. The last few nights our brother Moses had joined us for dinner and fellowship.

The last night Moreen prayed over the lives of her brothers. Once men are circumcised they no longer live in the same house as their parents and sisters. Another ‘house’ is made for them near to the main house. So somewhere between 10-15 they start sleeping and eating under a different roof than their parents. Moses chose to come eat with the rest of the family partly because of my presence. He took such good care of me while I was there. Our other brother never broke bread with us. As Moreen prayed she began to cry. She asked God to loosen the hold drugs and alcohol had on her brothers. She prayed that they would see that those things would lead them nowhere but to death. In her at that moment I saw myself and all my female cousins and the rest of the young women of color in America. It has become somewhat of a joke that me and my female cousins rarely know where our brothers are. We all hold on to hope that that next time they call home it is to say they are fine and well and not in jail or in the hospital. Zora Neal Hurston wrote in Their Eyes Were Watching God that “The black woman is the mule of the world” That praying moment bridged the gap for me. There were already things we had in common; the differences weren’t many. But the most raw touching and important similarity for me is that miserable knowledge that from Phoenix to Meru we both pray and cry for our brothers. Our Black hearts are breaking our Black eyes are flooded with tears. I hope we never stop praying- but I wish we didn’t have to cry so much.

Nitakuacha na hii (I leave you with this)

I think I got too attached to my family. They loved me as a daughter and sister and even gave me a new name: Joy Makena. Makena means ‘Jolly or Joyfull’ in their language of KiMeru. When it was time to say goodbye I cried till my chest ached. I must see them again. A piece of my heart is in Meru. There are pieces of my heart in Phoenix, St. Louis, Mobile, New York, California, Australia, Baton Rouge and Tallahassee. 

But if you leave pieces of your heart in so many places, how can it ever become whole again?