by Auma Obama
Masses of people also awaited us in Alego. The area around the local school he visited was a sea of onlookers. We virtually had to fight our way through to the tent in which my brother was to speak to the people. And making our way back to the car and to my grandmother’s homestead a few minutes away from the school was just as arduous. There was pushing and shoving. Everyone wanted to grasp Barack’s hand and exchange a few words with him. As a welcome gift, he was given a white goat that got lost in the crowd. No one seemed to know what had happened to it when I inquired about it later. We could only hope that it had found a good home and had not immediately ended up in the cooking pot of a hungry family.
Nor did the insanity stop when we finally made it to my grandmother’s compound. The four acres of land on which Granny Sarah’s house stood were teeming with people. Many relatives had come from far away to see and greet Barack. Things were similarly chaotic at my mother’s homestead, the adjacent property, where she had lived with Abongo’s family before she joined me in England. We had planned that my brother—in accordance with tradition—would visit each of the homesteads. He wanted to bring gifts to Abongo’s wives and then join our grandmother for a meal. Only with difficulty did we manage to stick to this plan amid the crowds jostling for Barack’s attention. Unfortunately, only a small amount of time remained for the meal with Granny Sarah.
“And he will come again?” she asked me, as we were again walking to the waiting cars after the brief visit with her, which had lasted not even an hour.
“Absolutely,” I answered.
“What is Granny saying?” asked Barack, who stood next to me. I translated, and my brother nodded vigorously.
“Tell her that I will definitely come again. I had to leave my chapatis on the table, and for that reason alone, I’ll have to visit her again, to eat up that outstanding flatbread!”
Our grandmother gave Barack her broad, warm smile, followed by a deep laugh and finally her usual “give me five.” This routine was reserved for Barack alone—it had started between them when they first met many years earlier. I couldn’t help marveling once again at how the two of them were able to convey their feelings to each other through nothing but laughter, embraces, and gestures. Our children, too, watched this deeply emotional communication, and it pained me that the time they had been able to spend with their great-grandmother had been so limited. Barack’s daughters had only caught a glimpse of the wonderful energy of this old woman they were meeting for the first time.
* * *
Back in England, I again had to deal with work-related challenges. And things did not get easier. Often I felt frustrated because I could not bring about lasting change in the lives of the young people I worked with. What difference was I making? I asked myself again and again. What could I really achieve?
Increasingly, my thoughts wandered to Kenya and my possibilities there. I had lived for over twenty years on another continent, and now I was putting all my energy into the youth there, seeking to attain something for them. When I compared the fate of European children with that of African children, I noted that in England, at least most of the boys and girls had a social safety net to fall back on. In Kenya, there was nowhere near anything comparable. A large number of children and young people in that country struggled under the most difficult circumstances to get by in a society that was often unable to provide for their basic needs. The more I thought about it, the more strongly I felt compelled to return to my native country.
* * *
My mother was meanwhile living in her own small apartment in Bracknell. Besides her permanent residence, I had managed to obtain for her a small partial disability pension with which she could pay her living expenses. That way my mother had more freedom and could shape her existence on her own, independent from me, while still nearby. I was happy that her situation had stabilized. Once a week Akinyi stayed overnight with her, in order to spend time with her grandmother and continue to improve her command of Luo.
Although I now had more time for myself again, it was still not enough to lead a satisfying social life. And the situation with Marvin—though I was still in love with him—had not changed, either. He had come to Bracknell once, without things developing further between us. I was increasingly unhappy about this nonrelationship and finally decided to put an end to the whole thing. I asked a friend to help me. Monika, my Swedish neighbor from across the street, with whom I was close, had met Marvin when he visited me in Bracknell. At the time she had been quite critical of our relationship.
“What sort of love is that?” she asked. “The man keeps you waiting for years—”
“But that’s the thing,” I interrupted her morosely. “He hasn’t actually been keeping me waiting. He hasn’t promised me anything at all!”
“Then why does he call you all the time? He knows that you’re in love with him,” she went on. “If I were you, I would immediately show him the door.”
“I tried. But it doesn’t work. He doesn’t listen to me when I tell him not to call me anymore. That’s why I need your help. You tell him.”
“Why me?” Monika asked, shocked. “I barely know him.”
“For that very reason! Maybe he’ll take you seriously. Please, you have to do it! Or else I’ll die!”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Auma. I’ll do it. But only because I disapprove of his behavior. Almost seven years have gone by since the two of you first met. It really is enough!”
“That’s what I’m saying!” I replied with relief, and hugged my friend. I gave her Marvin’s number and sent her home immediately with it. I didn’t want her to stay longer and perhaps change her mind.
I never found out what Marvin and Monika talked about on the telephone. I only know that in the aftermath I heard nothing from him.
* * *
Plans for my return to Kenya became more and more concrete.
The most important groundwork was the search for a well-paid job. Although Kenya is a developing country, a fairly comfortable life there costs a lot of money. I wanted to return to my native country only if I could ensure a certain standard of living for my daughter and me.
So I acquainted myself with the world of NGOs—nongovernmental organizations—for, it seemed to me, that was where I would most likely find an opportunity to apply my previous experience working with children and youth. My friends helped me with the search, and during a trip to the United States to visit my brother and his family, I planned to meet with various organizations in New York that I had contacted beforehand.
On that occasion, Akinyi and I experienced the American Thanksgiving celebration for the first time—and marveled at the abundant feast. Many of Michelle’s family members were present, as well as Maya and her family. She had since gotten married and had a little daughter, Suhaila. The time together was mainly spent chatting and eating. Akinyi and her cousins enjoyed each other’s company. I was pleased that every time the girls saw each other they got along so well, despite the fact that they were usually separated by thousands of miles.
* * *
In New York, my first appointment was with a representative of CARE, the American humanitarian organization founded in 1945. I was to meet her at Kennedy Airport, where she had an extended layover.
I booked Akinyi’s and my return flight to England via JFK to coincide with the timing of the CARE executive’s New York stop. We planned to meet in the airport terminal.
My brother ordered a limousine to take us from his house in Chicago to O’Hare International Airport. On arrival we were escorted to the VIP lounge. Akinyi was really impressed with the special treatment. And while she explored the lavish buffet, I made myself comfortable in a large armchair by the window with a view of the runway. The sky was gray, and it looked like rain.
“You still have time, and the lounge is only a minute away from the gate,” I was told when I inquired about our plane’s exact time of departure. Content, I again leaned back in my armchair. After quite a while without a
ny boarding call, I wanted to hear again when we would be boarding.
“The plane has departed, ma’am,” was the answer.
“Excuse me? It has already taken off?” I asked, aghast. “But we weren’t even called!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t do that in the VIP lounge. We don’t want to disturb our guests.”
I could not believe it. We had just missed our flight! And of all flights, it had to be this one! What was the point of sitting in these elegant surroundings, if in the end you missed your flight?
“So what am I going to do now?” I asked. “Within the next three hours I absolutely have to be in New York!” Disbelief and panic resonated in my voice. The CARE executive would soon be waiting for me at Kennedy Airport, and I was stuck here in Chicago.
The staffer looked intently at her screen.
“Ma’am, the plane is already on the runway. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do.”
“There must be something you can do! I have to get to New York. Urgently!”
“The earliest possibility is in an hour, a plane landing at LaGuardia,” she said, after she had looked at our tickets and pressed a few keys.
“But I have to go to Kennedy Airport. I have a meeting there.” I was desperate.
“Unfortunately, there’s no other option, ma’am. The next plane to JFK doesn’t depart until the afternoon.”
So we had no choice but to fly to LaGuardia. Beforehand, I called the CARE executive’s assistant to inform her of my changed time of arrival in New York.
“Don’t worry,” the woman on the phone reassured me. “My boss has a long layover. There will still be enough time for your meeting.”
I could have hugged the stranger on the other end of the line.
* * *
During the flight I drilled into Akinyi how she was to behave during the meeting with the CARE representative. Actually, the plan had been for her to spend that time with a friend who lived in New York. But now, due to our delayed arrival, that arrangement would probably fall through.
“It’s possible that you’ll be with me during my meeting,” I explained to Akinyi in Luo. She looked up from her Nintendo.
“That’s all right,” she said calmly.
“But you are not allowed to interrupt me no matter what when I’m talking to the woman,” I insisted.
I was worried that Akinyi, who as an only child was used to getting a lot of attention and often barged into conversations, might do so during the upcoming meeting. Her earnest little face looked up at me.
“I know that, Mum.” Smiling, she added, “Everything will be okay.”
With her nine years, my daughter exuded an enviable composure. She’s so entirely different from me, I thought. While I can easily get worked up or unsettled by little things, she is rarely rattled. Even as a small child, she tended to react calmly—and often wisely—to stressful situations. “It’s no big deal, Mum,” she would say to me on many occasions, thus helping me respond to things with somewhat more calm.
“I have my Nintendo,” Akinyi added. She waved the small pink object, which was a lifesaver for me at that moment. I drew her into my arms and hugged her tightly.
“Mum! Stop it!”
* * *
Despite the unplanned detour, my meeting at Kennedy Airport went really well. I found out about a promising opportunity: CARE was about to launch a new program. The planned Sport for Social Change Initiative would introduce a new approach to working with children and youth in developing countries. The goal was to use sports as a way to involve girls and boys in the areas of health, education, leadership, employment, and recreational activities. The chance to contribute to a program that was not only about making a better life possible for disadvantaged children, but also about requiring their active participation—for this was key—was exactly what I was looking for. The fact that it would be coordinated from Kenya for all of East Africa made the position even more interesting.
I stayed another week on the East Coast in order to attend several more meetings. Of the organizations with which I had appointments, only UNICEF dealt directly with children and youth, but there was no suitable position for me there or with the other NGOs. So when CARE offered me the position as coordinator of the East African Sport for Social Change Initiative (SSCI), I didn’t hesitate a second.
* * *
I was sitting at home with my friend Vicky, who had often looked after Akinyi back when she was still a baby. I was telling her over a glass of wine about my experiences in New York when the telephone rang. Instinctively, I knew who was calling. No one else called me so late in the evening. Disregarding all rational judgment, I picked up. And just listened.
“It’s Marvin,” said the voice on the other end of the line. I had guessed correctly.
“I thought it was all over,” I muttered, prepared to hang up again immediately.
“No. Wait!”
“Why? I really don’t have anything more to say to you.”
“Then why did you write me that letter?”
Marvin was talking about a six-page letter I had written after Monika had called him. It was meant as a good-bye; in it, I explained to him what the years with him had been like for me. I wanted him to know that I did not hold it against him that he could not love me. And I wanted him to know that I in no way regretted having loved him so intensely and absolutely. Only in that way was I able to let him go.
“For three months, I carried your letter around with me,” he said. “The first time I read it, I was just mad at you. Your tone had made me angry. But then I read it again—and understood it.” He was silent for a moment. I didn’t say anything, either. I couldn’t say anything.
“I understood what you were trying to say,” he went on. “This time I was able to read between the lines.”
“Took you long enough,” I replied sarcastically. “Let’s just drop it, Marvin.” I could feel the tears welling up.
“Give me a chance to explain, Auma. We have to talk. I want to be with you.”
“I don’t believe that anymore.”
“I really want to be with you, Auma!”
I was silent. But I couldn’t hang up, either.
“You need time to think, I understand that. I’ll call you again in a week, okay?”
I hung up without saying another word.
“Shit!” I blurted out. Ordinarily, I never used this word. Akinyi would have been shocked if she heard me. And I caught myself looking up as if expecting to see her standing on the stairs. I turned to my friend, who had followed the conversation intently.
“What now, Vicky? Does the torment start all over again?”
Vicky knew all about the Marvin drama, and with the wisdom of her seventy-six years had often offered me advice and support.
“Do you still love him?” she asked.
“Yes, unfortunately.” The two words practically burst out of me.
“Then you have nothing to lose.”
“But he hurt me so much with his indecisiveness.”
“And you still love him anyway.”
I gave Vicky a confused look. It couldn’t be that simple.
“If you let him go now,” she said, “you might regret it for the rest of your life. But if you give him a chance, you’ll either get what you want or you’ll at least know what you don’t want. One way or the other, you win.”
I simply could not understand her logic.
“I guess I still have to think about it.”
“You have a week’s time, don’t you?”
* * *
In July 2007, Akinyi and I moved to Kenya. Marvin would follow later. After a brief back and forth in the wake of that phone call, he had come to visit me in England and had convinced me of his love. I was overjoyed—and grateful to Vicky that she had persuaded me to give him another chance. Now we were planning to live together in Nairobi.
That meant big changes for all of us, especially for Akinyi, whose visits to my native country
had always lasted only a few weeks. To have to switch to a new school, and in an entirely different country, was causing her anxiety.
But I was happy that we would be closer to my family and that my daughter would finally have a chance to speak Luo more often and learn more about her Kenyan heritage.
Almost immediately on arrival, with scarcely a breather, I started my job at CARE. My coordination work brought me into contact with about thirty-five East African local aid organizations, which altogether dealt with several thousand children and young people. My task was to help them develop their capacities by sponsoring trainings and workshops.
* * *
“Why sports?” the person sitting opposite me asked. I was in Washington for a large CARE conference. My role was to provide supporters of the organization with valid arguments they could then use to persuade their representatives on the Hill to champion CARE’s cause of fighting global poverty.
“Because sports work especially well with children and youth,” I replied. “Through sports it is easier to reach young people.”
“But isn’t that a luxury for the poorest of the poor?”
“Only if you don’t offer the young people more than just the sports,” I answered. “Though these children, too, deserve the chance to play simply for the sake of playing, don’t you think?”
I knew, of course, that for the people we dealt with in our program, sports were indeed often a luxury, which they typically could not afford. The struggle for mere survival left little room for indulging in sports “just for fun.”
