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Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn’t seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed. The other guy takes out his phone and calls the emergency services.
He gasps: “My friend is dead! What can I do?” The operator says: “Calm down, I can help. First, let’s make sure he’s dead.” There is a silence, then a gunshot is heard. Back on the phone, the guy says: “OK, now what?”
It is early in the morning and from where I am seated, I can hear the sounds of Nairobi as it comes alive for another day of busyness. I can feel the energy of the herds of people as they furiously stampede into the Central Business District in an endless stream of vehicles that sounds like the roar of a mighty river, punctuated by varying pitches of ‘peep’ sounds of car horns, and just a while ago, a loud siren of an emergency vehicle.
Sometimes when I hear that siren, I think about the anxiety that someone else might be feeling since in most cases, one who is close to them is in danger. And when I look at myself and know that I am fine and that to the best of my knowledge everyone that I know is fine, I thank God for his grace. For, what is grace? It is favor that we get despite the fact that we didn’t do anything to deserve it. I know that I didn’t do anything to deserve good health and all the benefits that come with it, or both my parent that I can see any day that I want, or the intelligence that enables me to do my work each day, or even love and peace and other states on mind that matter to me.
It is easy for anyone to see the grace of God, especially when they look for it. If you do, I suppose there is good reason for you and I to say a huge “Thank You” to God.
My friend and I were looking at the meaning of the word ‘gullible’. Apparently, gullibility is a failure of social intelligence in which a person is easily tricked or manipulated into an ill-advised course of action. When I look at the definition I cannot help but think that we are usually so guarded so as not to be taken advantage of by other people, that we often overlook the one place where we are likely to be tricked. I considered what ‘gullibility’ means, and asked myself if it applies to me. And as I thought about it, I realized that on many occasions, I have watched my mind do to me exactly what the phrase said “easily tricked or manipulated into an ill-advised course of action”.
Now, the mind is something else…it will convince you into doing something that you already know is not good for you. It lurks, waiting for your weak moments and will advance its clever arguments into making you believe that you will only feel better after you give in. If you are adamant, it will assure you that despite what might have happened in the past that this time it will be different…that you really need this…that if there is anyone who deserves to feel good, it is you. It is one of those ‘try it and you will thank me’ cons. But as soon as you do it, the mind turns against you with condemnation and accusations. And with such a negatively strong wrath that it frightens you into a corner when you have no voice of your own. Not only does it judge you for this one wrong, but it also drags out all the other wrongs from the past and that are not even related to this one, and even goes a step further to assure you that you are condemned to mess again in the future. And you want to hide your face, not so much for the embarrassment of what you did, but for the shame of being made to feel so bad about yourself by someone that you trust…that you fell for the same trick all over again. When will it stop?
But I suppose even to the man who wrestles the legendary bull by its horns in a public arena, in the privacy of his mind is where the real battle rages and therefore the only place where real triumph can be experienced. In the mind, unprecedented turbulence often means that one has reached a key conundrum and that might require time and patience to resolve. Sometimes, it feels like we do not have the resources to handle the funk, and an early exit must be the only way, but as is often quoted, God does not present to us challenges we cannot overcome. If we were to take God for his word, we might then find it prudent to ask him to provide us with the strength required to win the battles. After all, prayer is one of our resources. We might even as be so bold as to say that God is one of our resources and truthfully proclaim, “If God is for us, who can be against us!”?
Life is a gift. Like any other gift that someone might give you, you are the one responsible for adding value to life.
So how do we add value to the gifts that we receive? Take the example of a vase. What if someone was to give you such a gift? You might opt to put flowers in it and showcase it an a prominent space in your house where you and others will see it often. As a result, each time you see the beautiful flowers, you will also see the vase which contains those flowers and hence appreciate it for the purpose that it serves. On the other hand, one might decide to accept the vase and just let it be. They probably will leave it in a private corner in the house to prevent it from being accidentally broken.
These two vases have the same intrinsic value; art pieces made from clay. We can even assume that they cost the same amount of money at the gift shop. However, the first vase has added value by virtue of the purpose that is serves. The person that received it as a gift is the one that gave it that value.
Throughout your life, you have received many gifts; such as your inborn talents and skills that you acquired from school. Do you know what those gifts I am talking about are? Are they lying somewhere in a safe corner to avoid damage, or are they meaningfully showcased in all their glory for the world to see?
Utilization of gifts leads us in a direction that will make us have an idea of what our purpose in life is. However, other than knowing what the gifts are, it is important for one to know what the gifts can be used for. For example, a vase is useful in showcasing flowers and will break if we try to use it as a hammer for nails. So, learn also where to apply your gifts most effectively.
Right opposite the building from where my office is, there is a small gap between two buildings that has some sheds that contain stalls where you can see second hand shoes and clothes on sale. If you venture inside the sheds, about a quarter way in, the clothes and shoes give was to eating houses where cuisine with uncommon names such as “chapo mandondo” is served. When I think about this food place, I remember a similar location that used to be right next to the Serena Hotel. We used to call it “The Serena B”. Now, considering the location of the food place near my office relative to Serena Hotel, and taking into account all the other factor that would enable you to rank any eating facility, this would have to be “The Serena X”. That is where I had my breakfast.
Inside Serena X, there are many tiny restaurants that all look the same although none of them has a name. The only way to identify one from the other is to call it by it’s owners name. In there somewhere, I know that one of them is owned by Steve, but I didn’t bother asking for it since it might have turned out to be much further in, and I didn’t want to delve so deeply this morning. Steve is an acquittance and when we met recently, he invited me to eat at Serena X.
You would have to experience the atmosphere inside Serena X in order to understand what it is like. But if I explain it here, I can talk about wood smoke and hard benches on each side of several informal looking tables on which several men sit. The customers seem to know each other, and some are talking while two are reading the day’s newspaper. The newspaper belongs to the restaurant and might as well have a huge stamp proclaiming ‘Customers Only’ at the front page. The two mean have split the newspaper pages between them.
Serena X is for early risers. All the customers that I saw seemed to be matatu transport industry crew about to start their day. You can tell that from their uniform clothes. Believe it when I say that Serena X is for early risers, for at the hour between 5am and 6am, even a few house flies were busily buzzing around.
Each of the people that walk into the restaurant seem to know exactly what they want and the food arrives even before the order has finished leaving their mouth. All the waiters wear white lab coats that will never be white again. Like well calibrated machines, they zoom to and from the tables to the kitchen counter, either with full plates or empty dishes depending on which direction they are walking. And they are very efficient. How efficient? Let’s just say that you can feel the wind in the wake of the off-white lab coat as it sweeps the air each time it breathlessly tries to keep up with its wearer.
When I took my seat, I was a little lost for what to have for breakfast and so I chose to eat what seemed like a novel meal sitting in my neighbor’s plate…beans and a chapati…and tea. The tea arrived already sugared. In fact, the only indulgence on the table is a salt shaker. As I ate, I continued to look around and noticed the menu on the wall. Here, the most expensive meal costs 80 shillings! There was also a sticker on the wall that gives you an idea of exactly how much the Serena X management appreciates good manners; “Usiteme mate hapa! Si una handbag?” In simple English it means that if you would like to spit, to please do it in your handbag.
There are no bills or receipts of any kind in Serena X. When you are done eating, you walk to the door and pay to a hawkish looking guy, who I assumed was the owner. His eyes see all, but he will still ask you what you have eaten before he accepts your money. In addition to good manners from their customers, I suspect that the management expects honesty as well.
I didn’t know how much I was supposed to pay and so I dug into my pocket and came up with all the loose money that I had. It all amounted to 80 shillings. The only other money I had was in 1000 notes and I was apprehensive about answering the early morning question that is inevitable each time you pay with a thousand, “Hauna pesa ndogo?” (Don’t you have a smaller note?). In my estimate, I expected to be charged 100 shillings, but then when I asked the cashier/owner how much I owed, he said 50 shillings. 50 shillings! For a plate of beans and a chapati and a cup of pre-sugared tea?! I have to say for the good feeling that I have in my stomach right now, this must be the Christmas bargain they keep talking about on radio.
My apartment is on the second floor and when I opened the door to the balcony after I got out of bed, I was greeted by a sunny morning spiced up with the fragrance of the fresh of a green earth after a week of heavy rain. While moving my head in order to harvest a great lungful of crisp air from all around the space on which I was standing, my eyes glanced on the wall and I say a slug. The slug had a shiny cream color and was extended full length as if it was about to make a huge lunge forward, making me think of a steeplechase runner in full stride whose pose has been frozen when the viewer pressed the pause button on the remote control. And as I waited for the slug to make a contraction to facilitate forward movement, I once again wondered about the journey of the slug.
I wondered how much time it had taken the slug to move from the ground and climb the wall – all the way to the second floor. Given the slow speed at which a slug moves, and considering a slug’s life expectancy, I suppose that it must have invested a considerable chunk of its lifetime to accomplish this one task of climbing the wall. One might even conclude that climbing this particular wall is probably this slug’s lifetime achievement. Which then brings us to the next obvious question, “for what purpose?”
I suppose this question brings us to our own predicament as human beings. When we do not understand the meaning of our lives, we feel like this slug, climbing a mundane wall all its life. And at that time, for all the work that we have engaged in, we look back and see the lack of color in our accomplishments and ask “for what purpose?”
When I look at the slug, I cannot understand why it chose to climb this wall or why it had to leave the lush world of food and the companionship of other slugs down below. But then when I look a second time, I realize that this particular slug has touched my life: It caught my attention and has engaged my imagination for quite a considerable amount of time. In that time, it has enabled me to examine my own life and given me the words with which to write a story to share with you. Considering that this writing will affect you in some way, you can already see the chain reaction that the slug has set off?
We can say in jest that this slug has accomplish in 30 minutes what my school English teacher tried to accomplish for years every day that she walked into my class. But in all seriousness it probably helps us to remember that it is indeed true that all God’s creatures – You and I included – have a reason to be.
We Matter. Despite, all of our good intentions that seem too small to us and inconsequential to the universe, all the menial tasks that only seem to serve as placeholders for the existence that we hold, all the tumultuous experiences that do not seem to make any sense at all, all the places that we find ourselves so deeply buried in and that we can never seem to be able to retrace our steps from. We Matter.
I heard someone talk about love over the weekend. He equated love to a seed that is planted in a garden. And he equated the work that goes into sustaining love into the labor that goes into nurturing a garden. For after the seed is put into the ground, it then has to be watered frequently, weeds have to be removed, it has to be pruned and taken care for in all other ways; until it flourishes and later blooms and produces seeds that can then produce more fruit of the same. What does that mean? That you can identify an act of love, but can never predict in the fullness of time, how powerful that single act will eventually be. Or in other words, you can count the number of seeds in an apple, but you can never count the number of apples in a seed.
If you grew up in a village in Kenya, you probably remember the many games that you played with other children. You probably also remember that shoes used to be a Sunday affair, and so most of the time you were bare feet. And at the end of the day the feet would be dirty from trotting around all day – especially on rainy days. And the children would gather around their mother at the fireplace and start dozing on their tiny seats immediately after supper. However, it was a requirement that everyone had to wash their feet before going to bed. And the mother would warm the water and pour it in a plastic basin for each of her children to wash their feet. After each feet washing, the filthy water in the basin would be thrown out and the mother would pour more warm water for the next child to wash their feet.
For anyone who would not wash their feet before going to bed, it was just a matter of time before they were attacked by jiggers. If they still didn’t clean up, the jiggers would multiply, so much so that the pain in the feet would make it impossible for a child to play with others.
Now that we are grown up, we spend the whole day in our places of work, and when we go back home in the evening, our minds are muddied from all the negativity that we pick up and accumulate in the course of the day. After we eat our dinner and we start to feel drowsy, do we take a few moments to rid ourselves of all that negativity? A prayer will do, and so will some meditation. Journaling will do and so will some reading. Conversing with a loved one will do and so will listening to some soothing music.
When the mind is not cleansed of negativity often, one is bound to develop conditions that prevent them from doing the things that they would otherwise enjoy to do. And just as that child who did not wash his feet will look at others longingly as they play and tell himself, “I cannot play with them, I don’t want to get hurt”, the grown up who did not rid themselves of negativity will say to themselves, “I cannot do that again, I don’t want to get hurt!”
Any pain – physical or psychological – directs us to the parts of our selves that we have neglected – or that we should pay more care for. Like the feet of the little boy that played all day in the mud need to be washed every evening, this is the part of us that needs to be looked after often.
This morning, I thought about playfulness and being serious. I realize that at some point in our existence, we become so focused in our work and in tweaking our lives that the many things that used to matter years before seem to just fade in the background. The appreciation of simple things like little walks in nature and silly laughter with friends just seem to take a back seat. Once in a while when we meet someone that makes us laugh out loud, we do not even seem to recognize that sound. It usually is such a long time since we laughed!
I suppose we become serious for a good reason. Maybe we realize that life is too short and we need to put in more effort in getting to wherever our vision guides us. Or maybe we decide that for us to make a difference in the world, we need to become more focused in the things that we do. Of course that usually means more input in the office or even spending evenings with a laptop at home. Or maybe going back to school. Things like love and romance are forcefully forgotten and we get on with our busyness of life. This is despite the fact that we might already be in a relationship.
But I suppose what we really want to know is that at the end of the day, we will leave our mark in the world and that our existence counts for something. I suppose everyone unconsciously wants to leave one of those big marks that people neatly carve in exotic places that they visit that say, “Bob was here!” And if we could be totally frank; on the day of our funeral, we would be glad to see a huge crowd of people that would pay glowing tribute to our lived life as they see us off fondly. While in the throes of these morbid fantasies, I suppose that makes us feel like we could then rest in peace.
Once in a while, one comes across another person that they let into their lives. And as each day unfolds and is filled with the normal activity of life, the two people realize that they have become each others’ witness in life. If I tell my partner about my day and about my perspectives and about my aspirations without being afraid of being judged, and if I can listen to my partner in the same way, then we become witnesses to each other. In time we allow ourselves to be known by the other. So much so that if we were to be told something that is not true about the other, one would not hesitate to say, “That is not him” of “That is not her” Why? “Because I know him” or “Because I know her”.
With a witness to tell your story, you do not need to engrave “Bob was here!” in a far away land among strangers that are also looking for a blank space in which to make their personal “Bob was here!” – sometimes even writing over where others have already written. For you know that every day of your life matters. And through the eyes of another, perhaps you can truly see what they see in you, and understand that you are enough.
Do you remember the last time you saw a break in the clouds? I would describe it as that moment that when in the midst of a long period of gray skies, a tiny window opens from above and the sun shines through for just a little while. Each time that I have seen a break in the clouds, I always marvel at how much beauty can come through in a moment. It usually happens right before your eyes, just when it is least expected. Be you engrossed in busyness or not, you cannot ignore it. In fact it takes up all your attention.
A break in the clouds makes it look like sunshine is raining from the skies. For once you look and the rays of the sun are golden yellow, just as they painted them in the kids story books. In such moments, I always think that this is how the glory of God would look like…like this is an appropriate staircase for Jesus to walk down to earth from heaven. If someone was to blow a trumpet loudly at that particular moment, I just might take off in panic! Other times, it feels like this was the exact moment that Elijah ascended into heaven on board a chariot of flaming horses. And I can almost hear the clatter of hooves and the neighs as the horses gallop upwards. But then I wonder, why would hooves make any sound if the horses are in the air?
The thing about the break in the clouds is that it is fleeting…just for a moment, and then it is gone. It leaves us with a sigh of wonder and eyes that have seen something majestic. And even when the clouds close once again and we are back to the gray, we cannot feel the gloom, for we have been seduced by something heavenly. One cannot help but look forward to the day when the clouds clear and the sun comes shining through – not through a window, but from all of God’s great sky.
Let the sun shine!
I remember the day that I climbed the Ngong Hills. The Ngong Hills comprise of a series of peaks that make up the ridge. In order to go across, you have to climb each one of these individual hills. When you start off at the first one, you do not see the second hill until you get to the top of the first one. And you do not see the third hill until you get to the top of the second one. Each time you get to the top of each individual hill, you realize that the next one is even higher and steeper. And for you to climb the next hill, you have to go downhill to the bottom as if to start all over again!
If going through life is like going across the Ngong Hills ridge, then the peaks are the highs that we experience in terms of achievement or success. On the other hand the troughs are the disappointments of failure and disillusionment that we encounter once in a while. But what does it all mean? It means that when you are at the trough of the 4th hill, you most probably are higher than if you were at the top of the first hill. It also means that when you are at a low, you are at the right place in order to taste your next victory; as they say, you can only go up.
In life, we all are all ploughing through the hills. As you move across your Hills, take time to smell the flowers.
This morning on radio, a woman was telling a story about a man who walked into a wild animal sanctuary and witnessed a scene that puzzled him. There was a young elephant that was standing still in one spot oblivious to the fact that all the other elephants were frolicking around happily having a good old time. The man thought that the young elephant was sick or there was something wrong with it and so he enquired from the keeper about why the elephant was so deprived of joy in the land of merry.
“Why does the young elephant look so miserable, stuck in the same spot, while all the others are free and seem so uninhibited?” He asked. To which the keeper told him that when elephants are very young, they are usually tethered to a short rope in order to keep them from wandering off and getting lost. But even though it had been a while since the tether was removed, the young elephant hadn’t recognized that it was now free and was still standing on the same spot and couldn’t make any moves.
What is it that holds us back from the things that really add value into our lives? What is the string that holds me back from the things that are important to me? What is it that holds you back from making that step that will take you towards the things that you want? Probably ghosts of people that lost their positions of authority over us years ago or shadows of events that seemed so momentous at the time. If we take a second look and see these phantoms for what they really are, we might realize that the set of eyes that we use to look this time around is completely different from the one that we used the first time. And we will most likely see differently…probably start by illuminating through the haze with the light of truth.
Be free.
Last evening, I was meeting with a group of friends and relatives to plan for a funeral of one of our own that had passed away a few days ago. And as we were deliberating on some burial issues, one of the older women in the group got a phone call. From the frightened shaking of her voice as she talked on the phone, it was obvious that she was distraught. Once she hang up, she informed the rest of us that there had been a grenade attack in a busy part of the city. This was the second such terror act in Nairobi in the last 24 hours.
Within seconds, the meeting was thrown into disarray. People began lamenting loudly about insecurity while others made frantic calls to find out more information. Someone suggested that we wind up and go home immediately. And just as it seemed as if our meeting was about to fall apart, someone – in a very firm, calm and clear voice – addressed the most panicked woman in the group by saying, “If you were meant to be dead, it would be your funeral we are arranging right now.” That seemed to make a lot of sense to everyone. The wisdom in that single observation worked like a tonic for the aggravated minds and within a short time, we got back to the meeting and continued deliberating.
On the way to town this morning, a friend went on and on and on about all the things that she does not want in her life. And I said to her, “Your guardian angel must be doing serious acrobatics trying to keep away all these things from coming into your reality!” In my mind, I could imagine that each time she talked about something she does not want in her life, the angel would stretch out an arm to keep it at bay…and then another arm…and a leg…and then another leg…and a wing…and then another wing…it was the image of an angel doing his best to ensure that only the best happens to my friend and getting overwhelmed by the furious torrent of negativity. And when I described what I was imagining, we both laughed out loudly at the ridiculous image.
But then on second thought, I wondered, what if this is what was really happening? And so I asked her, “Supposing you tell your angel what you want?” I figured if the angel was working so hard to keep bad things away, wouldn’t the same angel work as hard to bring the things that we want to us? And with an angel as active as my friend’s, just how much fortune can she bring into her life just by stating what she wants?
A person with an optimistic outlook and a lazy angel would seem far more fortunate in life than a pessimistic person with an active angel. So, shouldn’t we revise our catalogue of expression and put the things that we want, rather than the things that we do not want?
I recently attended a gathering of friends and relatives that also doubled as a party. It was attended by many adults who were accompanied by their children. And as each set of guests arrived, they would fondly say hello to the people they had not seen in a while before settling down to eat, drink and socialize. And as the adults made merry in many small groups, the children were busy playing with each other in one of the various fun activities organized for the kids.
As the day wore on, the people continued to loosen up and as it usually happens; the volume of voices went a notch higher, laughter was freer, and the children shrieks more frequent. Everyone was well fed, conversation was flowing, music was playing, and there was a general feeling of well being in the whole group.
And then the music was abruptly switched off, and a strong voice of a man came through the speakers calling everyone to attention. The noise quickly died down and everyone turned to look at the man holding a microphone in one hand. His other hand was lightly resting on the shoulders of a small boy with tears streaming down his face. Obviously, the boy had had too much fun; the front of his white shirt was stained with orange soda and brown stains of chocolate. His face had a liberal sprinkling of cookie crumbs that were conveniently glued to the cheeks by the sticky things he had eaten. The other parts of his clothes had patches of brown and green from soil and grass. His shoes were missing and one sock was dangerously close to completely coming off his foot. There was a visible bruise on his left knee.
Now assured that he had everyone’s attention, the man pointed the microphone to the boy and asked, “Whose child is this?” And immediately, a young woman anxiously stood up from the crowd, went forward and said, “This one belongs to me”, much to the amusement of other parents. She then took the child by the hand and walked with him to where she was initially seated. With that, the music came back on, and the party went on as if nothing had happened. From where I was, I could see that the mother was attempting to clean up the small boy as she admonished him gently, and all the while the boy was loudly telling her about what had happened to make him cry. The boy was now fine, for he was back to where he belonged.
By the end of the day, several visibly filthy small boys and girls had been brought forward with the question, “Whose child is this?” and each time, their parents has stepped forward boldly to claim them.
That reminded me of the times when we forget ourselves as we have fun in the world, and then something happens to make us cry. At that point, the fun comes to an end and we feel so lost, we do not even know how to go back home. And as we stand there looking all filthy and ashamed of the mess that we have gotten ourselves into, and if someone was to ask “Whose child is this?” all we would ask for is for the One to come forward and say, “This one belongs to me”.
I think I know my friends. When you ask me about them I will tell you about the kind of people that I assume that they are. Mostly, I will pay them glowing tributes and tell you great things about them. I might touch a bit on their weaknesses, but not too much. For they are generally wonderful people.
And then one of those friends does something to upset me. And when that happens, I will no longer tell you about their wonderful nature. Rather, I will tell you about the thing that they did to hurt me. And if someone else wants to listen, I will repeat the same story. And when you ask me next week, I will probably retell the story all over again.
I might know a friend’s caring and gentle nature for years, but it will only take one moment of hurt to overturn my story. And what I used to know for years is suddenly replaced by what I learnt in one day. So what has that friend been up to since I last heard from them? Are they still kind and considerate and hard working and funny as I used to know them? Or is they as hurtful as I make them out to be each time I think about them in my mind?
Did I just trade the sum total of a friend’s goodness for the value of a hurt that they made me feel only once? More importantly, how long will I keep trading the sum of all my good thoughts, words and actions for the price of every little mistake that comes up every once in a while? I must revise my trading!
Yesterday, I took a walk around my neighborhood and came across a huge trailer truck parked next to an apartment block. The 22 wheeler trailer truck really stood out in the residential neighborhood, and especially since reggae music was blaring from the driver’s cabin. When I got closer, I say that the driver’s door was open and when I looked up well above my head I saw a small boy holding on to the steering wheel and looking very ill at ease with where he was. He looked down at me from his unfamiliar perch and I smiled as I walked past. On my way back, I noticed that the reggae music had been toned down and the boy was now in the company of a grown man, who I figured must be the dad. And as I though about what I saw, I remembered about someone who asked why there is such a strained relationship between most grown men and their fathers. Can’t guys just forgive their dads for whatever wrongs – real or imaginary – and just move on?
When growing up, boys look up to their fathers for guidance in most situations in their young lives. And the fact is that whatever the dad does for a living is not very important especially if the dad is available to take care of the boys needs. And if you have listened to boys brag about how strong their dads are, then you can easily understand that boys think of their fathers as heroes of sorts. In short they believe that their dads can do anything.
But then something usually happens when the boys start becoming young men. They get to a place where they are supposed to be independent and yet cannot figure out what they are supposed to do. There are all these decisions about career, and life partners, and investments and so many other things, all of which make them feel overwhelmed. And as it always turns out, when the young man turns to the dad, either he seems to have no more good guidance left – since he feels that the young man has outsmarted him, or he dispenses it in ways that might have worked 10 years before – maybe by shouting or by using such emotional blackmail. And so the young man will feel lost and probably try to figure out his life from a bar stool, at which point he will just get more muddled up, and resentment towards the dad will start building up.
Why is that? It would seem as if the guy who had all the answers doesn’t seem to know anything after all. It would seem like the superman who was made of steel now bleeds like an ordinary man. It doesn’t help when the old man starts getting sick, or his past mistakes start catching up with him. And he now starts becoming dependent on his son even for emotional support.
Without a hero to look up to, the young boy who has grown up to become a man is truly alone. When your hero fades before your eyes and leaves you to do the battles that he used to fight for you, what do you do? Some men are able to go beyond their fears and take charge of their lives and even be able to take care of their fallen heroes. Others live with the resentment of being let down and avoid their fathers in an attempt to keep away from the pain. Of course they make up stories about what the dad did or didn’t do in order to justify their position – especially in the eyes of others.
But as a popular song goes, even heroes have a right to bleed. And in the words of one man that advised another when he was running away from the prospects of meeting his fallen hero on his death bed, “I will take the man over the memory any day of the week.”
This morning, I asked my friend, “What do people think about?” and she answered, “People predominantly think about two things; their life and their love”. She went ahead to say, “If you ask anyone to quote two sayings, the first one will be about their outlook towards life and the second one will be about their outlook towards love”. I didn’t know that! And so I took a moment to think about the first two saying from the top of my head. The first one was, “Life is a journey, not a guided tour.” And the second one was “Money can’t buy you love”.
What surprised me was that the saying came so effortlessly. I was also surprised at the thought that they might actually represent my outlook towards life and love. And when I thought about this further, I figured that they might give me some real insight about the way I deal with situations and how my life has turned out. For example, if life is a journey, it would then seem that I have to keep moving, and probably just taking short moments to rest before I proceed. If it is not a guided tour, then it would mean that I would have to figure out everything for myself without the need for help from others.
What is I find myself in a place where I am at rest for too long? It would mean that I would be neglecting my journey and so I would need to get up and start moving. And this would mean that the things or situations that tend to make people ‘settle’ would be unacceptable to me. Other than that, I would be resistant to any help that would help me chart my way through life since, it is ‘not a guided tour’.
These revelations are startling since they generally point to the truth about the way my life has been. And it has made me think that if I desire to rest or to enlist the help of others, then I would need to change my top most saying. As for the second saying, “Money can’t buy you love”, I suppose I will look for another one that has more positivity and that talks about what I would want from love.
Wangari Maathai (1 April 1940 – 25 September 2011)
The woman is planting a tree in the world.
On her knees, like someone in prayer,
Among the remains of the many trees
That the storm has broken down.
She must try again,
perhaps one at last
Will be left to grow in peace.
She sees the hands outspread on the earth
As if trying to impose her calm
On its threatening tremors.
Oh earth, be still,
Be still, so my tree can grow.
Poem By Halldis Moren Vesaas (1907-1995)
The following is the text of the Commencement address by Steve Jobs (February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011), former CEO of Apple Computer and of Pixar Animation Studios, delivered on June 12, 2005.
I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to a college graduation. Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That’s it. No big deal. Just three stories.
The first story is about connecting the dots.
I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?
It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: “We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?” They said: “Of course.” My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers. She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.
And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents’ savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn’t see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn’t interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.
It wasn’t all romantic. I didn’t have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends’ rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5 cent deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:
Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn’t have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can’t capture, and I found it fascinating.
None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life. But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, its likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.
Again, you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.
My second story is about love and loss.
I was lucky – I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest creation – the Macintosh – a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me, and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.
I really didn’t know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down – that I had dropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me – I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.
I didn’t see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.
During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I returned to Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple’s current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together.
I’m pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don’t lose faith. I’m convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You’ve got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.
My third story is about death.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn’t even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in order, which is doctor’s code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you’d have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.
I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I’m fine now.
This was the closest I’ve been to facing death, and I hope its the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.
Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960’s, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.
Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.” It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.
Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.
Yesterday, I came across a phrase that talked about forgiveness and defined it as ‘giving as you gave before the hurt occurred’. When I looked at it, it made it seem like forgiveness if such a difficult thing to achieve, and is probably the reason why we still harbor a lot of resentment towards people, places, situations and thing. If forgiveness is ‘giving as you gave before the hurt occurred’, then I can assure you that I have to start working on my forgiveness all over again.
And why is that? Because in most cases, we assume that forgiveness is going about our business as if nothing happened. If someone hurt me and I decided to ‘forgive’ him, it would mean that I would make an effort to say hi and be courteous if I met them and I can even bear to be around them, albeit cautiously. I would ensure that my vibe leaves no doubt that that I don’t completely approve of them, plus of course – and probably most importantly – they would be cut off from the privileges that they abused. We wouldn’t want them to make the same mistake again. Now, would we? Having said that, it seems like I really am in the category of people who have no idea what forgiveness is, or at best, in the ‘forgive and not forget’ bracket.
But ‘giving as you gave before the hurt occurred’ means that I should be able to give them access to my heart again, even if they walked all over it. It means that I should be able to trust them again, despite the fact that they betrayed it before. That I should lend them money, despite the fact that they never paid. That I should relax in their presence despite the fact that they made my life uncomfortable. Can I really do that?
But even as I think about that, I wonder about what it would mean when I forgive myself. When I am ‘giving as you gave before the hurt occurred’ to myself. That would mean that I will allow myself to try again even though I messed up when I gave myself the chance before. That I will allow myself to dream again even though I blew away all the dreams I had before. That I will give myself love and joy and happiness and all the other good things that come with life despite the fact that I never was really good at it.
I guess ‘giving as you gave before the hurt occurred’ means allowing myself a second chance for each and everything that I forgive myself for. When will I do that?
I cannot help but remember how it was this time last year for our family. Our brother Harun was slowly wasting away in disease, and we all knew that it was just a matter of time before he was gone. And each day that I would go to bed, I switched off my phone with the silent terror of finding a missed call or an SMS in the morning that would confirm that the worst had happened. But still I hoped – just as I expect that everyone in the family did – that a miracle was possible and that we would hear of a spectacular recovery. He passed on on 13th October 2010.
Around this time last year, I remember having a feeling of dread that I had to shrug off in order to get through my day. And as I think about this feeling, it takes me back to the days when we were little boys in the village with Harun. I remember that one day a bigger and more vicious boy called Manje threatened to hurt me if I dared step on the common playground. I do not remember what I had done to tick him off. And since he was known for being a real bully, the terror of expecting to be beaten if I went to the playground was real.
I do now know how long I avoided going to there, or whether I would sneak for a while when the bully was there or not. But I know that the dread was a constant companion. And then one day, I came face to face with him. Harun was next to me. We were both paralyzed and didn’t know what to do. Instinctively, I knew that I had to face whatever it was that he would do to me. And as expected, he broke off a big stick from a branch from a tree next to the road and began whipping me. I wailed in pain and he just went on beating me on my back with the stick. And I was just there being whipped and not knowing how to defend myself when suddenly it happened; Harun just launched himself physically on Manje in anger and told him that he couldn’t whip me any more. It was almost comical given that he was much younger than me. And just as easily as he was whipping me, Manje turned his wrath on Harun and whipped the small boy as mercilessly as he was previously whipping me. After the whipping was complete, Harun and I both walked home crying and in great humiliation from the incident.
I do not remember what happened after that. But I remember that I have a brother who defended me when I could not defend myself. And he defended me when he was even less capable of defending himself than I was myself. For that I will always remember my brother Harun with great pride.
My other brother is called Joe. There was a time when I was far away and felt like I was lost and I didn’t know who to talk to, or even what to tell them if they were to listen. But I remember that in those days, we would communicate a lot on email. Which was unexpected because I didn’t even know that he could write and well as he does. And so, I would sit down and describe the things that I see and the way that I felt in much the same way that I am doing now. My brother would read my email and respond promptly with rejoinders that were funny and light and yet deep and thought provoking. And it made me feel that I was in touch with someone who knew me, and what I was going through. Other than that, he is my fan, and is always interested in what I do and cheers me on. His cheering always makes me feel like a guy in the middle of a marathon race who is contemplating dropping out but suddenly hears his name being shouted from the crowd on the roadside as he is being urged on. Now, that guy has a reason to finish the marathon!
Now, those are my two brothers.
It has been sunny, dry and hot for a while now, and when it suddenly rained yesterday it probably signaled the beginning of the long rainy season that starts in March and ends in May. That means umbrellas and haste in the city streets and traffic jams and impatience on the city roads. And when I got to the office a while ago, Mary, the cleaning lady was painstakingly mopping up a pool of rain water that had gathered on the doorsteps, and I figured that with the rainy season she might be doing this each day for several weeks to come. As I said hello to her, she answered in her usual animated way, and when I casually said to her “Mary, today lunch is on you?” she said “OK!” as if she has been waiting for me to ask. And on second thought I said, “Mary, you seem very generous today. Maybe I should have asked for a car,” probably more to myself than to her. But then she said doubtfully, “You shouldn’t ask me for something I cannot give.” It looked like she had taken my statement very seriously and I felt obliged to explain what I had in mind by telling her a story.
It was the story of a man who wanted to cut down a big tree. And while he was looking up at the tree scratching his head and wondering what to do, an ill dressed man happened to pass by. When he saw how perturbed he was, the poorly dressed man asked him, “How can I help?” To that the man said, “Perhaps you could give me a razor blade with which to cut down the tree!” And promptly the poor looking man gave him the razor blade and went on his way. What the man didn’t know was that the poor looking man was an Angel who would have given to any of his requests. But since he looked poor, the man asked only for what he thought he could afford. And in the process he missed the opportunity to get an axe with which to cut down the tree.
When I finished the story, looking expectantly to see a bulb lighting up above Mary’s head, she unexpectedly said, “I do not believe in Angels”. I was curious, and asked her why she didn’t believe in Angels. She said, “There are so many negative things that are going on right now, that it is impossible to believe in Angels.” And we both laughed as she said, “In any case, if I were an Angel, it would be very awkward to move around with a mop in my hands and a pair of wings folded behind my back!”
As I got into the office and left Mary to continue with her chores, I wondered about what she had said. And I thought about the rainy season, when dark clouds hang low on the sky for so many days that one might forget that the sun exists. But even as the day is gloomy and rain falls day after day, we all know that the sun rises in the East each morning and sets in the West each evening. And without evidence, the only thing that we have to go by is the belief that the sun still exists, and that when the rainy season is over, it will shine once again.
Whether what we believe in is as global as the elements of our environment, or is as personal as one’s own potential, one thing is for sure; at some point, all evidence points to the absence of that which we think is. And at that point, it is easy to doubt. One might say, “There is not a single good man (or woman) left” or “I can never achieve this” or “This problem will never pass” or such statements that go contrary to what we want to believe in. But at such a time, perhaps it is when we need to call upon our Faith. And as you know, Faith is belief that is not based on proof.
Today, a funny pair of radio presenters reminded about how it is like to live in a ‘plot’ in one of Nairobi’s low income residential areas. The ‘plot’ usually consists of tiny single or double roomed apartments that house tenants that range from single occupants to families with as many as six individuals or even more. The layout of a typical ‘plot’ consists of two rows with a total of 10 rooms divided by a corridor. On one end of the corridor is a gate that gives access in and out of the ‘plot’ and on the other end is a common area with a single toilet, bathroom, laundry sink, and cloth drying lines. The single rooms are usually divided into cooking, sleeping and lounge areas and privacy is enforced with the help of a bed sheet that hangs from the ceiling and subdivides the various sections of the home. In the ‘plot’ – whether willingly or unwillingly – everyone knows everyone else’s business, although everyone pretends only to mind his or her own business. For those willing to know about others’ business, they only have to walk to the common area at the furthest corner of the ‘plot’ after doing their morning chores, and meet up with other gossipers to catch up on the day’s updates – which couple quarreled and for what reason, who is in trouble at their place of work and why, who is in financial difficulties and what caused it, and so on.
This morning, the funny men of radio were talking about a certain gentleman who was recently faced with a rather difficult decision in the ‘plot’ where he lives. One morning not so long ago, the gentleman warmed his bath water and got ready to take a bath. In order to take the bath, he had to carry the water in a pail from his house to the shared bathroom. And as is common, he wrapped a towel around his wide girth and walked to the end of the corridor. As usual, the ‘plot’ women had gathered in the common area to catch up on gossip and warm themselves on the morning sun. They were accompanied by their small children, and it all seemed like one very large happy family. The gentleman politely said hello to the woman and went into the bathroom to clean himself. Once he locked himself in the bathroom, the women continued with their stories, as the man soaped and scrubbed and rinsed himself clean. Soon, they heard the bathroom door’s latch being pulled back and the man stepped out of the bathroom, looking much fresher than he had when he walked in.
And the bath must have elevated his mood because he paused for a while to play with the little children. He was rather fond of one of the kids and he lifted and held her against his bare chest. The young girl seemed moody on that morning, and the gentleman decided to cheer her up in his usual way. And so he tossed the little girl into the air and caught her in mid air. The little girl squealed in exhilarated delight and the women collectively caught their breaths in anxiety. Again the gentleman tossed the girl up in the air – a little higher – and she seemed to like it even more. When the gentleman tossed the girl into the air for the third time, one panicked woman was about to protest when the unexpected happened. With the shrieking girl up in the air, the gentleman’s arms stretched out in readiness to catch her, the towel that was wrapped around his loin loosened and promptly fell to the ground. In just a few seconds, with the child in the air, and all the women and children gawking open mouthed at his naked front, the man had to make a critical decision; to catch the child before she crashed onto the floor, or to bend and collect the towel from the floor and quickly cover himself.
The mango season has come to an end once again. Just a few weeks ago, you would be greeted by women with large yellow mounds of huge succulent mangoes in the market place, but now that the season is over, we have to wait until next year to see all that again.
The mango season starts at the beginning of the year, peaks in mid February and is over by mid March. The season corresponds to the hottest months of the year when temperatures are well over 30 degrees centigrade, and you can imagine how fulfilling it is to take a bite off a thick slice of mango, or to drink from a tall cold glass of thick juice when one is hot and thirsty or after a nice meal.
Back in the village, there would be hundreds of ripe mangoes scattered under the many mango trees that dot the farms. There would be nothing as refreshing as sitting under the shade of a mango tree on a February afternoon and eat one mango after another, until the stomach was so full that when one moved, it made a swashing liquid sound; similar to that made by water inside a metal container on the back of a woman as she laboriously climbed a hill as she came from the stream to fetch the family’s water supply for the evening.
And the chicken would have a field day too. In their quest to search for food, they would bore into the overripe mangoes with their beaks in order to search for worms. After a few days of such activity, they all would have weird shaped beaks. The reason is because the sticky mango juice on the beaks would form perfect glue for mud to cake along the length of the beak. So all the chickens ended up with filthy beaks that had bulbous brown extensions of all shapes and sizes. And as they walked in an awkward gait – perhaps with stomachs making liquid sounds – it all seemed funny and life was light hearted even when the weather was in its harshest.
In the city, I try to remember those moments each time I cut open a mango and its unmistakable aroma fills the room. And it often leaves me with a sense of wonder, at just what it takes to bring a single mango into being. And my mind goes back to the flowering of the mango trees in September, and I remember how vulnerable the little blooms are in the wind. And how in a single violent shake of the trees by an unexpected gust, most of the flowers will be blown off and half the mango crop will be lost in a single moment. But by December, the mangoes have formed and have fleshed out so much that every night, we would hear the sound of branches breaking off noisily from the trees under the unbearable weight of the mangoes. And in a few weeks, the first ripe mangoes would begin to fall from the trees. And in a few more, the mangoes would be so ripe, that one could make a small hole and suck the juice right off the fruit like a thirsty mango nectar vampire, and then disdainfully throw away the deflated lifeless shell for the cows and goats to eat.
During the mango season I think about God. I put myself in His place and I think about how it would please me to see the spectacle of the abundance of mango in the village. And how it would make me feel good inside each time a person enjoyed the taste of mango. It reminds me of a time I fell out with a friend, and then I met her years later and she was wearing a necklace I had given her as a present. It made me feel very good and I forgot about all the acrimony we previously had. Or imagine what it makes you feel when someone flaunts a present that you gave them? What if it was something that you made for them with your own hands?
And so I think that God enjoys it as much – or even more – when we enjoy the gifts that He has given us. And perhaps our enjoying the gifts that we have been given is a very high act of Glorification. So, let us enjoy all our gifts – our children, our health, our friends, our talents – and not forgetting mangoes and all other fruits.
