A common language does not necessarily mean a communication through words. Speaking the same language might mean a connection on a deeper level; a bond born from something our minds do not fully comprehend, but is understood through our hearts. When this happens, it is one of the greatest gifts of being human.
Most of my communication with Epateti over my two weeks at the research center had little to do with words. Oftentimes, we would say something in our different languages and without understanding the words, we were somehow able to translate the feelings or essence of what we were trying to convey, enough to understand, to make a connection. We would nod, smile, listen, feel and comprehend through different expressions - the burst of joy revealed in a smile or laugh, the profound sadness exposed from one’s eyes, the waving of hands, simple gestures – all meaningful and silently understood. Sometimes, words can get in the way.
There are people on this earth that bond for whatever reason – for every reason and no reason at all. By simply being human, by our common losses and triumphs, by a shared exhilaration over a breathtakingly beautiful stretch of savannah, or the head of a hyena protruding from a den, the generosity in the gift of a giant mushroom, or the shared heartbreak over the loss of loved ones, we are able to make a higher connection with someone who has “happened” in our lives.
I do believe in fate. For whatever reason, our paths were meant to cross, however brief. Epateti made a lasting impression on me. I was humbled and honored to have met him and this was translated for him on my last evening at the camp. I learned from Epateti, this total stranger. There were things we saw with like eyes, things we endured with similar resolve and resilience. He had asked that a photo be taken of the two of us. He is standing in his dark green khakis and we pose for the shot, new friends.
The last time I saw him it was dark. A wood fire was burning in the sitting room and a few kerosene lamps lit the outside of Mzee Christopher’s working kitchen. It was raining. Philip was there to translate our farewell. We hugged and shook hands. I thanked him for his generosity, for guiding me safely through the bush, for all I learned. I told him he was a good and kind man. I wished him well, always. He nodded to me and in Ki-Swahili to Philip, and translated to me, he said, “I know I will see you again, God willing.” And as usual, he smiled.
When I returned to the States, I sent a few gifts to my new friends at Ol ari Nyiro’s research center. I sent books and pens and bags of sweets. Epateti liked Lifesavers. He had never tasted them before. On one of our bushwalks, he had been coughing a lot and said his throat was dry from the heat and dust. I pulled a roll of Lifesavers from my pocket and offered him one. He had never tasted anything so sweet, he told Jeffrey. They made him feel better, made his throat well. When I was home, I sent him a large bag filled with Lifesavers.
It has been nearly two years now since my solo trip to Kenya, to Ol ari Nyiro. I received an email the other day saying that Epateti had passed away since my visit there. I was deeply saddened by the news. I wept for my stranger/friend, perhaps more so for myself, knowing I would not see him again. I pulled out the photos from my trip and looked at the ones taken with Epateti. I was surprised at how young he looked, not like the old man I initially saw, the wrinkled worn face of a man much older than his years. I saw a young, vital man standing strong in his dark green khakis. His black coffee colored skin looking smooth and vibrant, the wisdom in his eyes speaking volumes – even in a photograph.
As you once said to me, my friend, “I know I will see you again, God willing.”
And I do see you, Epateti. Each time I look at the sun and moon.
* Every day 6,000 children lose a parent to AIDS. The AIDS pandemic has killed more than 25 million people and an estimated 38.6 million are living with HIV/AIDS. In 2005, the AIDS epidemic claimed an estimated 3.1 million lives, more than half a million (570,000) were children. The highest infection rate of HIV/AIDS in the world is in sub-Saharan Africa. Since this story was written, I made another trip to South Africa where in the rural villages and townships, the ravages of AIDS are ever pervasive.
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