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.
