Postcards from God #4 - Beautiful

The warrior's gift

There once was a boy named Kimeli Naiyomah. A member of a Masai tribe, he grew up in a small rural town near the Masai Mara National Reserve in Kenya. The town had no water, roads, phones or electricity.  Kimeli had no father, his grandmother had been murdered, and his mother was battling alcoholism. One day, Kimeli went to the hospital with his ailing mother. He didn't know what the people who helped her were called, but he knew he wanted to be a healer, just like them. 

No one Kimeli knew had ever gone to school, much less to university. There was no such thing in his village. But Kimeli had a dream. He wanted to learn. So he ran away, to another village where he had heard children were being taught under a tree. What was under that tree was a church school, and it became Kimeli's school as well as his home. 

When he outgrew the school under the tree, Kimeli found the nearest secondary school - nine hours away on foot. He walked to the school and told the principal he had no money, no shoes, no books, no uniform and no family, but he wanted to learn. The principal welcomed him with open arms. 

By now, Kimeli knew the name of the person he wanted to become: Doctor. He started applying to universities in America, and the elders of his tribe got together and raised $5,000 to help him achieve his goal. A Washington Post reporter somehow got wind of Kimeli's story, and came to his village to write an article about him. The article inspired an outpouring of support, including a scholarship offer from the University of Orgeon, a plane ticket from a businessman in Florida, and clothes and other essentials paid for by yet another total stranger. 

Kimeli enrolled at the University of Oregon in 1996, and after getting his grades up, was later admitted to Stanford. Kimeli became a celebrity in Kenya. In September 2001 the President of Kenya was scheduled to be in New York and Kimeli was invited to meet him. That is how Kimeli came to be in New York on September 11, 2001. 

As a Masai warrior, Kimeli had been trained to run to the scene of a crisis, not away from it. He knew he could not help at Ground Zero, but he also knew he had to do something for the country that had given him so much. So, on a trip home in May 2002, Kimeli asked to meet the elders of his tribe. He told them all about 9/11, which many of his people hadn't even heard of. They could not imagine buildings so tall and had never seen an aeroplane. 

Kimeli wanted to buy a cow, the most precious property a Masai can own, and give it to the American people. In Kimeli's tradition, a cow is not only tremendously valuable, but is also thought to bring great comfort to its owner. Kimeli just wanted his elders' blessing, but the elders were so inspired by his plan that they wanted to do the same thing. In the end, 14 cows were pledged to America to help bring her peace. 

In June 2002, US charges d'affaires William Brencick travelled to Kimeli's village to formally accept the cows. More than a thousand people were in attendance, bearing messages of support like "We are touched by your loss" and "We give these cows to bring you peace".  But logistical and monetary problems prevented the US from taking possession of the cows. It would cost more than the cows were worth to transport them, and African cattle were not allowed in the US. There was also concern that the cows would not survive the journey. The Masai could not understand why the US accepted the gift but did not take the cows away. Washington Times columnist Tony Blankley wondered how the US could get 80,000 troops into Afghanistan but could not get 14 cattle out of Africa. 

Four years later, all was made right. The then-US Ambassador travelled to Kimeli's village to strike a deal for the tribe to take care of "America's herd" in perpetuity. In return, and in gratitude, the Ambassador announced the establishment of a scholarship for 14 boys and girls in the village to go to local schools. Those scholarships continue to this day, and the herd continues to grow. Since the original herd was blessed, they and their descendants are considered sacred and can never be slaughtered. Kimeli's tribe lovingly tends 35 "American cattle", all of which have special Twin Towers markings on their ears. 

Postcards from God #3 - It really isn't

Hope

A lot of the time, it seems so hard to hold on to any kind of hope, to any shred of optimism that things are going to get better. And if I did not have a belief that refuses to be shaken, I don't think I could do it. (Let it be said that I think that holds true whatever it is that you, believe. The thing is to have something that guides you, something to hold on to, whether it's the God of the Bible, Torah or Quran, the teachings of Buddha or the Bhagavad Gita. I just think human beings need some kind of compass, or why would so much of human endeavour be devoted to some kind of search for meaning?)

Anyway, I say it's my belief that refuses to be shaken, because it's certainly not me. Most of the time, I am weak, confused, terrified, desperate for answers and generally about as a stable as a weeping willow in a gale. But there is a tiny, tenacious something that lives inside me that is always quiet with the peace of certainty, always alive, and always strong enough to keep the million pieces of the rest of me together. And that something is not of my doing. It was a gift that was given to me without my asking, because the Giver loved me so much He gave his only son for me, and sticks with me even when I'm at my worst, and probably not very lovable. That's my personal explanation. It's ok if you don't agree, or believe what I do. It's not about everyone having to believe the exact same thing; I'm just telling you what it's like for me. It's incredibly comforting to know you are loved like that.

So, I have hope. And I have hope because I have faith, or rather because Faith has me, and "...faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." (Hebrews 11:1)

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune - without the words,
And never stops at all,


And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.


I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

                                            - Emily Dickinson -