What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
-Langston Hughes
I can still remember that smell, that first time I walked through the so called alley-ways: The pungent smell of feces and filth filling my nose, causing my face to scrunch up in disgust: Drains of sewage running throughout the homes, and the residents walking around them or even pissing or throwing shit into them. Their homes, made out of mud, wood, steel, and sticks, were tightly compact, leaving no room for privacy. People were smiling and jamming out to Reggae music: Beautiful people with dark unmarred skin going about their days. The chickens in the cages were annoyingly crowing out into the streets, and everyone was just living.
But what I most remember is the children. So many precious faces smiling, calling out, "Ow are you, ow are you"! Sweet, innocent children enjoying their youth, playing in the dirt with the only toys they had, rocks and plastic. No complaints. No tears. Just smiles.
These are the people of Kibera, the largest slum in East Africa. Walking through the enormous slum is shocking: It is like opening your eyes for the very first time, realizing that there is a world beyond
yours. It makes your heart beat. It makes your eyes well up with tears. It makes you breathe.
This is life. This is people. This is community. How do I explain the overwhelming feeling I got from being here. How do I explain the impact this slum, this country, has made on me. It is as if I am screaming at the top of my lungs trying to gasp for air and no one is paying attention to me. I feel alone all of a sudden. I need to go back at least one more time to show these people how they have changed me. I need to let them know how I feel. I need to be amongst them, to hug them and hold them until I cannot anymore. I need to thank them.
Every time I close my eyes, I think of them. I think of how I abandoned them and I cry. I cry when I think of the rain infiltrating their homes. I cry when I think of the children who have no one to care for them and I think of them becoming ill. I cry because I know they have no real restrooms, no real toilets, no real showers. I cry because they want what we have. They dream of simple things we take for granted. I cry because it is unfair. I cry because now I know.
I am someone who has been truly blessed by God and has never realized it until then. These people gave me life. They showed me how to really live.
How do explain that. How do I explain the need to get back. I made a promise that I would return and I have to keep that promise It is the least I can do for them in return for all they have done for me. Not a day goes by that I do not think of these pulchritudinous people, the friends I made, the experiences I had, the infinite love I felt.
Love. Love, the word, the feeling, the emotion, that I never thought I would know until I came here. Love, the gift that I never understood. Before this, it was simply a word to me: a vacant word that I thought was an abyss of bullshit. Now, I know, I realize, and this feeling I have inside of me is inexplicable.
The longer I am away the more I feel like I am losing myself. I am losing the person that I have grown into and I need one more chance to rip my chest open and let my love pour out. This is how I feel. This is what I want. This is what I need. Will anyone bother to understand me, will anyone join me, will anyone let love effuse into their soul.
We only care about us. We only care about what is in front of us. But trust me, when you see life in front of your eyes, when you see struggle, when you see poverty, when you see the real world, you will not be able to deny it.
Of course, it is so simple to change the channel, to flip the page, to ignore reality.
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