One February morning I woke up very early to watch the falling snow, as it always makes me feel happy and peaceful. I thought of my family in Kenya, and how I could possibly explain snow to my mom, who has never seen it, except in the pictures I have sent home.
I explained to her, “Mom, there is a big difference between Kibera and here. Instead of stepping in Kibera’s mud, I’m walking on the white mud that comes from the sky.”
My sweet mother loves the snow, and always shares my pictures with her neighbors in the Kibera slum.
That morning, I was thrown from my daydream when I glanced at the front page of the New York Times. One article told the story of a beautiful young woman from Haiti who lost her limbs when the earthquake hit in January. She was a professional dancer before the earthquake, and had earned her living through dancing. But then her legs were cut off. I felt the pain and the cry of the woman, when she pleaded with the doctor, begging him not to amputate her legs, as he would be amputating her livelihood. These words left me cold, cold as if dumped into a pool of freezing water.
“Don’t cut off my leg!” the woman, named Fabienne Jean, had screamed. “I’m a dancer. My leg is my livelihood. Please, don’t take my leg.”
These words drove tears from my eyes. I cried while they streamed down my cheeks. I’m sure some people thought I was crazy, but I’m not. I’m just connected to my world.
I want to bring you to another world—the world of this girl, the world that I used to live in. In this world meeting your basic needs is a dream. From this perspective, I empathized with the desperation of this poor Haitian woman. I understand why she was crying—crying because she is not lucky to live in a place where the government or society will help to take care of our most basic needs.
I felt her loss—the ability to walk has been especially significant in my life. I was not able to walk until I was five years old. Those around me knew I would probably die young, because without being able to walk I would not be able to earn a living.
One day, I was able to stand; I walked across a bridge, and I continued to walk for more than two hours through Kibera to earn one dollar. Two legs, two hours and one dollar per day allowed me to survive. I know and I feel that without my legs I would have been dead, dead from hunger. I could not cry to my parents; I had no uncles to plead to. They are fishermen who live in remote villages in the Western part of Kenya. And so I became a responsible for myself at the age of 10. Because of my own experiences, I so value my legs—they helped me to move around. They helped me to run when violence erupted in the slums. They helped to keep hunger at bay.
The things that we cannot buy—these are the things that we take for granted. The Haitian woman made her living with her legs as a dancer in order to survive in a difficult economy. Now she has lost her legs. How will she survive? Consider for a moment all of the levels on which she has suffered a loss. We never appreciate enough the things that nature gives us for free.
This brings me back to life at Wesleyan, and in America. My dear friends, I think back to my old life when I hear some of you complain and worry about your bodies. It pains me to know that you won’t let yourself eat well because you want to be skinny. It’s saddening that in this world someone can be stressed and depressed because ze wants to be slim.
My dear ones, we too often forget that there are millions of people who are skinny not because they want to be, but because of starvation. We obsess about our body images, but the girl in Haiti has lost her legs. So many of us on this campus and in this country have legs, have healthy bodies, an education—and yet we complain much. I can still vividly remember my neighbor who suffered from HIV/AIDS. She was a young window, and lived just next door. She once went for five days without food. The poor woman was skinny and crying for food the whole night. Her cry woke me up from sleep and I gave her water and a banana—it was all that I had in my house. I went hungry the next day and the next. Though this woman passed away, her memory comes to me every time I see food being wasted or I hear students complaining about their bodies.
We have our legs, but it’s not enough. We live in a society that is totally different from 80 percent of the world. The one I grew up in was one of economic and cultural poverty. My family tree is rooted in poverty—my ancestors have always been poor. Now, here I am, part of a capitalist, “more, more, more” culture. A skinny body.
What we truly need “more” of is an appreciation of what we already have. I cherish what nature gives me for free: love, friendship, and family. They are the only things that can make you happy.
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