Perfectly Born

“It turned out this man worked for the Dalai Lama. And she said gently-that they believe when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born-and that this something needs for you to be distracted so that it can be born as perfectly as possible.” –Ann Lamott, Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith

I never dreamed that I would want a warm blanket in Kakuma, but when I came down with a violent flu, I wanted one. Fever, body aches, throwing up, sore throat, burning chest, nasal drip, and a chaser of chills. Good times.

In Portland, I would hibernate for a day. In Kakuma, instead of thinking of my misery, I thought of the little boy that shared his delightful (sigh) flu with me. On Sunday, this beautiful 5 or 6-year old boy had crocodile tears, runny nose, and complained of pain. Although I am not a mother, my mothering instinct wanted to comfort him. He was crying and no one was helping him. I sat next to him and felt his head. He was burning up. Without thinking, I put my cheek to his cheek to offer him human touch. I asked someone to help him. He was sent home and later went to the hospital. They told me he suffered from malaria but I suspect it was the flu. Tuesday morning, I awoke with the same symptoms the boy was suffering from. I was miserable. I was taking copious amount of pain killers and started to imagine the pain the little boy endeared without pain killers. Here, I was complaining.

Last night, the fever peaked. This morning, I hope to be on the mend. I will confess, I had one regret which was a very selfish and trivial thing. You see, I am Kleenex snob. I brought my own Kleenex and last week one of the JRS staff’s mother died. She appeared to be in immense emotional distress and had crocodile tears (evidently, I have very soft spot for big tears). I immediately looked at her using the toilet paper (aka sand paper) and I gave her all my Kleenex. Last night, I coveted the Kleenex, as I was slowing sanding every part of my nose away. I am still feeling guilty about this thought.

Yesterday, as I was struggling with the flu, I was walking with a JRS staff. I don’t know how we came about the conversation for yesterday was a bit foggy, nevertheless, I remember him telling me that I was not an American. He said, “Americans do not have hair, or a face, or height like me.” I said, what do you exactly think Americans look like? He responded, “Not like you.” I thought I would have had a stronger come back if it weren’t for the flu but all I could say is, you are just jealous that I have hair and you don’t. He is/was bald. Just to note: Apparently everyone is fascinated with my hair, including this gentleman. They can’t believe it is real and countless women have said they want me to cut and give it to them.

In Jamaica, the children were fascinated with my hair, but instead of telling me they wanted to cut it. They chose to braid, brush, and run their hands through it. So at the end of the day, my hair would be a tangled rats nest. However, I would get a free head massage, practically almost every day.

I digress, I also added that his comment really offended me. I said, Americans come in all shapes, colors, and sizes. He said “Staci, now I know how to get to you.” My comeback was more forceful. I said, you are just being an asshole. We laughed. And then he said, okay you are an American and white. The last word disgusted me. My fever was climbing and I was vulnerable. I just said, whatever and walked to my room.

I understand being an American comes with privileges, privileges that are unearned. I get it but I am not white. If I was white, I would have books, television shows, curriculum, teachers, and congress that reflect me. In the USA, I wouldn’t have people on a constant basis assume that I don’t speak English. People wouldn’t follow me around stores. I wouldn’t have just one month to celebrate my people. I would have the whole year. This is just a start. Yes, I get that I have many unearned privileges with the fact I hold a passport that says the good ol’ USA but what I also want folks to recognize even though USA is a slowly minority-majority, we are still a very white Christian majority of thought, values, and policies. We are seeing this in full force with Mr. Trump and his cronies.

What I wanted to say to the JRS staff is that the beautiful thing about Americans is that we celebrate differences. We are a land of indigenous people and immigrants. We have had a horrible and violent past of persecution of people of color and I am just talking about the history of the State of Oregon. Despite this, we are one of the greatest countries that support diversity, religious tolerance, and opportunity. I am not very patriotic and I can’t say that when a person thinks I am Canadian I don’t correct them. But what I can say is that I am an American that hold the values of hope, possibility and tolerance for all. Perhaps I am not being totally honest, I am having issues with people who are complete assholes, but I am working on it. Baby steps.

That same day, I sat down with a friend and had a long talk with him. In that conversation, I realized that I came to Kakuma to find something far different from hope. I haven’t figure out what it is, I can say I am patiently for it to be perfectly born.