Rumble in The Jungle
This is not a story for the faint-hearted
Tilting her head slightly to the left, she pointed at me in that manner that slay queens do when they say," Aki wewe!!" That statement that makes men relieved they have reached the semi finals (If you know what I mean), and their blood boil. She stood across me giggling, like a shy 13-year-old girl who had just had her first bout of love; a naive girl who still believed in the possibilities of true love.
She ran to me and poked my shoulder, and I, reaching out, poked her back, an action that sent her running away from me, flushed. She then dissolved into gales of laughter; a laughter so pure and so hearty that I stopped to re-evaluate my life. Had I ever just let loose like that? Or was I always barricaded behind work pressure, a mountain of school work, and overzealous ambitions that made me judge myself a bit too harshly, failing to recognize what life had before me? Was I simply trapped in that monotonous routine, as painted by Avicii (May he rest in peace), of 'going to school, getting a job, and getting a mortgage'? They called her mama because she was 32 years old.
There was a grandma as well, well in her 60's. She sang dirges and worship songs all day. While eternally bound to her wheelchair, she had a free spirit. I thought of her remembering parts of her childhood in the home, seeing other children come in, and having a chance to mentor them. I envisioned her learning her first song and knowing that at last, she owned something that could never be taken away from her; something that could be safely tucked away in the confines of her heart. I thought her smile reflective of the joys of such memories, of the simplicity of the life she had lived, of knowing that whilst she will die insignificant to the world, she had been the pillar of strength to the 80 or so children that came after her. It struck me that she had lived a purposeful, fulfilling life, the like that most of us dream about but might never have.
Just as there was a family, the hierarchy seen in all animals ran deep. The lion in this jungle happened to be Prize, a young man who couldn't talk. How he managed to lead others astonished me. In a society that prized eloquence and speech in leaders, how did he wield such influence and power without that crucial cornerstone?
On one end of the playground, a boy was hammering rocks together, fervently believing he was creating sculptures. So serious was he that sweat dripped from his brow. On the other end, some boys were playing soccer, and when one of them scored, he celebrated in such a similar manner to Christiano Ronaldo that I was perplexed. John, tagging at my sleeve, asked me to sing. I would come to know that that was all he did. Together, we formed our two-man choir. Admittedly, he sang only one song on repeat. But he sang it with such vigor and gusto that it forced me to contrast it with what I heard in church, live band and all. I concluded it was better. It was raw and true, a heart in earnest devotion to its maker.
Extracting myself from that playground, I proceeded to one of the classrooms where the children were paralyzed in one or more of their limbs. Here, I met Stephen, whose curiosity was insatiable. He took my spectacles, tried them on, cringed at the power, laughed cordially at that, removed them, examined their frame, and then gave them back. He touched the elephant print on my shirt (yes, I am a great nature advocate), and yelled elephant!! Touching the trunk, he told me he liked that part the best. When I asked why, he said it could move any way it wanted and become any shape it wanted. In his curious eyes, I saw an inquisitiveness that was alien to a child. I saw a budding scientist who would take pride in improving the human race, without looking at the profits.
Click! Click! A flash of light. The photographer was rapidly clicking away, a triumphant look on his face. My disappointment must have shown on my face. I had adamantly refused any picture thus far. Why? It irked me that most people, upon entering the home, had asked the guy to follow them around, posing here and there with a child, taking pictures that would be posted on social media accounts under the caption, "God blesses those who help. Help a child today"; a statement that would both highlight their blinded beliefs and the myopia of the society today, doing it all for social media, or for papers to use for university applications.
These children have known nothing but suffering all their lives, impaled by various diseases of the brain, and left abandoned all around town. Yet, there is a blistering optimism and happiness about them. Their laugh infectious. Their love unconditional. Their view of the world unparalleled. Never demanding your sympathy nor needing it. They are here to teach, over and over, what it means to be human.
Would you trade your life to live in such bliss? Indulge me.
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