Born to Live
I recently received this photo from Nancy Goodrich Davis, one of the two mothers in have in Memphis. My children almost fainted from laughing at their father at 22 years. But my mind was in a totally different place. I was especially struck by the level of confidence I can clearly detect. Part of the confidence is from the level of comfort I have always had the fortune of having at every point of my life.
The Davis family were truly warm and I felt at home. I would share some of my holidays away from home at their house and enjoy the White experience. I would the spend the rest of my holiday with my African American family of the Warrens. Annie Felix was the eldest daughter of Warrens and she demonstrated the most amazing patience with me in ways I cannot express.
The Davis family moved to Texas before I graduated and we lost touch. But we stayed in each other’s hearts. While riding in a cab two years ago, being always social, she learned that the Uber driver was a graduate of my Alma Mater. She responded that she used to know a Kenyan student attending the college. The driver replied that the only Kenyan he remembers was me. Her heart skipped a beat and inquired if he knew my where about. All he could remember is that I became a chef in New York somewhere. Mama Nancy googled my name and my website popped up. I received a message from Kenya and immediately called her. We were gladly connected again and I visited the family the following year. It was a joyous reunion. The only sad part is that while the house May way bigger than their first house, it was exponentially quieter. There were no Japanese students visiting or their children with whom we had bonded like brothers. But I didn’t have any hair either. Yet the hearts we just as warmer if not more warmer.
I was so happy to prepare them a meal as a token of appreciation for the many meals they prepared for me. They would always question me to make I wasn’t having any kind of challenge in my stay in Memphis as well as school.
Having a White family that I was very close at a young age was extremely helpful as I articulated my way around the issues of race. I was a radical student and deeply concerned about the plight of African Americans and by extension Africans. My experience with the Davis family taught me that not all White people were racist. I developed a balanced approach to navigating a mostly White-dominated power environment with fear or any feelings of being lesser than any White person. That small fact has fostered positive collaboration between a good number of Whites without losing myself. I learned that I can be myself and still achieve and perform what I desire to do.
One example was a conversation I had with my children about how I want to be buried when I die. I gave them the option of burying me in a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. No money collected upon my death, no journey to mortuary to pump me with chemicals to enhance my handsome face and no preaching at my my funeral. I also insisted that it should be strictly a family affair. I love all my friends and give them my time while I am alive. I will not need anything when I die. No flowers and no tears. I have lived my life and had plenty of fun. I have eaten some of the best food I could find. I have given freely of my talents and my apologies. I would hate anyone to shed a tear. I am not that poor that I can’t have a family that can bury me on a budget they can afford. Sending my children money as a form of prayer is dishonest to me. If I take them on vacation and the like, why can’t I afford a few thousand to cremate my body or bury it naturally. The resources that my community has should be invested in things that improve the community such as food systems, food literacy, parks and libraries. I reminded them in my culture , there is no death, we used the word rest or sleep instead of death. The only tragedy that warrants mourning is the passing away of a father without having directed his family on how to handle his estate. Otherwise resting, especially when you have left your family in a healthy state is a joyous affair. The missionaries totally confused our community.
My children laughed and asked me where I got those crazy ideas from. I replied that I spend a lot of time learning and having made so many mistakes, I do my best not to repeat them. It’s dishonest for them to ask others whom I don’t even talk to to mourn my death. What is there to mourn about a life lived to the fullest in spite of very humble beginnings and many challenges. Yet having mothers across continents makes me appreciate my children beyond any measure. If they had any doubts l asked them to look at that smile on the photo. I could write a book about all the things that were happening at that time. I had been in the U.S for about three years and I was already an American citizen with a scholarship.
I then showed them the picture of the screen of Mama Nancy of his son and I on her Apple Watch. Everyone wants to be known, but it’s far much to serve and loved. That is what I call Life Worship. They we die nowadays shows that many still live under the shadows of colonialism where we exist solely for the benefit of others. In other words some have been dead long before the funeral and they end up being buried by the dead.