Page 9 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
It may be one of the biggest slums in Africa, but the people are friendly—smiling, waving, stopping to say hello. Kids play in the streets, laughing and kicking an empty water bottle as though it were a soccer ball.
“They’re so happy,” Hart says beside me.
“They don’t know anything different.”
He stops to watch their soccer game and waves to a young boy who can’t stop staring at him.
It’s hard not to put yourself in the place of the people living here. I’d certainly be married by now at age thirty-seven. I’d likely have several children too. But I wouldn’t have any of the opportunities I often take for granted.
Some nights I lie awake worried that my work here won’t have enough of an impact to make a difference. There’s so much to be done. It’s overwhelming. Once I complained to my father, and his response was surprising.
How do you eat an elephant?
One bite at a time.
So I just keep taking bites.
We make our way carefully down the dirt pathways. Nearby, African music plays on a radio, and people are dancing to it. We pass women washing colorful clothes in a bucket in the alleyway, someone selling mangoes for ten shillings, and a market with handcrafted stalls where women are selling vegetables and looking after noisy children.
I spot someone I know—a local woman named Adongo. Her face breaks into a wide smile when she sees me. We stride toward each other, embracing when we meet in the center of the street.
She’s tall and thick, and her long braided hair is secured back with a colorful scarf.
“How are you?” I ask, touching her hair. “It’s longer.”
She smiles. “I am well. You look good too. Any husband yet?”
I laugh. She asks me this question every time I see her. From my pocket I hand her the packs of gum I brought along for her younger children, who are still at home with her, and she thanks me by giving me another big hug.
When I first met her, she was pregnant after being told she couldn’t carry any more children. Now she’s a single mother to six kids.
Hart has wandered over to join us. She takes him in. For a moment, I think she will ask me who he is, but she doesn’t; she just keeps studying him, looking him up and down. Not that I can blame her—he’s very handsome. But she isn’t leering at him; she’s looking at him like she reallyseeshim. Like she sees more than what’s on the outside.
“You are at the right place at the right time.”
“Am I?” he asks, a bit confused.
She repeats it, even more assured than before, in her accented English. “You are at theright placeat theright time.”
His gaze drifts to mine. “That’s a good thing, right?”
I nod.
“Hart,” he says, extending his hand.
She shakes it warmly. “Adongo.”
He repeats her name. “What does it mean?”
“The second of twins.”
I actually didn’t even know that. “You’re a twin, Adongo?”
She nods. “I was. My sister is gone now. Long time ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. We share a solemn look. “I’m showing Hart around. He and his family are interested in helping with the foundation.”
“Thank you,” she says to him. “We don’t need money; we just need someone to care.”
