Page 62 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
Later I head off to see the progress on the water well that has been dug in the north end of Kibera. Edmund escorts me, as always, and keeps watch over me.
The well is up and running, and children and local women are waiting with their jerricans to fill them with clean water. I’m so happy I could cry.
“Adongo!” I call out, surprised to see her here.
She waves and makes her way across the dusty road to give me a hug. She, too, is holding a jerrican. She once told me that when she wasyoung, they couldn’t afford to buy the filtered water sold by vendors, so they would fill their containers with the running sewage in the street. Her mother would try to filter it with sand. I know she’s not the only one, and now, these children won’t have to do that. Emotion swells inside me. I’m reminded of an old African proverb my father shared during one of my first visits to Africa.Once you carry your own water, you’ll remember every drop.It’s undoubtedly true.
“Where is your man?” she asks, shading her eyes from the sun.
“He went back home to New York,” I tell her, not bothering to correct her that he’s not my man.
“I had a dream about you. You were married and had a baby on the way.” She’s smiling broadly as she says these words, but they leave me feeling hollow.
“It’s a nice dream,” I say. I wonder if that’s all it is—a dream.
Sitting on my desk right this very moment is a stack of paperwork from an adoption agency. I requested information and an application from a reputable agency in Uganda. I still haven’t decided if I’m going to fill out the application, but it’s made me feel more in control of my future just by taking that small step. Of course I don’t say this to Adongo. I haven’t mentioned it to anyone, not even my parents.
Ignoring the application, at least for now, I begin working on a new blog post once I return to my office.
Dr. Rebecca Lee Crumpler, born in 1831, was the first African American woman to become a doctor of medicine in the United States.
She graduated from medical college at a time when very few African Americans were permitted to attend college at all. In fact, during her time at the New England Female Medical College, Rebecca Lee Crumpler was the only African American student at the entire school. The school closed almost a decade laterwithout graduating another black woman.
She suffered extreme sexism and racism while working as a doctor, and often treated poor women and children as well as recently freed enslaved people. By pursuing her vocation and not bowing to pressure, she paved the way for countless other women and black Americans to pursue a career in medicine.
She was a true pioneer, displaying a tremendous amount of courage by graduating prior to the end of the Civil War.
Courage... I type that word again and stare hard at it. Is courage filling out the application or saying yes to a fling with Hart in the face of opposition? Or maybe it’s forgoing both those things in pursuit of building the school. It feels impossible to know.
“We should do something fun this weekend,” Joslyn says, peering at me over a stack of file folders.
My brain flashes with ideas. There was one summer I spent here in Nairobi when I had more time for leisure. I recall visiting the Kakamega rainforest with a group of locals who had befriended me, or more like rescued me from the long hours my dad spent working in the village. We went rafting on the Yala River, bouncing along on the water in an inflatable raft.
I remember the beauty of the lush forest, the exhilaration, the thrill of the bottom dropping out of my stomach when we went over the rapids. A girl named Liz tried unsuccessfully to teach me the moves to a dance. We swam in the river and laughed. I can still taste the sweetness of Afia Mango, a soft drink, on my lips.
“How do you feel about rafting?”
“Rafting?” She scrunches her nose, looking at me like I’ve gone insane. “Not when the rivers here have large populations of Nile crocodiles.”
“That is an excellent point.” I laugh. Besides, who am I kidding? I’ll probably just try to keep myself busy and distracted with work. It’s what I do best.
After four weeks in Nairobi, I’ve made a lot of progress working with the city officials, as well as on the gala the foundation is hosting in New York in a few months. But one thing has been more difficult than I imagined it would be. Unexpectedly, being away from Hart has left a mark.
Whenever I think about him, which is constantly, I feel a sense of uncertainty. So when Joslyn steps out to take a call, I close my eyes and say a silent prayer, asking for direction.
God, please give me a sign. I don’t know what I’m doing or where I’m heading ...
Chapter Sixteen
Say Yes to Unplanned Adventures
The Maldives
“Hey, Mom, sorry I can’t talk right now,” I say, pressing the phone to my ear.
“You’ve been so busy, honey. I haven’t spoken to you in weeks. How are you? What’s going on now?”
She’s not wrong. The last three times she’s called, I’ve been in the middle of something. Now is no different. And I haven’t exactly been the best about calling her back. Though I do text often—usually a photo when I’m visiting the village to show her my progress.
