My Kenyan Family

I arrived to JFK early. And with no bags to check, went immediately to my gate. My backpack rested heavy on my shoulders, and I was consumed with no other goal but to find a seat to melt into, while I waited to fly home on my evening flight.

Also waiting for this flight, an African man, his wife and small child. I could only understand a small amount of what he said to the airport employee. How he was traveling from Kenya, by way of Istanbul and New York City, on to Seattle. For two days, he and his family had been traveling. "You missed your 6:30 flight and you'll need to repurchase tickets to travel to your final destination, if you plan to still go there", the gate agent informed. From the concern and near despair I could feel from standing next to this man, I stepped in. "But he was detained in Immigration after his flight from Istanbul! This wasn't his fault!", I advocated.
It didn't matter- and tickets had to be purchased if they planned to leave New York City, and of course they would need to leave. A cousin was waiting for them in a city far across the country. A single room had been set up for this family, to house them as they made the US their new home.

They had exactly two hundred dollars to their name, and for three tickets, that would only get one of them to their new home. I spent what money I had to help them with the tickets. Having become unemployed exactly one week previous, I wondered if I really had the freedom to help. As I began to rethink the scope of my generosity, a feeling more powerful than anything I have experience before, came upon me. Like when a mother protects her young, these tired Kenyan travelers were mine. Of course I would help. I would protect them. There was no question. Tickets in hand, we sat and talked- the husband and I. His wife and two year old son leaned against him, sleeping.
My Kenyan family. Starting a new life in a new culture and world. Simple English spoken by my new friend, taught me that they had been saving for years for this journey. For this new life. To finally come to America, and become everything they dreamed possible.

Is it true I can start my own business here, someday?
How expensive are coats?
And I can study in school and have a degree in any subject I want?
What about a cell phone- have you seen one of those? You have one?!

Four of the six hours in flight he spent asking me these questions. And as I answered, I saw something change in his countenance. Every word my mouth said, he watched and listened intently. Shaking his head in agreement. "Yes, of course I can get a cell phone." He smiled at me, already knowing the answer. But he continued with the questions, testing my response to the suspicions of his dreams.

I could see him falling asleep next to me. His travel documents zipped safely in his cloth briefcase, held firmly in his hands next to his chest. And as he dreamed deeper into this wonderful world- the world he was going to create with his family, he lost grip of his briefcase. He caught it before it fell to the plane floor, with his eyes closed and half awake, a smile appeared on his face. He had a wide world before him, made bittersweet by the balance of happiness and and reality of struggle surely to come. But this would be their home. The place he will grow old, with his wife. Where they will raise their young son, and one day tell him about the long journey from Kenya.

I couldn't sleep. I stared at the family for the entire journey. I felt impressed by their faith in my country. "America, please don't let them down!", I begged.
I sat there reflecting on my own home, and how fearful I would be to leave it never to return- at that moment, realizing how good my life is. How easy it is for me.

And if my blessings weren't numerous enough, of all the people in this world to meet these hopeful souls, it was me.

My Kenyan Family.