Paul Bwire translated for the seventy-four year old widow as she laughed, “I am inviting visitors into my house without a scarf for my head! I am embarrassed!” She was using the cloth that typically covered her short, grey hair to carry mangoes that had fallen from her tree. Her name was Elizabeth Agutu.
She followed us into her own grass-roofed hut and dumped the fruit onto the hard dirt floor. Lizbet (Elizabeth) said she was happy her tree was loaded with the sweet fruit. It had not yielded any fruit for the last two years. She added that this food is a blessing, but having this big a crop is interpreted by Luhya people as a warning that drought was on the way.
We sat in chairs made from skillfully bent tree branches. Our host chased several chickens out of her house and indicated that she only had four left since lisimba, the mongoose, had eaten the rest. But these chickens were safe because they were sleeping in the house with her.
She called me mtoto, the Swahili word for child, which surprised me since my white hair prompts most people to call me “old man.” She indicated that she had several pictures of the two of us together. I realized that I had met her before, but I have met so many people, I didn’t remember sending her the pictures.
Mandy explained who we were. We wanted to interview her on behalf of her sponsor in America. We asked what she would want us to tell her sponsor. Her first response was that without the food, tea, and soap she had received this year she would be dead. She pointed to her great-granddaughter who was sitting, nursing her great-great-grandchild and added that they also had been eating the food. When we asked about her marriage, she reflected that she was married in 1946 and had her only daughter, Rispa, in 1948. Rispa grew up, married, and had six daughters, but she died when these children were still young. While her husband was attending the funeral of his only daughter, he sat in a chair grieving and suffered a deadly heart attack, right there at the funeral.
Mandy leaned over and asked me if it would be okay if she divulged the fact that Mandy’s mother, Belinda, who was traveling with us, was Elizabeth’s sponsor. She wondered if it would be appropriate for Belinda to come meet her the following day. I thought it was a great idea so Mandy divulged the secret. Lizbet Agutu immediately stood up and raised her hands as if basking in a blessing from God, she stood for a moment then started waiving her arms back and forth. She reached out to Mandy and embraced her. As she spoke, Paul translated, “your mother is very welcome, in fact she is my daughter and you are my granddaughter.”
The next day, Paul, Chris and I took Belinda see Mrs. Agutu. We came with a four-inch thick foam rubber mattress we had purchased for eleven dollars. As we introduced Belinda to Lizbet, they hugged and Lizbet insisted on a picture.
She walked over to her bed (also made of tree branches) and lifted the wool blanket exposing a stiff cow hide. “I want you to see what we have been sleeping on for all of these years!” Then Lizbet Agutu did what must be an ancient dance of jubilation. Her arms were lifted in celebration as she approached me. The old woman put her arms down and rested one hand on each of my shoulders. “Mtoto wangu! Ndio, wewe ni kijana wangu!” My child, yes, you are my son! Barak Obama has a white mother and you have a black one!” Then she abruptly turned toward a bag in the corner. She got a handful of maize and walked to the door of her hut. She made a call that sounded remarkably like a chicken and four hens came running to peck at the kernels that had been thrown to the threshold of her house. She reached down and grabbed the largest of the hens and walked over to Belinda.
She interpreted the shock on Belinda’s face as surprise at the reciprocal gift. She tied the legs of the bird, placed it ceremoniously into Belinda’s lap, and hugged her again and said, all my grandchildren are dead, but tonight, my daughter from America has come to visit me and I will not sleep on a cow skin tonight. She broke into a shrill, “lalalalalalalaaa!” Paul translated it, “Hallelujah!”
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