By the Sword
Tuesday, September 9th, 2008Forward (as of September 9, 2008)
Last fall after I had read Barack Obama’s Dreams from My Father, I moved from one apartment to another in the complex where I reside. After I got a lot of stuff moved over including a couple of masks I acquired on a trip to Kenya in 1994, the movers sent two African American men to do the heavy lifting.
They asked where the masks came from and I told them Kenya and that Barack’s father was a native Kenyan. We talked briefly about Obama running for president, and one of them said “He doesn’t have a chance.”
After seeing the masks and the conversation Obama, I felt a sense of pride well-up in both these men. They somehow knew that I respected them. As I type this forward on September 9, 2008, I . . . (more)
Lisa
The cool morning of the Kenyan highlands carried the faint scent of wildlife. Golden light from the sunrise cast a warm glow over the vista. The strange shape of acacia trees, sculpted by giraffes, icon of the sub-Saharan Africa savanna. Equatorial East African plains at 3000 feet above sea level, the altitude moderating the climate from a daytime high in the 80s to mid 90s, and some of the nights cool enough for blankets. In 1994, only the remnants remain of one of God’s Edens.
Sweat from the palm of Lisa’s right hand rolled onto the heavy rifle it clutched as she and Don traveled in the Landcruiser over the rutted red-dirt road. Her face was expressionless, but her green eyes were alert, scanning the unique beauty of the landscape. Her fear never overpowered her sense of wonder of this land.
Don steered the Landcruiser to keep it on top of the ruts, his hands gripping the steering wheel firmly. His nervousness increased the volume of his voice when he was in the bush. “This place is . . . (more)