A Small Fish In A Big Pond

Shortly before the Pandemic I was dating a Professor I met through one of those “What’s left?” dating apps. We were invited to a graduation party for a young PhD student named Ezera. Ezera was no ordinary scholar. He was a young black man from Africa who had literally left his tribe to come to America to get an education. He was brave, smart, hardworking, and he had found a new tribe of Africans in America.

Did I mention he was smart? Before coming to America, Ezera searched LinkedIn and cultivated some email friendships with other individuals who had also left Africa and were now living in America. He began networking and he found another young male student from an opposing African tribe who was willing to let him crash on his couch. He boarded the plane in Africa with a carry-on bag, a dream, and cell phone.

When the plane landed, he called on his courage to meet the man from the opposing tribe. Ezera was nervous. He was a small fish in a big pond. Truth be told they were both nervous. In Africa their ancestors had feuded for years. The thing is, both men were smart enough to know they needed each other to pave their way through America. They knew the struggle would be easier if they did it together. They laid out a plan, discussing living arrangements, finances, jobs, food, and transportation.

Fast-forward through all the Bachelors, Masters, and PhD programs, we were all entering a stunningly beautiful home in newer echelons of south Lincoln, Nebraska to celebrate this young man’s accomplishments.

Upon entering this potluck event the Professor and I discovered we had to leave our shoes at the door. Damnit! I suddenly panicked about how dry my heels might look. That panic soon passed when I realized my lotion was holding the cracks together surprisingly well. What I didn’t know when I slipped out of my shoes that day was that I was about to have the most culturally interesting afternoon of my life.

Self-introductions were made as we made our way through the house. Ezera’s parents and a few friends had flown in from Kenya for the celebration. An older gentleman sitting on the couch sat up straight when he saw a white woman approaching. I could tell by his body language and the rest of the room, they weren’t expecting a white woman to pop in. I suddenly felt self-aware and smiled big. He stood up and introduced himself as a family friend from Kenya. He leaned forward, extended his hand and told me he was a farmer. I leaned in, cupped his hand with both of mine and told him was born and raised surrounded by cattle and the wheat fields in a farming and ranching community of Nebraska known as the Sandhills.

“Wheat huh? You’ll like our Chapati.” He said tapping my hand with a wink and a grin.

And just like that I was in like flint. The Professor was on his own, after all he was only there for the food.

I soon learned Chapati was an African flatbread. We had just broken bread, and we hadn’t even sat down to eat yet. I thought, it’s good to have roots from the waving grain of a wheat field….

Soon after eating a fabulous meal of African comfort food sopped up by torn pieces of Chapati bread…ice cream sundaes were served. Soon after the ice cream a woman began singing what sounded like a deeply spiritual song. Everyone stood up and the Africans sang and led the clapping beat as we made our way into the great room. There were about thirty people. I found myself surrounded by black Africans. Do you know what we had in common besides Ezera? Full bellies, bright eyes and big toothy smiles. 😊

The hosts of the graduation celebration gave a few words and began what I can only describe as an American Roast. Sort of like a Friars’ Club Roast. Only this roast wasn’t celebrating entitled famous people, it was a spiritual celebration of Ezera’s educational journey into manhood across the globe.

I soon learned there were Kenya, Africans there from Utah, Iowa, Colorado, Kansas, North Carolina, New York, Texas, and Nebraska. (Eight states in case you weren't counting.) They all stood up and told stories about how they had come to know Ezera. They spoke about his character and how honored they were to have met him. We laughed at some stories and cried at others. These relationships were all filled with gratitude and love for their fellow countryman. They had all provided steppingstones to help each other succeed. It was truly amazing. No judgement, no agenda, no gossip, just love, gratitude, and acceptance. None of that American, what’s in it for me bs.

At the end of the roast Ezera’s parents stood up and told Ezera how proud they were of him. They adorned him with a fur hat and plaid sash and presented him with a beautifully hand-tooled leather gourd. It was called a Massai Drinking Gourd.

For the African male this gourd represents a journey into manhood. If they were in Africa, Ezera would have had to steal milk from an opposing tribe to fill the gourd.

The milk would then be boiled with herbs and leaves and poured back into the gourd to sit. If a member from an opposing tribe came to visit, they would be asked to drink the nasty concoction to prove they could be trusted. The elders all told him he was getting off easy since he was in America. One tribe member told me it was nasty stuff. I nodded and said, “I can only imagine. Just thinking about what it must smell like makes my stomach curdle.” He laughed.

After the roast ended, Ezera’s mother walked over to me and sat on my lap and hugged me. She placed a beaded bracelet on my wrist that read “Kenya” flanked by their tribal flag and said, “When you come to Kenya, you wear this and you will be welcomed.”  My eyes pooled with tears as I thanked her and told her how grateful I was to have shared this day with her and  hugged her again. It was easily a top ten day.

That’s when I realized, life’s easier when you find a tribe of kindred spirits who are willing to help you along the way.

If you are here to make your dreams, come true, join the herd.

Until next time remember, your job is to create and release.

Much Love,

Tamara