And Then Life Happens (33 page)

Finally, I made a decision: It would only be a matter of time before I left. At the same time, I was more and more convinced that I could achieve more working in my own country.

 

28.

B
ARACK HAD BECOME A LAWYER
and, as he had once told me he would do, had gone into politics instead of working in a law firm. Over the years, he had never lost sight of his goal of trying to influence policy to improve people's lives.

When I one day received an e-mail from him in which he informed me that he was running for election as a senator and wanted to know what I thought of that, there was not much I could say. I wrote back that I did not really understand the significance of this; the American system of government was too foreign to me. But if it was an important step toward achieving his vision, I would definitely support him.

After a few months, he got in touch again to invite me to his official inauguration as a senator. Wow, I thought proudly, he actually got elected. In the meantime, I had done my homework and learned—also because it was all over the newspapers—that my brother's new post was not exactly a minor accomplishment. Barack was one of five black people who had succeeded up to that point in getting elected to the United States Senate. And it had been years since the last black person had assumed such an office.

“You have to come, Auma. I'd really like to have you there,” my brother told me on the phone.

“I can't afford it. Two tickets cost—”

He cut me off. “I'll pay!”

“No, that's out of the question.
You
shouldn't be doing something for
me.
To celebrate this event,
I
should be doing something for
you
.”

“Listen.” Barack sounded impatient. “I'm also inviting other relatives from Kenya, and I'm paying for them, too. It's really important to me that you participate in this inauguration, as well as Akinyi and your mother. That's why you have to come.”

After some back and forth, I agreed.

“So we'll see each other in Washington, right?”

“Absolutely! You're very persistent. That's why I love you!”

*   *   *

Not until I was in Washington did I truly grasp what it meant for Barack to be elected senator. Although we stayed in the same hotel, he was barely present, because there were so many demands on his time. A celebratory thrill was in the air, and everywhere great enthusiasm could be felt for what he had achieved. When a black woman from the hotel security service learned that I was Barack's sister, she spoke to me excitedly.

“We're all so proud of him!” she said, beaming. “Congratulations! Congratulations!”

And so it went the whole time. People were constantly shaking my hand and complimenting us. I was taken aback and overwhelmed, and I almost felt as if I myself, solely by virtue of my relation to my brother, had accomplished something special.

The days in the capital of the United States were filled with invitations to various events and ceremonies, where I got to witness again and again how popular Barack was. People cheered him enthusiastically as soon as he entered a room, listened to him attentively when he spoke, and applauded him wildly and repeatedly.

Without a doubt, I was extremely proud of my brother and his success. At the same time, I was astounded at the effect he had on others. Marveling, and also smiling to myself a little, I observed the man who was my little brother. I remembered our conversation on the porch of my apartment in Nairobi, when he had told me about his Harvard plans and his desire to change people's lives. And now here he was, able to completely transform the mood in a room through his presence alone. The faces of the people who had come to celebrate with him and listen to him reflected the great expectations, hopes, and possibilities that he embodied. Even Barack's colleagues seemed hypnotized by him. My little brother was now a big man, I thought. If only the old man were still alive to see all this!

*   *   *

Apart from my brother's inauguration as senator, a major highlight of our trip to Washington was meeting my nieces Malia and Sasha for the first time. My last visit to the States had been before the two of them were born.

Malia was six, a year younger than Akinyi. Sasha was almost four. As I hugged them, I caught myself looking for signs of family resemblance. Malia, I could see at a glance, looked a lot like her father's maternal side of the family. Little Sasha was more difficult to place. “Could those be the Obama high cheekbones?” I asked myself. “The forehead perhaps…?” It was hard to tell. She also looked a lot like her mother.

Although I was still a stranger to them, the girls graciously let me hug them. They tolerated my many “aunty” questions before turning their attention to a more interesting new member of the family, their cousin Akinyi. The three of them slipped easily into a sense of familiarity and for the rest of the visit were inseparable.

Despite Barack's hectic schedule, we were able to congregate one evening for an intimate dinner with family and friends. Coincidentally, it was also my forty-fifth birthday. Maya promptly saw to it that a birthday cake would be served. As we all sat at our tables, laughing and chatting, and later, when we gathered to take photos to capture the moment forever, I felt a great sense of family and belonging. It crossed my mind that this might have been what my father had wanted to achieve when he longed for Barack and his mother to come join us in Kenya.

*   *   *

“Hey, Sister!” That was how Barack always greeted me on the telephone, and this time was no different.

“Hello! What have I done to deserve this phone call?” I replied jokingly. “Is everything all right with you?”

Automatically, I suspected the possibility of bad news as the reason for the unexpected call. We had not spoken for a long time. Since his inauguration as senator, both of us had always been busy and had not had much time to talk on the phone.

“Everything's great.” He really did sound in good spirits. “We're doing fabulously. And you? And Akinyi?”

It was not his way to beat around the bush and make small talk. So he got straight to the point with his next sentence. He was planning a trip to Kenya and wanted to have me there with him. In August, he would pay the country an official visit. At the same time, he wanted to visit our grandmother with me.

I could not give him an immediate answer. For one thing, it was really short notice. For another, there was the familiar challenge of the expenses.

“I'll call you back once I've calculated everything,” I finally said.

But he offered to pay for the flights; I myself would then only need to arrange our accommodations.

“Not again.” I had to laugh. “You can't pay for our plane tickets all the time.”

Barack laughed, too. “That seems to be the price I have to pay for a long-distance relationship with my sister and the fact that I want her to take part in my life.”

But this time I was able to come up with the money for the trip myself and give him a positive answer shortly after his phone call. Akinyi and I would accompany him, Michelle, Malia, and Sasha to Kenya.

*   *   *

We arrived in Nairobi before Barack and his family and checked into a hotel that was only a few paces away from theirs. That way the children could be together most of the time, while I accompanied my brother and Michelle on several official visits. Despite all the spectacle and the various ceremonies, I found it wonderful to be in Africa with the two of them again. The August weather was mild, with considerably cooler temperatures on some days.

What particularly astonished me on this trip was how Barack was received everywhere in Kenya. From the day of his arrival, the whole country was seized with Obama mania. Crowds of people flocked to hear him speak. When he gave a speech at the University of Nairobi, the hall was packed. Many people were standing, and some were even sitting on the floor. When he planted a tree in Uhuru Park in the business center of the capital, countless people came to watch him. When we drove in a motorcade through the streets, they craned their necks out the windows of buses and cars. The police escort ensured the smooth flow of traffic, which in essence meant clearing and blocking off the road for us. And I, who had always been disapproving of politicians or dignitaries who caused traffic jams with their motorcades, was myself suddenly sitting in one of those official cars holding up traffic. It was a crazy situation for me.

“Do you remember your last visit?” I asked my brother jokingly as we hurtled down the Uhuru Highway.

“I do indeed. What to say?” he replied, and shrugged with a smile.

Back then we had sat in my old Beetle—or rather, on the roadside, while two strangers had tried to repair the burning car.

“What to say?” I echoed, mimicking his gesture with a laugh. I was so proud of him. He really had become a statesman.

*   *   *

The arrival of Barack and Michelle in Kisumu was a major event. The small city on the shore of Lake Victoria was abuzz with excitement about Obama, and everything else came practically to a standstill. Thousands wanted to see my brother. T-shirts and caps with his name printed on them and other souvenirs were being sold. The crowd chanted: “Obama! Obama!” To hear my family name from all those mouths was confusing and uplifting at the same time. In anticipation of his arrival, people had lined up along the road from the airport into the city. This was my first brief impression of the rock star aura surrounding Barack, which I would later witness again and again in his encounters with crowds of people. In Kisumu, of course, there was the added element that the people were incredibly proud that such an important person had his family roots in their region. The fact that Barack was Luo increased their self-esteem immensely. Every single one of them standing there on the roadside or gathering on the grounds of the hospital we visited experienced Barack's success as their own.

Masses of people also awaited us in Alego. The area around the local school he visited was a sea of onlookers. We virtually had to fight our way through to the tent in which my brother was to speak to the people. And making our way back to the car and to my grandmother's homestead a few minutes away from the school was just as arduous. There was pushing and shoving. Everyone wanted to grasp Barack's hand and exchange a few words with him. As a welcome gift, he was given a white goat that got lost in the crowd. No one seemed to know what had happened to it when I inquired about it later. We could only hope that it had found a good home and had not immediately ended up in the cooking pot of a hungry family.

Nor did the insanity stop when we finally made it to my grandmother's compound. The four acres of land on which Granny Sarah's house stood were teeming with people. Many relatives had come from far away to see and greet Barack. Things were similarly chaotic at my mother's homestead, the adjacent property, where she had lived with Abongo's family before she joined me in England. We had planned that my brother—in accordance with tradition—would visit each of the homesteads. He wanted to bring gifts to Abongo's wives and then join our grandmother for a meal. Only with difficulty did we manage to stick to this plan amid the crowds jostling for Barack's attention. Unfortunately, only a small amount of time remained for the meal with Granny Sarah.

“And he will come again?” she asked me, as we were again walking to the waiting cars after the brief visit with her, which had lasted not even an hour.

“Absolutely,” I answered.

“What is Granny saying?” asked Barack, who stood next to me. I translated, and my brother nodded vigorously.

“Tell her that I will definitely come again. I had to leave my
chapatis
on the table, and for that reason alone, I'll have to visit her again, to eat up that outstanding flatbread!”

Our grandmother gave Barack her broad, warm smile, followed by a deep laugh and finally her usual “give me five.” This routine was reserved for Barack alone—it had started between them when they first met many years earlier. I couldn't help marveling once again at how the two of them were able to convey their feelings to each other through nothing but laughter, embraces, and gestures. Our children, too, watched this deeply emotional communication, and it pained me that the time they had been able to spend with their great-grandmother had been so limited. Barack's daughters had only caught a glimpse of the wonderful energy of this old woman they were meeting for the first time.

*   *   *

Back in England, I again had to deal with work-related challenges. And things did not get easier. Often I felt frustrated because I could not bring about lasting change in the lives of the young people I worked with. What difference was I making? I asked myself again and again. What could I really achieve?

Increasingly, my thoughts wandered to Kenya and my possibilities there. I had lived for over twenty years on another continent, and now I was putting all my energy into the youth there, seeking to attain something for them. When I compared the fate of European children with that of African children, I noted that in England, at least most of the boys and girls had a social safety net to fall back on. In Kenya, there was nowhere near anything comparable. A large number of children and young people in that country struggled under the most difficult circumstances to get by in a society that was often unable to provide for their basic needs. The more I thought about it, the more strongly I felt compelled to return to my native country.

*   *   *

My mother was meanwhile living in her own small apartment in Bracknell. Besides her permanent residence, I had managed to obtain for her a small partial disability pension with which she could pay her living expenses. That way my mother had more freedom and could shape her existence on her own, independent from me, while still nearby. I was happy that her situation had stabilized. Once a week Akinyi stayed overnight with her, in order to spend time with her grandmother and continue to improve her command of Luo.