Tag Archives: who i am

I feel her in the maybe

What if we let others walk with us, even if from a distance? What if we let our complexity shine out, rather than close off and cage us? What if we stood in our reality, and let it be?

I think that’s what she would have done.

So what if I said: my mother, the human who shaped and grew me, died two and a half months ago and this is what was in me in the before, during, and after?

to be divided/whole

Bewhere your feet are,I’m told.Yet as the plane sweepstoward Kisumu, rifted valleybelow, universearound, descending towardhome,I find my mindresting notin Kenya, but justwhere my feet are:air,among clouds,at the shelter far away,that place of refugeto whom life has entrustedviolence,with the little boywho thrashed angry,body consumed with ragebigger than bones,as he looked to the sky, wonderedaloud‘what do cloudsContinueContinue reading “to be divided/whole”

living light

(Where in the world is Callie? There was a slight change of plans: it has now been nearly two weeks since we arrived in Rome, Italy, where Mariah and I are volunteering full-time at the Joel Nafuma Refugee Center and at Centro Baobab, two organizations that welcome, support, and care for refugees, migrants, asylum-seeker, humansContinueContinue reading “living light”

The Privilege To Call This An Adventure

The large bus is careening and weaving, whipping over the twisting, compact roads. Occasionally, another bus barrels around a corner and down a hill from the opposite direction, and both vehicles are made to slow so that they might peacefully pass the other, only some four or five inches between the two, squeezed against theContinueContinue reading “The Privilege To Call This An Adventure”

imperfect thanks

One evening in February of 2014, as I was leaving Senegal after a complex, and full, and growing, and straight-up difficult six months as Callie Daba Sarr, I sat on a rooftop and I wrote a thank you letter.

I recently found myself again on a rooftop, this time in Kalamazoo, Michigan and felt a need deep beneath my sternum to again say thank you.

One Year Has Now Passed: A Letter to Moses

Moses, on this day, I don’t know where or how you are, but I do know that after having lived the extraordinary honor of being a mama to you, I am now grateful to carry you, carry your joy and your resilience, carry the sincerity of your smile and the light of your little life, with me as I fiercely love this world, so that all whose paths may cross mine might be graced with some small sense of what it is to have loved and been loved by you.

That is Something

I have witnessed suffering. I have seen horrible things. I have watched indescribable pain. I turned around; there two babies lay next to one another on the bed, silenced by pain, save for slight mewing. Their bandages were removed and I glanced twice, three times, four before I could comprehend what was missing: their tinyContinueContinue reading “That is Something”

in the trees

I. This summer, I can be found working nine to five in a windowless cubicle, in the corner of a break room, in the basement corner of a very old and dark administration building. And in those hours, I am doing work about which I am passionate, in which I believe, and of which IContinueContinue reading “in the trees”

six months intentionally whole

It’s been almost six months to the day since I’ve given presence to this blog. It’s not that I haven’t written; I have written much in 2015 (see the ‘poetry’ pages for my most recent work). But often a blog posting seems to require a beginning and an end, polished sentences and verb agreement, andContinueContinue reading “six months intentionally whole”

working hard

Today I was asked if I did anything good with the day or if I ‘just worked’. I work hard here. “Weekends” aren’t a readily available term in my vocabulary. Friday night is not indicative of any certain activity, behavior, or lack of thoughtfulness. I work hard. I work every day. Saturday and Sunday areContinueContinue reading “working hard”

inadequacy

I sat with two Americans who are working for the Umoja Project and living in the village for some weeks this summer and reflected on life and living in Kenya, future goals, and current struggles. One said she’s always had a passion for living and working abroad, but then she goes somewhere, like being inContinueContinue reading “inadequacy”

translating care

I’ve been considering prayer. In the past week, I walked kilometer after kilometer over red dirt roads, muddy footpaths, rocky hills, grassy plains, splashing puddles, cracked earth, and over the thresholds of the homes of fifteen of the orphans and vulnerable children, specifically those living in child-headed households, that the Umoja Project supports. And asContinueContinue reading “translating care”

an ode to my suitcase:

As I pulled out my suitcase yesterday and began to fill it for my upcoming travel to Kenya on Saturday, I thought about all the places we have been together.  Together, we have made five trips to four countries in four years.  It’s safe to say I’m in love with my suitcase. Not only isContinueContinue reading “an ode to my suitcase:”

twenty-one

Two days ago, I celebrated my twenty-first birthday. As I am known to do, I took the opportunity to reflect on life and self and soul and where I’ve been and where I’m going. Over this glorious birthday weekend at Bass Lake, one of my favorite places in the world, I slowly wrote twenty oneContinueContinue reading “twenty-one”

the sun it rises, the sun it sets

Today, I am sick. Today, I am stressed. Today, I am a ball of emotions which fleet through my mind and heart a mile a minute.  And so when I got home today after a coffee-fueled afternoon of paper writing and apartment scrambling, I could have just gone to bed and taken a nap. ButContinueContinue reading “the sun it rises, the sun it sets”

in this i believe

Last Saturday we made the journey to Touba to visit La Grande Mosquée; as we bumped along the sandy road, I looked out over the vast Senegalese landscape dotted with sturdy Baobab trees and thought about what it meant to be on, what is for African Muslims travelling to this spiritual center, a sacred journey.ContinueContinue reading “in this i believe”

coming home

Walking home, it’s sunset. I meander down the road in the cool breeze, hear enlivened Wolof all around me, greet familiar neighbors. When I reach Papa he happily greets me, makes a joke about my favorite song, tells me so like family he’s going to the gym and will see me later. I walk towardContinueContinue reading “coming home”