another year

i was born on october 1st, 1980. the doctors and my parents all thought i was coming on september 30th, but i held out for a better deal and emerged (in the usual way) just before 1 in the morning.

if you go back 9 months from that day, you come to january 1st. new year's; the day the world starts over. my mother denies this neat and tricky fact of mathematics. my dad simply smirks and winks.

my parents tell me that when i was born, i didn't cry like most babies. i took a moment to look around, take in the sights, and then sneezed. i guess i was allergic to this place from the start.

unlike most, i was born into unbelievable wealth and privilege. opportunity and comfort. leisure and excess. i was born in america.


******


if you stumble outside my house in uganda and into the brilliance of an equatorial sun climbing the skyways, you will be struck with a cosmic inequality. you will see a 3-story palace on top of the hill, with terraced hillsides of grass, brick-paved driveways, a guest house and 3 vehicles, and elaborate ornamental iron and adobe walls lining the perimeter. it is an opulent temple for sure.

just beyond the fences, decaying mudbrick huts and rotten, wooden lean-to shanties fan out down the hill amongst meager plots of banana trees, cassava, and sweet potatoes. i know this because i live in the palace.

a little bit farther down the hill, just as the road bends away towards banga beach, is an orphanage. a few buddies and i found that it was in terrible condition. 17 children were living in a one-room shelter. they were sleeping on the floor, cause there were no beds. their water supply had been shut off due to lack of money, and they had no functioning bathroom. one older lady was squatting over a cookfire; they had enough yams for 1 meal a day that week.

amongst the children there is a young mother of 14, homeless, with her infant. a 5 year-old boy with no relatives who has hiv. a number of young children with no where else to go, no prospects of any sort of life.


one of the boys there, about 16, has really affected me. whenever i come by, he always has this broken smile that captures the reality of existence. he always gives me a hug and looks like he's a single puff of wind away from losing his grip on his emotions and collapsing into feverish, seizing sobs from the weight of the world.

living on the verge of a breakdown. holding onto the cliff with one finger. i can't imagine how hard his life has been, but i always detect a spark of hope in his eyes; refusing to give up completely. when we come by with some humble offerings of beans, beef, bananas and rice, that spark is fanned into a glowing ember, and he hugs us again and again. it's enough for him; that someone has cared enough to see that he gets a meal that day.

it's inexcusable that anyone has to live like this. it's incomprehensible that billions do.

the orphanage had no way to pay teachers for the children's schooling, so natural talents couldn't be uncovered and cultivated. i wonder how many einsteins or mozarts are lost because no one cares? how many scientists and doctors and peacemakers? so much potential smothered by circumstance. what could they become with a little encouragement and opportunity? what are we losing as a society by their absence?

the loss is incalculable.


******


i spend my birthday (to the minute) crossing the border from uganda into the democratic republic of congo. it's ironically fitting i decide: me on the move. always in transit; my head in the clouds. the kid who is always looking out the window.

later, on the way home, i relax and let the autopilot fly. the suns' rays splash down onto the dense green jungles of congo below, as i survey the beginnings of a sunset from 21,000 feet. 30 laps around the sun. time seems to speed up as i grow older. why do i understand things less the more time passes?


it seems to me that all you can do is wait around for the dust to settle and try to pick up the broken pieces. like a medic or nurse in wartime triage, there is simply too much greed and selfishness and evil and inequality in the world for it to ever change; so serve the least fortunate. do so not for recognition or to feel good about yourself. and not for the promise of a reward in the next life, but because it's the only way to live this one.


******


later, i walk down the hill to my favorite restaurant for some indian food and castle milk stouts. sitting there in the flickering candlelight by myself, i think about what a blessing it is to have a family. about what it really means. and also, what it means to be alone. to have no one; no mother or father; no brother or sister.

i still haven't convinced any women to hang around long enough to pursue something serious. it seems they don't like the fact that i'm always off to ski or climb or fly or move to africa or the moon.

or maybe, maybe, i just haven't met her yet. a likely scenario, as i'm pretty sure that she is probably in colombia, lebanon, or brazil. and i haven't been to those countries so far. well, there's no rush.

walking back up the hill on a dirt path that winds through the banana trees in the warm sleepy blackness. overhead, the southern cross. i look deep into the heavens at all the bluish-white pinpricks of ice; each suspended in the void in solitude. the smells of woodsmoke, dust, burning trash, and groundnuts fill the humid air.

i think of my friend at the orphanage.

this kind of life keeps breaking your heart.