Lopie

Typically I am a morning person. I thrive on anticipation for what the day will hold, excitement for the people I may run into, and nervousness about not being quite prepared for it all. In Kotido it is no different; I find myself waking up with a smile on my face, bouncing through making the bed, and getting dressed. I enjoy eating Maria’s homemade rolls with honey from Romano’s bees, and hardboiled eggs from the chickens for breakfast. Peter, Anna, and Margret are typically at the breakfast table too and it is comforting to see them in their school uniforms tromping around grumpily because they have to leave for school. Comforting because it re-enforces for me the universality of yet another emotions: kids all over the world would rather stay at home and play than go sit in a desk all day.

                                                                                                                  

So one night I was slightly annoyed when I stood up to go to bed and Lopie said, “You should not go to bed so early, you should stay up and hear more stories.” In the dark I grimaced and sat back down, “Okay”, I said, “then you tell me a story.” Lopie is our shepherd boy, although the word “boy” is slightly misleading; Lopie is married with two sons. But, he does care for the animals so this makes him a shepherd boy. If you have been reading my other blogs Lopie is the person who always say, “Yes, Annali. Very good!” because his English is rather limited (Harvest Dance, October.)

There was a young man at our house that evening who had good English so I suggested that he translate as Lopie spoke. Lopie began this story:

“When I was a baby I drank too much milk so my parents abandon me to the bush so I would not be a burden on them. While I was laying there an elephant came up to me and almost ate me but someone found me and brought me to the animal corral. I was raised at the corral and began taking care of animals until one day, when I was about 10 years old, warriors from another tribe came and raided our corral. They had guns and one shot me.”

At this point he paused to take my hand and place it over the lump on his shoulder where the bullet had wounded him as a boy.

“After I was shot I lay on the ground and thought I am going to die. But in the morning Romano came and took me home with him. When Maria saw me she said, “This boy should now live with us.” From that day on I have lived here and been safe.”

Then instead of looking at the translator he looked at me and said, “Now you are a part of this family too, Annali and we will all remember you forever with joy in our hearts.”

 As the translator spoke those last few words of the story I felt myself growing very quiet. I looked around the courtyard, Adome and Adocto were sprawled out behind me, Peter and Anna were sitting quietly on either side of me, Margret was sitting on Maria’s lap sleeping, and Amol and Loperra were standing in the doorway listening.

I did not know what to say so I meekly thanked Lopie for the story and the translator for his work. In the quiet following Lopie’s story I was reminded of a passage from The Brothers Karamazov in which Father Zossima, an elderly priest, is sharing some of his thoughts with friends. He says, “I bless the rising sun each day, and, as before my heart sings to meet it, but now I love even more its setting, its long slanting rays and the soft tender gentle memories that come with them, the dear images from the whole of my long happy life—and over all the Divine Truth, softening, reconciling, forgiving!” (The Brothers Karamazov, 269)

I am still a morning person, but the urging of Lopie to, “sit a while longer”, and Father Zossima’s observations about evening persuades me to believe that I can perhaps live to also cherish the night. But, I think the more important lesson I learned was how intertwined my life can become with those around me. In this case it took a shepherd boy from Kotido to remind me that I will not be the only person impacted by the on-going year here in Kotido. It is a grave responsibility to be a part of a community; there are people to be accountable to, tasks to be completed, stories to be heard, and above all relationships to be valued.

Lopie and his wife