Work of Leaving

As I was preparing to the leave the country, my best friend gave me beaded bracelet
depicting the Kenyan flag, and on which the name Kenya was written. I had planned on getting
one, but in the chaos of everything I forgot. In her wisdom and kindness, Ngato saw the need for
me having one. She bought just one, not two. I didn’t ask why. I knew. We knew. I needed one
because I was leaving and that work of leaving was being done here at home, in Nairobi. The work
of going was being done in Hanover, and the work of staying was again being done here at home.
Her burden was different from mine—it involved staying, an everyday burden unneeding of
reminders.

Although I have never taken it off since I wore, this bracelet, like this country, has been
tough to wear. It often reminds me of home, where my heart beats from and without where I would
be nothingness. It guards me and catches me in the moments I need guarding: when I introduce
myself as Sam and not Migwi, because Sam is easier on most people’s tongue, when the
perfomance of my American accent interfers with my Swahili pronunciations; when I don’t call
home, when I go days without speaking Swahili; when I catch a glimpse of it as I move, I begin to
feel these aches.

These aches are reminders that while the work of going is be done here, the work of leaving
need not be done again here or elsewhere. I will carry with me everything I am, which is still, in
many ways, a smaller burden than that of staying.