1 – Life As We Know it

I wanted to be alone. Just me. Not even Sugar. I felt so heavy. Weak. I had hardly slept. My body ached with every move. I had gotten up around 3am, had a pee, popped a couple of pain killers, and climbed into my own bed. Alone. It was now 5:45, and I sat on the front porch swing, wrapped in a blanket, unmoving, staring into space, not even seeing the beauty of the first pink and golden hues peeking over the dark horizon. My mind was thousands of miles away. In a place I had once called home… but wasn't home any more. That hurt more than the wounds did. Wounds heal. This, however, when I think about it, never truly will. It was a heartache, deep. I'd had too many losses. Self pity? I didn't usually allow myself to feel it. But, today, for a while anyway, I was going to wallow.

I smelled the coffee brewing and heard Henry and Sugar come out the front door. He let it close gently and eased onto the opposite end of the swing. Sugar came to me, sensing something wrong, and placed her head on my lap. Absently, I stroked her ears.

We sat in silence, staring across the dying prairie. The sun was above the horizon now, dark shadows of night had faded into a cerulean, cloudless sky. The light breeze was cool, and the short grass waved peacefully with its gusts.

Henry drank his coffee and stretched his arm across the back of the seat, a silent invitation. I listlessly shifted over, resting my head on his shoulder, as he dropped his arm in comfort, placing a tender kiss on the top of my head.

The silence continued.

"I wish I could help," he finally said. "Understand that you do not have to face this alone. I will leave if you want, but I will also stay if you ask."

I reached my arm over his waist giving a gentle hug. "I know."

He left for work at 10:30 as I stood on the balcony watching his old, green pickup bounce over the crushed gravel drive and hit the pavement of the main road. Lethargically moving into the house, I changed into my ancient, faded blue UNHC t-shirt – a throw back from the early days: United Nations Humanitarian Coalition, a sanctioned group of NGOs that worked together for a common good, one of the first groups I had worked with; worn beige cargo shorts that had been seen better days, hiking boots, and my light blue UN ball cap. Strapping on a small back pack with water bottles for Sugar and me, and a few snacks, we headed off across the grassland toward the desert. Henry called it a quest. Something to help me find my balance. I needed to deal with the events that had led me to where I was.

Exactly one year ago today, events played out that changed my life forever. It had been a bright, sunny day full of hope and promise. A feud had ended. Negotiations for peaceful co-existence reached. All that was left was to publically sign the papers. It was televised for prosperity. Ya, I snorted to myself. It had all been captured on film…and played over, and over, and over again. I absently drew my fist to my chest and rubbed as Sugar and I strode southeast.

Over twenty representatives from the Ganjawi and Mirembe families, three UN officials and six UN security guards, a handful of reporters and journalists, a video news crew from Nairobi. All gathered to witness the end of nearly twenty-five years of feuding. A happy moment. All smiles. Proud.

Then, the first pops. Our heads sharply turned to the familiar and half-expected sound. A bang. The door to the meeting room blown open. Yelling. Rebel soldiers. The deafening roar of automatic weapons. Panic.

Ganjawi was on my left, Mirembe to my right. Shaking hands. Treaty signed. Instinct. I grabbed the wrists of both men dragging them to the ground and behind me as I upturned the table. My only thought – protect. Shouting orders to retreat out the rear exit, Brook already had it open, rapidly ushering panicked witnesses out. Several fell as shots pierced, bounced, and ricocheted off the walls, furniture, and flesh. I pushed the clan leaders forward, Ganjawi with a bleeding leg, a flesh wound. He had courageously stepped in front of Mirembe to protect his former enemy. I stood between these two powerful men and the insurgents, unarmed; using my body to protect the leaders, glancing back to make certain that everyone moving out.

Turning to the fallen as our soldiers entered from the rear, I felt it. Searing pain. I was hit. Shoulder. Leg. Back. Momentum of the shots spinning me like a rag doll in a tornado finally coming to face with the assailants once again for the final blow – a double tap to the center of the chest. I go down. All goes black. No light at the end of a long tunnel. Just the sound of water rushing in my ears, then endless, deep, black.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. Seconds. And, life as I knew it, my career, all that I had ever worked for, possibly my life, was over.

Final count: six dead, thirteen wounded: a variety of minor flesh wounds to more serious injuries. As injuries go, I was the worst. Broken ribs, punctured lung, severe loss of blood from multiple gunshot wounds, concussion from striking my head on the concrete floor as I fell.

I woke in a Nairobi hospital after spending over a week in a coma. No one figured I'd survive, but I did.

A month later, once I was ambulatory, it was decided that I would be sent back to the United States to recover at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City. Did I have a say in the matter? No. Did I want to go? No. Did I have a choice? No.

Sitting in a wheelchair at the airport with a UN medical technician standing over me, I waited to board the plane. I hadn't been able to see any of my team or friends to say "good-bye". We had spoken on the phone, but it wasn't the same. I was miserable. My heart was breaking.

First call was made for those who needed assistance and the technician began pushing me through the crowd toward the boarding gate. Some whispered. Some covertly pointed. My face had been on the news, and we wore UN identification. Nothing like drawing attention. I hated it. As we reached the gate and handed over our passports and boarding passes, I heard a voice call "Stop!" through the crowd. Armed security stepped forward, but quickly retreated as Brook and Bennett rapidly approached. Both had been injured in the attack, but their wounds had been minor, and they had been sent back to base.

"A moment." Captain Anto Brook, in full Kenyan Military Police garb with UN patch, flashed his ID, his imposing six foot six, two hundred and forty pound frame had people backing away. Captain Chris Bennett, in his DPKO uniform with British insignia, dwarfed at only five ten and one hundred and eighty-five pounds, followed in his wake.

Brook stopped and knelt on one knee before me, taking my hands in his. "You thought you would get away without saying good-bye?" His accent was thick, his grin priceless. He kissed the backs of my hands. "Never."

My mouth opened and closed wordlessly until I finally pressed my lips together, tears swimming in my eyes. Struggling to stand, he helped me up, and we embraced. I clung to him, holding tight, burying my face into his broad chest, and openly wept. My entire body shook.

"Shhh," he whispered, stoking my back. "It is not good-bye, but until we meet again. And, we will. That is a promise. Technology is a wonderful thing." I involuntarily snorted. That, from my war-hardened friend who delighted in creating musical montages of the places we'd been. I shook my head against his chest. He laughed, deep and low. "Yes, it is. We will find a way. You will not get rid of me that easily. Fourteen years together. You are my best friend. I will not give up."

"Excuse me," the boarding agent quietly interrupted. "I'm sorry, but we have to board the passengers."

Brook nodded at the woman as we pulled apart. Cupping my face in his giant hand, he placed a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"Be happy, Julia. You have always looked for new adventures. See this as one, and when we speak again, tell me all about it."

I hugged him again nearly losing my balance, and he lowered me back into the wheelchair. Bennett leaned in next placing a kiss on my cheek.

Stepping back, he saluted, not something you did to a civilian, but that was Bennett. He did what he felt was right. "Take care, Commander."

In a daze, I boarded the plane, and eighteen hours later, after a quick stop in Geneva, we landed at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City.

I was beginning to regret bringing Sugar along. The sun was high now, not too hot but bright, and we'd been walking for over an hour. I don't know where I got the energy from. I just kept going, not feeling anything –numb, putting one foot in front of the other. Sugar was valiantly keeping up, but I could tell that she was beginning to fade. At ten years old, she wasn't a pup but had the heart of one, and being a Lab, had the strong desire to please. I stopped to give her a drink, then took a swig for myself. Shielding my eyes, I scanned the horizon looking for the spot that Henry had suggested. I caught a glimpse of the plateau beyond a barren valley. Probably another hour or so. Smiling down at my companion, I asked. "Ready?" and she trotted on ahead.

Turkana County in the Rift Valley had similar terrain: relatively flat, arid, dusty, spotty vegetation told you where pockets of water hid beneath the parched surface. It was in the midst of a horrible drought - five years without rain. I shook my head. Vegetation struggled. Animals died. People walked miles to find water. Water – such a precious commodity; one most people took for granted, but such a basic need. UNESCO had been drilling in Turkana in search of a water source to relieve the drought, but so far, none had been found.

I trudged across the rough terrain, and by early-afternoon climbed the forty-five degree slope to the flat surface of the ledge. Popping open a portable, nylon sun shelter that packed no bigger than the size of a large pencil case, I encouraged Sugar to get under, gave her another drink and a treat, and rested.

There was nothing around. No buildings. No roads. No telephone poles. Not even a jet stream from a passing plane. I pulled out my cell phone. 1:38. One bar.

Within minutes, Sugar was snoring away, and I sat, reflecting on my life.

It had been hard, unusual, but productive, exciting, full of adventure – both good and frightening. I had struggled on my own in the early years after the death of my parents. Took chances and snatched every opportunity. I had risked my life, and nearly lost it a few times. Helped people strive for a better life of their own. Taught and learned. I had loved and lost, only to find love in the hearts of struggling souls. I'd been told that my capacity for love was unfathomable. I guess that's why when I lost, it hurt so much.

Since I'd been back to the States, I'd travelled and explored, often bitterly, grudgingly. But, here, in Wyoming, I think I've found a new home. I'd been comfortable living in my camper: on the prairie, in the mountains, in the woods, and now in a comfortable, little house in the grassland. People were friendly, open, kind. Ethan and Samantha were my first real connections here. Then, there was Henry. His quiet acceptance, patience, and generosity warmed me in a way I hadn't felt in many years, in a way that I had refused to accept. It felt good. Even today, he gave me the space I needed to sort things out, but made it clear that he would be there if I needed him. We'd never said the "L" word, but it was surely felt.

I think, what I needed now, was to find a project to stave of the boredom of inactivity. I was getting stronger, healthier, but I needed to work my mind, too.

As consultant in East African affairs, I was still on-call and available, and those calls came in at all hours, from all over the world, but I needed a hands-on project that made me feel useful and productive again. Building the gazebo at Medicine Lodge for Samantha, then Yvonne's garden, and in turn, initiating the garden at the community center on the Rez, guiding Aaron with his choices for college, yard work around Henry's house, these were little things that I'd done to get myself back on track, but I needed more. I needed a clear, long term task. I had a lot of experience with a variety of different things, but there was one thing that made my heart soar.

I wanted to motivate the youth the same way that I had been motivated. Working with the youth groups that came to Kenya as I had at eighteen was exciting. To see that innocent, stirred light in their eyes was powerful. To see the reality hit them and their acceptance of a different culture was exhilarating. I strove to guide them to realize the power they possessed, that getting involved was positive, productive, and satisfying. I wanted to light that spark again, to fan it, and watch it flame and grow.

Sitting on that barren ledge watching the sun pass its peak, the weight of that tragic day a year ago was lifted, and a decision was made. Life was not barren like this valley. There was always hope, sometimes in the little things. You just had to look. I had insight and connections. I had the power to make a difference. And, the youth held the power to make a change.

As Gandhi once said, "Be the change you want to see in the world."

I smiled. I knew exactly what I wanted to do.