All the Kenyan Farmers I Know Think America is the Greatest Country in the World
While walking through the airport last week, I stopped to get my shoes shined. You know, because the airport is really the only place I know of to actually have my shoes shined…for me.
I began making small talk with the gentleman attending to my loafers, and I asked him how long he’d been doing this. “5 years”, he replied.
The natural follow up was, “Well what were you doing before this?”
His reply: “I was a farmer.”
“A farmer? That’s very interesting. What did you farm?”
“Many crops. I was a farmer in Kenya.”
Turns out that my new friend Evans had finally been able to join his son and daughter in the US, and was now grateful to be employed, each and every day…at the airport.
Wondering why he was ‘finally’ able to join his family? Not because the government restricted his travel…but because he had to save up for travel expense.
Wondering how his son and daughter managed to get to this country? Student visa.
Wondering why Evans was grateful to be shining shoes? Because farming in Kenya is HARD. Because if you don’t yield enough from the farm, you don’t eat (let alone have enough to sell at market). Because there’s no social assistance programs. Because education in Kenya stops at the 8th grade, and if you aren’t wealthy…you’ll never complete secondary education and have a chance at university.
“I think this is a great place,” said Evans.
“Sure seems like a lot of people here disagree these days.”
We laughed a little.
And then Evans said this: “A lot of people here don’t work hard. They don’t know what it’s like to struggle. That is why they are losing their country.”
This really stuck with me. And it made sense.
The comforts that we have grown so accustomed to, that we so often take for granted, have weakened our perspective on hard work. They’ve removed the sense of urgency that struggle can instill when one must toil for survival.
Our perspective continues to change. What we teach our children continues to change. In fact, the context by which we generate gratitude continues to change.
Perhaps this glorious shine on my shoes was now a metaphor for the American generations that have flourished since the turn of the 19th century. Forged in hard work and struggle and sacrifice to a magnificent sheen…but then left to dull and fade over decades spent believing that this luster is a given, that it will last forever, and that it can never be taken away.
Now I’m not saying that I’m ready, or wanting to trade in my cushy life to be a Kenyan farmer. I’m just saying that his words really stuck with me.
They stuck with me, and they made me think about my sons. How can I shape their perspectives so that they see and understand the value of hard work, and are grateful for the spoils we have? How?
How can they live with a rich appreciation for life, when by all global standards they are in fact, ‘rich’?
To say that these are “first world problems” would, I think, be an insult to my new friend Evans…but c’mon man.
Today I am grateful to have met Evans. For the simple reminder of the wonderful (and easy) life that I have. For giving me something to think about. For making me continue to think about how to better challenge and prepare my sons for the world.
Today I am grateful to have met a Kenyan farmer, who also said to me, “I think America is the greatest country in the world.”
