We are a story-telling and receiving species. To understand, we tell stories. Friday’s post needed a story.
Here you go. Gather ‘round.
And Come In!
A quick fable:
A rich man was out wandering “on safari” in his air-conditioned jeep within the vast expanse of a foreign country’s arid savannah—his savings afforded him this luxury vacation—when he came upon a very small band of what appeared to be impoverished nomads. This was more like a family with little to call their own—just a small tent pulled by its poles that they likely pitched at night; the ragged clothes they were wearing likely the only clothes they had TO wear; a couple small goats that were carrying a few items of cooking pots and spice jars and water and goat milk jugs; and a few chickens one of the boys was hauling behind him in a small wagon with one of the wheels flattened to the rim. From what he saw, this was what they had—not much at all.
The man, having pity, drove up next to the eldest individual—likely the father maybe. Maybe the grandfather. Neither spoke each other’s language, but the man reached out to give the Elder some bills that added up to roughly $100. “If they spent wisely at a village they were approaching, this could go a long way for them,” thought the man. The Elder held out his hand to receive the bills, then bowed deeply as if in giving thanks. The man drove off to continue his adventure smug in his generosity—he would barely notice the loss of those bills. But he was certain the family was set for at least the next month. He felt pretty good about himself.
As he drove away, something began to nag at him. He thought to himself there was something about that family that didn’t jive, something that was off, something that didn’t match the circumstances they were in. He couldn’t quite put these nagging pieces together. But, he was on safari, needing to enjoy this earned and paid-for adventure; no time or desire to put energy into nagging questions about a family he likely was never going to see again, ever. So he put that family in the throw-away, “garbage bin of insignificants,” at the back of his mind. And he drove on.
At dusk, after the full safari, the man was driving back to his resort so as not to miss the extravagant dinner his all-inclusive reservation provided, when he noticed up ahead the familiar sparkles of oranges and reds from a fledgling camp flame. As he approached, to his surprise, he noticed this same family from earlier in the day, now camped for the night, but in the opposite direction of the village he thought they were headed toward—or that he thought they should be headed toward to cash in their newly given wealth he so proudly bestowed upon them from his own surplus.
He grew curious. As he parked, but remaining in his jeep, he noticed the boys of the family were tending to the fire, using the dollar bills as kindling and fuel for the growing flames. The man was astonished but knew in an instant the futility of trying to stop them from such ungodly destruction. The Elder to whom the money was given, while pointing at the young campfire behind him, was saying to the man “thank you, thank you, thank you,” likely the only English vocabulary the Elder knew. He drove away shaking his head in disbelief and disgust as he watched from his rearview mirror the kids tucking last of the money into one of the saddlebags, safe and dry for perhaps the same action at the next night’s camp.
A couple miles down the dirt road, he slammed on his breaks; a flash of awe shook within him. The nagging pieces! He remembered now, when he first encountered the family, how they were all, each of them, smiling, laughing, and singing as they walked, pulling their belongings, leading their goats, wearing their full wardrobe, down the dusty lane—as if they were out on a lazy mid-day family stroll following a grand picnic. And as he had driven away from their camp just now, he realized that their smiles were wider, their laughter louder, and their songs more joyful. And they were dancing; dancing around the fire.
A fire kindled by something of value to them, that made a necessary and nightly task just a but easier—the gift they were given earlier from a “rich” man on safari in a jeep. It didn’t matter there were funny little pictures of old white guys on them.
Then, the man got it, he understood. And he, too, laughed.
No more nagging pieces.
~ k
Always and Ubuntu.
🙏🏼
I love me some Shel. I read it when I was young, read it to Alec when he was little and now I find great joy reading it with Sophie. Her favorite is called sick and she requires me to read it in a certain voice. We giggle everytime!