Shaking Hands with Grandma Obama

I can still remember sitting at my brother’s house in
Natchez, Mississippi the day the announcement was made that Barack Obama was
voted in as president of the United States.  Tears streamed down my face.  My brother sat quiet, in awe.  His wife and I jumped up and down screaming with joy.  Their children were even allowed to
stay up late and watch the historical moment.  I called my Mama and she, my Daddy and sister were having
their own party.  I called one of
my Granddads and he was more excited than I’ve never known him to be.  Talking to senior citizens from my
church, many of them were so emotional because they never imagined they’d be
able to see the day that a Black American would be elected President of the
United States.

For the last month I have been living in not only the country
where Barack Obama’s paternal family comes from, but the very city: Kisumu.  Going to the schools, students pride in
Obama being from their home town. 
Every time Hannah or Leisa mention they are from Chicago, Illinois faces
light up.  “That’s where your
president is from.”

When I first heard we’d be given the opportunity to meet Mama Sarah,
Obama’s grandmother, I was honored. 
I didn’t want to post a premature blog about it for fear that it’d never
happen.  But today it happened.

It seemed like the two hour
journey was elongated.  I was so anxious to step foot on my
president’s stomping ground. 
In our fifteen passenger van were 5 young adults and Mama Terry from the
church.  Moses, the son of our
landlord also came along.  While a
few of them had seen Mama Sarah before and one even lived in the same area,
they were as eager to see her as we.

As we pulled onto the side of the
road there was a sign informing us we were on the farm of Sarah Obama.  We were escorted into the gate and each
of us signed our names in the security guest book.  Mama Sarah could easily be seen from the distance.  It was a simple property, nothing out
of the ordinary for Kenya.  The
farm was so homely, one that would suit Western, Kentucky well.  All it needed was a front porch and
swing. 

We were welcome from the moment
we stepped on the lot.  A few
British men were having somewhat of a political discussion with Mama
Sarah.  Her facial expressions made
me feel right at home.  She sat in
a plastic chair, head wrapped, arms folded.  Just looking at her one could see much wisdom.  Mama
Sarah is an 88 year old woman deserving much respect. 

Looking around at my teammates, there wasn’t one unhappy face to be
seen.  Everyone was wearing
a smile and all of our eyes were lit, not able to take our attention off of
Mama Sarah.  We all knew we were
all excited to be in the presence of a wise older woman.  She spoke her native tongue, so
thankfully an interpreter was present. 
Each of us introduced ourselves and she made little comments after each
person.  She lit up like a proud Grandma when Leisa and Hannah
mentioned they were from Chicago, Illinois.  When our Kenyan friends introduced themselves in her
language, she talked back to them. 
Though I couldn’t understand her I could tell what she was saying, “Oh so and so is from there.  Aren’t you the great grandson of so and
so.  You live on such and such
street.  Um hmm.  I used to walk down that street in my
day.  Things are different
now.  Um hmm.  Times sure do change.”  When I asked Reuben what she said, it
was pretty much exactly what I thought. 
J  Grandma’s are the same everywhere you
go.

I asked her one question, “How
did you feel when Barack Obama was elected as President.”  She smiled and talked.  The interpreter said, “She felt good.”  Leisa asked if she had any advice for
us.  Though she is not a Christian,
she said, “Keep doing the mission. 
Keep spreading the gospel. 
Don’t stop for anything.”