THIS IS AFRICA

March 23, 2018

I am 45 years old, today. I don’t have a job. I don’t have a career. I don’t have a wife. I don’t have kids. I don’t have a dog. I don’t have a home address.

It’s my birthday.

I’m not rich. I am not famous. I’m not tall.

I’m at a big, fancy hotel in Senegal, Africa drinking poor coffee at a buffet I am avoiding to save a little money. I am thinking about all the people who live in this country, in West Africa, and in the world that are having a birthday today, like me.

For many of them, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because they live in suffering, poverty, ill health, whatever. Some don’t even know when they were born.  

I wonder about those people.

Yesterday my buddy and I hired a worn out taxi to drive us to a pink lake that wasn’t pink. Well, it was kind of pink. I thought it was pink. He went to Harvard and didn’t think it was pink so I guess it wasn’t pink.

We wore pink sweatpants. And pink hats. At the pink lake. Like idiots.

We pulled up to the lake to have a look and grab a few pictures. A guy on make shift crutches with a few teeth hobbled over to us as quickly as a guy on make shift crutches with a few teeth could hobble. He had an oddly swollen foot, ragged t-shirt and decent smile. For a minute.

He started saying this and that in French until he realized we are idiots. He then shifted to broken English. Still smiling.

He begged me to let him take us out on the lake in a small wooden boat for a few dollars. I said no. A lot. We argued. He kept asking. I kept saying no. He kept asking. I got pissed.

I told him I didn’t  want to go out on the pink lake in a boat.

Exhausted, he finally said something to me I will never forget.

In his broken English with a thousand years of suffering he said…

“This is Africa”

Those three words and the sadness in his voice hit me like a mountain of hell.

“This is Africa”

We have nothing. All I ask for is something.

We are all born and then, I suppose, we all die. As my buddy Garrett says, it is the dash in-between those two dates on your tombstone that really matter. Your birthday and your death day.  What happens in the dash?

Who do you become? What do you do? How do you live?

How do you treat others?

This coffee really sucks.

The poverty here is remarkable. The challenges these folks deal with every day is mesmerizing. Yet I see smiles. I see laughter. I see dancing. God I love dancing.

My life has been a hell of a ride. I have done some interesting things. I have done some stupid things. I have healed and I have hurt. I have hated myself and finally, loved. Is that the journey we all are on? Or is it just me?

Today I celebrate. I celebrate simple happiness. Life. Love.

I have learned, the hard way, it can be a choice. If Africa can be happy, we can be happy. I send love to everyone today.

Except the food and beverage manager of this hotel who decided to serve shitty coffee to the uppity guests.

Happy birthday Thomas Henry Humphreys, III, you sexy bitch! Here is to 45 more…