This is Part 2 of a multi-part essay that chronicles Tembea Na Mimi, a walk across Kenya.

by Jeff James

He was “our Lawrence,” tall and lean, culturally fluid, graceful in life, and impeccable in manners.  His name is Michael Nation, and he walked like a Somali tribesman.

As we walked the Migori road, a Somali man driving a matatu pulled alongside our ambling forms, excitedly asking “Are you from Somalia?”  Our pink skin quickly gave answer, but his excitement didn’t fade. We were walking with 22 mixed-breed Somali camels through Luo land! Camels in this part of Kenya were unheard of, and this man felt like he’d returned home.

His interest in us energized me.  I started stepping a little higher, reaching a little further, striving to minimize impact and harness the energy of each step into forward momentum. I imagined myself walking like a Kenyan. They walked with ease, bodies gliding over broken landscapes as if they were paved pathways. Their heads and bodies remained motionless as their legs effortlessly moved forward.  For brief moments, when I tried really hard, I could be as graceful in my stride too, but mostly, I lumbered.  My body jostled and lurched forward, like an American accustomed to sidewalks.

Michael walks with grace.  His walk was more of a glide; the well-rehearsed gait of a serial peripatetic, ergonomic in form and motion. He could walk forever.  In fact, he’s still walking today. His journey continues with 2 guides and 3 camels and a ton of compassion and curiosity to share.   (As I write this I just received word from Kenya that Michael is about halfway to Lake Turkana and should arrive in 5-6 days.)

Michael teaches us the lyrics to “I will walk 500 miles.”

Journal entry from our first night singing together.

An experience junkie, he never followed a career path, but embraced a “road less traveled” kind of life,  following his passions and curiosity in order to become a better, fuller person. Michael talked of working tirelessly as a young man to save every penny for the next big adventure,  one of which was a position with Lalmba as project director in the Sudan during the 80’s refugee crisis.  There he developed a fondness for camels, Arabic language, the mystique of the desert, and birds.   Michael and the other volunteers from the Sudan experienced relentless heat and witnessed unbearable human suffering.

Those experiences change you, and nudge at you all of your life, prodding your future choices to be more thoughtful and compassionate.  Many former volunteers haven spoken of PTSD-like symptoms upon return.  Adjusting back to a society of abundance is a struggle for all who have witnessed great need and suffering.  But that struggle is a necessary one, for it is in the struggle that our values in life are reset to True.

And that’s why we walk, to ponder life’s disparities.  To re-learn the truths of what it means to be human. To understand how we can do better for our fellow man, and walk through this life with grace.

Michael Nation famously declared, “even bad experiences are good experiences.”   No wiser words can be spoken.  

Along the road to Othoo, we passed through a village called Bondo, a one block town of concrete buildings, tin roofs, and colorfully peeled paint.  Just outside of town, at a fork in the road we made one of our final turns towards our destination, Matoso.  There on the side of the road, as if welcoming us, stood one of poverty’s offspring, an expressionless boy. A belly full of worms, dirty and malnourished, he watched passively as we went by, pale monsters from the north.  I’m certain he had never seen camels before and likely not white people, but those firsts didn’t move him to show surprise or fear.  And I imagined then, as he slipped out of view, that he must be too sick and numb with hunger to express glee at our camel parade.  I’ve seen that look before.

And then, our Lawrence, Michael, glided up to him with an outstretched arm, a kind face offering him a toy car and an orange.  His quiet little hands accepted the gifts, but he didn’t examine them.  His face did not light with a radiant smile as we’d seen happen so many times before.  We had learned the formula that kindness begets kindness; a smile and a wave elicit the same in return.  But this boy seemed immune to the tried and true methods.  He was passive, yet his eyes were not disengaged, nor were Michael’s.  They scanned each other’s faces and then in a gesture of silent communication, their eyes locked, and I witnessed the reason we walk.  For in that momentary and silent exchange, I saw a symbiotic transfer of love and respect.  It is God in us that we want seen and that we seek in each other.  And that is why we walk — to find God in the people we meet. And to show them He walks with us too. 

“Look into my eyes and hear what I’m not saying, for my eyes speak louder than my voice ever will.” ~Unknown.

Michael and Thea sing “I will walk 500 miles” during a break.

Watching lions in the Maasai Mara conservancy.

It’s morning and Jane, Terry, and Michael are ready to start walking.

During the monsoon rains, as I huddled under a tree shivering and trying to protect my camera, I watched Michael valiantly subduing camels, unloading their boxes and soothing them with his voice as the rains pounded and the winds whipped.

From my vantage point cowering under the tree, I felt fear.  But when I looked into Michael’s face I saw courage, the joy of a young man battling nature.  He was having the time of his life!