Last night, perfecting my hibernation skills, I watched Hedwig and the Angry Inch for the first time. Good movie. I haven�t heard from my sisters since they left for New York. Though I don�t see them often when they are here, their absence is felt, and I find myself missing them. Today, I have for you a guest entry, if you will. An email from my father. First, a little background: A tribe in Africa wanted to give Americans a gift after the tragedies of September 11. Their most prized possession, a showing of support and care, 14 blessed cows. It was a medical student at Stanford University who initiated his tribe�s help.

The student was quoted as saying, �I am used to responding to emergencies as a warrior back home [in Kenya]," Naiyomah said. "When there is a tragedy and there is a warcry, people expect that a warrior responds. Being in New York, I could not respond and I felt a little uneasy having done nothing, so I carried this pain in my heart and I wanted to do something.�

Now, having given some background, this was my father�s email to me of his meeting this weekend with the Maasai people:

Saturday 20 July 2002 was the AFRICAN FETE 2002 in City Heights. Naturally, I went to see what was going on and also to experience the wonderful diversity that we have here in America. At the Fete, an announcer stated that we were incredibly fortunate to have two visitors from Kenya. On the stage were two regal, powerful presences attired in red warrior attire, complete with impressive knives (considering the neighborhood, I don�t blame these guys for carrying weapons).

I had an interesting, warm feeling in my soul to see these two beautiful men, black as the ace of spades, calm, natural, and full of a natural gravitas. I had to approach them later in the program to thank them for Aunt Carol and myself. I first met Joseph Ole Koyei. I took his hand, thin as a rail, but strong.

I told him about Jeff�s murder in the WTC and he expressed his sorrow. I could see he was sincere. I then asked him if he knew the medical student that instigated (told the tribe of the atrocities in NY, PA, and DC). Joseph told me that the fellow was from his tribe and his Kosel or something, which I assume is his neighborhood or clan. Joseph told me that if I contact him in Kenya this week he will send me the info on the medical student.

I then walked over to Alex and thanked him for the cows. As we joked around, I asked the men if they liked big motorcycles (young men of any nationality would have answered the same!), and they said YES! So I asked them if they had a camera and would like to get pictures of themselves on my bike, which I pointed out � shiny and huge, sparkling in the sun.

We went over to the bike and each man sat on it (I prayed they had something on underneath their war robes), and took pictures of the other straddling the beast and holding on to the handlebars as if they were Marlon Friggin� Brando racing down the highway in the Wild One. You know I love languages and I�m not conversant in Maa, I believe that is the language of the Maasai, so I asked them how to say good bye, hoping it wasn�t one of those �click� languages that Miriam Makeba was so good at singing in. The word sounded like �Sere.� So your dear old Dad took off in a cloud of City Heights dust and called back, �Sere!� to his new friends. The End!

� not really. It�s more like the beginning. I am contacting Joseph this week, in Kenya and getting the info for Aunt Carol. Who knows what the future holds � Aunt Carol may go over there and teach something about her Lactate consulting job, or something to do with Neonatal intensive care, or �

The sky is the limit; actually, there is no limit. I love you, Dad.

-Barbarella

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