All of us have a little of the inner Leakey in us. If you look around, it’s not hard to find. It’s the fiber or mobile artist at the farmer’s market. It’s the grower whose watermelon meat is golden inside of its rind. It is the jazz artist whose head is dizzy with a thousand rhythms. It’s the generations of Kenyans identified by names that tied them to the earth of their ancestors. They benefit from Leakey’s ease at forsaking material conveniences for the illusions they hold of a civilization that turns mainly to its own desires, missing the many streams of wisdom that flow thru sunlight and time.
I remember my then 5-year old daughter looking up at a street lamp and saying “look at all the insects flying around the fuzzy rainbow.” From the parabola of darkness, she saw an illumination. Poets, priests, phophets, and ordinary people feel that special gift of magic at points throughout their lives. But some are moved to embrace its greater calling. That calling is a journey in which gain is achieved by giving up and letting go the “buzzing, blooming” for the waiting and observing and the central surprise of its silent joy.
Leakey finds joy in dancing with his muse. But more importantly, Leakey is able to bridge two worlds. Every hero makes a journey of return, bringing to his or her source what is learned. So Leakey brings skills and opportunities that enter on transparent foot steps. Medical services enhance life without disturbing it or changing its order. Money brings ease and comfort and confidence and is the source by which creative gifts share value.
The beauty of the land holds Leakey. His guileless spirit is celebrated by those with whom he shares community. His foot prints are covered by dust. But his heart has become one with the changing seasons and vision of the valley and beyond, a part of its beauty and its enduring and renewing, temporary reward.
Black History 360* 