Kindred

It’s not my first memory of Teizeen, we had been friends for a year or so by this point, but I think it might be my favorite. I wish so badly I had a picture of it because I know we took one that night but in all my digging through old boxes and albums I can’t find one. We were barefoot and swathed from head to toe in glittering saris. Mine was coppery toned, if I remember correctly, and borrowed from another classmate. Hers was shades of teal. Droplets of bendi adorned our foreheads and several slinky’s-worth of bangles clattered on each of our four arms. We were sweaty from dancing at the Navratri celebration, clacking our dandiya sticks against fellow dancers’ as we wove through the columns of the Hindu temple. The air was thick with incense. I tried to mimic the graceful movements of a Hindu friend from school as we danced. But when a priest rose to clang a heavy bell and direct our attention towards a marble deity on the wall, it was Teizeen who I followed as we slipped outside. I think my parents probably only let me go because they knew she would be there. We sat on the temple steps in the cool night air, and listened to the worship inside – two girls, a Christian from America and a Muslim from Indian, both of us growing up in Kenya. I don’t remember what we talked about in those moments while we waited. Probably upcoming exams or whether or not a certain boy would show up. I know it wasn’t faith or religion. But I remember feeling safe that night, whether or not I ever said it. Like I was in the company of a deeply kindred spirit.

Teizeen’s family immigrated to Washington State when we were sixteen, and other than one quick meal in Nairobi three years ago, we haven’t seen each other in over a decade. We’ve moved in opposite directions around the world, finished college and grad school, gotten married and become aunts with little more than sporadic emails and the rare long-distance phone call. But this weekend Teizeen flew in for a visit that I think could technically be counted as our first sleep-over. To be honest, I was a little nervous. Three full days with someone whose life you’ve only kept up with through Facebook and email is a bit intimidating. But as it turned out I had no reason to be concerned. I still felt in the company of a kindred spirit.

We talked about Mrs. Monserat and dreading her tirades in geography class. We talked about sailing camp and O-levels and inter-house sports days. We talked about old friends, how so-and-so has had a baby, finished medical school, moved back home, or lost a ton of weight. And how little we’ve kept in touch with any of them.

We also talked about things we never really have before. About growing up in sectarian branches of our respective faiths and coming to resist petty things, like having an ethnic religious leader choose your baby’s name or worry that God is only pleased with non-instrumental worship. We talked about how we have grown to embrace deeper truths of our faith, things like love, justice, and community. We talked about our liberal politics and what it’s like to be a Muslim in a Christian nation. It turns out it’s a lot like being a Christian in a Muslim nation. Go figure. Convincing people you are not a terrorist is not so different from convincing people you are not an immoral war-monger. We talked about fasting, about the mysteries of holy scripture.

And when we finished talking about these things we talked about how many kids we hope to have, the adventure of in-laws, the joy of sisters, the blessing or marriage. About the Bampf Mountain Film festival and Paul Farmer and climbing Kilimanjaro. We talked like old friends.

I’m not really sure exactly why this friendship has lasted as long as it has when so many others are gathering rust in the recesses of my memory. The paths of our lives seem so far apart these days, and are full of so many other people and responsibilities and activities. It would be so easy to drift apart. But we haven’t and I’m grateful for that. And I think part of why we haven’t is because we both recognize that our friendship represents something bigger than just us. Underneath the shared memories of a little British school in Mombasa, which are precious, we share something else that is even more valuable. Something genuine that in the culture wars of our world today is worth hanging on to.

It was good to see Teizeen this weekend.