Gratitude is the most profound and powerful emotion. I’ll tell you a story that changed my life.
Perhaps ten years ago, I was living in DC and going to law school at Georgetown. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I was enrolled in law school. But I was poor, worked most of the time and barely went to class. My second year, I got involved in the law school’s asylum clinic. I needed to track down a DC-based Cameroonian ex-pat who could testify in my client’s case. So in order to find this guy, I spent some time going to random African restaurants and talking to random people (including lots of refugees).
At one point, somebody referred me to an Eritrean ex-pat who apparently had a bunch of contacts, including contacts in the DC Cameroonian community. I secured a meeting with this gentleman at a Starbucks.
I walked into the Starbucks on Pennsylvania Avenue. I saw a tall, dark-skinned young man probably in his mid-20’s sitting at a table near the front. He had on a button up shirt and khakis. When I looked in his direction, his face lit up and he smiled at me. He said, “Mr. Jonathan?” He seemed happy to see me. And that struck me as interesting. After all, he wasn’t applying for asylum. He had won asylum a few years back.
This happened ten years ago, so I don’t remember everything. But I believe the man went by Samuel. I can’t remember if that was his adopted or given name. I explained to him about the case we were working on. How we were law students and volunteers. How we were trying to find this ex-pat Cameroonian rebel leader. And without any prodding, Samuel offered to help in any way he could. I didn’t want to pry or dig up the past. You never know what’s buried there. But I asked him how long he had been here. Three years he said. Then I asked him how he was doing, if things were going ok for him here.
What this man said next has stuck with me for ten years and will never leave me. He began, “Mr. Jonathan, my life here is better than I could have ever dreamed. Do you want to know how I came here?” I said, “Yes, if you feel comfortable telling me.” Samuel told me the story. He had been in Eritrea. One day, when he was fifteen years old, soldiers came to his house. As a boy, Samuel was always tall for his age. And although thin, he was strong. His mother and father pleaded with the soldiers. They said that Samuel was just a boy. But their pleas fell on deaf ears. The soldiers took him. He had been conscripted into the army to fight against Ethiopia.
He was taken away from his home village and forced to march many miles away to a training camp. There, Samuel and thousands of other boys were trained in combat and often beaten and starved. His training lasted several months. He does not recall exactly how long he was there. Eventually, he was sent to the war. Miraculously, Samuel survived nearly two years of combat against Ethiopia, including battles where the youngest boys were placed on the front lines. Although the war had ended, the army would not let him go.
He was forced to remain in Eritrea’s military. Sometimes, his job was to perform manual labor for the government. He went through many ordeals. At one point, in his quest for solace, he obtained a bible. But when caught reading it, was beaten and then jailed for weeks.
At some point, he found himself not far from his home village. It had been years since he had seen his family. Late one night, with little more than the clothing on his back, he escaped. He walked away into the pitch black darkness. He walked nearly twenty miles back to his home village. Upon arriving there in the early morning, he came to learn that his entire family was gone, some of them dead. His brothers and sisters, too, had been conscripted. One solider took a particular liking to his youngest sister, who was then no more than 12 or 13. Samuel’s father had begged them not to hurt the girl. Somehow, the situation escalated into a skirmish. One of the soldiers shot his father. He had bled to death. Some folks in the village had heard that at least one of his brothers had died in the war. His other siblings were in the military, but nobody had heard from them in more than a year. Nobody knew what had happened to his mother.
Samuel spent a day in his home village talking to people and hoping to learn something more about his family’s fate. But then, he received word that soldiers were headed toward the village. He would be forced back into the service, beaten, tortured and possibly killed. He fled.
I didn’t understand all of the details of his journey. Somehow, he got to Libya. Then he paid a smuggler to take him by boat from Libya to Italy. Miraculously, he survived this journey. Eventually he made it to Paris. And with the help of a refugee aid group, he few from Paris to DC. Upon landing at Reagan National, he went to immigration and begged them for asylum. They referred him to a lawyer. After less than a year, he had won his case.
Samuel, intelligent and hard-working, had dived into studying English and building a new life for himself in DC. He attended English classes five nights a week. He went to Meet-Up groups for people learning English. After two years of this, he was already conversing easily. He got a job at a restaurant. He got involved in the DC community of Eritrean ex-pats and the African ex-pat community more broadly. And one day, the most amazing thing happened. He was having lunch one day with some friends. A man approached him and said he looked familiar. As it turned out, the man was from his home village. The man had known Samuel’s family and remembered him from when he was a boy. The man says that Samuel’s cousin has also made it here, to DC.
Samuel was overjoyed. He worked through multiple connections in the local Eritrean community to find not only that his cousin had recently arrived, but that his cousin was not alone. An uncle had made it, too. After a few day, Samuel was reunited with both of them.
Samuel was one of the most genuinely happy people I ever met. He said that he had a new chance at life. He had a job. He planned to attend college and possibly medical school. And he was beyond grateful for the family he still had. He said, “I have family. I thought I had lost everyone. But now, I find my cousin. And now I have family here.” As Samuel saw it, for all that he had lost, all the tragedy and sorrow he had endured, he was still grateful for what he had. And in his mind, he had so much.
Samuel gave me some possible Cameroonian contacts. I thanked him profusely. And then I went home to the house near Logan Circle where I rented a room. I remember riding the Metro in a sort of daze. I couldn’t stop thinking about this young man’s ordeal. I sat in my room for probably an hour, until it got dark. I just sat there thinking about my life. I was running out of money. I’d be broke before the summer hit and my truck would probably get repossessed (it did). But my problems paled in comparison to real problems. Everything was relative. And in the vast scheme of things, I have lived a charmed life.
I am struck by how often people in our society complain. I am struck by how miserable so many people are. I am struck by an overwhelming lack of gratitude. I am struck by a growing trend toward aggressive fragility and constant outrage. I am struck by how many people who have lived blessed, charmed lives are simply too foolish to realize it and appreciate it. Before you complain about your struggles, perhaps you should consider your good fortunes and count your blessings. The odds are that your life has been better than you think.
Pollard Media 