Stories

It was my last day in Belfast.  All of my teaching projects had been completed.  My work was done and I was preparing for a redeye home.  

I had one day left.  

My plan was to make a final site visit to a partnering organization, wander aimlessly for a few hours, and pretend that I would be able to get some sleep before my 2:30 am ride to the airport.  

I met Syann at the bus stop for our final excursion.  Syann, by her own estimation, is multiple decades my senior, though we never actually discussed our ages.  With all of her belongings in two small bags, she was on a journey of her own, a journey that started several weeks before mine, and one that had yet to reach its final mile.

In pursuit of her second masters degree, she was on a six-week expedition to study the correlation of art-making and peace in Northern Ireland. Originally from Australia, though currently studying in Japan for two years, she exuded the type of fierce independence that resemble the women in my life, the ones that helped shape me as a person - the kind of woman that travels the world to study peace and art and culture with everything that she owns in two small backpacks, proud silver hair atop her head.

I want to be like Syann when I grow up.

We spent several days together as she shadowed our art classes, took copious notes, and interviewed anyone that would give her a few minutes of their time, but this would be our final day together.  She was headed to Derry.  I was headed to NYC.

Our final hours together would be spent with Glenn.

Glenn runs Alternatives, an organization designed to use restorative justice with criminal offenders.  

Syann and I spent several hours listening to Glenn tell stories.  

I was feeling anxious when we first arrived.  We had already taken the wrong bus two different times and we were more than 45 minutes late for our appointment.  

I still had to pack and arrange my taxi to the airport.  I was less than interested in a tour of the facility.  I had other things on my mind.  

But then, Glenn started talking.  Glenn started telling stories.

He told us about real people that had impacted his life, whom he clearly loved.  On more than one occasion he had to pause to collect himself through his tears.  

He was passionate, invested, empathetic, and he wore his heart on his sleeve.

I was captivated.  I wanted to hear more.  I wanted to hear as much as he would share.  

Not ironically, he shared that he learned that stories are the most powerful tool for communication, that stories impact people far more than data or statistics.  

I would have missed my flight to listen to more.

Glenn was a good way to spend my final day in Northern Ireland.

As I made my way from the city center back to my home, I found myself reflecting on my time in Northern Ireland. I found myself thinking about Glenn and Syann, then about Darren. 

Darren, the executive director of Beyond Skin, was the reason I came to NI. He made all of my arrangements, found me a place to stay, organized my events, and took me on a cultural tour of Belfast.   He treated me like family, though we had only just met. 

Tessa came to my mind, as well. She ran all of the healing therapy sessions that preceded my art classes for the week. I learned a great deal from Tessa over the course of a few days, not only about the power of sound and its role in healing, but about her own story. 

Northern Ireland brought a plethora of beauty into my world in the form of human stories.  As I reflected on these people, I began to recall the stories that I had been impacted by in my previous trips. 

I have never gone anywhere that hasn’t left an impression on my life in the form of relationship and connection - from the month that I shared with Ben and his family in a mud hut in Kenya, to breaking Ramadan with Anwar in the Negev, to watching Denny and Crystal organize the only educational classes that the kids in the Bateyes would ever go to, to the young refugees from Afghanistan that struggled to find their place in Holland, to the hospitality extended to my niece and me when we lived with Bilikis in Nigeria. 

These faces impacted my life and left an impression on my heart. There isn’t a day that I don’t reflect on the Glenns and Syanns that have inevitably become part of who I am. 

I may never see their faces again. Our paths may only have crossed for a period, one chapter of each other’s stories, but we are forever connected in that shared journey. 

They are a part of my story. I am a part of theirs. 

I am a part of my student’s stories. They are a part of mine. 

The same is true for my colleagues, my friends, my family, everyone that I have ever known, ever interacted with, ever loved, ever not loved, or even interacted with on the internet.

We're all connected.  

We're all a part of each other's stories.  

I'm grateful for the faces that have become part of mine.