And Then Life Happens

by Auma Obama

  Iris heaved a sigh of relief. I felt like laughing. She hadn’t really thought that I meant the people, had she? It was true that I hadn’t seen many black people in Iowa, but it never would have crossed my mind to address the proportion of blacks and whites before a journalist. I would have liked to have added a joke, but the intense expression on the young woman’s face and Iris’s nervous looks shut me up. The matter was too serious; a headline like “Obama’s Sister Finds Iowa Very White,” even if the statement had been made in the deepest winter, might have been immediately exploited by my brother’s opponents.

  * * *

  When Barack decided to run for president, there was a hunger for a new beginning on the American political landscape. The Bush administration had embroiled the country in two wars and mired it in economic and foreign-policy problems. People wanted change, a fresh wind, and a new confidence in governance. They wanted someone who had not yet been compromised by the established Washington political scene. And my brother seemed to be that someone. I had always admired him for his tireless engagement on behalf of the disadvantaged. At our first encounter in Chicago, I had seen that clearly, in light of our conversations and his community work in the city’s poor neighborhoods. Everything he said and did expressed the desire to improve the lives of his fellow human beings. He did not let anything divert him from his vision of a better world for everyone. When he stumbled on an obstacle or stood before a closed door, he tried to find another way to nonetheless overcome the hurdle or get through the barrier. He didn’t study at Harvard in order to earn money later, but rather to attain the necessary tools to advocate successfully for the disadvantaged. Following that logic, my brother finally had to take on the challenge of doing the improbable and going through the door that led to the presidency.

  Previously, I had not been particularly well acquainted with the political structures of the United States, and that had not really changed when my brother became a senator. Therefore, I now decided to give myself a crash course in American politics. Everything I would learn might also help me cope with the changes in my life. This included actively participating in the election campaign. I wanted to contribute to my brother’s effort to achieve his goal.

  I flew to the States in January 2008, and spent several weeks there as a campaigner in the primaries. I had taken Akinyi with me—Marvin would join us later—and she got to witness her uncle’s victory in Iowa. I met many of my brother’s supporters, not only in Iowa, but also in New Hampshire and South Carolina.

  Taking part in the campaign was a special experience for me. For the first time, I encountered the diversity of America and got to learn what was important to Americans from all walks of life. The people’s stories fascinated me. I met a Republican who, choked up with emotion, told me he had registered as a Democrat just so that he could vote for my brother. Then there was the family from Los Angeles who, along with the grandparents, had taken leave of their sunny California home in order to manage an Obama office in wintry Iowa. I admired their enthusiasm for the movement that my brother had launched. They had never been in Iowa before, and now they were knocking on strangers’ doors in unknown towns in freezing temperatures. The two students I met at the Obama campaign office in Des Moines, the biggest city in Iowa, must have left their homes with the same enthusiasm. One of them was from Germany, the other from South Africa! Both of them had taken a one-year leave of absence in order to take part in the campaign.

  “Why are you doing this? You can’t even vote,” I asked in amazement.

  “That doesn’t matter,” replied the young German. “This election is too important for me to just stand by and watch what happens. The world urgently needs an Obama, and I want to make sure we get him.”

  The South African nodded in agreement. “It’s not just about the Americans. It’s about all of us,” he remarked. “We can’t leave anything to chance.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I was deeply impressed. These young people had put the American election in an entirely new perspective for me. The campaign was only just beginning, and already the whole world was participating in it. I felt as if I were part of a larger family, as if I were moving in a protected sphere in which we were all fighting for one and the same cause. None of us wanted to lose the primaries—that was obvious. We all knew and had faith that we would give our all so that Barack’s “change” could become reality.

  * * *

  On January 20, 2009, my brother Barack became the forty-fourth president of the United States. Since his victory, a sentence had been going through my head again and again: “He did it!” And the best thing about it was that, when he walked through the door of the presidency, he left it wide open behind him.

  His inauguration was indeed an event of a new, unprecedented magnitude. I was tremendously delighted for him and excitedly awaited the trip to the ceremonies and celebrations—not least of all because I would share the experience of the inauguration with our two families, the Kenyan one and the American one. It gave me the feeling that our deceased father would be there, too, in a way, and would witness his son being sworn in to the most powerful office in the world.

  The fact that temperatures in Washington were freezing did not really bother any of us; we were much too excited for that. As family members, we were, of course, granted certain privileges. Thus we did not have to rely on public transportation, but had cars and drivers at our disposal. In the midst of over two million people, many road closures, and detours, that was a blessing. Our grandmother Sarah, now in the United States for the third time, accepted everything with impressive composure—not only the intense cold, but also the contact with the famous and powerful of America.

  The five days of our visit in Washington, D.C., were filled with memorable encounters and events. It began with a concert at the Lincoln Memorial and ended with a service in the Washington National Cathedral. At the Lincoln Memorial, to celebrate the occasion, stars from Hollywood and the music world made their appearance—Stevie Wonder, Beyoncé, Mary J. Blige, Bono, Tom Hanks, Jamie Foxx, Denzel Washington, Usher, Queen Latifah, Samuel L. Jackson, and many others. Even Tiger Woods stepped up to the microphone and said a few words.

  There was also a kids’ concert—for Akinyi, the highlight. There, I revealed myself in her eyes as “soooo old-fashioned,” for I knew practically none of the performers. Smiling, I became aware of my age, especially in light of the volume of the music. Marvin and I repeatedly had to cover our ears, so that my daughter and the scores of children and teenagers in the arena—among them, of course, my nieces Malia and Sasha—did not deafen us with their screams.

  The real highlight of the trip was, of course, the inauguration. We had all worked hard toward this event, and now it was here. When I woke up that morning, I promised myself that absolutely nothing would spoil this day for me. Not even the icy weather! And the day began well. The sun was shining, and the sky was bright blue. When we arrived at the capitol, thousands of people had already gathered. Behind the podium, where we family members got to sit, most of the guests were already taking their seats. I recognized Ted Kennedy, John Kerry, and other members of Congress. Behind us, somewhat farther up, sat Arnold Schwarzenegger, Earvin “Magic” Johnson, and others. Then the former presidents appeared with their wives: the Carters, the Clintons, the Bushes. Finally, I looked over to the podium, where my brother would in a few minutes take his oath of office. With Barack’s inauguration, the swearing-in of a man who had, so to speak, appeared out of nowhere, the office of the American president became attainable even for the average American. With his “average family” behind the podium—including his sister Maya and her husband, Konrad, sitting next to me—the change, Barack’s most important message, had basically already begun. We belonged there just as he did, for Barack was one of us. With that thought, I could relax and enjoy the day. All was as it should be.

  When the celebrations were finally over, I flew with Akinyi and Marvin back to Kenya, content in t
he awareness that I had not lost a brother but had gained a president. A president who, due to the political and economic climate in the United States, would have to face many challenges in the subsequent months and beyond.

  * * *

  The excitement surrounding my brother’s election has in the meantime abated. The actual work is underway, and it is truly not an easy task. And unfortunately, some have forgotten Barack’s repeated reminder during the election: “It won’t be easy. I’ll need your help.”

  From afar, I watch his progress and inwardly support my brother’s political efforts. “Keep up the work, little brother,” I whisper to him whenever his image appears on television or his voice rings out on the radio. “You are making a difference.”

  Tuesday, May 11, 2010.

  I wait eagerly for Hillary Clinton’s keynote speech in honor of CARE’s 2010 National Conference and Celebration.

  Afterward, we finally get a chance for a brief conversation. I’m glad to see Hillary again, in particular because I sense in those few minutes that she not only takes an interest in me, but also in my work.

  * * *

  In light of everything that has happened to me in the past years, I am aware that as an Obama I now have a real chance to make a difference. For me, a door has been opened, and I, too, want to open doors for others.

  Epilogue

  Several years have passed since my brother became the forty-fourth president of the United States. And in that time, a lot has happened. I have watched Barack achieve wonders in a job that is undeniably one of the most difficult in the world. Against all odds and with varied support he has managed, among other things, to pass a new national health care bill, add two women to the U.S. Supreme Court, and, most significantly, get his country through the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression. He has persevered tirelessly in his effort to improve the lives of his fellow countrymen and women, a task that he takes very seriously. To say that I am immensely proud of my brother would be an understatement.

  Across the Atlantic, the rest of the Obama family, including myself, has seen itself projected into the limelight. The world continues to be curious about Obama’s roots. And our grandmother, Mama Sarah, has a steady stream of visitors from all corners of the world, who come in pilgrimage to our ancestral home in Alego, Siaya, not far from the shores of Lake Victoria, where she resides. They all want to see the birthplace of Barack Obama Sr., and despite all attempts to correct this misconception by explaining that although he is buried in Alego, he was actually born in Karachuonyo, on the other side of Lake Victoria, the visitors keep coming.

  Over the past three years, I have watched in fascination as our homestead went from being a typically sleepy rural setting to a gated secure compound with running water and electricity. The pride in having a son of Kenya gain such high office spurred on well-wishers and family members, who had previously not taken particular interest in the Obama homestead (locally known as the Onyango Hussein homestead, after my grandfather), to push for an “upgrade” of the place. As Kenyans saw it, this was, after all, technically speaking, the home of one of America’s current First Grandmothers.

  As is in her nature, Mama Sarah has taken in stride all the changes in her life since Barack announced his candidacy in 2007, and in particular the interest in her personally. She remains unflustered. Her composure is reassuring because I know that should all the attention disappear, she would be just as happy to revert to her old way of life. At the age of eighty-nine, she is content with her lot.

  As for me, the exposure I receive continues to allow me to touch the lives of countless children and young people. I have met wonderful people in high and low places, all of whom have enriched my life immensely. Every day, I am reminded of how blessed I am. Again and again the respect and love afforded my brother rub off on me. I have stopped trying to explain that I do not warrant this, that I have to earn it by my own merit. It is all to no avail. Everywhere I am welcomed with open arms and red carpet treatment. This is an added motivation for me to commit more fully to making a positive impact on the lives of the disadvantaged children and young people with whom I work.

  As for the content of my book, quite a lot has happened since it was first published. Kenya has truly once again become home to me and has provided me the space and calm that have allowed me to establish a presence within the nonprofit arena. Beyond my work with CARE, I have forged links to exceptional grassroots organizations doing extraordinary Sport for Development work in East Africa, Bangladesh, Egypt, Brazil, South Africa, the United States, Germany, and the United Kingdom.

  On a personal level, I have learned that finding the love of your life does not necessarily guarantee that it will be your last love. It takes work and commitment to keep the flame burning. And as for family and my close friends, they continue to be there for the long haul, which is what really counts the most.

  I continue to be grateful for all good that comes my way, and I look forward to whatever else may be in store for me. I plan and map out my future, fully aware, however, that whatever I do, I must factor in the inevitable; no matter what, life happens.

  Acknowledgments

  My deepest gratitude goes to Maria Hoffmann-Dartevelle, friend and fellow linguist, who through her literary and linguistic advice and collaboration helped me put together the original German version of this book. She was tireless in her commitment to helping me get my story right in her native language of German. Danke, Maria!

  A special thank you also goes to Elke Geisler, Thomas Schindelbeck, Barbara Sabbarth, and Trixi Mugishagwe, who all were instrumental in the production of the German book. The stories that have here been retold in English would have not been possible without them. Thank you for reading, rereading, and again reading my manuscript. A thank you, too, to Phoebe Asiyo and Paul Agali Otula, Oloo Aringo, and others not mentioned here for their patience in explaining and giving me insight into the life of my late father, Barack Obama. You are too many to all be named, but know that I dearly appreciate having been given your time and attention.

  And to my agent, Anoukh Foerg, a special thank you, for always being there for me, above and beyond duty, even when the question at hand did not necessary directly have anything to do with the book. You truly understand that there is more to being an agent than ensuring contracts are signed. Danke!

  Similarly, I want to thank Daniela Rapp, my editor, Ross Benjamin, my translator, the staff at St. Martin’s Press, and not least Jane Starr, who took the time to accompany me to meetings with publishers in the United States. Thank you all for taking a chance on me and committing to helping me bring this book to fruition. As I stated at my first meeting at the St. Martin’s Press offices in New York, I felt already then that I was in good hands. That feeling at no time abated, and I am grateful to you all and in particular to you, Daniela and Ross, for patiently working with me on the manuscript and remaining calm and focused while I tried to juggle work, travel, family, and writing. Know that I truly appreciate this and thank you both sincerely.

  Also for being there I thank my family, without whom this book would never have happened. In particular, my grandmother Mama Sarah and my aunties Zeituni and Marsat deserve special mention for never tiring in answering all my many questions about the family, even when, in the case of my grandmother, this questioning started long before I had reached the age of ten. The information they supplied me over the years made writing this book a lot easier for me.

  And to my brother Barack, without whom any such interest in a book by Auma probably never would have materialized, I owe a special thank you. I am so proud to call you my brother, Barack!

  And last but not least, I want to thank my daughter, Akinyi, and Marvin, the man who, in the most unusual of ways, stole my heart. Both of them stood by me while I put all else aside to write this book. Their patience and love made it possible to do so. Thank you.

  Index

  The index that appeared in the print version of this title does not matc
h the pages in your e-book. Please use the search function on your e-reading device to search for terms of interest. For your reference, the terms that appear in the print index are listed below.

  African Americans

  in Chicago

  Flint’s work with

  Obama’s brother and

  in U.S. Senate

  Africans, Africa

  colonial past of

  comparisons between children in Europe and

  dancing and

  education in

  Germany and

  Marvin’s employment and

  Obama’s brother and

  Obama’s father’s marriages and

  Obama’s filmmaking and

  Obama’s identity and

  poverty in

  racism and

  tropical heat in

  see also blacks

  African Screenwriters Workshop

  Afro-Ballet-Ensemble

  agriculture

  Alego Nyangoma Kogelo

  Obama’s ancestral home in

  Obama’s brother and

  Obama’s childhood and

  Obama’s father and

  Alfons “Ali” (friend)

  All That Glitters Is Not Gold

  Amin, Idi

  Amsterdam

  Andrea (coworker)

  Aoko, Agnes (aunt)

  Aoko, Jane “Aunty Jane” (aunt)

  brother-in-law’s death and

  death feared by

  niece and boyfriend’s stay with

  niece’s daughter’s birth and

  Barbara (friend)

  Bavaria

  Bayreuth

  Bayreuth, University of

  BBC News

  Berlin:

  fall of wall in

  Obama’s filmmaking and

  Obama’s life in

  and Obama’s life in Britain

  Obama’s mother’s trip to

  Black, Cilla

  blacks: