Oh, Kenya, yay. I breathe a sigh of contentment and relief as we land, yet dreading the waiting time it will take to get through customs and to my dad and Aidan. Fortunately, I've forgotten that, flying business class, I'm one of the first ones off the plane, and therefore, one of the first to the passport and visa booths. My luggage, serendipitously, also happens to be one of the first on the carousel, so I'm through customs in no time.
I go through to the waiting area, and there they are. My brother is the best thing I've seen in I don't know how long, but he's so excited I can only hug him briefly before he giggles and pulls away. We're a sight, he and I…shyly glancing at each other, and grinning wide. I stick my tongue out and poke him in the ribs, and he ducks his head, does a little hop, and laughs a little boy laugh that warms my heart. I'm talking to Dad and feel a little hand take a hold of mine. I squeeze, and he squeezes back and giggles again. Dad says that, after watching all these black women walking into the arrival area before me, Aidan asked if I was white. Hilarious, but also an indication of his mental state.
Aidan was born premature, like me, and only one ounce heavier than I was, at 4 lbs, 2 ounces. Like me, he was born with a severely lazy left eye. Like me, there was speculation that he would also be born with some disabilities. My original diagnosis of hydrocephalus and potential retardation was retracted by doctors, though the former was actually correct, and rediscovered at 25. Unlike me, however, there is some truth to the assessment that Aidan's mental and physical development would be stunted. He has been diagnosed with an extremely rare genetic disorder called Dubowitz Syndrome. There are only two hundred cases worldwide, and the symptoms and side effects are so numerous that they're overwhelming. According to doctors, he seems to be on the milder end of the scale, and before coming to Kenya, I was under the impression that at seven, mentally, he's closer to five or six. In reality, he's more like three or four. He doesn't quite understand what a sister means, other than that I'm family, and as a result, I could be blue for all he knows. He tells Dad later that he's glad I'm white like him.
Aidan's still using a car seat, both for safety, but also because he's small for his age, and can't see as much through the car window otherwise. Halfway through the trip home, I lay my head on Aidan's shoulder and put my hand on his knee. He puts one hand over mine, and with the other, he strokes my cheek. He's such a Cancer. This is more and more evident as the trip goes on. He starts talking a little here and there, and it takes me a minute to understand him; I forgot he sounds just like a little Kenyan. He hands me his water bottle and asks me to drive with him, says the bottle is my gear shift. We 'brrrr' and 'putputbrrrr' for the rest of the ride home.
First thing he says when we get my luggage into the house is "What you got faw me?" This reminds me of the numerous trips my parents would return from, and while I was happy to see them come home, it was always torture waiting for them to pull out whatever gifts they'd gotten me on their travels. I take great pleasure in pulling out toys, clothes, and movies for Aidan. Like a typical youngster, he tries on a couple of things, plays a bit, and quickly bores of everything. But that's okay; it's bedtime anyway. Dad has a song that he used to sing to me when I was little, and it is now the only song he sings to Aidan to put him to sleep. I still remember it, so we sit in Aidan's room and sing it to him together. Aidan and I hold hands the whole time. After a while, I stop singing, because my contribution is keeping him distracted and awake, and shortly thereafter, he falls asleep. He has a cold, so he snores. It's so damn cute I can barely contain myself. I go to bed a very happy woman.
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