Yusuf Bajjo

My Dear Friend

I. Spring It was spring when we met. I knew who you were, of course. You were the teaching fellow for my political philosophy class, and the most brilliant woman I'd ever seen. Like a great sorceress, you had a way of transforming complex ideas into simple words. Like a great teacher, you asked provocative questions which gave space for many answers. It was a challenging class for a lecture hall of undergrads looking to fulfill a credit, but I saw how deeply you cared, and realized I cared deeply too. More than that, I was good at this class. While a collective sigh of despair went up when exams were handed out, I was having fun. My papers were filled with your exclamation marks and encouragement. Walking down the street that spring afternoon after our final exam, I saw you, and I wanted to tell you all of this.