The Mission

You know how the airport routinely announces that baggage and personal items should not be left unattended? And unattended items found will be treated as suspicious? Well, I've never heard them say that after a 14-hour flight, be extra careful and make sure you don't mistakenly pick up a strangers bag as your own.

Based on what just happened, that needs to be a thing.

“Returning or visiting?” the airport Lyft driver asked. “Returning,” I said, "happy to be back on American soil." My time studying abroad had finally come to an end and I could taste my mom’s home cooking through her text messages. Dinner would be ready when I arrived - fried chicken, candied yams, macaroni and cheese, and cornbread. If she has the purple Kool-aid with the lemons in it, sweet baby Jesus!

Thirsty, I reached into my backpack to grab some water. “What the heck?” I exclaimed. The driver looked in his rearview, “Something wrong?” he asked. As I held stacks of twenty dollar bills in my hand instead of the water I planned to drink, I imagined the headlines: “Lyft Driver Robs Local College Boy – Driver Still At Large”. I didn’t know where the money had come from, or where my stuff went, but I had no interest in being the feature story on tonight’s local news.

“Yep, just realized I left something on the plane,” I said.

"It happens," the driver resumed, seeming satisfied.

In borderline delirium from the miracle I had just received or the trouble I had stumbled into, I counted the mystery money quietly for the rest of the ride.

“My baby!” mom cried as soon as I walked in the door. I hugged her and what seemed like the other 5,000 people she had invited. Some of these cousins I haven't seen in years. I wasn’t the first college student in the family, but I was the first to study overseas. For my small town family, it was a big deal.

After we ate, because money or no money I wasn’t missing that meal, I asked Calvin to meet me in my bedroom. Told him I wanted to show him things from my trip.

“Rob, just tell me you met a beautiful girl and that she has a sister for me!” he laughed. “Nah man” I replied, closing and locking the door behind us, “but I need t to show you something.” I felt the tremble in my voice as I said it.

“What’s wrong cousin?” Calvin asked. “This!” I exclaimed, emptying the contents of the book bag onto my bed. “It’s $20,000.”

“Wait a minute cuz. I ain’t down with whatever this is. Have you lost your mind? Your mom is gonna kill you! Matter of fact she’s gonna kill you, resurrect you then kill you again a different way!” Calvin’s breath was quick and a sweat bead suddenly appeared on his upper lip.

“No dude!” From what I can tell, it was a mix-up at the airport. I put my bookbag down for one second, one second, to grab my luggage off the carousel. Then I turned back around and grabbed my backpack, or what I thought was my backpack. That’s when I must have picked up somebody else’s bag by mistake!”

“Oh snap! You done stole from Jimmy Hoffa!” Calvin said worriedly as he began looking for an exit.

“Dude, Jimmy Hoffa is dead,” I said, not even sure he knew who Jimmy Hoffa was.

“Did he see you?” Calvin asked.

“Do who see me? Doing what, picking up my own bag? I don’t know. I was minding my own business Calvin, I swear!”

Calming down a bit, we sat on the bed. “So what are you going to do?” Calvin asked. “Do you think you’re safe?”

“Heck if I know. I mean, I don’t think I was followed by anybody’.”

"Well, did you find any ID to see who this belongs to?”

I shook my head no. Calvin started rummaging through the bag like he was looking for my freedom.

“Check this out,” he said, pulling out a little black notebook filled with handwritten notes. “Might want to read through this to see if you can find out who this money belongs to. But in the event you can’t, that $20,000 can go a long way towards helping your mom make ends meet. You've been living the dream overseas but back here in the states, ain’t no dreams here."

"I know right, this could be a miracle!" I reply. I needed to make sure I hadn’t gotten myself in the middle of some illegal situation. I had worked hard my whole life staying clear of illegal situations.

After the welcome homes and goodbyes were over I went to bed. But I needed to know what kind of person walks around with $20,000 and a journal in their backpack? I began reading the notebook. It was 9pm.

By 10am the next morning, I was done reading and on a mission. I didn't know who the money belonged to but I knew I had something to do.

I texted Calvin, “Get here by 2pm. I have a plan."

As soon as Calvin arrived I jumped right into it. "So whoever this bag belongs to has been saving his entire life to get back to Kenya."

"In his village, the girls have to walk hours every day, multiple times a day just to get water for the family. He wrote that some days they have to drink dirty water and because of that his youngest sister died of diarrhea." Pangs of conscience filled my belly, slowly moving up to my forehead.

"Dude, people actually die from that?” Calvin asked.

"Yeah, I looked it up. His mom cried every day for months. His sister had to quit school because the women have to take care of the family. So he saved the money to build them a well for fresh water in the village. His sister and the other girls would be able to go to school again!"

I knew at that moment I would never be able to spend a dime of that money on anything but the well.

Rubbing the back of his neck Calvin replied, “Ah geez. So what can you do? Turn the money in?”

“I’ve been up all night thinking about that," I said, "but it was his last sentence that really got to me. Read this!”

Finally, I have the money to dig the well. Everyone in the village has heard the news and hope is alive. Hope we weren't sure would come. It is an honor that I provide this for my family. God has made a way - clean water shall be in our village!

I figured the man must have been making his way home when the bags got exchanged, although I still wasn't sure how the bag left his sight. “I've got the name of the village and the person he was working with in Kenya to build the well. I can go to Kenya and take the money to him!"

“Wait! What?” Calvin erupted. “You mean to tell me you’re going to fly to Kenya, take this money to a man you don’t know in a village you’ve never seen, and say, 'Here! Go build a well?'”

“No...well, not exactly like that. I mean," pausing to take a breath, "well when you say it out loud... But I can’t just keep the money, Calvin!

“How would you even get $20,000 in cash there without being noticed?” Calvin asked.

“I got a plan! I saw a documentary once where the drug smugglers tape the money to their bodies to go undetected.” It was a flawed plan at best but we tried it.

Calvin grabbed as many Ziploc bags and duct tape rolls as he could find. "Ready for this?"

Fifty sandwich bags, two rolls of duct tape, and one hairless chest later, we realized smuggling was not our thing. “Get this torture tape off me, man!” I cried, making a mental note, shave before taping…I repeat BEFORE taping money to your chest.

Chest throbbing, sanity set in. “Well, I don’t want to state the obvious because clearly, you’ve thought this thing through," rolling his eyes Calvin continued, "but why can’t you, I dunno, keep it in the book bag and just walk on the plane like normal?” "Interesting concept," I thought.

I made the hotel reservations and booked a flight to Nairobi, Kenya. During the flight, I reassessed my plans. "Too late to turn back now," I thought. I’ll just be a normal tourist visiting humanitarian organizations. I'll look for this John Kibarabara, give him the money and come back home. Maybe do some sightseeing. It was a good plan, I hoped.

I was not prepared for the potential of there being multiple John Kibarabaras in Nairobi. "Americans!" the hotel receptionist laughed as I asked if she could help me find a man by that name. She agreed to ask around but made no promises.

I went to my room and fell asleep.

Thump thump thump. The knock at my door the next morning was startling. “Just a minute” I announced. then quickly hid my bag behind the bed pillows. “Yes?” I said peering between the door crack with the chain still engaged. My momma didn’t raise no fool. At least I hope she hadn't. The hotel receptionist said, "There was a note left for me about the man you are looking for, John Kibarabara.”

Suspicious of the convenience I reply, “Ok great, what did the note say?”

“One of the Americans staying here that does humanitarian aid knows him from a well digging job they did together. Thought it might be who you're looking for,” she replied.

This is way too easy. Sounds like a typical setup: "Gullible American Gets Robbed in His Own Hotel Room." details at 5pm. Nope, not I.

“Is that so?” I reply, "If you give me the address, I’ll find him myself."

"Suit yourself!" she said with a humph.

As the cab pulled up to the address, kids were running and playing soccer in the streets. Reminded me of home. An older gentleman stood outside coaching them as they played. Everyone seemed happy - not what I expected.

"Jambo!" the older man said greeting me.

“Uh, ha, hi!” I stammer. “I’m looking for Mr. John Kibarabara. Can you help me?”

“I cannot. How can you look for what you have already found?” letting out a laugh.

Confused, but then I caught on, “Are you Mr. Kibarabara?”

“I am he," he replied, "How may I help you today?”

“Can we talk inside please?” I said, motioning towards the door.

"To whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?" he asked.

"Rob, Rob Myers" I replied.

"What brings you so far to meet me Mr. Meyers?" he asked.

I told him the whole story. How I grabbed the wrong bag at the airport, filled with a man's life savings. I told him how I was trying to make it right since there was no identification in the bag. I said that the only way I knew to do that was to follow the plans that were written in the journal and bring the money here personally.

"Over the past 2 years," John began, "we have had the most unusual donations."

Confused, I replied, "How so?"

"Every so often," John said, "a young person, like yourself, shows up on our doorstep. The story is always similar. Some fateful exchange of a bag with thousands of dollars and a black notebook. I don't know how he does it, but he always picks the ones that are willing to go the extra mile."

Before I can even catch my breath in realization, he continued, "Come! Let me show you our village."