My name is Ken

A seller at the Maasai Market today asked me whether I was a journalist (no) I answered that I was just cause I deeply want to be one.

He told me he wants his story out in print and on the radio. He told me how he works hard to create all his art work and how long it takes. He pointed out all his art work that lay on the ground and urged I purchase some of it. He said I should write about more people and that he would introduce me to more people to write about. He said its never too late for me to follow my dreams. My heart grew bigger and bigger with each word of his encouragement. I told him I’d take a picture of him and his art work. I took a picture of his helper, brother or partner, I’m not sure which. Then he told me I should accompany him to where he is from and kept getting hold of my hand and shoulder each time my attention was diverted and that’s when paranoia kicked in. Pervert, rapist, murderer rushed through my mind all at once. I know he must have been a genuine person trying to get help from a journalist but I got really nervous, particularly cause I’m reading a book on sexual abuse. My paranoia grew when he came closer to me and said I should come see him next Friday so that we can go on that trip.

Even though I was nervous and so goddamn paranoid, the experience was pretty good. I’ve always longed to meet people and take pictures of them and then write about them. I’m also a strong believer of ‘everyone you meet teaches you something’. I later realized he is just a single person in a tiny area of a pretty medium sized City, that’s in a pretty average sized Country, that’s in quite a big Continent, that’s part of a really huge Earth!

I have this strong desire to travel the world. I want to be a traveler.  I want to be a journalist. 

[This occurred four months ago, in Nairobi, Kenya. After this day, I was absolutely certain that I wanted to pursue my dreams and ambitions of being a journalist and world traveler. This is taken from my Tumblr page.]

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