The Gift I Share With You; As a Mzee*.

I've only met a handful of elders (Mzee) who seem completely at rest in themselves. When a true Mzee walks into a room, she has no need to become the centre of it. Instead, she has a quiet way of drawing other people into the light she carries. She may have been successful in her career, but success isn’t what radiates from her.

I was in the city of Karen, on the outskirts of Nairobi. Another white guy, attempting business in Kenya, seeking someone that would be my business partner. Those around me knew I was anxious, muttering about it all being a waste of time and money.

But remarkably, maybe miraculously, my third return trip, I found a Mzee. Jacob Katah was a retired tea manager, who innately knew how to radiate wisdom.

Two years later, after a late evening meal of chapatis and chicken, Jacob and I watched “the young men” talk and work together.

Jacob’s ancestral family farmhouse had been repurposed as a small R&D “tea kitchen”. The young men, his son Boaz and my son Paul, worked through the night, experimenting with new ways to roll and dry Kenyan teas for Canada.

Light from the small homestead was like a beacon in the night sky as Jacob and I sat on white plastic chairs under an old olive tree. As we watched them from a distance, we spent hours in rich conversation, comparing our lives, our families and our purpose after a lifetime of working.

“Let’s begin writing a book, Grayson.” Through the darkness, I could just make out Jacob's encouraging smile.

”A book? About tea processing?” I asked.

“No, no. It’s about us. We’ll call it “A Family Journey of Tea””. Jacob’s voice was full of confidence, “We get to write the first chapter, right now.”

He paused and looked under the olive branches toward the lighted hut where our sons stooped over the tea withering table. "This is our chapter as Wzee*," he said quietly. "Not to write about tea processing, but about our lives, and how one white and one black Mzee can work together to build Kenya's best tea."

“So it’s a book about our sons’ work with tea?” I wasn’t certain what he was saying.

"No," Jacob had a throaty chuckle. "It's about the wisdom we're leaving our sons. They'll build on our lives.”

Then he pointed over to the light, “And Grayson, one day in the future, after we’re gone, all our wisdom will help our sons become Wzee, and they’ll write chapters to pass on to their children.”

Just trying to grasp this generational transition, I paused and said, “Oh, that’s a big dream!”

Jacob ended, talking about our grandkids, “Yes, Trevor and Cleo will then write their chapters too.”

I’ve seen evidence that when a society leans on their elders, it becomes wise. Would Jacob’s wisdom be sought out here in North America? I doubt it.

We've dispensed with “elders”, and welcomed “influencers”.

Jacob passed away a few years back. I really miss my dear friend. Jacob demonstrated how to live confidently from the internal peace he built. And in many of the discussions we had, he quietly demonstrated a wisdom I could hear and follow.

Instead of buying into the frenzy of accumulating information, I want my senior years to be a gift of listening and quiet sharing that I offer to you….as a Mzee.

*“Mzee”, which in Swahili means “wise old man”. “Wzee” is the plural form.

​
​

I would love to connect with you on LinkedIn and Facebook​

See you next week,

Grayson

Did someone forward you this email? Get weekly reflections straight to your inbox by subscribing to The Compassionate Competitor.

Want to share this issue via text, social media, or email? Just copy and paste this link:

[ARCHIVE URL GOES HERE]