Guardian Angels

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Bright afternoon sun was wondering through the open door and along the floor of our living room, to the simple but comfy blue couches Simon picked, on which out guests sat. It was a sweet, relaxing Sunday, and the conversation revolved around motherly love.

Suddenly, I heard Maggie sob on the chair to my right. To my question about what’s wrong, she just got up and went to her bedroom. I followed, sat on the edge of the bed with her and heard her say quietly, “I can’t believe you are leaving so soon.” A moment later I felt a lump in my throat and couldn’t stop the two huge tears from running down my cheeks. “Don’t cry, because you are making me cry,” she said, touching my shoulder.

Later that night, as we were saying toasts by the bonfire, it struck me. If I arrived to Kenya two days earlier, I most probably would have been placed with a different family. I could have been miserable by the end of my stay. And I can’t even imagine, I don’t want to imagine, not knowing Maggie and Simon, my kind, caring and understanding host mom and dad, my Kenyan guardian angels.

Who’d think that missing my flight would turn into a positive experience in the end. Everything happens for a reason, and beyond our immediate perception, a good one.

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