I first saw him about two years ago while I was walking down the corner from where I live; a young man in his twenties. He was looking up at a banana tree where a small ball with a string attached to it was hanging. It was obvious at first glance that he was different; from the way that his mouth was twisted in a wet grin and the hand seemed to hang half-heartedly on his side. I concluded that he was one of those people that we call “mentally retarded”. On that day, I quietly went past him without much thought, and left him behind in his serious contemplation on how to get the ball from up the tree.

I saw him again about a month ago. On that day, he was running behind a huge truck in high excitement. The lorry was traveling slowly on the bumpy road and he did not have much trouble keeping up. As the lorry passed by in a cloud of dry February dust, the young man jogged behind it, pointing it out to me and shouting “kilori!” – meaning – “big lorry!” Since that day, I have come to learn that he really likes lorries since I have seen him hanging around a neighborhood yard where lorries are parked – just waiting for one to move so that he can run after it.

The day before yesterday, I was walking around the corner from where I live and came across him. It was the same place where I saw him for the first time. This time, he was just standing as if confused by a decision of where to go next. When he saw me, he shouted “Mambo!” – meaning “What’s up!” That word was uttered with the difficulty of a heavy tongue that people with such a condition endure, and yet there is only one “normal” person that I know who says “Mambo!” with as much enthusiastic sincerity as the young man. And as I said Hi to him, he extended his arm for a handshake. When I extended mine, he grabbed it with an oversized palm and covered it with his second palm in a ‘power handshake’ that many seasoned politicians would envy. And then, he held on to my hand briefly and started walking in the direction where I was going. He walked with me for about 20 meters and in that time, we had a little conversation. He can only manage one word at a time and when I asked him his name, he said “Annan”. When I asked him where he lived, he pointed towards the direction we were walking from. When I mentioned the word “lorry”, he became animated and started uttering words such as “big lorry” and “road” and “town”. By then we met another person and he once again offered a warm, “Mambo!” to the man. The man responded warmly to him, and it seemed like they knew each other well, and I left them together.

It was simplicity that the young man reminded me of. I vividly remember how much fun it used to be when I was a boy to run after a lorry on a dusty village trail. What is a lorry now? A noisy engine that disturbs my peace when I am on the cell phone and covers me in dust when I am hurrying along in my bright shirt? It was sincerity that the young man reminded me of. When did I last feel compelled to use a double handed handshake molded by the warmth of the heart? When did I say “Mambo!” to a total stranger without a second thought? It is such encounters that remind us that humanity is much more than what people look like and that the spirit cannot be suppressed by any human condition.