And Then Life Happens (36 page)

Suddenly, old friends, family members, and acquaintances with whom I had long ago lost touch resumed contact with me and wanted to make up for lost time. I was invited to all sorts of meetings and events. I declined most of the invitations and shunned the newly aroused interest in me. Only with difficulty could I accept the changed attitude toward me.

In defiance of the “onslaught” on me from all sides, I made a point of behaving as “normally” as possible toward everyone. In a way, that was an attempt to force the people around me to act no differently toward me than before. That led, however, to many people finding me somewhat peculiar, incapable of grasping the enormity and significance of the situation. A question that I heard again and again, even before the presidential election, was: “Don't you get it?” Most of the time, this was asked in a casual way, but sometimes it was tinged with a serious, somewhat unsettling undertone, which made clear to me that, as far as my conversation partners were concerned, I was not behaving in keeping with the situation. Usually I responded equally jokingly: “
What
am I supposed to get?” Most of the time, they would then laugh, roll their eyes, and reply with a slap on the forehead: “Your brother might become president of the United States of America!”

Ordinarily, I then declared that my brother had always been my brother above all else and that wouldn't change no matter what great things he went on to achieve. Ultimately, that was the most important thing to me. That fact would never change. And because that was true, I told myself, I didn't need to change either.

Now, I was not so naïve, however, to think that everything could remain the way it was. I knew I would not be able to hide forever and that it was only a matter of time before I had to deal with being in the public eye. I was, after all, Barack Obama's sister, whom the media liked to refer to as his “half-sister.” I find that term odd to this day, because in our polygamous Luo culture we never speak of “half” or “full” siblings, but only of brothers and sisters—unlike in the Western, “pseudo-monogamous” culture, where people are classified as full and half siblings, creating a hierarchy that does not actually exist in Luo culture.

*   *   *

In the year that followed Barack's decision to run, up to the day of the presidential election, I limited my communication with the media to conveying a somewhat better sense of what he meant to his family in Kenya. I explained, for example, that he had always been regarded as a son of the family, despite the distance and the fact that he first visited Africa only as an adult. It was understandable that people wanted to learn more about the Kenyan part of his background, in order to understand him better. So my grandmother and I, as well as other close family members, made ourselves available to the press to help tell Barack's “Kenyan story.”

After Barack won the election, I was virtually bombarded with interview requests, which I mostly turned down. The Kenyan story was now “out,” it was known, and I did not feel as if I had anything essential to add to it.

 

30.

“W
HAT DO YOU THINK
of Iowa?” the young journalist, who was visibly nervous, asked me.

Without thinking, I answered, “Very white!” I noticed how Iris, standing by my side, cringed. The journalist was diligently taking notes. I was in Iowa to take part in my brother's primary campaign.

“She doesn't mean it like that,” Iris said quickly. “But more…” She groped for words to rephrase my answer. For a second, I was confused, and then I understood.

“Oh, I meant the weather! All the snow everywhere…” I smiled at everyone. “It looks really pretty. But it is a lot of snow, isn't it?”

Iris heaved a sigh of relief. I felt like laughing. She hadn't really thought that I meant the people, had she? It was true that I hadn't seen many black people in Iowa, but it never would have crossed my mind to address the proportion of blacks and whites before a journalist. I would have liked to have added a joke, but the intense expression on the young woman's face and Iris's nervous looks shut me up. The matter was too serious; a headline like “Obama's Sister Finds Iowa Very White,” even if the statement had been made in the deepest winter, might have been immediately exploited by my brother's opponents.

*   *   *

When Barack decided to run for president, there was a hunger for a new beginning on the American political landscape. The Bush administration had embroiled the country in two wars and mired it in economic and foreign-policy problems. People wanted change, a fresh wind, and a new confidence in governance. They wanted someone who had not yet been compromised by the established Washington political scene. And my brother seemed to be that someone. I had always admired him for his tireless engagement on behalf of the disadvantaged. At our first encounter in Chicago, I had seen that clearly, in light of our conversations and his community work in the city's poor neighborhoods. Everything he said and did expressed the desire to improve the lives of his fellow human beings. He did not let anything divert him from his vision of a better world for everyone. When he stumbled on an obstacle or stood before a closed door, he tried to find another way to nonetheless overcome the hurdle or get through the barrier. He didn't study at Harvard in order to earn money later, but rather to attain the necessary tools to advocate successfully for the disadvantaged. Following that logic, my brother finally had to take on the challenge of doing the improbable and going through the door that led to the presidency.

Previously, I had not been particularly well acquainted with the political structures of the United States, and that had not really changed when my brother became a senator. Therefore, I now decided to give myself a crash course in American politics. Everything I would learn might also help me cope with the changes in my life. This included actively participating in the election campaign. I wanted to contribute to my brother's effort to achieve his goal.

I flew to the States in January 2008, and spent several weeks there as a campaigner in the primaries. I had taken Akinyi with me—Marvin would join us later—and she got to witness her uncle's victory in Iowa. I met many of my brother's supporters, not only in Iowa, but also in New Hampshire and South Carolina.

Taking part in the campaign was a special experience for me. For the first time, I encountered the diversity of America and got to learn what was important to Americans from all walks of life. The people's stories fascinated me. I met a Republican who, choked up with emotion, told me he had registered as a Democrat just so that he could vote for my brother. Then there was the family from Los Angeles who, along with the grandparents, had taken leave of their sunny California home in order to manage an Obama office in wintry Iowa. I admired their enthusiasm for the movement that my brother had launched. They had never been in Iowa before, and now they were knocking on strangers' doors in unknown towns in freezing temperatures. The two students I met at the Obama campaign office in Des Moines, the biggest city in Iowa, must have left their homes with the same enthusiasm. One of them was from Germany, the other from South Africa! Both of them had taken a one-year leave of absence in order to take part in the campaign.

“Why are you doing this? You can't even vote,” I asked in amazement.

“That doesn't matter,” replied the young German. “This election is too important for me to just stand by and watch what happens. The world urgently needs an Obama, and I want to make sure we get him.”

The South African nodded in agreement. “It's not just about the Americans. It's about all of us,” he remarked. “We can't leave anything to chance.”

I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was deeply impressed. These young people had put the American election in an entirely new perspective for me. The campaign was only just beginning, and already the whole world was participating in it. I felt as if I were part of a larger family, as if I were moving in a protected sphere in which we were all fighting for one and the same cause. None of us wanted to lose the primaries—that was obvious. We all knew and had faith that we would give our all so that Barack's “change” could become reality.

*   *   *

On January 20, 2009, my brother Barack became the forty-fourth president of the United States. Since his victory, a sentence had been going through my head again and again: “He did it!” And the best thing about it was that, when he walked through the door of the presidency, he left it wide open behind him.

His inauguration was indeed an event of a new, unprecedented magnitude. I was tremendously delighted for him and excitedly awaited the trip to the ceremonies and celebrations—not least of all because I would share the experience of the inauguration with our two families, the Kenyan one and the American one. It gave me the feeling that our deceased father would be there, too, in a way, and would witness his son being sworn in to the most powerful office in the world.

The fact that temperatures in Washington were freezing did not really bother any of us; we were much too excited for that. As family members, we were, of course, granted certain privileges. Thus we did not have to rely on public transportation, but had cars and drivers at our disposal. In the midst of over two million people, many road closures, and detours, that was a blessing. Our grandmother Sarah, now in the United States for the third time, accepted everything with impressive composure—not only the intense cold, but also the contact with the famous and powerful of America.

The five days of our visit in Washington, D.C., were filled with memorable encounters and events. It began with a concert at the Lincoln Memorial and ended with a service in the Washington National Cathedral. At the Lincoln Memorial, to celebrate the occasion, stars from Hollywood and the music world made their appearance—Stevie Wonder, Beyoncé, Mary J. Blige, Bono, Tom Hanks, Jamie Foxx, Denzel Washington, Usher, Queen Latifah, Samuel L. Jackson, and many others. Even Tiger Woods stepped up to the microphone and said a few words.

There was also a kids' concert—for Akinyi,
the
highlight. There, I revealed myself in her eyes as “soooo old-fashioned,” for I knew practically none of the performers. Smiling, I became aware of my age, especially in light of the volume of the music. Marvin and I repeatedly had to cover our ears, so that my daughter and the scores of children and teenagers in the arena—among them, of course, my nieces Malia and Sasha—did not deafen us with their screams.

The
real
highlight of the trip was, of course, the inauguration. We had all worked hard toward this event, and now it was here. When I woke up that morning, I promised myself that absolutely nothing would spoil this day for me. Not even the icy weather! And the day began well. The sun was shining, and the sky was bright blue. When we arrived at the capitol, thousands of people had already gathered. Behind the podium, where we family members got to sit, most of the guests were already taking their seats. I recognized Ted Kennedy, John Kerry, and other members of Congress. Behind us, somewhat farther up, sat Arnold Schwarzenegger, Earvin “Magic” Johnson, and others. Then the former presidents appeared with their wives: the Carters, the Clintons, the Bushes. Finally, I looked over to the podium, where my brother would in a few minutes take his oath of office. With Barack's inauguration, the swearing-in of a man who had, so to speak, appeared out of nowhere, the office of the American president became attainable even for the average American. With his “average family” behind the podium—including his sister Maya and her husband, Konrad, sitting next to me—the change, Barack's most important message, had basically already begun. We belonged there just as he did, for Barack was one of us. With that thought, I could relax and enjoy the day. All was as it should be.

When the celebrations were finally over, I flew with Akinyi and Marvin back to Kenya, content in the awareness that I had not lost a brother but had gained a president. A president who, due to the political and economic climate in the United States, would have to face many challenges in the subsequent months and beyond.

*   *   *

The excitement surrounding my brother's election has in the meantime abated. The actual work is underway, and it is truly not an easy task. And unfortunately, some have forgotten Barack's repeated reminder during the election: “It won't be easy. I'll need your help.”

From afar, I watch his progress and inwardly support my brother's political efforts. “Keep up the work, little brother,” I whisper to him whenever his image appears on television or his voice rings out on the radio. “You are making a difference.”

Tuesday, May 11, 2010.

I wait eagerly for Hillary Clinton's keynote speech in honor of CARE's 2010 National Conference and Celebration.

Afterward, we finally get a chance for a brief conversation. I'm glad to see Hillary again, in particular because I sense in those few minutes that she not only takes an interest in me, but also in my work.

*   *   *

In light of everything that has happened to me in the past years, I am aware that as an Obama I now have a real chance to make a difference. For me, a door has been opened, and I, too, want to open doors for others.

 

Epilogue

Several years have passed since my brother became the forty-fourth president of the United States. And in that time, a lot has happened. I have watched Barack achieve wonders in a job that is undeniably one of the most difficult in the world. Against all odds and with varied support he has managed, among other things, to pass a new national health care bill, add two women to the U.S. Supreme Court, and, most significantly, get his country through the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression. He has persevered tirelessly in his effort to improve the lives of his fellow countrymen and women, a task that he takes very seriously. To say that I am immensely proud of my brother would be an understatement.