One hot afternoon in the heart of a beautiful equatorial country Kenya, I was strolling around the Nairobi’s Maasai Market admiring the handicrafts. I usually love markets, interacting, and bargaining. But this place made me a little nervous as I don’t speak the native language Swahili. I slowly started engaging myself examining the fabrics and asking the cost in shillings. Soon, my modest smiles were reciprocated with bright greetings. That gave me confidence to take a bold step and call the sellers Maama and Baaba. The interaction paced up and bargaining was in full swing. I usually bargain to the full potential, pay the agreed price, and then ask the sellers how much profit they truly made by this trade. Once you pay, you are bound to get genuine answers. Listening to their stories, I pay extra to increase their profit. I stuck to the same technique here. After intense rounds of negotiations with broken lingo and tough mutual understandings, I bought the pieces I loved for agreed prices. When I paid them extra after knowing their real profits, they were confounded as to why I spent so much time negotiating. They filled up the next one hour with conversations, introductions around the market, and cultural exchange. When I was about to leave, a Baaba looked me in the eye, gently took my hand into both his hands and said, “You are a Strong Woman. I’m going to raise my daughter like you”. Tears welled up in my eyes. I looked nothing like this man. We didn’t even speak the same native language. But there was a common emotion and bond we were connected with. That very moment, I knew this world was one large family. Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam.
Every time I look at these artifacts made by that Baaba from the market, my heart warms up to his words. As I sit and witness a world today filled with hatred and discrimination, I wanted to share this anecdote of love that leaps beyond nations, language, skin colour, and all known and unknown human-made boundaries.
Vineesha Badabhagni 
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