Today I presented my children with the wood carvings I brought home for them encasing the phrase Hakuna Matata.  I tried to explain that the saying is an actual thing in Kenya, not just a cute song from the Lion King musical.  The lyrics from the song say, “it means no worries for the rest of our days ... it’s our problem-free philosophy.”  I believe that until experiencing Kenya firsthand, I had misinterpreted that explanation. 

Consider the inherent difficulties of the Kenyan lifestyle.  Nothing is as easy for them as it is for us in terms of logistics.  Most of them lack running water, flushing toilets, gas or even propane stoves, paved or even smooth roads, not to mention internet access, digital devices, medical care, and so on indefinitely.  So, I don’t believe the saying refers to the impossible situation of being able to live a life that is free of challenges.  Rather, I think it’s about adopting an attitude of choosing not to worry about inevitable difficulties but, instead, meeting them head-on, wrapping your hands around them, and managing them the best you can without begrudging or over-analyzing.  Then you let them go and move on in peace.  The part about being “problem-free” doesn’t mean the unreality of living a utopian existence.  It just means that one’s philosophy towards life can be that there are no “problems” per se, only challenges along the way that you either tackle or deflect without letting them become a disturbance to your peace of mind.

Our driver, Mbotte, whom we called our “road pilot”, was a perfect personification of this “problem-free philosophy.”  While maneuvering across outback paths so rocky and rutted they were hardly recognizable, someone would remark how bad the road was and Mbotte would respond, with his huge toothy smile and a chuckle, “Ahh, but this Jeep has great tires. Hakuna Matata!”  

On safari, after we had searched for a few hours to find some lions and reconciled that we had to give up for the night, Mbotte’s response was, “We didn’t see the lions but isn’t it wonderful that they are free! Hakuna Matata!”  

On several occasions, Mbotte had to make more than one trip to or from an event, transporting our entourage in sections because some were ready before others or because someone got sick and needed to return early. Ever cheerful, Mbotte just chirped, “Hakuna Matata”, which translates literally as “no trouble.”

Even when an opposing driver passed a truck coming our way in a perilously tight gap, putting all of us at tremendous risk, Mbotte averted our vehicle away from the oncoming danger and said, with no malice, “That man is just driving with his eyes shut.”  No further comment, criticism, or even cynicism.  Just move on.  Hakuna Matata.

Our hostess, Mwaka, oversaw more complexities during our week-long stay than anyone understood.  I know from experience what happens to the wife of the man in charge of a week-long event, so I watched in admiration as Mwaka juggled more moving tentacles than I could track.  Directing her staff of three younger women, she coordinated amazing dinners each night that offered multiple dishes to an ever-changing audience of anywhere from a dozen to three dozen guests.  She directed housekeeping services for her guests’ quarters.  She accommodated different groups of local visitors for separate meetings and meals at her home.  She unbegrudgingly provides space and often food for unscheduled callers for her husband or the American guests.  She somehow kept her own three children on their school schedule and playing quiet games while meetings were going on at their home.  She unhesitatingly included an additional preschooler or two while their fathers participated in the meetings.  She orchestrated all of this in perfect calmness, in a Hakuna Matata kind of way, just getting it done without fanfare or drama. 

I especially noticed her remarkably worry-free approach with her youngest son, Vitalis.  An irresistible condensed ball of energy just shy of two years old, Vitalis was unabashedly tapping into the “terrible” stage.  Vitalis hated to go to bed at night.  No matter how late.  And within the compound that makes up their home and the guest quarters, there was nowhere for Mwaka to hide her son’s tantrums.  But the composed mother didn't stress.  "It is what it is” - she felt no need to apologize.  She didn’t get uptight about everyone being witness to Vitalis’ struggles.  A couple of times when the air grew still, I chanced upon Mwaka either sitting on her front porch or in the corner of the living room couch, rocking her tired boy in her lap and singing low soft lullabies that would have tranquilized any creature on the savannah.  So calm.  So matter-of-fact.  So Hakuna Matata. 

At our final dinner, Mwaka announced that she and her three helpers had a special send-off song for the guests.  Once everyone had passed through the service line to load their plates, she and the women beside her set down their serving utensils, took a step back from the food table, and began a gentle rhythmic song whose verses I could not understand but whose chorus chanted a clear repetition: 

• Hakuna Matata - the women’s glowing faces beamed beneath cheerfully wrapped hair and above colorful kangas.

• Hakuna Matata - the women swayed easily, free of any rehearsed precision, yet moving together like separate leaves bobbing on the same rolling wave. 

• Hakuna Matata - Vitalis slipped in between his mother and his aunt and couldn’t help but became part of their swaying motion.  He was mesmerized and soothed, just like the rest of us.

• Hakuna Matata:  Life may not be easy, but it can be with “no worries” if you adopt the Kenyans’ “problem-free philosophy” of simply trusting in God, no matter what name you attach to Divinity.