Some time ago in Kenya, Mutua, a good brother yogi, who at that time used to work for me, invited me to his village. Since I had a few days holiday, we took this opportunity to go and meet his family and friends. We were four yogis going to Kibwezi – men, including Mutua, and one lady, all living in the same house, two hours south of Nairobi. We stayed three days, in the beautiful countryside around the village, going from one point to another and giving a few small programs, where about thirty or more people got their Realization, with many kids escorting us everywhere.
On the last day, Mutua told me, “There is a last important person you have to visit – my father. He knows there is a foreigner in the village, so he is waiting for us.” It was like a kind of “protocol visit.” So we went towards the place where his father used to live. I just took one picture of Shri Mataji with me. As we were coming closer to the little hut where the old man lived alone, I was wondering what to say him and then just left it to Mother.
When we reached his place, I saw a very old man getting out of his hut. He was ninety-four years or so. We greeted the mzee – a very respectful term meaning “old man” in Kiswahili – with due respect, Mutua and I, always accompanied by the gaggle of kids gently buzzing around us. Since I did not know what to say after greeting him, I just told him, “We have come here to bring you this Lady,” showing him the picture of Shri Mataji.
We sat down on little chairs just placed for us outside the hut and he immediately stared at the photograph and we all fell into meditation. I don’t remember how long it was, but it was deep. The old man was facing his son, who was holding the photograph. I just put my hand above the mzee’s head. As we all felt the joy of the strong kundalini rising, the mzee told Mutua in his mother tongue,
“I know this Mama. She came yesterday. It was night. I was sleeping and She came in my room. It was exactly this Lady, but She was black.”
We were drinking his words. “So what happened?”
“She came close to my bed, smiling, and gave me a little slap on my shoulder, saying, ‘Wake up, now!’ and then She walked out of the hut laughing and laughing.”
And still gazing at Mother’s picture, he added, “It was Her! The same lady, but She was black!”
Didier G., African Sahaja Yoga newsletter, volume one, October 2002