Live from Johannesburg: The Moth Radio Hour

The Johannesburg audience, as you'll hear, is one of the liveliest we've had. Johannesburg Moth shows are sold out and standing room only.

“And that's because of our friend, publicist, fashion designer, DJ, style icon, who knew absolutely everyone, Maria McCleuy.”

Maria passed away shortly after this event, and this episode is dedicated to her memory. Thank you for everything Maria. So, live at the University of Johannesburg. Here's our host, poet, playwright, artist, maker, and one of Maria McCleuy's dearest friends, Label, Michelle. Oh, wow, thank you so much. It's very good evening to you ladies and gentlemen. Ladies and them, welcome to the Moth in Johannesburg. It is my pleasure and honor to be your host once again. My name is Label, my Sheila, I've been interested with the wonderful responsibility of helping all of us navigate these waters tonight.

You sold out this show in record time. Okay. Oh, tonight's theme is We Rise. And we have storytellers from across our beautiful continent. We are here because we believe in the transformative power of storytelling. We believe that we will be injected with hope and inspiration and the fuel that we need to go on and do the things that we've got to do.

“The things that we've got to do with our lives tonight. So, are you ready to get started?”

I asked each of our storytellers one question. We can all fall down. Everybody does. But what is one thing that you need in your toolbox to stand up to rise up?

When I ask our first storyteller who comes all the way from Uganda, I asked him, "We can all fall down.

But what's one thing you need in your toolbox to rise up?" And Brian Turyabagye, I'm Satt, Wi-Fi, please get up for Brian Turyabagye. (Applause) So, in Uganda, when a guy is about to get married, the bright family normally have what they call the divorce ceremony,

“where they formally had her over to the rooms for many.”

And this is normally followed by the wedding ceremony like after a week or so. So, my sister's wedding was the one big function we're holding at home in over 30 years. And we're being the little brother, the whole event saw it felt so emotional for me. Has it brought back all the little childhood memories like, "How is yours? Both of me are around and I pretended not to care." At that time, I was 25 and I was fresh off quitting my backing job.

That's just not becoming an entrepreneur. My dad was already on the edge.

First of all, between the giveaway ceremony, the wedding logistics and now his son willing working away from my job,

which had just tripled his salary. Three meters like watching someone say, "Oh, I'm a luxury car for a real barrel." And just smile about it. Four more employment was his love language. (Laughter)

So, at that point when I told him I was quitting my job, the whole thing felt like I was dreaming a coward. (Laughter) But deep down, I wasn't just being dramatic.

Nemonia is the disease which heals over 1 million children every year, and most of this in low risk of savings.

And to me, this wasn't just a statistic. My own grandmother had died because of Nemonia. And it was out of that conviction that I had to quit my backing job, because as a child of communion, to focus my energies on, you know, vetting, a technology that could help in detecting this Nemonia. So, me and my group, I had invented an immune technique jacket that could be used by health workers,

So, I was all in for this, a new technology. But when at that point, when an opportunity came in for me to go to South Africa right in the middle of the waiting week, I found myself at crossroads.

First of all, I could be the reliable growthment my sister's waiting.

“What else I could take this once in a lifetime opportunity to advance my invention?”

Nemonia. So, what did I do? I decided to do the most optimistic thing at 25-year-old can do. I decided to do both. [Laughter]

Besides, the wedding was going to be like within two to three days, so I realized that a lot of time. It could be back in time. So, I secretly voted that flight to South Africa, while I was pretending to be actively involved, in the wedding preparations to buy a text. [Laughter]

And while I was here in Johansburg, the meetings were very productive, but also existing.

I mean, I explained my technology to all these investors. They motivated them how the piece of the technology was working from Pizzoset. But even showed them the different case studies that we had done with the technology.

“My trip in Johansburg was like a make-up break, because my business was young,”

and this kind of finding is what would drag my invention forward. So, after a series of those meetings, I went back to my hotel. I don't know the last day I was checking out. They found that casually asked me like, "Hey, I would like to offer you an extra night. Would you be in for it?"

Well, at that point, at 25, the extra night meant nice beddings, the fluffy towels, and most importantly, the free nice breakfast buffet. So, this was a no-brainer for me. The next little Friday, all of my breakfasts, and I just ate like a king. Pancakes, small pancakes, and whatever else could fit on my plate.

I had done, I had time everything perfectly. That is to finish all my breakfasts, but also make it just in time for my flight. And five minutes before my u-book would arrive, he texted an accident. At that point, I said that panicking. Every minute became like an hour.

And I quickly rushed on to my phone and I had to order for another couple hours to take me to the airport. Which miraculously came on time. Things were looking good and serialized, I couldn't check in online, as I was heading to the airport. And at that point, my only hope was to find the airlines counter-coping. As soon as I reached the airport, I was meant by this time airline office,

a pool with zero emotion told me I was five minutes too late. Five minutes? I begged, I pleaded nothing. Instead, he just pointed me to the republican desk and told me that I would have to pay a hefty consolation fee, and don't talk about that, that my effort would be arrived in the next day.

I was doomed. Now, for those of you who are familiar with African geography, this is from Johannesburg to Comparais, like a six to two hour drive. So, there's no hours even going to you. There.

“And remember, this was my success wedding.”

What always been there for me?

She even helped me with up to point my ring out when I was in boarding school, back then. And much more than that, she had asked me to be a groom's man, and now I was nowhere to be seen. And to my dad, he was still angry at me for helping quit my back in job, to focus on what he called those jackets. (laughter)

And to my entire family, had always been the humble reliable person. I was the last person who would expect to pull off a crossbow that he's appearing, just in the middle of the wedding wedding. (laughter) And a lot of people realize I was just on my own.

So, I quickly panicked and started searching for alternative flights and get me back in Comparais. And luckily, I was able to run on to an option which would work for me. So, quickly, I booked the top, and I was ready to get in through my chicken for my litres. So, I checked in, went through and after reaching the gate, I just sat down, thinking of the entire miracle that I had happened to be being able to make it for the wedding at that point in time.

As I just said all down, I just double checked this cheapest ticket which I just bought. And that's when I noticed that the ticket had both had a 10 hour leg of an integral around that before going to Comparais. (laughter) At that point, I felt like the entire world was me. I started remembering all the time I'd been busy pretending to my family that I was involved in the wedding preparations.

Yes, I was very focused. But I know I said to don't for the flight, and but at the time I was in Randa, I was really too exhausted. And I decided to just take an up on those Airport chairs.

(laughter)

Sleep was just impossible.

I couldn't sleep. But in the middle of that confusion, I thought came into my mind.

“What if I get a bus from Uganda, which is next to the thousand western part of Uganda?”

I could make it in time. So, determined, I rose up, went and convinced the Iran officers and also the airport's formalities and who went about to actually let me through. In just like that, I was on a bus. Just like a miracle of miracles.

I arrived in the wedding area 15 minutes before the wedding could start. (applause) At that point, I was very dusty hungry, and clearly running on adrenaline. And I decided to rush into the nearest subway shop to open my hair so that I could fit with it to my room as my enrol. And as soon as I pushed the door to open, there he was.

My dad. (laughter)

Cited company in the bar by chair like he had more than time in the world.

So he looked at me in the mirror and he's like, "Hey, you, why are you coming from?" (laughter) Like South Africa, long story. (laughter)

“So he's like, "Ah, so you want South Africa just in the middle of the wedding, without telling me?"”

That point, things were becoming hard. Like, it started to be simply invested in my sight, man. (laughter) And just before the pop-up could brush up, let us see how old my leg.

I glanced onto my phone, and I saw a text from my sister. I was like, "Hey, we couldn't get a hold of you, so they had to remove you off the groom's men list." (laughter) At that point I was gutted. Not just because they had removed me from the groom's men list,

but my whole entire dressing plan was based on the groom's men suit. (laughter) So at that point, I had nothing formal to wear. (laughter) But anyway, I went on and just I said that the text sign is when I was putting on.

And just when the text sign is attended, we went out for the official photos. And that's when I looked down on my t-shirt, and I realized that I was putting on proud discreem and loved free-white fight. (laughter) At that point, there was nowhere with risk being in my sister's,

like, thank for the photo with such a t-shirt. (laughter) So I just decided to stay in the bug and I took a selfie as the only evidence that I attended that wedding. (laughter) And literally a lot more men's.

The free breakfast fit like betrayer on a plate. (laughter) But I admitted to the wedding. And that meeting here in Johannesburg, which I'd come for, eventually secured the funding that I desperately needed.

(applause) (applause)

And that same funding has been critical in advancing our inversion

that now is being used in over 500 families who had been a 15-pointing dollar able to save my life. (applause)

“And to my sister, well, let's just say that there is that invisible secret treaty to me and have.”

That every time I travel, I have something for her. I told her for my disappears. (laughter) I also for reading the entire announcement. (laughter)

And to my father, he finally forgave me. Not just because I can't play. But because he can now look at them, but that many visions have happened. He knows that it's missing them as those jackets, but he now holds them my son's invention.

(laughter) (applause) I love free Wi-Fi. Give it out for free so that I can. (applause)

(applause) (applause) (applause) Brian Toyabaga and his family live in Uganda. His jackets have saved hundreds of lives so far,

and they can now detect other respiratory diseases alongside pneumonia. To learn more, and to see that epic photo, boasting, I love free Wi-Fi. Go to theMoth.org. (music)

In a moment, civic duty and South African beauty pageants of the 90s

(music)

“The Moth radio hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media”

in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

(music) This is the Moth radio hour. I'm Sarah Austin, Janice. This show is live from Johannesburg, where the theme was, "We Rise."

Here's our host, artist Lebo Mishiro. (applause) And now we travel to South Africa! (applause) Our storyteller is from right here at home,

and when I ask them, the same question, "We can all fall down, but what is that one thing that you need in your tool kit to rise up?" They say, "A level my torso and FKA twigs."

Playlist! (applause)

“Please give it up for South Africa's own Lebo Han Mothash, right?”

(applause) (applause) It's 1995, I am 10 years old. Nelson Mandela is president, and there is the sense of transformation,

newness, hope in South Africa. And that feeling is all over my village in Limpobbo. People are trying new things. There are these youth groups that pop up. People are doing bullroom dancing, beauty patterns,

drum majorates. (applause) One night, my mother sits down, my father, my cousin's and I, and my baby sister. And she announces that she is going to run

in the local government elections.

The first one, as a counselor.

(applause) She is not asking. She is telling us.

“Because that's exactly the kind of woman that my mother was.”

When she decided to do something, she would get up and do it herself. If those out of the road that was flooded, she would pick up a wheelbarrow and then go and start working.

If you join her, fine. If you don't, it's okay. But on Saturday morning, you don't see them. (applause) I have been in an isolated family,

since we're making announcements. I have decided to participate in a beauty pageant. (laughter) I am going to join one of these child pageants and I'm going to win.

(laughter) My mother looks at me and she's like, "Look, I know you love things." (laughter) When we use our generator to watch TV,

I'm the one who doesn't want it to stop. I want to be inside the TV. I want to be with the glamorous people. I go through all the magazines. I want to be in there.

And I love pageants. And my mother says, "But you're so shy. You don't know how to stand in front of people. Don't you prefer to be at home, telling your stories to the trees,

and I want chickens?" (laughter) And I say, "No, I'm going to do it." And when I win, when I become Mr. South Africa, you are going to be the one who's proud that you encouraged me.

(laughter)

And so, I go into my first pageant.

Ready, I rip off pages from magazines. I learn how to pose. I learn how to smile like the beauty queens. And I start learning to work like Naomi Campbell. (laughter)

I invite my friends, my girlfriends, and I all practice together. And by the time we arrive at the pageant, the organizer looks at us, and she's like, "Oh, you don't need my help."

I mean, she has to help me work a little bit more like a boy. She's like, "Look." (laughter) And you are with the boys, but I love the enthusiasm.

(laughter)

Every day after school, we go, we practice. We're at 10, 11. It's wonderful. And on the day of the pageant, my mother takes me to get my hair done.

I get a cut and an escrow. (laughter) I put on my giant linen pants, a navy double mesurized polisher, and a velvet smoking jacket.

(laughter)

“It's all mismatched, but it works for me.”

(laughter) And at the event, it's fun. My friends and I, you know, we're doing little dance routines, we're working back and forth.

I forget how to not work like Naomi Campbell. I smile at everyone. I thought, "Wait, I guess I-- if I've already won." (laughter)

And one of the reasons I did this is that I had known that I was some different kind of boy. And sometimes I'd feel left alone, I'd feel a little bit judged, I'd feel kind of shunned. And there was a part of me that thought

if someone chose me as a beauty can, and literally raised me up on a pedestal, then maybe people would leave me alone.

“And they'd go, "Oh, that's someone important."”

(laughter) The judges ask us, "Who is your role model?" And I say, "Mr. Africa." (laughter) (speaking in foreign language)

Because I want to become Mr. South Africa. And then I go, "You know, are you sure you don't need Mr. South Africa?" (laughter) Later, they're announcing who won,

and they start with the second prince.

Someone else's name is mentioned. The first prince, someone else. And then the winner, Mr. Bergimu. (speaking in foreign language) (laughter)

Me! (laughter) I wear that sash and that plastic crown with pride. (laughter) And I rush home and I tell my mother,

and my mother is so proud of me, she's so happy. And she is in the middle of her own campaign. She is preparing speeches. Her message for the campaign is, "Eat the land, do it for yourselves."

And she's running as an independent. Not because she hates politics, but she would say to us that it's because everything that she was doing in our village, she was doing it as just a member of the community. And at that time, everyone was into the campaign.

A lot of the mothers loved that this woman. She was not yet 40. This young woman was energetic and doing this.

Then I tell her that I'm going to enter a second pageant.

And she's like, "Oh, no, I thought this was a one-solve. I'm like, "Well, you are not stopping. The new pageant is a little bit different. The age group ranges from 10 to 17. And they have a different way of working.

They announced that we are going to have the dreaded swimsuit section. Girls will be wearing their swimming costumes, and boys will wear board shorts, and be shirtless." The idea of walking in front of people shirtless with my self-belient, my self-chest terrifies me.

But I don't tell my mother.

“I keep going because I think, "Well, you've committed to this.”

I have to work straight up. I have a can't smile. I have to put on a boy's skull." Because at that time, a pageant had the sense of possibility. It wasn't just like a silly thing.

You have the sense that you could win a village pageant. And then you would go and do something in the city. And then you'd have a provincial one. And then at some point you would do a national pageant. And I thought, "If I went all the way, I could meet Miss South Africa."

And so I drew my best boy walk. I see other boys. They're 30, and some of them are starting to develop muscles. And this time around, my outfit is a little bit subdued. But it's fine.

And then they announce the winners.

Again, second prince, first prince.

And then the winner.

And I am on a roll.

I go home, I tell my mother, and she's like, "This is the last one."

“I think she was starting to get concerned about where this would go.”

But there was something else happening. Her campaign was no longer fun. People would criticize the fact that someone like her who used to be a domestic worker. Didn't know how to do the job that would be required. And people started judging the fact that all these young men who were working with her.

Why were they coming and going? Where is the husband? My father was working in Johannesburg. One night, after her team left, a car parks outside our house. It's there for a couple of minutes, and then it drives off.

But then it comes back the following night. And the following night. Stayed longer and longer. My mother becomes a redboard. So she blows out all the candles in our house,

“and barricades my cousins and I in her bedroom.”

She takes this old toy gun and stands by the window, opens the window. And yells, "Uncure leg! Leave me alone!" The car drives off. My cousins and I say to her, "What if they actually had guns?" "What were you going to do?"

And she says, "With a shaky voice, no one else can decide when I stop. This is what I want to do, and I will not be intimidated." [Applause]

And so I go into my third pageant, galvanized by my mother's strength.

These third senior holes, and 14-year-olds that I'm competing with, are doing push-ups before we practice. They compare muscles. They sort of start to work a little bit more like male models. And one of them looks at me and he says, "Oh, this is not for girls."

[Applause] I still don't tell my mother. And on the day of that pageant, I still a little bit of my mother's Elizabeth Arden perfume to strengthen myself.

I put a little bit of Vaseline on my non-existent muscles to sort of look a bit strong. And I stand on the edge of the hall where we're working. And I see the audience, and my mother's words come back to me. You don't know how to be in front of people.

This is going to be so difficult for you. But I've already committed. Stand on the edge. The music is playing. And I am wearing my father's pants.

Black trousers, a black shirt, and my velvet jacket. I look a little bit like a baby undertaker, but it's fine. [Laughter] I take a deep breath.

And then I start working, but as I'm about to move, the audience are yanks of my glasses. And he says, "They don't go with my look." And so I'm working, blurry eye, terrified, scouting and trying to look like a man,

and thinking, "How did I end up here at this most unclear place?" It's time to announce the winners.

They start with the second prince.

Someone has mentioned. First prince, Leberang Moraswar. [Applause] I've come in second place. Standing in front of all these people, and I immediately weep.

At first, it looks like tears of joy. But I cry so much that it's clear that I am crushed. I mean, one would think that with everything that was going on, that would be relieved just to be, you know, one of the top three. But I had invested so much.

And then I noticed that everyone could see that I was crying because I was hurt. So then I started asking for my glasses. I was like, "Oh, no, I can't see. That's why I'm crying. I need my glasses."

I mean, even today, when I go back home,

“there are still people who are like, "Do you remember when you cried?"”

It says, "You don't get your glasses." But we all knew that you were mad because it didn't win.

I go back home, weeping. I go into my mother's bedroom.

“She's working on her campaign, approving posters,”

deciding what she's going to wear on the election day. One green one else can be done to convince people that she can do the job.

I finally tell her everything.

I tell her how difficult it's been. I tell her that I thought I was doing this thing that was going to bring fun for me. But now I find myself so terrified. She listens to me.

And then she says, "It's okay. You wanted to do something and you tried. You can cry as much as you want." But tomorrow, you will rise up and you will do something else. You can do a page that feels more fun.

You can do ballroom dancing. Or you can keep telling stories to our trees and chickens. (audience laughing) You will just do something else. A few weeks later, it's a election day.

And my mother's ready. She wears this giant, puffy, black and gold dress with her hat to match. She looks like she's going to her own pageant.

“And I'm excited, I think, "Well, if I didn't win,”

then at least my mother will win." And then later she comes back. And she tells us how it went.

She came in second, just like me.

Which was huge for an independent campaign. (audience laughing) But she was still upset because she thought maybe having the position will help galvanize the work that she was already doing. She was upset.

And she went to bed early, but true to her words, she woke up the next morning and she did something new. Along with the group that she was working with, they went on to organize and started an adult learning centenary village.

They used empty land to plant food. (audience applauding) And they didn't wait for our village to be noticed. They campaigned hard for our village to get electricity and by 1997 we did.

(audience applauding) And today I am not a beauty king of all beauty queen. (audience laughing) But I wake up every day and I write these narratives for film, TV, theater, and when I'm at the genre,

I write about these characters who always stand out

and stand up. Thank you. (audience applauding) That was Labo Mahashwar. He's the writer producer of the Netflix drama "Savage Beauty."

He lives in Johannesburg with his soon-to-be husband, and he's producing a new series, celebrating his childhood love of fabulous women doing terrible things. After her run for office, his mother Joyce successfully campaigned for their village

to be electrified, and at her funeral in 2013, people utilized her as the woman who brought light to their village. You can find out more about the Moth's global community workshops and Moth events all around the world by going to the Moth.org.

While you're there, you will also see a photo of Labo in his pageantry finest. (upbeat music) In a moment, our last story, a Kenyan woman redefines what's normal for girls.

(upbeat music) The Moth radio hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

“What the heck is going on with all these promotional popcorn buckets?”

The giant shorts that all of Gen Z is wearing now, and whatever the heck high rock is? (upbeat music) I'm comedian and certified hater, Matt Belsai, and these are the types of questions I'm demanding answers

to on my podcast "What The Heck With Matt Belsai?" Listener, watch every Thursday as I rant about all the internet trends, pop culture stories, and personal mayhem that makes me scream "What The Heck?"

Follow what the heck with Matt Belsai wherever you get your podcasts. (upbeat music) This is the Moth radio hour, I'm Sarah Austin, Gen Z. We're listening to We Rise, recorded live

at a Moth Night in South Africa, produced in partnership with the Gates Foundation at the University of Johannesburg. (audience cheering) Here again is the host of the night,

Labo Machile. (audience cheering)

we travel all the way to Kenya. (audience cheering) And when we ask our storyteller, the same question we can all fall down, but what do you need in your toolkit

to rise up? She answered, friends and foes. (audience cheering) (audience cheering)

It's about to get real, Chinese.

“Please give a joke or welcome to Lisa Mucho.”

(audience cheering) (audience cheering) (audience cheering) I'm the first burning a family of six girls. And I was born to an adventure as mother,

and a very reserved father.

They made an amazing couple, I tell you that.

And so, my mom used to push me to do things that in my village and tribe, we're not normal for girls. She's this one time, my cousin Tony came to visit. And he was picking berries up a tree.

And my mom told him, "Don't give up those berries." No, no, no, no, no, no. Because I was waiting down there. And he was like, "What my though?

"Can you go up there and get the berries yourself?" And she assisted me to write bikes. I was kidding in the mud in broken basins. I was playing football.

“And that in my tribe was dumped as one jacket.”

That is too much of a boy to be a girl. And the villagers were talking. She's messed up goods. She's messed her reproductive system. She's not okay.

She's not a girl. At the age of five,

we got our second bone sister.

And I became a mother. And a man named for those of us who went to be honest in the African village. And I was carrying them on my back. And eleven years later, I had raised five girls.

I became their caretaker. But to the extent that the false sick, and instead of calling their mother, they would call me. And that was a huge thing. It actually led me to become a doctor.

Because then I realized that I wanted to take care of children. That I wanted to ensure they have a chance to leave. Because of the love that I had given my sisters and they had given me back. First for it to end I'm 19. I go to med school.

First day, I'm in the mug. And I faint. So I call my mom.

“And she's like, "Did anybody else faint?"”

I'm like, "No." She's like, "Can you go back to class and learn Elizabeth?" And at the point I realized that not only was there the spirit of adventure, but how the thrill for it, but she was also pushing me to get and achieve whatever I wanted to achieve.

Unexpectedly, I 23 she died. And my dad had died four years earlier. So I was the actual mother and provider to my five sisters. And I was in med school. I was hustling and I was taking care of them.

It was not easy. But we had to go through life, right? We weren't giving up. And we didn't have any boys to fight for us. So we had to be the boys.

So at 26, my second one sister then is 21.

She's able to take care of the girls. I'm done with med school. I'm posted to know this than Kenya. It's the hardest place to walk. At that time there was Al-Shabab.

There was militia. There was insecurity at the humble level. But then they also had the poorest health indicators. They had the highest levels of maternal utilities. And the highest levels of neonatal motilities.

And I was sharp. I was the best in my class. I have my name in the University of Nairobi's board in 2005. As the best med student. And I was like, I want to go there.

One for the adventure of it. Maybe I might find loving the desert. But also to know how they live. And I also wanted to make a difference. I wanted to save the lives of those children and save the lives of those women.

And ensure that they don't die for something that can be prevented. So I reported a day earlier. That's how excited I was. I was given a big house as the district medical officer. And I had neighbors and all that.

And I started programs that would take services closer to the people. Those are pastoralists. They don't most of the time come to the health facilities. So I needed to get to them where they were. But I didn't find love.

Not there. We used to go for seminars though. And you know, not in the desert. In the towns, I found this young guy at the age of 28.

I was a challenge. Maybe kept me grounded. Sort of. I was worried about being too adventurous and losing him. But I was there.

And we fell in love. At 30. In my tribe. If you're not married, people talk. And I didn't have my mother or father to fight for me this time.

And the rumors came back. She's spoiled good. Her reproductive system remember.

“Remember what she used to do when she was young.”

This is the repercussions of that. I had to get married. So I got married to that guy. I didn't did too many men. I got married.

Lucky me, huh? So I got married.

And soon after we got my first son.

And three months in, I was okay. I was waking up, feeding the baby. Clothing him. I had the nanny though. You know, baby language and stuff.

I don't even know if you understood. But at four months, I was done. Not because I don't love my son. I do. But I was very empty.

I was very empty. I was not fulfilled. If I may say, I needed to go back to work. So I talked to my husband and he says, okay, short distances. Don't put yourself in the line of danger.

And I did that. And, you know, short trips and back home. I'm seeing them. And I got pregnant again.

“And this time, I think I was rushing against time.”

They say at 35, risky pregnancy, right? Oh, thank medicine.

Now that is not a challenge.

But then, I was rushing so that I can get them babies before that. 25. Second one comes. Same routine. Three months in.

But at the fourth month, I am completely done. I'm borderline, post-partum depression. I love that guy. I love those kids. But there's this emptiness in my chest.

And I'm looking at my kids. They are privileged. They have everything. And they are kids somewhere dying. And I would be making a difference in their lives.

I would be saving them. I kind of felt like a disciple of God was pushing to make sure that I take care of them. So at 4am, I woke up my husband. And I told him I can't do this anymore. I felt like it was the end of a marriage.

I was angry at him, angry at Denani. I sort of was into K, you know.

And he just told me, "Well, my father, go back to sleep.

We are not having this conversation now." Well, when he calls me by my traditional name, I know it's serious, huh? Women. So I zip it and go back to sleep.

And wait for an appropriate time. Not for him. So that evening he comes home. And we have this intense conversation. But at the end of it he says,

"I know you're happiest when you're walking. But I will ask you one thing. Don't love your walk more than you love me and your kids. And don't put yourself in the line of danger." So one year later,

I'm going back to Garissa to take vaccines. And like three months before KMTC had been attacked by Al Shabbab. And so everything that was chaos. But there was a measles outbreak and over 100 children had died. And I couldn't sleep at night.

It felt like it was my cause. So I went to Garissa. The locals didn't want to go there. Everything was in the Amba. But who is like me, huh?

Adventures. The thrill. But also the desire to ensure that those children are not taken care of. And I knew I could. So I look for solution. I tell the county director, "Gammy guards, Gamyas, got cars."

And he gets me policemen. And we all know. These guys are strong. And they got these vests. These guns and all.

And I'm thinking I'm very safe. Huh? And I ask them, "How is the Al Shabbab issue?" They say, "We've handled them. We've had a few incidences.

But I think we okay." You know? It's not as bad as it was. And we make idol talk. But 50 minutes in.

And I hear this loud noise. So loud. And a few seconds later, another loud noise. Shutters the glass. And at that point, people are yelling.

But there's this one. One policeman is shouting. "We under talk. It's an ambush. Get down.

Get down." And I'm in the box seat of a land cruiser. And you know the driver's seat and the buck seat. And I feet over there. Like this big mass.

I was in squist. I actually felt safe. It's like they were protecting me in sorts. And then the cast stops. Everyone is down.

They're shooting back.

“And at that point, my life is flashing in front of me.”

The choices of me. The decisions of me. There's nothing as hard as knowing you're about to die. And then your husband is going to marry someone who will choose whether to love

So a few minutes later, this policeman tells me, "Get down, Lisa.

Ma'am. Get down." They're shooting the car. The bullets are going through the car. They're really low.

They'll get to you. Get. I can move. I'm frozen. I can't stand.

I'm my fear to cover.

“So they pull me down and put me on the ground.”

And one of them lies on top of me. I think they're worried around. You know, because you don't know what a scape as we do.

And at that point, a bullet brush is my hair.

And I've had enough. And the adventure, the thrill. The desire to take care of those babies. I block out. I have nothing more to give.

I'm done. And I wake up in our later. And we are in the car. I don't know how they come in the car. I'm here, either.

So I don't know how they do that. But they do it. And we are. We are headed not to Garisa, but towards Lugdera. And in my mind, I'm like, "What?

Why would you be going towards more danger?" And they tell me we lost one of our own. So it cannot be in vain. We have to complete this mission. I run, I'm hungry, but I'm defeated.

“Because honestly, I think we need to complete the mission as well.”

So I go quiet. And we get to Lugdera. And when we get there, we take the vaccines, the joy, on the faces of the healthcare providers. The children that came to receive us made me temporarily

forget I almost lost my life. We get back to Garisa. And I mean, this room alone. And I break down. My wealth can stop.

And at that point, I say, "I want to this again. I'm going to love my husband. I'm going to love my babies. And I'm going to be near them to take care of them." So we go home.

And I tell my husband that I have decided to not go back to the dangerous ones. And he says, "Hmm, that's me here.

“Because you're happiest when you're at work.”

It thought he didn't like me walking. But well, I didn't want to dive into that conversation. So I stayed home and then eight months in. I'm not okay.

And we can never have a happy moment in that house.

And he tells me, "Just go back to work. You know, just go back to work. We can't leave like this." So I make a call and I'm back to work. But this time, I choose how I walk.

And I go to the field 40% of my time. And 60% of it, I'm at home. And I'm able to take care of them and protect them and love them. And what I've learned is that a strong woman is a woman who knows when to stop. When to pause and reflect, and when to actually strike a balance,

because we also need to live a full life. Thank you very much. [Applause] Lisa Mochouki. Lisa Mochouki is still navigating these two worlds.

She says, "Balancing the heavy, vital work of health systems leadership, with the chaotic, beautiful energy of a house full of kids and animals, is exactly what keeps me grounded right now." Here's our host, Labo Machile, to close us out. Joberg, you have been spectacular.

[Applause] Performing for you is like a hug for the soul. We love you so much. We love how animated we are. We love the way you listen.

We love the way you don't listen when you listen even. The way you're on stage with everybody you rock. You fill us up and we hope that these stories have filled you up. Go well, good night, God bless, and thank you. [Applause]

That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. Thank you for listening, and we hope you'll join us next time. [Music]

Labo is an award-winning poet, author, producer, and actress.

“The radio show was produced by me, Jay Ellison,”

and Sarah Austin Genes, who also hosted along with Labo.

And she directed the stories in the show, along with Jennifer Hicksson.

“Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, the socioproducer Emily Couch.”

The live event was produced by Haley Evans and Chris Ballouette.

The most later ship team includes Gina Duncan, Christine Norman, Marina Cluchet,

“Jordan Cardinalay, Caledonia Cairns, Kate Kelly, Suzanne Russ,”

Sarah Jane Johnson, and Patricia Eurendia. Most stories are true as remembered in the firm by the storytellers. Our theme music, by the drift, other music in this hour, is from Epidemic Sound and Blue.Sessions. Podcast music, production support, from Davy Summer. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.

Special thanks to our friends at Odyssey, including Executive Producer Lea Restennis. The Moth would like to thank the Gates Foundation for their support of the Moth's global community program. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story, and to learn all about the Moth, go to our website, TheMoth.org.