I’m an only child, and I’ve always been pretty chill with that. Call it the only child syndrome, but dealing with a little sibling was never really my jam. As I got older, and we all moved past the sticky-hands stage, I thought about how cool it would be to have a big brother. I blessed my parent’s lives first, so a lovable, protective, "big bruv" wasn’t really in the stars. Then, when I went to Kenya as a 19-year-old, I came home with a Kenyan brother from another mother.

Patrick, but more affectionately called Pato, was the first warm welcome my cousin and I had upon arrival in Kenya. He was shy at first, but so were we. As time flew by we all began to get to know each other, and the bond was immediate. Soon, we were laughing and creating memories. Pato made sure we knew how to carry ourselves in Kenya. When we were with Pato we were invincible, because we knew if we were with him then we were safe. He did everything he could to take care of us, and make sure we were happy. At first it was because that was his job hosting volunteers, but then it quickly became like family. When I fell into an open sewer he quickly took the waste covered clothes and washed them with his bare hands. If something went wrong he was the one my cousin and I would turn to for help. When my cousin left Kenya two months early he was always around to make sure I never got too lonely, sad, or sick.

Fast forward two years later, and we’re closer than ever. Things have shifted from being “like” family to full blown family. He’s taken his first trip to the U.S. and has been able to meet my family and friends. My mom calls him “son” and he calls her “mom”. My name is no longer Samantha it’s "Siz" and he is "Bro" or "Brother". My second time in Kenya has only brought us closer than before. We’re practically attached at the hip. I know he doesn’t like raw tomatoes, and has eaten cabbage so much that he can’t eat it any more. He knows that I don’t like eggs, but I love cabbage so he’ll make it for me even though he won’t eat it. I told him I wanted to learn Swahili, so he would take time out of his busy days to sit down with me for hours and teach me a new language. He’d even write out exams for me to make sure I was really getting it.

We are so close it often pisses off our boss, and we know that we can’t keep anything from each other. If I’m feeling the blues he’s the first to notice and call me out on it. When he’s looking stressed, I know to check in with him. He’s the entire reason I know how to live in Kenya, and I’m beyond lucky the universe brought our completely separate worlds together. Kenya is an incredible country that I’ve been in love with since the day I got here, but my experience would be completely different without my Kenyan brother from another mother.