Ayayi’s story is a unique one. He’s a political refugee from a small African nation and was unable to write his own story because he’s legally blind. I bought him lunch, he talked and I wrote.

As we talked, I learned that he was a political refugee from Togo, an African country west of Ghana. He was an influential figure in fighting for democracy in his country.

Because he spoke broken English, I was only able to take notes but I think you’ll get the gist. This is his story of his fight for democracy:

I lived under a dictator. If you say something against him in the daytime they will kidnap you at night and you’ll disappear.They’ll kill you and throw you in the bush for the lions.

Ayayi went with six other students to the president of the country (who had been in power for decades) and said they wanted a fair election or the students would protest.

We were at university and called ourselves M05 – Movement October 5th – which was the day the students were going to walk out and protest if they didn’t have a fair election.

When they protested, they tore down statues of the president. His friend climbed up on one of the statues and was shot by the military.

Later, the president offered the students and their lawyer 6 million francs to stop causing trouble and made their lawyer President of Civil Rights in Togo. The lawyer went on TV, showed everyone the bribe. After seeing that on TV, everyone started protesting – women and children, too.

Stories about throwing rocks and being hit with tear gas.

It escalated into a riot. Buildings were on fire, smoke everywhere in the city.

For the first two weeks, the military was only authorized to use tear gas. On week three the president said 100 civilians would die if one of his soldiers did – gave soldiers permission to use deadly force.

People from Ghana and Nigeria were finding bodies of people from Togo in the ocean.

“Yesterday I found 300 people in the ocean.”

Was caught by the police/military Nov. 19, 1989. Put in a torture camp called Kazaboua Agombio – Red Blood Camp. They were forced to look at the sun which is how he became blind.

Of the seven people (including himself) who originally went to the president to try to get a democratic election:
- Four of them were found dead
- One man was never seen again
- Only Ayayi and his friend survived

There’s more to the story, but I couldn’t get it all down/remember it. Ayayi is now in Salt Lake trying to find work, but can’t do much because his English is still fairly broken and is legally blind.

As an aside, this was a real wake-up call for me. You hear of these things happening on CNN in two minute segments and it doesn’t seem real. And there I was sitting across from a man who had lived it.

It’s amazing and humbling to think that there are only two men on earth who know that story and I was able to meet one of them. And now the story has been preserved and shared with everyone who reads this. At the risk of sounding dramatic, suddenly the purpose behind the site feels much deeper now.

What are your thoughts? Your reactions to his story? Please let me know in the comments.

I’m going to get back on track. I have a story ready to turn into a post and hope to have it up within the week.

Again, I apologize and appreciate your patience.

In the meantime, has anyone collected any stories they’d like to submit?

UPDATE: I’ll be posting tomorrow (Sunday).

Ruth-Ann works in a local bakery/coffee house/cafe. You know the type – cool atmosphere, expensive, but tasty food. The kind of place you are happy to have in your city and want to tell everyone about, but you don’t want everyone to know it’s there.

Ruth-Ann is the kind of person that makes this type of local establishment work. She was friendly with everyone who came through the door and seemed to be a genuinely happy person.

Her curly blond hair was pulled back in a loose pony tail and her eyes were disconcertingly bright blue. Ruth-Ann’s story is beautifully cryptic. Where do you think the dream begins and ends? Let me know in the comments. Enjoy.

It would be dreams. It started about a year ago. I was laying in bed w/ my 1/3 Indian boyfriend at the time in a building that had been used as a venue for bands w/ no place to play. I thought I woke up to a group of boys down stairs and I walked out to see what they were talking about – all the doors were open and the wind rushed through and the morning was bright blue and nobody was outside.

I woke up again in my bed w/ my 1/3 Indian boyfriend. No wind. No blue.

During the Broken Social Scene Jig at the free Summer Concert Series, I whispered in his ear, “I can’t be w/ you” and I walked through the mass of people and watched the rest of the concert w/ a tree. I don’t know why I did it.

Its about dreams tho, really, dreams that aren’t dreams.

It goes like this:

I wake up multiple times and have multiple conversations.

I met a boy at a bike shop. He had red hair longer than mine and everyone elses. We rode down the canyon and I took my hands off the bars in the dark and cracked my head open on a rock. 25 stitches. University Hospital. Watched bats together at 3 am because we were locked out of my apartment. Layed on the parking lot. He touched my hand. Gauze around my skull. Pineapple cake mornings after drunk roommate finally got home at dawn.

Fast forward redhead bomb to blast the **** out of my life. My existence since that crash is loving him and trying to remember who I am and what is a dream.

We talk about coffee, why I don’t have the flavor he wants, and the I wake, it wasn’t a real conversation. Dream. I get confused. Wake up for real. He punches a hole in my wall.

Not a dream. Wind.

My head is loud loud loud in the morning. Vivid as high definition TV. And more real than (real) life.

Ruth-Ann Twitchell

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I’m a dad again!

We now have a little girl which brings our family to four (my son is two). Mom and baby are doing well – the delivery couldn’t have gone any better. I’m very blessed.

I hope you don’t mind the personal note. I’m just a bit excited. :)

I do have someone who really wrote in my journal. I’m putting together the entry and it should be posted later this week.

Also, if you’re interested in contributing to Write In My Journal (you know…get a journal of your own and go out and get people to write in it then scan it and send it in) email me at david @ writeinmyjournal . com.

Or, if you’re not interested and just want to say hi, I’d love to hear from you.

The proud dad,

David

I passed Mitch on the lower floor of the library. He was slouched down in his chair, camera hanging around his neck as he stared off at…well…I’m not sure what he was staring off at. I walked past him, paused and turned around to talk to him.

Turns out Mitch is in a photography class and was apparently lacking inspiration (when I asked if I could take his picture he said yes, but only if he could take mine. Anyone wanting to use me as a muse has to be desperate). He said he’d write in my journal, but that he only had a short time. He wasn’t kidding. This is by far the shortest entry to date. Despite being so short I have to admit that I think it’s one of the most intriguing because it leaves so many questions unanswered.

My name is Mitch.

I was born in Wisconsin and adopted into a family in Utah, I like it here.

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I met Ethan while strolling along BYU’s campus. I was hoping to find someone there because it seems like a campus would be a great place to meet diverse people with different backgrounds. Sure enough, Ethan fits the bill. As we passed each other in the quad, he wearing a kilt and aviator glasses, Ethan offered me a sincere “Hello”.

Now, BYU’s campus is probably one of the friendlier places on earth (neigh unto Disneyland) and it isn’t uncommon for people to say hi to strangers in passing. But something about Ethan struck me so I pulled a u-turn and caught up with him. He agreed to write in my journal and here’s what he had to say:

My nam is Ethan Unklesby and I’m a freshman at Brigham Young University. I’m from Ohio and feel out of place in Utah. I’ve always wanted to be a famous singer, but my dad doesn’t think I can make it. I really want to, just so I can show him wrong.

I love to make people smileand I hope to be able to do that through music. I’m single but I might have a thing for this incredible girl in my Latin class. I’ve never been 100% confortable and confident in myself, but I mask it pretty well. If I could tell everyone just one thing, it would be to look to Christ always. Sin happens, but he takes it away. When you are most overcome, let Him carry you.

Ethan Unklesby

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I saw Stephanie eating alone at Zupas while my family and I were out to dinner. Her back was turned to me and I noticed she was eating alone. Now, while dining in groups tends to be the cultural norm, I must say I enjoy going out to eat by myself or going solo to a movie every once in a while. As odd as it may seem, it’s a bit liberating.

Because Stephanie’s back was turned, I didn’t have much of an initial impression about her looks, behaviors, mannerisms, or any other things I tend to notice about people I ask to write in my journal. This one was all “hunch” and once again I managed to come across someone who is involved in something quite remarkable.

It’s always amazed me how everything is taken for granted until we notice due to emergencies or situations. I work as a lab technician for the American Red Cross almost everyday getting the blood donated read for hospitals or for research companies to find cures. I don’t get paid a lot, but I save hundreds of lives everyday. I come across blood with STDs and diseases and hope not to get them, hope not to mess up, hope the equipment won’t break or burn me! Life is taken for granted. Live to every minute! Live with no regrets! Take a chance! It’s worth it!

- Stephanie Petty

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My wife, son, sister and I went home to Oregon for Thanksgiving. I absolutely love being in the house I grew up in, visiting old haunts and enjoying the general green splendor of my home state.

There are certain traditions that must be followed whenever we go home to Oregon (usually about twice a year). On is going to the Marrakesh for dinner.

The Marrakesh is a Moroccan restaurant downtown Portland. Patrons sit on the floor, eat all five courses with their hands (everyone gets a bath towel for a napkin), and get a rosewater hand rinse afterward to cover up the scent of the food. It’s a great experience, although we were worried about taking my 18 month-old son because…well…he’s 18 months old. He ended up doing quite well and thought it was a lot of fun to peek out between the curtains behind our table and look at the passersby on the street, his little head barely poking above the seat.

Sure enough, people walking past started noticing him and smiling. One person even stopped to take a picture. I stood up and ran outside. The photographer, “Pie” (she asked that I not use her real name), thought I was going to get mad at her for taking pictures of my son. Instead, I asked her to write in my journal.

Pie was young and kind of short – she only came up to my shoulders -  with big, expressive eyes. She was easy to talk to and I came to find he was taking photography classes and was using an old-school film camera that night. She was there with her family to celebrate her 18th birthday. After she sat down at her table I gave her my journal.

Pie didn’t want her picture taken, or, rather, it made her family nervous. Clearly I, having a wife and kid and being at dinner with my parents, seemed very threatening. :) She said she’d mail me copies of the pictures she took of my son, and I was waiting to post this until they arrived, but she must have forgotten.

“My name is Pie and it’s my eighteenth birthday and for the first time I am eating Moroccan food. It’s crazy and extremely exciting, I hope the belly dancer shows up at my table and shows me how to shake my thing. Even though I am 18 now, it doesn’t mean I am quite an adult. I am a kid forever because then I will never die. Live forever! I hope that taking these pictures, how I met this random man, allow me to go far. I really enjoy artistic stuff and truly want to make a difference in people’s lives. Also, someday marijuana should be legal because then everyone will be happy.”

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If I wasn’t a klutz, Amy Lynn and I wouldn’t have met.

We sat facing opposite directions on those rows of chairs so common in airport boarding areas. I set my wife’s water bottle on the seat next to me, but it fell between the seats. The lid popped open and the bottle rolled toward her duffel bag, water pouring out of it. I stood up and sprinted around the row of seats, kicked her bag out of the way and grabbed her boarding pass which was sitting nearby.

I’m sure she probably thought I was nuts – some guy with a social disorder, running around airports kicking people’s carry-on luggage.

I explained what had happened and apologized. She was very kind about it and wasn’t upset in the slightest. After returning to my seat I asked her if she’d like to write in my journal. Her teammate/friend piped up: “She’d be perfect for that!”

Sure enough, Amy is an avid journaler and pulled out her own journal to show off. She ended up getting on the plane before me (with my journal). When she was done, she sent my journal back to me via a flight attendant. I didn’t get a picture of her until we landed in Oregon and I tracked her down at the baggage claim.

“Nice” sounds so cliche, but Amy (in addition to being a woman of many talents), is the epitome of the word. I could tell very shortly after meeting her that she is a good person.

P.S. Amy Lynn, if you happen to see this, would you be willing to send in some pictures of your paintings?

My name is Amy Lynn.

I am 6 feet two inches tall. Yeah, that’s pretty tall! But I promise I am not scary.

I love to compete – I play volleyball at a collegiate level and I am in my junior year. There isn’t much better than the adrenaline rush that comes with a hard driven spike to the floor and hearing the crowd roar. I love my team – they are truly my sisters.

I have an enormous family!

I am the middle of seven children and have loved every second of having lots of siblings.

Besides volleyball, I love to express myself through music and art. I took piano lesson for thirteen years of my life and I play with two of my best friends in a band. It’s crazy how so much emotion can be sent through my fingers. And when I do find time aside from school, work, and practice…

I paint.

I love spending so much time on a piece – just making it perfect. Yes, I am a perfectionist! I hold myself to a very high standard in everything I do, but I find happiness in success!

I am only twenty years old and I still have so much of life to experience, but if I could give anyone reading this just one piece of advice: don’t hold back. Do your best in everything you do, and don’t be afraid to let your true self shine! I have much to work on in this exact same aspect, but hopefully one day I find who I really am, and become who I want to be…oh and find a guy like my dad along the way!

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The good news is that the reason I haven’t been out and about as much is that my wife and I are expecting our second child! We’re very excited for the new addition (due in late May).

However, having a pregnant wife along with a very active toddler who is running around, drawing on my iPod, throwing my computer mouse against the wall and generally acting like a normal 18 month-old means fewer outings. I’ve also been driving to work more often (instead of taking the train) due to hectic mornings wrangling my son and helping my morning-sick-feeling wife. In addition to all that, the entire family is just getting over nasty head colds.

It’s been an eventful few weeks.

Things are falling back into a routine now, and I hope to have some new posts up shortly. I’ve also realized there are so many stories out there waiting to be told, and I obviously can’t collect them all, so I’ve decided to open up Write In My Journal to contributors! I think it would be wonderful to have dozens (hundreds?) of people out there collecting stories that can be shared on this site.

Interested in participating? Check out the new Contributors page for all the details, or feel free to email me with any questions.

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