Jackson: What if the most dangerous part of a refugee's journey isn't the escape, but the arrival? Olivia: That’s a provocative way to put it. What do you mean? Jackson: I was reading about this one case. In 1994, a Burundian medical student lands in New York City with just a couple hundred dollars. Within weeks, he's homeless, sleeping in Central Park. His story of survival is absolutely not what you’d expect. Olivia: And that's the incredible true story at the heart of Strength in What Remains by Tracy Kidder. It’s one of those books that grabs you and just doesn’t let go. Jackson: Kidder is a master at this, right? He’s not just a casual observer. Olivia: Not at all. And that’s what gives this book such incredible depth. Kidder, who is a Pulitzer Prize-winning author known for this kind of deep-dive narrative nonfiction, didn't just interview the protagonist, Deo. He actually traveled back to Burundi with him, retracing his steps, visiting the sites of massacres, and meeting his family. That journey is woven right into the fabric of the book, giving it this raw, firsthand authenticity. Jackson: A medical student to homeless in Central Park. That's a staggering fall from one reality to another. Let's start there. What was that initial shock of arrival actually like for him?

Olivia: It was a total system shock, an absolute sensory and existential overload. The book opens with Deo on a plane, fleeing the genocide in Burundi. He looks out the window and sees the hills of his home on fire. He thinks to himself, "Burundi had become hell." There's this initial wave of relief just to be airborne, to be escaping. But that relief is immediately replaced by a profound sense of disorientation. He has a ticket to New York, but as he says, "I don’t really know where I’m going." Jackson: That’s terrifying. It’s not just about not knowing the address of your hotel. It’s about not knowing what your life is, or who you are anymore. Olivia: Exactly. And Kidder illustrates this with a story that is just devastatingly effective. After a layover in Ireland which he mistakes for New York, he finally lands at JFK. He has no money, barely speaks English, and is utterly alone. A kind Senegalese baggage handler named Muhammad takes pity on him and offers him a place to stay in his tenement in Harlem. Jackson: A moment of hope, at least. Olivia: A small one. But the real gut-punch comes when Deo tries to find a job. Muhammad helps him get an interview at a grocery store, but to get there, Deo has to navigate the New York City subway for the first time. Jackson: Oh no. I can see where this is going. I’ve lived in cities with subways my whole life and still get lost. Olivia: Imagine doing it when you can't read the signs, can't understand the announcements, and every person you try to ask for help sounds harsh and dismissive. He buys tokens, gets on the first train that arrives, and just rides. For hours. He’s trapped in this roaring, screeching metal box, surrounded by a language he doesn't understand, with maps that are just meaningless squiggles. Jackson: Wow, that subway story is brutal. It’s a perfect microcosm of his whole situation, isn't it? The system is there, the city is functioning all around him, but the language, the codes, the rules—they're completely alien. He's locked out. Olivia: It’s at that moment, lost underground, that he has this crushing realization. He thinks, "No one is in control of his own life." In Burundi, even amidst the chaos, he was a third-year medical student. He had a place, a future, an identity. In New York, he’s nothing. He’s invisible. Jackson: This goes beyond just culture shock. It feels like a complete erasure of his identity. He was a respected student, and now he's not just a stranger, he's less than that. He's someone who can't even perform the basic task of getting from A to B. How does the book explore that psychological collapse? Olivia: Kidder shows it through Deo's internal monologue and his actions. He becomes homeless, sleeping on a bench in Central Park, using a cardboard box for shelter. There's a heartbreaking moment where he laughs at another homeless man, and then explains that in his culture, "When too much is too much or too bad is too bad, we laugh as if it was too good." It’s a coping mechanism for unspeakable pain. His entire sense of self, built on education and community, is just gone. Jackson: And that's a key part of the refugee experience that we often miss, isn't it? We focus on the physical journey, the escape. But the psychological journey of rebuilding a self from the ground up, in a place that doesn't recognize who you were, might be the harder part. Olivia: Absolutely. He’s haunted by what he saw. The book touches on the Burundian cultural practice of 'gusimbura,' which is this idea that you shouldn't speak the names of the dead because it revives the pain. But how can you not, when the memories are all you have left? He's trapped between a past he can't speak of and a future he can't imagine. Jackson: It’s a paradox. To survive, he has to remember who he was, but to function, he has to forget the horrors that brought him here. That’s an impossible position to be in. Olivia: It is. He’s completely adrift. And it's in that absolute lowest moment, living in a park, that the entire narrative pivots.

Jackson: How does it pivot? What could possibly pull someone out of that kind of despair? Olivia: It’s not a what, it’s a who. Just as he hits rock bottom, a different force enters his life. It’s not a system, it's not a government program. It’s people. Specifically, a chain of ordinary people who decide to do extraordinary things. Jackson: This is where the "strength" in the title starts to come in, I imagine. Olivia: Precisely. It starts with a woman named Sharon McKenna. Deo meets her through a church, and Sharon is this… force of nature. Kidder describes her as a former nun who found her true calling as a "doorkeeper" for the needy in New York. Her guiding principle, from the Benedictine tradition, is "Receive all as Christ." Jackson: So she sees Deo, and she doesn't just see a homeless man. Olivia: She sees a person in need, and she makes it her personal mission to help him. And this is not a passive, "let me give you a sandwich" kind of help. She launches a full-scale campaign. She calls dozens of agencies, charities, homeless services—and gets rejected by all of them. The system has no place for a French-speaking Burundian refugee with a business visa and no money. Jackson: So the system that failed him on the subway continues to fail him. Olivia: Completely. But Sharon doesn't operate by the system's rules. She operates on pure, relentless compassion. She eventually reaches out to her friends, an older couple named Nancy and Charlie Wolf. Jackson: And they just... take in a complete stranger? Olivia: It's more complex and beautiful than that. Kidder delves into their backstory. Charlie and Nancy had spent years living in Nigeria, helping to start a university. That experience gave them a deep empathy for people from that part of the world and an understanding of the chaos and resilience that shapes life there. When Sharon tells them about Deo, it resonates with something deep in their own history. Jackson: So they weren't just acting out of abstract pity. They had a framework for understanding him. Olivia: Exactly. They saw a reflection of a world they knew. After some hesitation—Nancy is a self-described worrier—they invite Deo to live with them. And this act, this single decision to open their door, is the foundation upon which Deo's entire new life is built. They don't just give him a room; they give him a family. They give him stability, safety, and the belief that he matters. Jackson: That's an amazing story, but it also feels... like a miracle. A one-in-a-million chance. Does the book suggest this is a replicable model for helping, or is Deo's story just an outlier, a case of incredible luck? Olivia: That’s a fantastic question, and it’s something critics and readers have debated. The book was widely acclaimed, a New York Times Bestseller, but some have pointed out this very thing. Is it realistic to expect this kind of personal intervention for every person in need? Kidder doesn't present it as a scalable policy proposal. Instead, I think he's making a more profound point. Jackson: Which is what? Olivia: That the 'strength in what remains' isn't just Deo's individual, heroic resilience. That's the myth of the self-made survivor we love to tell. Kidder deconstructs that. Deo's strength is discovered and nurtured through the strength of others. His recovery is a collaborative project. The book argues that in the face of systemic indifference, the most powerful force for change is the personal, human-to-human connection. Jackson: So it’s less a "how-to" guide and more a testament to the power of radical empathy. Olivia: I think so. It’s a story about the architecture of kindness. It’s not one grand gesture, but a thousand small acts of support. Sharon’s phone calls. Charlie helping him with English. Nancy making him feel at home. Later, this network expands to include people like Dr. Paul Farmer and the community at Partners In Health, where Deo finds a way to channel his trauma into a new purpose: medicine and public health. Each person adds a brick to the foundation of his new life.

Jackson: So we have these two powerful, opposing forces at play throughout the book. First, there's the chaos of displacement, the systemic failure that strips you of everything—your identity, your control, your hope. And then, countering that, there's the quiet, persistent power of individual kindness that can literally rebuild a life from scratch. Olivia: Precisely. And I think the ultimate argument Kidder makes is that while systems and institutions are necessary, they are not sufficient. They are often cold, impersonal, and unable to see the human being behind the case file. The real 'strength in what remains' after trauma isn't just Deo's inner resilience, though he has that in abundance. It's the web of relationships that held him when he couldn't hold himself. Jackson: It’s the community that becomes his strength. Olivia: Yes. The book is a powerful testament that the antidote to systemic failure is often personal, radical generosity. It’s about choosing to see the person, not the problem. Sharon, Nancy, and Charlie didn't solve the global refugee crisis. They saved one person. But in doing so, they affirmed the value of every single life. Jackson: And Deo, in turn, takes that gift and pays it forward, going back to Burundi to build a clinic, to become that source of strength for his own community. The cycle continues. Olivia: That's the hope at the end of the story. It’s not a simple, happy ending. The book is clear about the lasting scars of trauma. But it shows that healing is possible, and it almost always happens in the context of a caring community. Jackson: It really makes you wonder, in our own lives, are we part of the system that overlooks people, or are we the 'Sharon' who stops and helps? Olivia: A powerful question to end on. And it’s a choice we all face. We’d love to hear your thoughts on this. What does it take to show that kind of kindness in a world that often encourages us to look away? Find us on our socials and share your perspective. Jackson: This is Aibrary, signing off.