One hot October morning, I got off the all-night train in Mandalay, the old royal capital of Burma, now Myanmar. And out on the street, I ran into a group of rough men standing beside their bicycle rickshaws. And one of them came up and offered to show me around. The price he quoted was outrageous. It was less than I would pay for a bar of chocolate at home.
Asubuhi moja ya mwezi Oktoba yenye joto, nilishuka kutoka kwenye treni ya usiku Mandalay, mji mkuu wa kifalme wa zamani wa Burma, sasa Myanmar. Kwenye mtaa, nikakutana na kundi la wanaume ambao ni wakorofi wakiwa wamesimama pembeni ya baiskeli zao. Mmoja kati yao akanifuata na kujitolea kunionesha maeneo. Bei aliyoitaja ilikuwa ni ya kushangaza. Ilikuwa ni kidogo kuliko ambayo ningetumia kununua chokoleti nyumbani.
So I clambered into his trishaw, and he began pedaling us slowly between palaces and pagodas. And as he did, he told me how he had come to the city from his village. He'd earned a degree in mathematics. His dream was to be a teacher. But of course, life is hard under a military dictatorship, and so for now, this was the only way he could make a living. Many nights, he told me, he actually slept in his trishaw so he could catch the first visitors off the all-night train.
Nikapanda kwenye baiskeli yake, na akaanza kutuendesha polepole kwenye makasri na mahekalu. Wakati anaendesha, akaniambia jinsi alivyokuja mjini kutoka kijijini kwake. Alikuwa na digrii ya hisabati. Ndoto yake ilikuwa awe mwalimu. Hakika maisha ni magumu kwenye udikteta wa kijeshi, kwa sasa, hii ilikuwa ni namna pekee ya kujipatia kipato. Mara nyingi usiku, aliniambia, alilala kwenye guta yake ili kusudi apate wateja wa kwanza wa treni ya usiku.
And very soon, we found that in certain ways, we had so much in common -- we were both in our 20s, we were both fascinated by foreign cultures -- that he invited me home.
Punde si punde, tukagundua kwamba kwa namna fulani tuna mengi ya kufanana -- wote tulikuwa kwenye miaka ya 20, sote tulikuwa tunavutiwa na tamaduni za kigeni -- mpaka akanikaribisha nyumbani.
So we turned off the wide, crowded streets, and we began bumping down rough, wild alleyways. There were broken shacks all around. I really lost the sense of where I was, and I realized that anything could happen to me now. I could get mugged or drugged or something worse. Nobody would know.
Tukatoka kwenye mtaa wenye watu wengi, na tukaanza kupita kwenye njia zenye mabonde na kona nyingi Kulikuwa na nyumba zilizo bomoka kila sehemu. Kwakweli sikujua nilipokuwepo, na nikagundua kua chochote kinaweza kunitokea sasa. Ninaweza ibiwa au leweshwa au kibaya zaidi. Hamna ambaye angejua.
Finally, he stopped and led me into a hut, which consisted of just one tiny room. And then he leaned down, and reached under his bed. And something in me froze. I waited to see what he would pull out. And finally he extracted a box. Inside it was every single letter he had ever received from visitors from abroad, and on some of them he had pasted little black-and-white worn snapshots of his new foreign friends.
Mwishowe, akasimama na akanipeleka kwenye kibanda, ambacho kilikuwa na chumba kimoja tu kidogo. Kisha akainama chini, kwenye kitanda chake. Kitu ndani yangu kikaganda. Nikawa nasubiri nione atavuta nini. Mwishowe akatoa boksi. Ndani yake kulikuwa na barua zote alizowahi kupokea kutoka kwa wageni wa nchi za nje, na baadhi zao alikuwa amebandika picha ndogo zisizo na rangi zilizochoka za marafiki zake wapya wa kigeni.
So when we said goodbye that night, I realized he had also shown me the secret point of travel, which is to take a plunge, to go inwardly as well as outwardly to places you would never go otherwise, to venture into uncertainty, ambiguity, even fear.
Hivyo tulivyoagana usiku ule, nikagundua kua amenionyesha pia siri ya kwenye kusafiri, ambayo ni kufanya kitu bila uwoga, kusafiri ndani vile vile na nje, kwenda sehemu ambazo usingeenda vinginevyo, kufanya usiyoyafahamu, usichokielewa, hata uwoga.
At home, it's dangerously easy to assume we're on top of things. Out in the world, you are reminded every moment that you're not, and you can't get to the bottom of things, either.
Nyumbani, ni hatari kirahisi kujiona tupo juu ya mambo. Nje kwenye dunia, unakumbushwa kila saa kwamba haupo na hauwezi kufikia kwenye mwisho wa mambo pia.
Everywhere, "People wish to be settled," Ralph Waldo Emerson reminded us, "but only insofar as we are unsettled is there any hope for us."
Kila sehemu, "Watu wanatamani kutulia," Ralph Waldo Emerson alitukumbusha, "lakini mara nyingi tunapokuwa hatujatulia ndipo kuna tumaini kwetu."
At this conference, we've been lucky enough to hear some exhilarating new ideas and discoveries and, really, about all the ways in which knowledge is being pushed excitingly forwards. But at some point, knowledge gives out. And that is the moment when your life is truly decided: you fall in love; you lose a friend; the lights go out. And it's then, when you're lost or uneasy or carried out of yourself, that you find out who you are.
Kwenye hili kongamano, tumebahatika sana kusikia mawazo mapya ya kustaajabisha na vumbuzi na kweli, kuhusu njia zote ambazo maarife yanasukumwa mbele sana. Lakini kuna hatua, maarifa yanaondoka. Na huo ndio muda ambao maisha yako yanaamua kweli: unapata upendo; unapoteza rafiki; taa zinazimika. Na ni hapo, ambapo ukiwa umepotea, au huelewi au umepoteza matumaini, ndipo unapogundua wewe ni nani.
I don't believe that ignorance is bliss. Science has unquestionably made our lives brighter and longer and healthier. And I am forever grateful to the teachers who showed me the laws of physics and pointed out that three times three makes nine. I can count that out on my fingers any time of night or day. But when a mathematician tells me that minus three times minus three makes nine, that's a kind of logic that almost feels like trust.
Siamini kama ujinga ni starehe. Sayansi imefanya maisha yetu yang'ae zaidi, marefu zaidi na yenye afya zaidi. Na ninawashukuru sana walimu walionifundisha kanuni za fizikia, na kunielekeza kwamba tatu mara tatu ni tisa. Naweza kuhesabu hiyo kwa vidole vyangu. muda wowote wa usiku au mchana. Lakini mwanahisabati akiniambia hio ukitoa mara tatu ukitoa tatu ni tisa, hiyo ni aina ya mantiki inayoonekana kama uaminifu.
The opposite of knowledge, in other words, isn't always ignorance. It can be wonder. Or mystery. Possibility. And in my life, I've found it's the things I don't know that have lifted me up and pushed me forwards much more than the things I do know. It's also the things I don't know that have often brought me closer to everybody around me.
Tofauti ya maarifa, kwa maneno mengine, sio lazima iwe ujinga. Inaweza ikawa mshangao. Au maajabu. Uwezekano. Na kwenye maisha yangu, nimegundua ni vile nisivyovijua ndivyo ambavyo vimeninyanyua na kunisukuma mbele zaidi kushinda vile ninavyovijua. Ni pia vile nisivyovijua vilivyonileta karibu na kila mtu anaenizunguka.
For eight straight Novembers, recently, I traveled every year across Japan with the Dalai Lama. And the one thing he said every day that most seemed to give people reassurance and confidence was, "I don't know."
Kwa Novemba nane mfululizo, hivi karibuni, nimesafiri kila mwaka kupitia Japan na Dalai Lama. Na kitu ambacho alikuwa anasema kila siku ambacho kilionekana kuwapa watu suluhisho na tumaini ilikuwa ni "sijui."
"What's going to happen to Tibet?" "When are we ever going to get world peace?" "What's the best way to raise children?"
"Nini kitatokea Tibet?" "Lini tutapata amani duniani?" "Ipi ni njia sahihi ya kulea watoto?"
"Frankly," says this very wise man, "I don't know."
"Kiukweli," anasema huyu mtu mwenye busara, "Sijui."
The Nobel Prize-winning economist Daniel Kahneman has spent more than 60 years now researching human behavior, and his conclusion is that we are always much more confident of what we think we know than we should be. We have, as he memorably puts it, an "unlimited ability to ignore our ignorance." We know -- quote, unquote -- our team is going to win this weekend, and we only remember that knowledge on the rare occasions when we're right. Most of the time, we're in the dark. And that's where real intimacy lies.
Mshindi wa tuzo ya Nobeli, mwanauchumi Daniel Kahneman ametumia zaidi ya miaka 60 sasa akichunguza tabia za binadamu, na muafaka wake ni kua huwa tunajiamini sana na kile tunachodhani tunakijua kuliko tunavyotakiwa kuwa. Tunakuwa, kama anavyosema, na "uwezo usio na kikomo wa kupuuzia ujinga wetu." Tunajua -- nanukuu -- timu yetu itaenda kushinda wikiendi hii, na tunakumbuka tu hayo maarifa mara chache tukiwa sahihi. Mara nyingi, tunakuwa gizani. Na hapo ndipo hisia za kweli zipo.
Do you know what your lover is going to do tomorrow? Do you want to know?
Unajua mpenzi wako atakachokua anafanya kesho? Je unataka kujua?
The parents of us all, as some people call them, Adam and Eve, could never die, so long as they were eating from the tree of life. But the minute they began nibbling from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, they fell from their innocence. They grew embarrassed and fretful, self-conscious. And they learned, a little too late, perhaps, that there are certainly some things that we need to know, but there are many, many more that are better left unexplored.
Wazazi wetu sote kama watu wanavyowaita, Adam na Hawa, wasigeweza kufa, alimradi waliendelea kula kutoka kwenye mti wa uzima. Ila punde walivyoanza kula kutoka kwenye mti wa maarifa, ya mema na mabaya, wakaanguka kutoka kwenye weupe wao. Wakajawa na aibu na uwoga, wakajitambua. Na wakajifunza, kwa kuchelewa, pengine, kwamba kwa kweli kuna vitu tunahitaji kuvijua, lakini kuna vingi, vingi zaidi ambavyo ni bora visichunguzwe.
Now, when I was a kid, I knew it all, of course. I had been spending 20 years in classrooms collecting facts, and I was actually in the information business, writing articles for Time Magazine. And I took my first real trip to Japan for two-and-a-half weeks, and I came back with a 40-page essay explaining every last detail about Japan's temples, its fashions, its baseball games, its soul.
Sasa, nilivyokuwa mtoto, nilijua vyote, bila shaka. Nilitumia miaka 20 darasani nikikusanya mawazo, na nilikuwa kweli kwenye biashara ya habari, nikiandika makala ya gazeti la Time. Nikasafiri kwenda Japan kwa mara ya kwanza kwa muda wa wiki mbili na nusu, na nikarudi na insha ya karatasi 40 ikielezea kila kitu kuhusu nyumba za ibada za Japan, mitindo yake, michezo yake ya besiboli, nafsi yake.
But underneath all that, something that I couldn't understand so moved me for reasons I couldn't explain to you yet, that I decided to go and live in Japan. And now that I've been there for 28 years, I really couldn't tell you very much at all about my adopted home. Which is wonderful, because it means every day I'm making some new discovery, and in the process, looking around the corner and seeing the hundred thousand things I'll never know.
Lakini chini ya hayo yote, kitu ambacho sikuweza elewa kiliniongoza kwa sababu nisizoweza kuwaelezea bado, mpaka nikaamua kwenda kuishi Japan. Na sasa ambapo nimekuwa kule kwa miaka 28, siwezi kuwaelezea mengi kabisa kuhusu nyumbani kwangu. Ambayo ni nzuri, sababu inamaanisha kila siku ninagundua kitu kipya. na kwenye hiyo harakati, kuangalia pembeni na kuona mamia na maelfu ya vitu nisingeweza kujua.
Knowledge is a priceless gift. But the illusion of knowledge can be more dangerous than ignorance.
Maarifa ni zawadi kubwa sana. Lakini maarifa ya uwongo yanaweza kua hatari kuliko ujinga.
Thinking that you know your lover or your enemy can be more treacherous than acknowledging you'll never know them. Every morning in Japan, as the sun is flooding into our little apartment, I take great pains not to consult the weather forecast, because if I do, my mind will be overclouded, distracted, even when the day is bright.
Kuwaza kwamba unamjua mpenzi wako au adui yako inaweza kua ya hila zaidi kuliko kukubali kwamba hautowajua. Kila asubuhi Japan, ua likiwaka kwenye nyumba yetu ndogo, inanichukua maumivu mengi kutokuangalia utabiri wa hali ya hewa, sababu nikiangalia, akili yangu itajawa na mawazo, na itasumbuka hata kama siku ikiwa angavu.
I've been a full-time writer now for 34 years. And the one thing that I have learned is that transformation comes when I'm not in charge, when I don't know what's coming next, when I can't assume I am bigger than everything around me. And the same is true in love or in moments of crisis. Suddenly, we're back in that trishaw again and we're bumping off the broad, well-lit streets; and we're reminded, really, of the first law of travel and, therefore, of life: you're only as strong as your readiness to surrender.
Nimekuwa mwandishi kwa miaka 34 sasa. Na kitu kimoja ambacho nimejifunza ni kua mabadiliko huja pale nisipoyapangilia, pale ambapo sijui nini kinafuata, pale ambapo siwezi kuwaza kua ni mkubwa kuliko kila kitu kinachonizunguka. Na hio ni kweli pia kwenye upendo au kwenye wakati wa majanga. Ghafla, tumerudi kwenye ile guta tena na tunaruka mitaa mikubwa yenye taa; na tunakumbushwa, kweli, kwenye kanuni ya kwanza ya safari na hivyo, ya maisha: una nguvu tu kama uwezo wako wa kujisalimisha.
In the end, perhaps, being human is much more important than being fully in the know.
Mwishowe, pengine, kuwa binadamu ni muhimu zaidi kuliko kuwa kwenye kujua kikamilifu.
Thank you.
Asanteni.
(Applause)
(Makofi)