Youth: A Dream Spent

I flew in and it wasn’t the same. I was no longer young and wanderlusting. I was just there landing after 24 hours of travel to Africa to do my job—to help organize a conference, to write a few things, to survive the jet lag, and to remember to drink only bottled water. I looked out the window of the SUV transporting us to our hotel and I saw the dust and dirt, the poverty, the dark streets; felt the ruts and deep holes in the roads. I could smell the pollution seeping through the closed windows. And unlike in 2009, when I landed in Burkina Faso’s neighbor, Niger, and I sensed an adventure, making a possible small, meager contribution to "saving the world," learning something about myself, at least, growing, here, I felt nothing, no possibility at all. Yes, the poverty is sad, but it hasn’t overwhelmed, and it never goes away.

The world continues to tick on. Poverty remains. The same black plastic bags littering the streets of Niamey in 2009 stayed there, never disintegrating, littering, just the same, the streets of Ouagadougou. We try to help, to make things better, but so little actually does any good at all. And that mentality of 'helping' is fraught with so many connotations; are we helping or just happy to be of the intention of doing no harm?

I still feel elated by the kindness, warmth, and generosity of the Burkinabe women who work for Pathfinder here. Sarat is so tall and in her height and stealth, she commands energy. Her laugh is infectious. I could never tire of Sarat. So, I guess, women like Sarat are the flowers in the piles of dirt and plastic bags.

It still seems absurd to host these events at hotels that cost more each night than a Burkinabe might earn in six months. But we do. We need to be secure. Last year, a terrorist attack maimed and killed NGO workers just like us, at a hotel just like this, in this very city. So, we come to these countries, stay in these places, spend thousands of dollars to host these events that we hope will ignite change, but it is never easy to determine if they actually do anything at all. So, there you go, with my youth has gone my idealism and the allure for “adventure” travel with it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been impressed and inspired by so many of our programs—in DRC, Ethiopia, in Yemen, before the country devolved into war and we had to vacate. They have offered so many women and girls a chance they never would have had without our investments. But the allure of my travel here, its point, the investment in it, newly mystifies me.

Maybe I’ll walk the block tomorrow, sweat out the 106 degree midafternoon funk, try to be inspired, even affected by where I am—try to get back that gratitude I once had for being able to make these trips at all; for perspective and growth and being able to see how the world lives.

Or maybe I'll realize I'm not really the nomad I thought I always was. Maybe I'm ready to settle and feel like I'm home.