Saying Goodbye

Today is my last day in Sierra Leone. I feel like I should be writing some profound statement that captures the essence of my time here, but honestly, all I can think about is how tired I am. This trip has been jam-packed with new experiences, which is exciting. But the energy necessary to process the newness has leaves one feeling like an old dishrag, wrung out and hung out to dry on a rainy day.

I'm looking forward to spending a few days in London on my way home. It will be a much-needed respite from the glaring foreign-ness of Freetown. I'm planning to take it easy-browse Portobello Street Market, eat lunch in back alley cafes, wear jeans for the first time in a month...I know, I'm living the dream, right?

But if I've learned anything during my time here, its that I shouldn't take simple things for granted.

Sierra Leone just celebrated the 50th anniversary of its independence. A great achievement to be sure, but the jubilee of this occasion is laced with the lingering bitterness of poverty, illiteracy, illness, and ethnic tension that plague this nation's past, and have the potential to threaten its future.

On Friday, I spent some time with a reporter from International Alert, a British think tank dedicated to studying how economic development facilitates peace and/or incites conflict in developing nations. He was very impressed with FIRST STEP's community-focused approach to economic development, and Sierra Leonean President Ernest B. Koroma's dedication to supporting similar projects. But our conversation revealed that good intentions, and even good plans, do not guarantee that projects like FIRST STEP will effect sustainable change in countries like Sierra Leone.

Whether or not Ernest is earnest, and I believe he is, his plans to bring Sierra Leone into the 21st century will be met with some degree of backlash by Southern Sierra Leoneans who dislike the fact that he comes from the North, by villagers who can't afford rising property costs, or displaced young people who are angry because change isn't coming quickly enough. And come August 2017, when Dr. Koroma's second term expires, dissenters on both sides of the political spectrum, may (or may not) use their fists to express their frustration.

It's a terrifying scenario, especially for citizens of (relatively) stable political systems like those of Europe and the United States. But, when we Westerners look at the risky reality of West African development, we seem to forget that our own countries experienced the same sort of instability during the Industrial Revolution. Between 1700 and 1900, Europeans and Americans catapulted themselves out of poverty through the cultivation of their textile, energy, and smelting industries, three industries that are currently developing in Sierra Leone. But they also witnessed uncontrolled urbanization and gentrification, employee and child labor abuses, corrupt officials buying elections, and distressed laborers in violent protest, the same social problems that are characteristic of developing nations like Sierra Leone.

There were times in my own country when success was not certain, and elections were not peaceful. By God's grace, I was not born at one of those times. I used to feel guilty for having been born in America to a family wealthy enough to protect me. Two weeks ago, when I saw a small naked child sitting in the dirt playing with a sharp knife he'd found, I was overwhelmed with gratitude that my 7-year old brother Jack was clothed, fed, and indoors, playing with plastic whale toys.

That's the way things are supposed to be.

But for most of the people in the world, the way it's supposed to be is a far cry from the way things are. It's hard to swallow the truth that I am part of the exception, not the rule. But I believe that American and European history demonstrate that, from the desolation of poverty and conflict, good things can, and do arise. It will require sacrifice on the part of wealthy nations for this to become a reality. But it's a price I'm willing to pay.

So, this weekend, caught in the tension between the privilege of my reality and the irrefutable knowledge of others' poverty, when I put on jeans for the first time in my 22nd year, when I buy a cup of coffee, and take a walk by the Thames, I will thank God for what he's given me.

And I will pray that he shows me how to best share what I have.