mattlawyue

My job in Africa is to tell stories, specifically one story, and this is about the School of St Jude. It’s about how ten years ago an Australian woman named Gemma Sisia started a school in Arusha, Tanzania on a single plot of land teaching a handful of local kids, and how ten years later she has transformed her vision into reality, a reality so in your face, so ingrained within the fabric of this east African town, it could make the manic dala dalas slow down. It’s about how she – along with the help of many like-minded people – turned that one plot of land into three sprawling campuses, where local and international staff provides a free education and overall school experience to 1,500 of the most underprivileged, brightest and – honest to God – the bravest children you will ever meet. Unlike the government run schools around the country and most of Africa, there are no more than 30 students to a class at St Jude’s, where each child has a textbook, their own seat and a hot, nutritious lunch Monday through Friday. Then you factor in the quality of education, that most of these kids know more Swahili than English – the school teaches everything in English – and the ridiculous test scores some students are achieving, you forget their families are likely struggling miles away in a home with no electricity, running water and multiple mouths to feed. Add in their recreational time to learn sport, music, dance and everything else a privileged child receives without knowing any better – as I did in my elementary years – it becomes evident very quickly why volunteers continue to return year after year after year. The work becomes infectious, the people become your family and everything in your past almost loses its flavor, its color, and its sense of accomplishment.

I had previously mentioned there was a “romantic idealism” about coming to Africa, trying to save the continent, the oh so sexy phrase to lay on people back home. Yes, we can certainly feel good about ourselves for taking time to help the less fortunate. Mr. and Mrs. ego gets lathered right up. But the second you’re actually on the ground and running, there’s nothing romantic about it. On the surface, this country is filthy. Disease, unpaved roads, flies, mosquitoes, poverty, welfare cases you can’t even imagine, sporadic electricity, horrific infrequency and unavailability of clean drinking water – it’s a third world country for a reason. And you’re reminded of it every minute, of every day. But you learn to adapt, to find the beauty behind the stench, underneath the grime and through the façade. In the smiles of the roadside fruit vendors, the children’s spirit and burgeoning curiosity to what they didn’t know existed, to the mambo (hello) and karibu (welcome) and asante (thank you).

I’ve been here all of seven days, and I know my life has already changed. The cynical, bitter crust that sprouted over my every word, every thought – I can feel that disintegrating. Perhaps it’s the lesser intake of American politics, sports, Twitter and everything else I consumed daily back home that’s playing a significant factor. Or, and more likely, it’s opening my eyes to the unfamiliar, taking a knife and tearing a fucking hole through the bubble I was living in for so long.**

**To everyone back home who continues to climb that corporate/social ladder – I absolutely do not think any less of you, although that may be the vibe you’re getting. In fact, I commend you because you’re doing exactly what I didn’t have the nerve to do, which is stick out the grind and put that A-type personality into overdrive, networking and hustling your way to the top. That attitude will never leave me and it’s a very important part of who I am. My cynicism is inherently my own, nurtured by my own actions and nobody else’s. It’s why I’m professing such a tremendous light bulb moment, because I feel my unappealing characteristics shattering bit by bit.

Yes, bad days are on the horizon, the inevitable upset stomach and failed execution at work – they’re all waiting. But I’m ready, and so is everyone else in my support network. That campfire camaraderie, the “all in this together” mantra that goes unsaid makes our jobs here worthwhile. Perhaps it’s the particular brand of person St Jude’s attracts, but the stories I’ve been hearing the past week have been inspiring. I’m relatively one of the babies of the volunteers, and I’m grateful for that, because I get to soak in all of the experiences and wisdom of the collective group. Over Serengeti lagers, group dinners and trips to the supermarket, there is always knowledge being fed to me.

And what have I learned so far?

No longer will I be worried about accomplishing a career goal by a certain age, because it doesn’t work that way. Life happens, and when it does, it’s best not to interrupt it. The stories turn out better this way.