Tears of the Giraffe

We have a tendency to fall prey to apathy when some event does not affect us directly. How many Americans cared about the oil issue till gas prices inflated? Who mourned for the losses of 9/11 the longest, or continue to mourn to this day? Unless you or someone you know have been involved in a tragedy, it's just normal to not care... either after a while, or ever.

This is something I struggle with, and which compels me to keep working. Western Kenya is currently suffering from drought. Plants, animals, and now people are dying. They can't plant their next crop; it's too dry and dusty. Their rain collection tanks are empty now, and women and children have to walk to the river and carry the dirty water in jugs back to the village. Life is based on subsistence farming out there, and they are at the mercy of the seasons and weather. Seeing my friend Edwin, for the third time this week, write another plea on his FB status for people to help pray to God to send rain, made me cry.

I get this way sometimes, when I'm on my own and thinking about the people I've met and lived with, who struggle day by day to make it another day. And I re-imagine myself flying in there, getting a taste of life in another's shoes (if only they all had shoes), then flying back to the safety and comfort of the American Dream. And I start to feel like I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. Not just Kenya, but also Belize and Vietnam; you never ever forget when you make eye contact with sadness looking back at you with hope (remember I'm the foreigner they see as healthy and wealthy coming to bring them solutions). And then when the senseless violence began in Libya, even though I've never been there or know anyone there, I immediately sympathize with them because when life gets tough, it's tough no matter where you are, and I hurt for them.

Shana, the wise director of Village Volunteers and my role model, warned me about this earlier, about caring for everyone I visit, and will be tempted to spread myself too thin by wanting to help every project, thereby not being of help to anyone. This is another reason we've postponed India.

So as I visit these new villages and programs for the sake of Therapists Without Borders, my remedy to the pain I feel for the oppressed poor and neglected, I must guard my heart. But when I say "guard," I don't mean avoid feelings toward them; I mean shield it with the knowledge that I'm there to try to make a difference. Not to feel sorry for them. With that last thought, I must finally turn off my iPhone and be on my way to Cusco.