Perspective

We left Kenya after three days in the game park, 300 herds of elephant, 1500 wildebeast, a family of lion, 2 cheatahs and a couple of giraffe's later. Steph and I had ages in the airport, and we both wandered for 6 hours feeling thankful that Nairobi at least has corridors and corridors of duty free shops, unlike Bamako and Conakry which only have seating on the tarmac and a bar that is occasionally open. We spent the time shopping and shopping and shopping.

We arrived in London very early in the morning, neither of us having any sense of where we were supposed to go. We got our bags and stood around kind of staring at the walls as if they would give us some magical idea of how to get from Heathrow to the dorms in central London. We did manage to figure it out, and were thrilled to arrive at the dorm to find showers and laundry machines and some of our friends.

Steph and I developed a remarkable friendship in Kenya, wading through the emotions, the challenges, the life that we were leading in tandem. When we went over together I was not sure what would happen--I knew we would end the summer loving or hating each other, and I was fairly certain I knew which side of the line I would fall on, but you can never be sure. There was a mutual appreciation for the good in people. Those things that you notice about someone that immediately bond you to them. We dealt with the passing scene before us with a mix of sadness, hope, frustration, but always laughter. Laughter was the savior. It might sound odd, being able to laugh, heartily and often, but we did. And we laughed at each other, and supported each other. And that's the only good way to move through this life is with someone there to remind you that it's too much to get bogged down in your own helplessness--sometimes the only thing you can do is your best and never lose sight of that ability to just laugh till it hurts. I pride myself in being able to speak "Stephanie" and decipher her stories as she doubles over in hysterics unable to make any sort of sensical statements--I might add it to the list of languages I speak, in fact as it was one of the more difficult skills to acquire. One thing I will never regret in my life are the people who I have been lucky enough to acquire as friends along the road. Steph is a lifer. It's something I like about her.

London was a hard adjustment. There was no time to process, we started class, had tea, spoke of international law in the abstract after having lived in the result of lawlessness and international abadonment of a people. Everything came back to Somalia. Ah, the cherished UN--what an organization--where there is no enforcement. I frustrated my professor with my emails and emails and emails, I still do, but after seeing something go so completely wrong, how can you not question, not be skeptical? There is never anything that happens without consequence, and sometimes the consequences are easier to overlook, particularly when they are sitting in the desert far from anything else other than the border of the lawless state they ran from. The consequences are far less severe when there is no oil, no resources at stake, as if people are not the most precious resource of all. These organizations are developed to protect individuals, and they have, and they do, but they protect the individuals who are lucky enough to have allies sitting in one of the five permanent places on the Security Council or those who have something other than just their citizens to bring to the table.

We had dinner with a lovely guy who lives in the same flat as Chanda and Steph and he was asking about how we felt about the UNHCR and UN as organizations. Steph deferred to me and I went on the usual diatribe about how disfcunctional they are, how disillusioned everyone is, and bitter, and nothing works. And it hit me--I was telling about this disillusionment as if I was detached from those people. But I'm not. THAT was disillusioning.

Perspective. How easy to lose and difficult to gain. But it's important to have and I am trying my hardest to hold on to it because once you slip down that slope your ability to initiate, develop, imagine and believe in improvement is gone. I talked to my dad on my birthday, the day I interviewed the family trying to protect their sister from being burned to death. I was sad and frustrated and needed the perspective that only my father can give. He is even and balanced, his passion is channeled differently from my fist pumping indignation that can overwhelm and stifle productivity. He listened to the recount and the horror in my voice. And this is what he said (more or less...): Then find something better. Fix it. Find a solution. That is your job. And you know what? You may never be able to fix it, but you should not stop trying.

That, that will remain my charge. That will bring me perspective. That will keep me questioning.