For thousands of years people of different countries, cultures, and continents all across the globe worshipped a huge ball of radiant gas. I can now see why. Every evening I grab my I-pod and take one of the trails that lead away from the center of the village like many bent and broken spokes of a rimless wheel. The temperatures begin to cool as the sun dips below the horizon. As a farewell gesture to yet another day it ignites the clouds: yellow, orange, pink, purple, and all the unnamed hues in between cast their glow on the tired fields. How could one not stand in awe of a sunset? Not appreciate the life-giving power that allows us to bring food out of the earth? Not see how utterly lost we would be without it? I suppose it makes sense to elevate such a powerfully beautiful thing into a God.
For the most part, worshipping the sun has become relegated to a pagan practice of the past. Knowledge has contained it to antiquity: the understanding that a greater God created the sun, just like everything else. More recently, the knowledge that the energy we receive is merely the product of the force of gravity acting on a whole lot of hydrogen gas. This knowledge serves to displace the mystery that once defined the way a person thought of the sun; and like pouring sand into a glass filled with water, the solidity of truth overcame the shifting, liquid unknown.
The element of mystery has a powerful hold over us. We seek to dispel mystery with understanding, although this usually leads to some sort of letdown as our imaginations and hopes usually have a more vibrant glow than reality. To the West, Africa has long been steeped in mystery. Even today, it is the land of untamed adventure, boundless Safaris. When the Western wanderer decides to venture to Black Africa for the first time, a feeling of nervous apprehension almost always accompanies the decision, unlike any other potential destination. The mystery of a wholly different place draws and intrigues the traveler like nothing else. The first days are bewildering, the weeks become exhilarating, and the months eventually ease into some form of enjoyment.
I came into this Peace Corps experience, this Grand Adventure, with the ambition to make an impact, as summed up by my best friend: “I do think you can make a difference out there, you got skills dude, you're the most educated man in like 1000 miles.” I was intrigued and driven by this idea of being able to contribute in a positive way, to do some good. After the initial excitement had been lulled into a feeling of freedom and enjoyment, I was ready to get to work. So many great plans for projects were floating around in my head that I hardly knew where to start. I figured it made sense to try and wrap up the previous volunteer’s unfinished project: a community garden. The plot of land was chosen and fenced in, the wells were half-dug and bricks had already been made. All we needed to do was complete the wells and then we could start working on an irrigation system that I was looking forward to designing. Seemed easy enough. My Malian counterpart was all for it, saying the only problem was money, which Peace Corps had. When I asked them about it, they said the village had the money at one time, but it disappeared somewhere along the line. I didn’t want to offer new funds if the old ones were mismanaged, so nothing happened. Even though the fence remains and the wells are functional the garden remains unused.
I had plenty of ideas that I thought would improve the quality of life here. Every time I tried to implement one of them, from solar food dehydrators to wastewater elimination systems (soak pits), I was met with surface enthusiasm without any real commitment, and even more petty disputes. A pattern began to emerge. I came to realize that the village didn’t really want to change anything unless they were given money to do so. A number of NGOs had been working in this area. Among other things, a small clinic was built, dams were constructed, and trees were planted. The villagers had become used to white people providing them with the means to improve their village. So why bother doing it themselves?
Unfortunately, the best of intentions often have unforeseen negative consequences. The handout mentality, or viewing white people as a source of free stuff, is an excellent example of this. Billions of dollars in foreign aid have poured into Africa. Some of those dollars have been put to good use while others have been ‘eaten up’ by corrupt governments or wasted on useless projects and overhead. All of this ‘free’ money has brought about an attitude of dependence, preventing people from taking initiative to improve things on their own.
Think about this in terms of our society. Imagine you have a late model Pontiac that is starting to show a few spots of rust. It runs alright, for the most part, but a new car is in order. One evening you hear about some group of rich foreigners who recently arrived in a nearby city and started giving away brand new electric cars. They want to help the environment, improve the quality of your life, and spread the goodwill of their powerful country. You could use a new car and wouldn’t mind trying out some different technology, but are not sure how to become chosen to receive a vehicle. You would probably try to make friends with them, invite them over for dinner, learn a few words of their language. You would at least pretend to care about the environment and maybe a few of the other values they seem to hold true. This small effort just might pay off in the form of a new car.
A few days later, you notice one of their sleek machines in your neighbor’s driveway! She is telling everyone about how they just gave it to her! And it works beautifully! You feel the time is coming to get your hands on one for yourself. Later that day, a corporate representative with a funny accent and strange clothes comes to talk to you about obtaining your very own electric car. He stumbles over syllables and words, as he is new to speaking English, but eventually gets his point across. He wants you to pay for it. At nearly full price, which is more than a new Pontiac. You beg and plead with him but he won’t budge. He insists his new technology is more than worth the price tag and will be a great thing for the environment. He obviously loves the Environment. You are both sad as he walks out the door without a sale. In fact, he can’t sell a single one of his cars. Nobody will buy them if they think they might be able to get one for free. As long as the cars are still being given away, the industry cannot take off. Those few handouts, in the long run, probably slowed the introduction of new a technology and ultimately set environmental progress back.
I am the guy with the funny accent and the strange clothes who is trying to sell the cars. It just doesn’t seem to work. Nobody will part with those rusty, old Pontiacs. I have discussed the issues of dependence and the handout mentality with my two closest Malian friends in village. They both came from elsewhere and have said things about my village like “the people here won’t work”, “They just want money,” and “they don’t want to improve things.” Apparently, the villagers are satisfied with the status quo. My experience is confined to a small area, and perhaps people in the places where my friends come from do not have the same attitudes. I do know that in order to take on any big project here in Mali I either need to see more enthusiasm on the part of those who live here, or to have a colleague to work with.
I have learned that I am driven, in part, by enthusiasm in others and cannot maintain my own levels of motivation in relative isolation. I now understand that more can be gained just by sitting and talking with people while drinking tea than teaching them how to build a good soak pit. I have seen firsthand the effects, good and bad, of foreign aid. I am able to live inside a mud hut without electricity or running water on the outskirts of a small African village and have learned all about life here: history, culture, language, climate, etc. I have experienced what I came for and even did a little bit of good along the way, although it looked differently than I had imagined it.
To sum up, the mystery is gone. I no longer am drawn by the unknown, uncharted lure of Africa. My once sparkling glass of water has been filled with the sands of knowledge. My curiosity, for the time being, has been quenched. As the sun sets on this adventure, I look forward to returning to the University of Michigan to pursue a Masters in Education that I might become a high school physics teacher. It is amazing to think that I have already been here for close to two years and my time in Mali has come to an end. Thanks to all for your support in the form of thoughts, prayers, emails, letters, and packages. It was much needed and much appreciated.
