Week 2: "The Field" and a guest blogger

With Rachel at Georgetown.

This week, I've asked a close friend and another GU fellow and Mercy Corps intern, Rachel Kuykendall, to allow me to share some of her words here. I am privileged to have friends who have been simply invaluable over the past two and a half weeks, supporting me in various ways from airport rides to late-night Skype calls. While this experience is incredibly rewarding, it also has its challenges, and the compassion my friends have shown me has felt like a lifeline as I face these challenges. I cannot thank you all enough for your generosity of heart and spirit.

My first week being in "the field" has been a great high point but it's also been filled with difficult experiences and concerns. Among these, the phrase "field work" has been bothering me a lot. The morning, Rachel send me a message that articulated some of the obstacles, anxieties, and delights of working in the "world's toughest places" more clearly than my overwhelmed mind has been capable of, and she's kind enough to let me share that message here. I've included some pictures of my workplace this week, and I think they help capture some of those beautiful and painful feelings and moments Rachel talks about.

Dereje, an assistant project officer for CHELBI, on site in 

Kilicho. His shirt bears Mercy Corps' slogan: "Saving and

improving lives in the world's toughest places." 

Photo: Mercy Corps

***

"Morning Sunshine! Happy Friday, you are almost finished with your first official field visit! (I almost said reality visit instead but I don't like that either. We need to think of something that underscores the vulnerability of the communities we work with in a way that distinguishes a "field visit" from office work while not belittling the experiences of the people we are here for.) But either way, you are almost done!  

Youth participate in a training on environmental awareness and

natural resource management in Kilicho kebele, Burji woreda, 

SNNP region, Ethiopia. Photo: Mercy Corps

I know we were both drawn to Mercy Corps for similar reasons, but I also know it's difficult (impossible) to learn how hard it really is going to be once you actually get into the "field" for the first time. It's hard because it's a reminder of how privileged we really are back home, it's hard because we know to at least some extent our home (the U.S. as a whole) probably played some hand in either creating the vulnerable community or exploiting them at some point which leads to a little bit of guilt that just doesn't go away (maybe that's just me), and it's hard because as beautiful as it is to see the tangible change our organization is making on the ground, we also see how much there is left to be done... And it's terrifying.

Me and Hassan, the Kilicho kebele manager.

He's been invaluable in supporting and helping

to facilitate Mercy Corps' natural resource

management program in his community.

So where does that leave us? Two fellows in struggling parts of the world that are trying to learn the ropes of what will hopefully be a career full of positively impacting people all over the world. It might sound cheesy but I'm starting to realize that more than anything, being an intern in the field is an inspiration to the communities we work with—it shows community members that the world has not forgot about them and that new generations are learning about their struggle and are coming from around the world to try to help alleviate it. But still where does that leave us? Trying to be a source of inspiration when each day we turn off the lights and climb into an unfamiliar bed to be overcome with stress and anxiety—but about what? At the end of the day the things eating at us are laughable in comparison to the struggles of those we traveled across the world to meet and help. It reminds us that solitude is a lost art, and that it will break us if we let it—but we won't.

Children in Kilicho kebele, Burji woreda, SNNP region, 

Ethiopia. Photo: Mercy Corps

I've found myself repeating the phrase "deconstruct the house ego built" a lot. (From an incredible book called "awakening the Buddha within,") The "house" in this case being all of the senses of security and self-esteem we are used to. But because we are under new skies now, and we need to learn to love them the same way we love and are comfortable being at home. Because at the end of the day, it's the same sky. We are just interacting with it under new circumstances, new climates, new relationships, and it's a lot at once. "A traveler without observation is a bird without wings." Think of “deconstructing ego’s house” as a process of observation. Naturally when we travel and go new places we observe the pretty things, the scenery and the sunsets, the good food, the cultural differences that we wish America had, but we tend to either force ourselves to look away from, or judge, or critique etc. the things that might not be as pretty.

For example how shockingly dirty Amman is. But the deconstruction of that thought would be: why does the filth make me uncomfortable/angry? It's because I'm used to (comparably) cleaner streets. Why are D.C.’s streets cleaner? As much as I complain about our government, at least our public service provision is relatively efficient. Why isn't Jordan's service provision efficient? Generations of refugee influxes from around the region mean that the country is surviving on foreign aid that is more prone to help the refugees than the actual Jordanians. And now all of the sudden I feel bad for judging the dirty streets. It's a sobering process, but it helps you to break down what and why certain things are harder than others.

View of the Rift Valley, Konso, SNNP region, Ethiopia

So observe everything. Not just the sunsets and the sceneries, but the things that trigger anger or disgust or even sadness. Traveling is as much about learning who you are as it is about learning to see the world beyond your front door. You are doing incredible things, and our journeys have only just started. Literally just started. There will be a lot more hard days, but turn them into days of self-growth. The trickiest part of the rest of our lives will be remembering to balance—we can only help the people that need it most if we also remember to take care of ourselves. So treat yoself, ground yourself, and love yourself. Because I do, Justin does, your family does, Ethiopia does, and the rest of the world will soon enough."