After stopping for one night in Rundu, it was time for the trainees to depart for our journey back to Okahandja the next morning of the 14th of March 2009. Thankfully, the older volunteers took us (another kilo or two with my effing bags) to the combi hike point and set us up with a ride, because I would have been confused and worried and clueless about what to do otherwise.
After we paid this one lady and had our names recorded down into a registry book, we began the wait. See combis won’t leave usually until they are packed full to capacity, and then some. It makes sense because the more bodies in the car, the more money the driver makes per trip. The only problem is, if you want to get somewhere by a certain time, you can’t rely on a combi. You could be waiting for a few minutes, or for several hours, until they finally reach their threshold time, when they absolutely have to leave in order to reach their destination before it gets too dark.
We waited for a couple of hours before the spots in the combi had all filled up. Originally, we were set to go in this very nice mini-bus, one with isles, individual cushioned seats, and an extended roof that allowed you to stand. That was only a tease however, because shortly before it was time to depart, we were moved into a real true combi. Now the best way that I can describe a combi is that it’s about the size of a minivan or one of those Volkswagen vans from the 60’s or 70’s, and they typically hold about 16 passengers including the driver. Our combi in particular was definitely worn and old, and if the seats had cushioning, I couldn’t feel any between my butt and the support bars.
Nick, Kim, Jessica and I packed into the back, which is the only seat where four have to sit together instead of three. Paul and Jake, apparently the smarter ones of the group, sat right in front of us, and had much more room. I was being pressed by every angle, from the seat, from the people next to me, my knees were pressing into the seat in front of me, and I couldn’t sit up completely straight because the ceiling was low. Thankfully I’m not claustrophobic because I would have lost it in there. I had to sit many hours in a fetal-like position just to relieve pressure on various sore spots on my body.
In addition to the cramped conditions, combis don’t really have air conditioning, and some combi drivers will even demand that you leave the windows closed. For some reason they believe that having the windows open drastically affects the aerodynamics of the van. So what you get is a tightly packed group of hot, sweaty, smelly, uncomfortable, and agitated people. It might not sound that uncomfortable in writing, but I found myself occasionally thinking about how a car crash might be a nice alternative because it would get me out of the combi or possibly end my suffering altogether (which I considered a win-win at the time). I’m tempted to take those of you that visit on a combi ride of your very own so you can fully understand my pain (especially that of my buttocks).
The highlights about this particular combi experience were the times when we would be driving on a nice, well-maintained, dry, paved road and yet it would feel as if the car was hydroplaning. There were moments where I really thought we were going to fly off the road, and that was all before it actually did start to rain. Also, our combi broke down about half way to our destination. We had to wait for maybe a half hour to an hour while the driver continually tried to start up the van. He was eventually successful and we were able to continue our journey.
After a full day in the combi, about 9 or so hours, we finally arrived back in Okahandja. I was so happy to be back home with my host family, away from nasty houses, crazy priests, disgusting roommates, and out of that dreadful combi.
November 8, 2009
Take a Closer Look
When we arrived in Rundu after a few hours of driving, there was MORE walking to be done with my ridiculous luggage in hand. We had to foot about a kilo or two into town before arriving at the PCV’s house we were going to stay at for the night. Once there, we unpacked and were given a tour of the town that ended with dinner at the Omashare Lodge. I had an extremely delicious vegetarian pizza and a N$6 glass of wine (about $0.60 at the time!)
After dinner we went to another volunteer’s house for a small get together with all of the Peace Corps Volunteers in the area at the time. It was a great opportunity to talk with the PCVs who had been here for a while and hear their stories and perspectives with regards to Namibia. I heard a lot of interesting and encouraging stories, but there were also a lot of sad things that were said. I’m not just talking about sad stories (there were some of those), but disheartening comments made by some of the volunteers as well.
It appeared as though over time, some of the many problems in Namibia had beaten down these particular volunteers. It was as if they had lost all hope of change and were starting to view Namibians in a general stereotype they had derived from their own negative personal encounters. Saying Namibians were this or that, and judging them in accordance. And with everything they did, they were really only separating themselves from the people they were trying to help.
I could see how being surrounded by so many problems constantly would wear on a person, but only to a certain degree, and only if you allow it to. I thought about how sad it was that they were beat down so easily. I thought about what a horrible experience their service must be if they are constantly focusing on the problems instead of working on solutions. I thought about how limiting it would be to have the belief that “these people” can’t change, that they just are a certain way and there’s nothing to be done about it.
I believe that those types of mentalities only create a gap between people, and by separating yourself from others by focusing on the differences that you judge to be bad, you only render yourself powerless to help them. You create a distance between yourself and them, and it’s in that distance, in seeing them from afar, that they seem so different, unfamiliar, and even scary. But the thing is, Namibians, Americans, and everyone else on the planet, we’re all just humans, we’re all equals. We may all be unique and special individuals in our own ways, with insignificant yet beautiful differences, but we all share the common thread of humanity. And when you get up real close, when you open yourself up to seeing “those people”, truly seeing them, that’s when you realize how familiar, how similar, and just how wonderful your brother, who is a part of you and like you in so many ways, really is.
The only difference that really matters is circumstance. People’s circumstances are what shape them to be the way that they are. Poverty, repressive cultures, abuse and corruption can affect a life path in the same way that kindness, abundance, freedom, and honesty can. I’m not saying that people don’t have choices, because we have a choice in everything we do, but I do believe that some circumstances make choices that are more difficult than others. I don’t know if I’d be the same person if I had been brought up in a poor community, or a controlling family, or an abusive environment, or a culture of repression, jealousy, and secrecy. I would like to think I would be the same person that I am today, that I would not waiver and change in the face of adversity, but the truth is that I just don’t know.
We can never fully know anyone’s story. We can never truly know the challenges and hardships that they have faced in life. We can never absolutely know the impact of the psychological trauma that has been inflicted upon a person by the world around them. And because of that, because we can never know, because we could be just like “that person” if we were in their situation, we might want to have a little more compassion and understanding for where they are coming from.
Because I know that I just don’t know, because I have my own unique story that can never be fully understood, and because I take a closer look and in doing so see my remarkable sister… I won’t be beaten down. I will not allow the impact of circumstance to affect how I view others. I won’t give up hope that all people can learn and change and grow. I won’t lose sight of the true potential that lies within each and every one of us. And I will always remember to take a closer look… because things aren’t always as they seem to be.
After dinner we went to another volunteer’s house for a small get together with all of the Peace Corps Volunteers in the area at the time. It was a great opportunity to talk with the PCVs who had been here for a while and hear their stories and perspectives with regards to Namibia. I heard a lot of interesting and encouraging stories, but there were also a lot of sad things that were said. I’m not just talking about sad stories (there were some of those), but disheartening comments made by some of the volunteers as well.
It appeared as though over time, some of the many problems in Namibia had beaten down these particular volunteers. It was as if they had lost all hope of change and were starting to view Namibians in a general stereotype they had derived from their own negative personal encounters. Saying Namibians were this or that, and judging them in accordance. And with everything they did, they were really only separating themselves from the people they were trying to help.
I could see how being surrounded by so many problems constantly would wear on a person, but only to a certain degree, and only if you allow it to. I thought about how sad it was that they were beat down so easily. I thought about what a horrible experience their service must be if they are constantly focusing on the problems instead of working on solutions. I thought about how limiting it would be to have the belief that “these people” can’t change, that they just are a certain way and there’s nothing to be done about it.
I believe that those types of mentalities only create a gap between people, and by separating yourself from others by focusing on the differences that you judge to be bad, you only render yourself powerless to help them. You create a distance between yourself and them, and it’s in that distance, in seeing them from afar, that they seem so different, unfamiliar, and even scary. But the thing is, Namibians, Americans, and everyone else on the planet, we’re all just humans, we’re all equals. We may all be unique and special individuals in our own ways, with insignificant yet beautiful differences, but we all share the common thread of humanity. And when you get up real close, when you open yourself up to seeing “those people”, truly seeing them, that’s when you realize how familiar, how similar, and just how wonderful your brother, who is a part of you and like you in so many ways, really is.
The only difference that really matters is circumstance. People’s circumstances are what shape them to be the way that they are. Poverty, repressive cultures, abuse and corruption can affect a life path in the same way that kindness, abundance, freedom, and honesty can. I’m not saying that people don’t have choices, because we have a choice in everything we do, but I do believe that some circumstances make choices that are more difficult than others. I don’t know if I’d be the same person if I had been brought up in a poor community, or a controlling family, or an abusive environment, or a culture of repression, jealousy, and secrecy. I would like to think I would be the same person that I am today, that I would not waiver and change in the face of adversity, but the truth is that I just don’t know.
We can never fully know anyone’s story. We can never truly know the challenges and hardships that they have faced in life. We can never absolutely know the impact of the psychological trauma that has been inflicted upon a person by the world around them. And because of that, because we can never know, because we could be just like “that person” if we were in their situation, we might want to have a little more compassion and understanding for where they are coming from.
Because I know that I just don’t know, because I have my own unique story that can never be fully understood, and because I take a closer look and in doing so see my remarkable sister… I won’t be beaten down. I will not allow the impact of circumstance to affect how I view others. I won’t give up hope that all people can learn and change and grow. I won’t lose sight of the true potential that lies within each and every one of us. And I will always remember to take a closer look… because things aren’t always as they seem to be.
The Thrill of Hiking
The Following Day, the 13th of March, I was planning on beginning my travels back to our training town of Okahandja. The previous night, a fellow trainee, Paul, arrived at our house. The plan was that his driver would drop him off, spend the night in a nearby village, and then drive us the 200 kilometers to Rundu (the closest town) in the morning. We were supposed to leave around 6 am, so when that hour came and went, and several hours passed, we realized it was time to make other arrangements.
Chris and Lori (other PCVs) were planning on going to Rundu on that day as well, so luckily we had them to help us with the last minute chaotic travel plans. So we decided we would hike (hitchhike) to Andara, meet Lori, and then from there we would foot (walk) to the paved road to find a hike to Rundu.
I didn’t think much of the plans, I just threw on my flip flops, my heavy backpack, and my loaded duffle bag and set out to begin the journey. I decided against sunscreen initially because I didn’t think we would be out in the sun long enough for me to burn. We started by walking about 1 kilo from Frans Dimbare to the gravel road, a distance that seemed much farther with my hefty luggage. At the gravel road, we waited under a tree for about an hour for a car to pick us up and take us to Andara.
After we arrived, Lori joined the party and we proceeded onward. The way I pictured things when they were talking about the walk from Andara to the paved road, was that it would be a short distance. I did not realize we would be walking several kilos in the blistering African sun. After several minutes in, with no view of an end in sight, I realized that it was long past time for the sunscreen. So I used the moment to steal a quick break, I unburdened myself of my bags, lathered the sunscreen onto my sweat-drenched skin, and then reloaded the luggage back onto my tired and sore shoulders.
We walked… we walked… and then we walked some more. I kept praying that one of the small clouds in the sky would block the sun, even if just for a moment, just to give us some reprieve from the heat. I kept hoping that over each hill we were on would be the tire road. But there were few periods of shade, and there were many, many tiny hills. And what made the whole thing unbearable was the luggage that I had deemed an appropriate amount for this trip. If I had known I would be trekking through the blistering savannah during midday I would have packed very differently (one set of underwear and clothes would have sufficed).
Finally, the end came, as it always does, we made it to the road and my suffering was over. We found some shade by the paved road and waited for the first vehicle we saw to flag down. We were lucky and didn’t have to wait too long. A lorrie (a semi-truck) stopped and agreed to take us to Rundu for N$50. We climbed up into the back, into this long, open-topped flatbed, and then the driver took off for our destination.
It was such an incredible and exciting experience, hiking for the first time. The thrill of the unknown, of not having scheduled and reliable transportation, of taking chances and depending on others, was unique and completely unforgettable.
I lied on the rusted metal flatbed, hidden from the unrelenting sun by my dirty towel. I rested and took a nap during the 2 hr drive. I stood up while the lorrie was moving, feeling the wind blow against my skin. I looked around at all of the surrounding nature and the numerous villages scattered throughout. I waved to all of the small children walking alongside the road, who were jumping with excitement at the sight of a white person. I did something that I would never be able to do in the States…And I LOVED every second of it.
Chris and Lori (other PCVs) were planning on going to Rundu on that day as well, so luckily we had them to help us with the last minute chaotic travel plans. So we decided we would hike (hitchhike) to Andara, meet Lori, and then from there we would foot (walk) to the paved road to find a hike to Rundu.
I didn’t think much of the plans, I just threw on my flip flops, my heavy backpack, and my loaded duffle bag and set out to begin the journey. I decided against sunscreen initially because I didn’t think we would be out in the sun long enough for me to burn. We started by walking about 1 kilo from Frans Dimbare to the gravel road, a distance that seemed much farther with my hefty luggage. At the gravel road, we waited under a tree for about an hour for a car to pick us up and take us to Andara.
After we arrived, Lori joined the party and we proceeded onward. The way I pictured things when they were talking about the walk from Andara to the paved road, was that it would be a short distance. I did not realize we would be walking several kilos in the blistering African sun. After several minutes in, with no view of an end in sight, I realized that it was long past time for the sunscreen. So I used the moment to steal a quick break, I unburdened myself of my bags, lathered the sunscreen onto my sweat-drenched skin, and then reloaded the luggage back onto my tired and sore shoulders.
We walked… we walked… and then we walked some more. I kept praying that one of the small clouds in the sky would block the sun, even if just for a moment, just to give us some reprieve from the heat. I kept hoping that over each hill we were on would be the tire road. But there were few periods of shade, and there were many, many tiny hills. And what made the whole thing unbearable was the luggage that I had deemed an appropriate amount for this trip. If I had known I would be trekking through the blistering savannah during midday I would have packed very differently (one set of underwear and clothes would have sufficed).
Finally, the end came, as it always does, we made it to the road and my suffering was over. We found some shade by the paved road and waited for the first vehicle we saw to flag down. We were lucky and didn’t have to wait too long. A lorrie (a semi-truck) stopped and agreed to take us to Rundu for N$50. We climbed up into the back, into this long, open-topped flatbed, and then the driver took off for our destination.
It was such an incredible and exciting experience, hiking for the first time. The thrill of the unknown, of not having scheduled and reliable transportation, of taking chances and depending on others, was unique and completely unforgettable.
I lied on the rusted metal flatbed, hidden from the unrelenting sun by my dirty towel. I rested and took a nap during the 2 hr drive. I stood up while the lorrie was moving, feeling the wind blow against my skin. I looked around at all of the surrounding nature and the numerous villages scattered throughout. I waved to all of the small children walking alongside the road, who were jumping with excitement at the sight of a white person. I did something that I would never be able to do in the States…And I LOVED every second of it.
A Load of Croc
Because of transportation and other logistical problems, my week of site visit, where I was suppose to go around the community meeting all sorts of “important” people, including the Fumu (the chief) of the Hambukushu Tribe, was pretty uneventful. I spent most of the time reading, writing, and listening to the constant rainfall from the comfort(?) of my nasty room, or lying in the hammock next to the Kavango River (and being scared by the crocodiles). So on March 12, 2009, when Chris suggested that we go visit a neighboring village, Andara, I jumped at the idea.
We went to visit Lori, the volunteer there, whose group had arrived only 3 months before mine. She showed us around the village and the school she was working in. The village had a really unique feel to it since it was on a church mission, so there were some old brick buildings that are not common in the area. The school was depressing in some senses, the buildings were trashed and dirty, but at least the learners were used to it and it didn’t diminish their spirits much, at least from what little I was able to tell. (I’m not sure if the fact that the learners have adjusted to horrible conditions is a good or bad thing?)
After a while of walking around many long, sandy paths, Chris suggested that we go and visit his friend, the mission priest, Fr Andrew. I thought that would be a great opportunity to meet a community leader since I had failed to meet others throughout the week.
Meeting Fr Andrew was definitely an interesting experience to say the least. When we arrived at his house, we were almost immediately thrown into a crocodile hunt. Earlier in the week I had heard stories of people being taken by crocodiles, and apparently there was one crocodile that had taken a few children in the village. So right away we were told of the situation, and we followed Fr Andrew and a group of men as they raced to the side of the river where the crocodile had been spotted previously in the day.
It was exciting and terrifying at the same time, especially since we had to cross a bridge that was barely above water (I kept imaging Jaws-like scenes where the shark, or crocodile in this instance, jumps out of the water with its mouth wide open, surprising some unaware and careless victim). And then most of the time we were hunting, there was water on both sides of us, causing me to constantly look over my shoulder, fearful of some ambush from behind. We scoured over the area for a while, looking for the animal in question, but apparently it had already fled the scene of the crime before we arrived. All we managed to actually see was a foot long baby crocodile floating calmly in the water.
The hunt was called off shortly after we realized the crocodile was long gone, and we then began to chat with Fr Andrew for a bit. I don’t even know where to begin, I’m clueless as to how to describe, or do justice to what this man is like. All I can say is that I’m appalled that he is stationed there. I think it is sad that this man was chosen by any institution to represent God, to be a leader, to help these people. Every time I have interacted with him I have come away slightly disturbed in some way, and that first encounter was no exception.
It began with simple small talk, and while Fr Andrew was talking, he was smoking and swinging around his loaded shotgun. I HATE guns to begin with, but I felt extremely uneasy with it constantly being swung in my direction. Then slowly cuss words started to just flow freely from his mouth, and it wasn’t just the words, it was the way he talked. He talked with a certain tone and lack of respect that I felt was unbefitting of a leader, let alone a spiritual one.
I remember him telling one man that he should stay away from alcohol and avoid drinking because of the problems it creates. I could have appreciated what he was saying had I not felt that his words were empty and that he didn’t even believe in what he was saying. I just knew deep down that he was a hypocrite and drank as well (a feeling I later confirmed to be true).
All of this I could have merely disregarded as a possible misunderstanding, but then he confirmed the unsettling feelings I had been having since I first met him when I overheard him discussing “business” with a friend. He was talking about a few learners transferring from another school and mentioned something about how he would be making extra money, since their schools fees were more at the previous school and he would be charging them the same, even though the fees were suppose to be less. He was taking advantage of people that had very little to begin with, and that I cannot respect.
I even heard one story about how the learners, who put up with horrible conditions far beyond what we can imagine, and do so on a daily basis, went on strike one day because of the food that the mission was serving them. For learners to react like that, they must have been subjected to absolutely horrible conditions. Apparently, Fr Andrew (or his staff), who constantly has lavish braais (Barbeques), saw it fit to feed the learners porridge (ground up maize) that was infested with maggots.
This man, this “servant” of God is suppose to be serving these people, yet he lives like a king, on a level that rivals the Fumu. He has a huge house by the river, on a very large piece of property, with an orchard and garden and various livestock, he owns several cars, he has servants/workers, and who knows how much money he is skimming and profiting from various things such as charging people for power that is generated for free from the hydroelectric plant on his property.
I know it may not sound like it, but I don’t hate Fr Andrew, I don’t dislike him, and I try very hard not to judge the man for what he is doing. I feel sorry for him because I believe his actions are a result of how unhappy he is in life. And I’m absolutely sure that Fr Andrew has many good qualities, for he has on many occasions been generous and hospitable to me and others. I hope that one day he learns what it means to truly serve your community and is able to be a real leader to the people… but for now my concern is with the people and what’s best for them, and in my opinion, that means this “leader” needs to go.
We went to visit Lori, the volunteer there, whose group had arrived only 3 months before mine. She showed us around the village and the school she was working in. The village had a really unique feel to it since it was on a church mission, so there were some old brick buildings that are not common in the area. The school was depressing in some senses, the buildings were trashed and dirty, but at least the learners were used to it and it didn’t diminish their spirits much, at least from what little I was able to tell. (I’m not sure if the fact that the learners have adjusted to horrible conditions is a good or bad thing?)
After a while of walking around many long, sandy paths, Chris suggested that we go and visit his friend, the mission priest, Fr Andrew. I thought that would be a great opportunity to meet a community leader since I had failed to meet others throughout the week.
Meeting Fr Andrew was definitely an interesting experience to say the least. When we arrived at his house, we were almost immediately thrown into a crocodile hunt. Earlier in the week I had heard stories of people being taken by crocodiles, and apparently there was one crocodile that had taken a few children in the village. So right away we were told of the situation, and we followed Fr Andrew and a group of men as they raced to the side of the river where the crocodile had been spotted previously in the day.
It was exciting and terrifying at the same time, especially since we had to cross a bridge that was barely above water (I kept imaging Jaws-like scenes where the shark, or crocodile in this instance, jumps out of the water with its mouth wide open, surprising some unaware and careless victim). And then most of the time we were hunting, there was water on both sides of us, causing me to constantly look over my shoulder, fearful of some ambush from behind. We scoured over the area for a while, looking for the animal in question, but apparently it had already fled the scene of the crime before we arrived. All we managed to actually see was a foot long baby crocodile floating calmly in the water.
The hunt was called off shortly after we realized the crocodile was long gone, and we then began to chat with Fr Andrew for a bit. I don’t even know where to begin, I’m clueless as to how to describe, or do justice to what this man is like. All I can say is that I’m appalled that he is stationed there. I think it is sad that this man was chosen by any institution to represent God, to be a leader, to help these people. Every time I have interacted with him I have come away slightly disturbed in some way, and that first encounter was no exception.
It began with simple small talk, and while Fr Andrew was talking, he was smoking and swinging around his loaded shotgun. I HATE guns to begin with, but I felt extremely uneasy with it constantly being swung in my direction. Then slowly cuss words started to just flow freely from his mouth, and it wasn’t just the words, it was the way he talked. He talked with a certain tone and lack of respect that I felt was unbefitting of a leader, let alone a spiritual one.
I remember him telling one man that he should stay away from alcohol and avoid drinking because of the problems it creates. I could have appreciated what he was saying had I not felt that his words were empty and that he didn’t even believe in what he was saying. I just knew deep down that he was a hypocrite and drank as well (a feeling I later confirmed to be true).
All of this I could have merely disregarded as a possible misunderstanding, but then he confirmed the unsettling feelings I had been having since I first met him when I overheard him discussing “business” with a friend. He was talking about a few learners transferring from another school and mentioned something about how he would be making extra money, since their schools fees were more at the previous school and he would be charging them the same, even though the fees were suppose to be less. He was taking advantage of people that had very little to begin with, and that I cannot respect.
I even heard one story about how the learners, who put up with horrible conditions far beyond what we can imagine, and do so on a daily basis, went on strike one day because of the food that the mission was serving them. For learners to react like that, they must have been subjected to absolutely horrible conditions. Apparently, Fr Andrew (or his staff), who constantly has lavish braais (Barbeques), saw it fit to feed the learners porridge (ground up maize) that was infested with maggots.
This man, this “servant” of God is suppose to be serving these people, yet he lives like a king, on a level that rivals the Fumu. He has a huge house by the river, on a very large piece of property, with an orchard and garden and various livestock, he owns several cars, he has servants/workers, and who knows how much money he is skimming and profiting from various things such as charging people for power that is generated for free from the hydroelectric plant on his property.
I know it may not sound like it, but I don’t hate Fr Andrew, I don’t dislike him, and I try very hard not to judge the man for what he is doing. I feel sorry for him because I believe his actions are a result of how unhappy he is in life. And I’m absolutely sure that Fr Andrew has many good qualities, for he has on many occasions been generous and hospitable to me and others. I hope that one day he learns what it means to truly serve your community and is able to be a real leader to the people… but for now my concern is with the people and what’s best for them, and in my opinion, that means this “leader” needs to go.
A Legacy of Love
For the several days following my arrival at Frans Dimbare, there was an assortment of feelings that I experienced. I had many highs, and equally as many lows. It was a rollercoaster period that was draining and energizing all at the same time. I had met with various coworkers and organizations that I would be working with, and while I felt entirely encouraged and motivated by the energy and enthusiasm of the people around me, I was also afraid that I might not be able to live up to their expectations. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to fulfill the job and tasks that I had been assigned to do.
I had been given the title and responsibility of Acting Health Youth Officer for the centre. Basically what that means is that I am supposed to be in charge of all of the health programs for the Ministry of Youth in the region that the youth centre serves. That includes tens of thousands of people, spread over an enormous area of land (the size of a small state), where people are sparsely populated and not easily accessible. And all the while, I have to share unreliable and often incapacitated transportation, and I have extremely limited resources and language skills.
Had it not been for the incredible people that work at the youth centre, or the motivation of the local youth, or the support and encouragement from people back at home, I would have probably given up already. Because how can one person possibly manage to reach all of those people? By myself, what work can I really accomplish? Alone, I am limited. Alone, I am small. And alone, I am powerless to truly affect this world.
But thankfully I do not embark on this journey alone. I have many friends, family and even strangers, both here and abroad that stand with me. They have supported me with their taxes and money, they have assisted me with their donations and time, they have inspired me with their ideas, they have encouraged me with their actions, and they have strengthened me with their love.
I am a legacy of them all. I am a legacy of those who came before me to pave the way with their work, to lay the foundation for mine. I am a legacy of the support and encouragement from my friends and family, those closest to me that have shared with me in the journey of life, through good times and bad. I am a legacy of the great leaders of the past that have inspired me with their actions and the way they have chosen to live their remarkable lives. I am a legacy to the strength of the human spirit as witnessed to by the brave heroes of this world. I am a legacy of peace, for the boundless internal peace I have received in life I wish to share. And I am a legacy of love, from all those who share its miraculous gift with me freely.
We are all legacies of whatever light or dark we chose. We can perpetuate anger, pain, and hate as we have experienced it. We can hurt others and build upon the suffering of the world by adding our own suffering and that of the people we affect. Or we can summon up the indestructible spirits of the past, people like Gandhi, Peace Pilgrim, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, and countless others, and join with the courageous hearts of the present, and we can stand together as one. We can build upon what others have done and are currently doing to take the frontier of greatness further than it has ever been before. We can do more than we ever thought possible, more than we could ever do alone. Together, we can become a force more powerful than any one individual, a force with the potential to really make a difference in the world and in people’s lives. That is the legacy I chose carry on.
I thank those who have come before for their contribution, and their part in all of this, for everyone has their unique part to play. I stand here today with them, because of them, because of you… so thank you. Thank you for standing with me, enabling me to move beyond myself and my limitations as an individual. In tribute of my gratitude, I offer my life’s legacy, although still a work in progress, it’s a legacy that is shared with many, the legacy of love, for the future, for the now, for you and for all. I pass it on freely, as it was passed on to me, for all who would accept it and share in the infinite strength it provides. May it show you that when we stand united, for the sake of love’s purpose, that we can accomplish extraordinary things.
I had been given the title and responsibility of Acting Health Youth Officer for the centre. Basically what that means is that I am supposed to be in charge of all of the health programs for the Ministry of Youth in the region that the youth centre serves. That includes tens of thousands of people, spread over an enormous area of land (the size of a small state), where people are sparsely populated and not easily accessible. And all the while, I have to share unreliable and often incapacitated transportation, and I have extremely limited resources and language skills.
Had it not been for the incredible people that work at the youth centre, or the motivation of the local youth, or the support and encouragement from people back at home, I would have probably given up already. Because how can one person possibly manage to reach all of those people? By myself, what work can I really accomplish? Alone, I am limited. Alone, I am small. And alone, I am powerless to truly affect this world.
But thankfully I do not embark on this journey alone. I have many friends, family and even strangers, both here and abroad that stand with me. They have supported me with their taxes and money, they have assisted me with their donations and time, they have inspired me with their ideas, they have encouraged me with their actions, and they have strengthened me with their love.
I am a legacy of them all. I am a legacy of those who came before me to pave the way with their work, to lay the foundation for mine. I am a legacy of the support and encouragement from my friends and family, those closest to me that have shared with me in the journey of life, through good times and bad. I am a legacy of the great leaders of the past that have inspired me with their actions and the way they have chosen to live their remarkable lives. I am a legacy to the strength of the human spirit as witnessed to by the brave heroes of this world. I am a legacy of peace, for the boundless internal peace I have received in life I wish to share. And I am a legacy of love, from all those who share its miraculous gift with me freely.
We are all legacies of whatever light or dark we chose. We can perpetuate anger, pain, and hate as we have experienced it. We can hurt others and build upon the suffering of the world by adding our own suffering and that of the people we affect. Or we can summon up the indestructible spirits of the past, people like Gandhi, Peace Pilgrim, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, and countless others, and join with the courageous hearts of the present, and we can stand together as one. We can build upon what others have done and are currently doing to take the frontier of greatness further than it has ever been before. We can do more than we ever thought possible, more than we could ever do alone. Together, we can become a force more powerful than any one individual, a force with the potential to really make a difference in the world and in people’s lives. That is the legacy I chose carry on.
I thank those who have come before for their contribution, and their part in all of this, for everyone has their unique part to play. I stand here today with them, because of them, because of you… so thank you. Thank you for standing with me, enabling me to move beyond myself and my limitations as an individual. In tribute of my gratitude, I offer my life’s legacy, although still a work in progress, it’s a legacy that is shared with many, the legacy of love, for the future, for the now, for you and for all. I pass it on freely, as it was passed on to me, for all who would accept it and share in the infinite strength it provides. May it show you that when we stand united, for the sake of love’s purpose, that we can accomplish extraordinary things.
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