Glancing at a map is simple. I prefer globes. One sees a
large mass of blue ink with intermittent blobs of green scattered across its
parameter. The green blobs representing stretches of land that were
distinguished by those who came before us, and so on. And if you are anyone but
me, you see the map, you consider the places you would like to visit in your
lifetime, and you move along with the routine of your day. That is, anyone but
me. Let me explain.
Being that I was born into a family with a father who could
not count on his fingers and toes the number of countries he has been to, it is
natural to assume that I have been granted with opportunities that other
teenagers (much less any human) have not.
Excluding the surplus of airport t-shirts that I have
collected, I have been blessed with opportunities that will forever be stamped
into my memory as some of life’s most valuable experiences. The most recent of
those experiences being my endeavor to the heart of Africa, South Sudan.
For twelve days, I (along with four other men), trekked
exactly 7,252 miles from my seaside hometown to a village that is nestled as
deep into Africa as one can possibly go.
Although twelve days may not sound like enough to fully understand their
culture and their way of living, it was the perfect dosage I needed in order to
permanently alter my opinions concerning the way I live.
Most would label it as an epic culture shock. And in some
ways, it was. But for me it served more as an awakening. I was well aware of
the fact that I was entering a part of the world where conditions were in a
state that most could not fathom. In every direction possible, I could easily
spot a wandering child or an AK-47. That is quite a combination, right? There
were hunger-stricken animals (cows, dogs, goats) roaming the streets as if they
owned the place. And all of these occurrences are not things we see on a daily
basis in the United States.
By becoming part of the Dinka world for a short amount of
time, their passionate love and sense of gratefulness wore off on me. Yes, I
still love my shower. And I still love my bed. But the other matters that
occupy my time and the space in my life mean so much more, as cliché as that
sounds. I have learned the importance of being thankful of what you have in the
moment. Because what they say is true, “you never know what you have until it’s
gone.”
But most importantly, I saw the world from a different
perspective; the perspective of thousands of people who struggle from day to
day to find enough water to quench their ever-present thirst. I saw the world
through the eyes of a seventeen-year-old female who was far away from home in
miles, but as close to home as one could get in the sense of belonging.
