'One Shining Moment' For Reflection

Being so physically distant from America, along with being rather absorbed in the moment, following the progress of my Syracuse Orange has largely taken a backseat. Whereas I used to watch every football and basketball game with religious fervor, now I follow from a distance, asking friends and family about their progress. But when the men’s basketball team won their Sweet 16 game against #1 seed Indiana, and their Elite 8 game against Marquette, things got real.

Kuchaba Enterprises, Budalang'i's Official Game-Watching Spot of the Syracuse Orange. I swear there were over 20 crazed Syracuse fans behind me.

The last time Syracuse made the Final Four was, of course, in 2003, when we won the championship. I had the pleasure of being a sophomore at Syracuse at the time, attended all of their home games during the year, and was able to travel to New Orleans with some good friends to experience the Final Four in person.

THE BLOCK. HAKIM WARRICK. With the final seconds ticking down, a three-pointer from Kansas' Michael Lee seemed destined to force the game into overtime. But our rubber man had something to say about that. I don't need much of an excuse to post this picture... siiiiccckkk...

Making the Final Four is a huge accomplishment for any program, and comes rarely, depending largely upon, not just skill, but luck. So when I found out that we had made the Final Four, it became a necessity to catch the game.

I checked with my friend Sylvester (Esyli for short), who owns Kuchaba Enterprises. Kuchaba Enterprises is one of many game-watching halls found throughout rural Kenya. They usually show games via satellite from the English Premier League, incredibly popular throughout Africa, often at the expense of the local game. But Esyli was willing to open his hall for me to watch the two semifinal games, from 1AM to 6:30AM local time!

My good friend Esyli was willing to keep his hall open well past normal hours for me to watch the game. He even had a generator on standby in case we lost power. A great guy, he never even asked me to pay a thing. I only paid voluntarily after the fact.

Thinking back to just how different my experience ten years ago was, both due to the environment I was in and due to the fact that Syracuse unfortunately lost this time around, led me to reflect on the past ten years.

I’ve gone through a lot of changes over this time, as you can see by listing the places I’ve lived: after my 4 years at Syracuse University, I’ve spent 5 years working as a Civil Engineer (3 years in Northern Virginia/Washington DC and 2 years in Asheville, North Carolina), and 3 years in Africa with the Peace Corps (2 years in Mali and 1 year in Kenya).

4 years of formal study, 5 years of practicing engineering, and 3 years in the Peace Corps, with all those years spread amongst 5 very different communities. I have never been in one place, in one situation, for very long. Lots of movement.

When I look back at those times, where was it that I’ve learned the most? Which experience changed me the most? Where did I feel like I most belonged?

Without a doubt, the answer to all those questions is the Peace Corps. My time in the Peace Corps is not significantly less than the time I spent at college, or as a formal engineer, at this point. It has been a rather substantial part of my so-called adult life. But besides that, its significance is reflected in the breadth and quality of the experience.

My daily enjoyment of life has by far been at its height during these past three years in Africa, and it’s when I’ve felt most a part of the community I live.

It is odd that I feel like I’ve hit another milestone last Tuesday. I can’t put my finger on any particular event that makes me feel this way. But the level of integration I have reached in my community, the number of true friends I have here, the feeling that I can find any person, any group in town and just chat with them, and they don’t brush it off as odd. At the same time, its people’s comfort level to approach me, to accept the help that I am willing to give. Not money, but advice and capacity building. And people appreciate that more and more.

Expounding upon that outside of my immediate village, I continue to work in all areas throughout our sub-county of Bunyala. I spend time biking along her roads, trudging through her swamps, boating on her waters every week. And no matter where I go, sure I still get the ‘Omuzungu!’ (white person) chant, but I also get ‘Mikey! Korie!’ (Mike, how are you!). This is an expansive district, many areas very difficult to get to, but people know me by name throughout, and know to speak the local language to me. It feels pretty awesome.

This is home. It’s the same feeling I had in Mali around the time of my first full wedding season while we were planning our pump project. Coincidently, that was about 8 months into my time in Makili, exactly where I’m at now in Budalang’i. And it’s a feeling that I’ve never really had in relation to a specific place, a specific community in the states.

The highs and lows within those initial 8 months this time around have been much more muted. I feel like my time here has been like a steady rise. The language barrier, the food, the conditions… all much more forgiving than Mali. But conversely, the sense of community and culture just aren’t as strong. These elements much closer to America, actually, and that makes true integration in many ways harder.

The fact that I have endeared myself to this community as a whole, and I’ve built as strong relationships as I did in Mali excites me. For a while, I thought it just wasn’t possible. Yes, I still spend all of my free time in town chatting with people, as I did in Mali. I’m never sitting alone at home. But its not as common here, its not the culture.

The fact that people have accepted me, welcomed me, and count as some of my closest friends here, as they did in Mali, means the world to me. Not just for now, but for the future.

I’ve frequently lamented that when I return to America, I may never be able to find a place where I feel as much a part of my community. I may never be able to find a place where I can greet people while walking down the street without getting stares of annoyance. I may never be able to just sit and chat with people in the neighborhood, just because they’re there.

But seeing what I’ve been able to accomplish here, it gives me hope. It makes me absolutely excited, actually. Excited to get started building a life for the future, at a place where I can more so settle. Wherever that may be in the states, I hope to build this sense of community where I can enjoy it, not only for one or two years, but throughout my future.

After my time in Mali, I though it was impossible to find that sense of community elsewhere. Yes, the culture of Mali is special. But it is not essential to be there to build that sense of community. It can be exported. It begins with myself, with appreciating those around me. Its harder, might take more time, but the change begins with you. If you take the time to truly get to know people, the rest follows. Although I would have never chosen to leave Mali early, my experience in Kenya may have been necessary for me to draw the right conclusion.

More so than any theoretical knowledge gained from college, or learned practical skills from my work as an engineer, it’s these lessons of humanity that I’ve learned in Peace Corps that mean the most to me. The ‘me’ from ten years ago, and the ‘me’ now, we feel like miles apart. It has been a hell of a journey since cheering on my Orange from the Superdome. And despite our loss, it is my personal growth, and my future, that brightens my perspective.