the great volunteer debate

          “Craig, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost. Are you ok?” He stood beside us stoically without moving, holding his plate. It had been the first day of his job placement, and he was pale faced.  Something had rattled him to the core.
        “Here, sit down.” We made room at the table.
        “Craig?” Jen took his arm and guided him, gently pushing him down into the chair. We sat silently, hoping our collective quiet would force him out of whatever had seized him up. We glanced questioningly at each other.  He quietly spoke,
       “…the prisoners were…they were right there…walking among us… I never taught before… just a… library worker…  so many kids speaking Swahili and… and criminals… I don’t think I can… “ His breath ran out.  We gave him knowing nods, intently pushing the food around on our plates giving him more time, honoring the gravity of what he had just experienced.  Nancy spoke in her consoling voice,
       “ Of course you can Craig. You have everything you need inside of you to do this.” He blinked. Slowly he turned his head to face her and in a barely audible voice said,
        “Thank you.”

        On my way to Tanzania I was talking with a man in the airport, and as travelers do, we were sharing stories about where we were headed to that day.  When it was my turn to explain, his eyes went wide, and his mouth fell opened,
        “Why? Why would you do that? I am astounded!”  He took his hands and counted on his fingers.
        "Why would you take your hard earned money, go to an undeveloped country, live under harsh conditions, and work for free? Why?”  Whoa, I thought, when you put it that way… It was my turn to be stunned.  Volunteerism had always been a part of my life growing up, and then when I had my own family as well. I had never even thought to evaluate it’s motives, or thought of it from that perspective.  I wish I had been fast enough to come up with a great philanthropic debate, an oratory which would rock his world enough that he would sign up somewhere immediately, but what came out of my mouth was,                    
      "Why not?”

       Kristen came to lunch one day with her laptop, which she dropped on the table almost with a slam.  She was crying, huge tears pouring down her face.
       “This is so unfair, why would they do this!?” She showed us her profile on Facebook, where a friend of a friend had posted an article about how volunteerism is selfish and does more harm than good. Her friends were all commenting. She was furious and crushed all at the same time.
       “They say we only volunteer to make ourselves feel better, and what good does a few weeks or months accomplish anyway because the people should be doing it on their own.” She cried, “It’s a little late for this, don’t you think!? I’m already here, and it took a lot of planning and saving for it to happen. Why would they send it now!? That’s just cruel. Don’t they understand how much help these people need?” (If she were a guy, she probably would have spit at this moment.) My heart was broken for her, and I touched her arm,
        “No, Kristen, they don’t understand.  How could they? They haven’t been here, and evidently the person who wrote this has never volunteered before. Your friends were careless, yes, but don’t be too hard on them because maybe they've never known the beauty of giving selflessly. What you're doing is good.  You followed your heart and it led you to Africa.  It doesn’t matter how long you’re here, you're improving the quality of life for the people of Moshi every day, and that’s all you need to know. “

       Volunteering does make you feel good.  Absolutely.  It makes you feel good because you grow so much from the experience.  You are never the same person after you give of yourself for nothing in return.  You can’t be the same.  It is impossible to be unmoved. But volunteering is not easy. Never easy.  It’s messy, uncomfortable, and complicated with lots of gray area and usually little resources.  It’s often the jobs no one else wants to have anything to do with. There are frustrations, limitations, and unmet expectations for everyone involved, both the helpers and the helped. That is just the way of it. Volunteering requires sacrifice and usually heartache, but it is always worthwhile.

        I run a race, and I feel good.  Is it selfish for me to run because it makes me feel good?  If someone was choking in a restaurant and I did the Heimlich on them, I would feel great about it.  Is that selfish?  Should I have not done it because I was going to feel good about it later, or because that person should have known better than to swallow a shrimp without chewing? Should I not help those in need because they should be able to pull them selves up by their own bootstraps? This is not a new conversation.  This debate has been going on for a lifetime, and that’s ok.  We should not be afraid to constantly re-evaluate. We should have the debate. We all want Africa to stand on it’s on two feet, no one more so than those of us who are here with boots on the ground, fighting for it. But until it does, we cannot abandon those in need.  Someone has to be here to teach them a better way, to look beyond simply surviving, to think critically about tomorrow.  How can they pull up their bootstraps if they don’t have any boots?

       Craig went back to teach every day.  The first few weeks, it was always with a knot in his stomach.  He was teaching at Magaresa Prison.  It was a nursery school for the children of prisoners, prison guards, and also members of the village.  He learned that the prisoners were so close to their release date, that they wouldn’t do anything wrong to risk being thrown back in, and he was not in danger.  It was run by the state, so the school had more resources than most, but they also had more children.  Some days he would have sixty to ninety kids, which he would then split with another teacher.  He planned each day what to teach the next, and asked everyone’s advice about the secrets to teaching.  He worked hard on learning Swahili, and eventually Daniel came to act as a translator, which made everything much more effective. When other volunteers had a day off they would jump in the van with Craig, and assist him for the day. Christmas time is the end of the school year for Tanzania, and the children take their summer break.  Craig came to lunch that day;
        “I lost some of my kids today.  They’ll move up when they come back in January. I’m sad.” 

       The next school year started back and new kids poured into his classroom. Three months had flown by and it came time for Craig to return to the United States.  'I don’t know if I’ve done anything.' His last day was emotional for him. He had grown in ways he never anticipated. He said some tearful good-byes in the classroom, and sent the kids outside.  A few minutes later, Craig’s boss asked him to come into the next room, which he assumed was for an exit interview as such. When he entered the room all of his students and the other teachers were there, with a huge party.  His boss said that he had made such a tremendous impact on the school that they would miss him terribly.  The children hung onto his legs and cried as he got into the van. It took every effort he had not to lose it completely, in front of them.  He was reeling from emotion as they pulled out, when the driver said,
       “Craig, look.”  Lining the sides of the road, on the drive out of the prison, were every one of his former students, clapping. 

Thanks to Jenn and Seri for these photos.