Self-Reflection in Kenya

By Jasmeet Sidhu

When I first signed up for an international development trip to Kenya through Trinity College’s Students for International Development program, I did not know what I had gotten myself into. Besides the fact that I had agreed to the trip before informing my parents, it was a bumpy couple of months leading to departure as our group scrambled to gather funds and put last-minute preparations in place for our projects. But little did I know that the rough ride had hardly begun.

Fresh off my last exam (Chemistry, ugh), I packed my suitcase with the help of Mom—who clearly thought I was going to perish in the wild—with copious amounts of bug repellant, sun protection, and malaria pills. I naively ventured off on what I believed would be the stereotypical "life-changing" experience that all international development trips seemed to offer.

I suffered from "Africanization," what I refer to as the symptom of being exposed to too many stereotypes of Africa that unfortunately alter certain aspects of reality when you reach the continent. A confusing description, but perhaps only those who have ever experienced it would know exactly how I felt desperately searching for "acacias" or those Lion King-esque trees. I also found myself looking at children through a "help this child, call World Vision" lens, eating "oogali" and "sikuma," and proudly patting myself on the back for engaging in the full "African" experience. I confidently thought of the amazing stories I would tell family and friends upon my return, and that my time here would be the "best of my life" and a "life-changing" one for sure.

Things didn’t turn out quite as I expected. Perhaps before I venture further into my self-reflection, I should let curious readers know exactly what activities my fellow team members and I were engaged in out in the small, sleepy, sequestered village in Kenya that became my home.

Unlike other structured international development programs, we were lucky enough to be able to direct and design our own projects, as well as allocate funds that we fundraised for our own purposes. While others engaged in water-drilling projects, organized Health Days to treat ringworm and scabies, or designed enrichment courses to be taught in schools, I naturally chose something related to the environment.

My project was to educate the farmers about indigenous trees and sell saplings of such trees as sesbania and grevillea robustus. While this sounds like a simple mandate, I admit that I was helplessly lost. If it weren’t for the gracious help of Dave LeRoux, a Swiss citizen who lived in Kenya and ran similar agroforestry programs in the region, I don’t know how effective I would have been. Perhaps that was an early sign of the helplessness and the self-doubt that I would soon feel.

We were put to work right away, having meetings with the chief and reaching out to local residents to progress our projects. The "reforestation" project began to expand. I was suddenly supervising workers transforming a farm into an ideal sustainable farm, taking mattatu (taxi) rides with other residents to several other villages to view farms. and I felt hopelessly out of place at the seminar I held with my knowledgeable partner Dave LeRoux. We both had an endless passion for reforestation and listed the benefits of indigenous trees and the best ways to plant eucalyptus.

It was perhaps at one of these seminars where my great realization set in. What was I doing here? Who was I, hardly an expert myself on the subject, to be telling farmers who have toiled blood and sweat on their land for generations how to best take care of their farms? Had I traveled thousands of miles, exuding a million tonnes of carbon dioxide on a Boeing 747, dropping a couple thousand dollars on airfare and necessities to simply get a self-rewarding experience and some photos, or was I doing anything of actual significance?

Guilt and self-doubt mixed in with the feelings of physical uneasiness that hot temperatures and diarrhea brought. This was not quite the great epiphany that I was expecting when I traveled to Kenya and experienced a different perspective on life. I suddenly felt like an invader in this peaceful village. I questioned my reasons for coming and feared what I would do upon my return to Canada. Would I swear to all my friends that this was the great experience of my life, like they all expected me to say?

It’s been several weeks since I settled back into my normal routine in Canada. I’ve had a lot of time to think about my days in Kenya and what it meant in the grand scheme of things. Although I have mostly presented a torn emotional view of my time in Kenya, I feel it is necessary to mention some of the good feelings I had there. In fact, there were quite a few: seeing an unobstructed sky at night filled with thousands of stars, being warmly embraced by mothers and children, and singing in church with a congregation so feverishly devoted to their adopted religion.

But I now realize my personal truth about the trip and international development trips in general. Perhaps we could do more to help the world without leaving the country. Is it necessary to venture halfway across the world and leave a huge ecological footprint when work could be done here? I know for myself that this is true, as I’m now helping to fundraise for the "Jambo Tree Group," a coalition of farmers aiming to prevent deforestation and link an HIV/AIDS home care group with a similar organization in Canada.

In the future, there will be many others like me who will venture to Africa believing that touching an African child’s hand will solidify their desire to do something significant in their lifetime. But at least for me, I know I’ll get a greater satisfaction staying closer to home, and finding ways to make my mark here.