The sharp, irritating sound of the electronic bell over the intercom jarred the senses that had been asleep for almost 45 minutes. Stifling a yawn and struggling to get to his weary feet, Christian asked himself the question he had been asking himself for days now.
“What is my motivation in doing this?”
.
With four months left in school, the days seemed to be becoming longer and longer. The “home stretch” as so many teachers had described it was still lined with quiz after quiz and test after test. Not to mention the four semester exams he would take after that. Yes, it did seem like a lot to look forward to, but being so close to winter vacation (short as it may be), I could just taste the days that involved nothing but waking up after twelve and eating everything in the refrigerator and pantry. Nevertheless, I still had to stumble through the remainder of this day and the remainder of the week.
As I walked through the brightly lit halls, I tried to weigh what I liked about school against what he truly despised. He liked his friends, of course. Any student will immediately cite friends as a reason why they look forward to school every day. I enjoyed representing his school on the athletics field as well. I felt a sort of pride and camaraderie he had not experienced in any other activity in my life. To add to the list, there were a handful of classes I genuinely enjoyed. It was still as easy, however, for me to think of things he had come to truly dislike about going to school. It was easy because there was one that constantly weighed on my mind.
Pressure.
Each of his classes kept him constantly reviewing and memorizing for hours on end. Some nights, he would have to study for four or five assessments he would have to take the next day. I would have not considered myself a poor student by any means, but the constant stress left me with an oppressive sensation which he could never truly rid himself of, even on weekends or during holidays. Relaxation was a state his mind could never achieve. As a result, it became easier to shrug off any determination and just not care.

“We’re going to Tanzania”, my dad said with a wide grin on his face. I tried not to sound disappointed as my parents listed all of the things we would do and the people we would see while in the sub-Sahara. Sub-Saharan Africa was not what I had pictured as the “best time of the year” and the “happiest season of all”, so when my parents finally gave the disclaimer that there would be neither running water nor electricity, I think the disappointment was too hard to hide on my face.

To be honest, I’m not completely sure what I expected when I arrived in my parent’s homeland. Those who had been all used the same adjective to describe the continent. “Oh you’re going to Africa?” I remember one of my dad’s colleagues asking. “It’s so beautiful there”.


It was not the visuals but the smell that hit me first. This might be a cliché among first time visitors to third world countries, but you don’t truly understand it until you experience it. Combined with the humidity, the general atmosphere just sticks to your skin and pervades all of your senses. As we loaded my uncle’s car, I noticed from my periphery my dad giving me several sideways glances as if it to see how I was faring in my first few moments in the African continent.

The shock of the foreign smell was quickly replaced by the shock of the barren and empty landscape as we moved further from the main city of Arusha to the rural suburb of Meru where my parents had grown up. Small clusters of communities lined the uneven and bumpy “paved” roads that wound around the mountainous village. Not that I actually minded the roads. I enjoyed the roller coaster effect that it produced. My father continued to shoot glances at me, this time giving me meaningful looks as if saying “just you wait”…

With the oppressive heat and the suffocating, it was hard to believe it was winter back in the States. Among the things my parents wanted me to experience while on vacation in Africa is the most common practice in the country, farming. But I couldn’t really see how anyone farmed at all. The thick soil smelled (and felt) of manure and the insects were relentless in their search for any inch of your skin. The siafu were the worst part. Without long sleeves or long boots, the small clay-colored ants registered very painful bites. Nonetheless, my parents always told me how they wouldn’t have had any other lifestyle but the rural tradition of school by day and farming by night. “It makes you an honest person” my mom said as she attended to the ant bites that dotted my arms. “And maybe you’ll build some muscle as well” she said laughing.

As I became more and more accustomed to life in “the village”, I began to notice empty pocket sized bottles of vodka that littered the worn paths. Eventually, I asked my mom as we walked on one of those paths. Her face became dark and she frowned. “They belong to some stupid men I our town” she spat. “They dropped out of school before reaching form one and now all they do is drink. They cannot even provide for their own children”.

I had seen some of those children that she was mentioning. Malnourished and pale, they looked like ghosts of the children they played with in the little clearings of the village. At first it really saddened me, but this reality of life in Meru was more than anything just angering. While everyone else worked hard to make a living and provide for their families and their own livelihoods, there were some men who felt entitled to waste away in their drunken stupor.

Upon noticing my reaction to this sad fact of life, my mom took advantage of her opportunity to illustrate the point that she had been making for so many years. “You have so many more resources and opportunities in America than these men or anyone in this entire village. This is why your father and I get so angry when we see you wasting them.”

I would be lying if I said I changed some of my habits or my work ethic after I came back from Tanzania. In fact, the relief of coming back to running water, reliable electricity, and ready-made food prompted even more waste of all three commodities when I returned. However, of all things, I realized that there was reason not only to count all of my blessings, but also to be motivated in the things that would reap benefit in the future. After all, I would have my own to provide for in the future.