Well, here I am …
… at the tiny little airport of Chimoio, leaving to go to Maputo, never to return (well, except for a short stint in five weeks’ time, but hey).
The project has been a good success. I gave two presentations to potential NGO loaners (not that kind of loner) this morning and they were very impressed with our work. However, the big thing we need – finances – are still not in place, the April deadline looming. Hopefully it’ll sort itself out …
… It’s been a great three weeks. One third of my time here is gone already! But I’ve learned a LOT about myself – heaps, in fact – being in a different country has made me question a lot about me – why I do things the way I do! I’ve learned a stack too. Not just about seeds and corn and stuff, but about consulting at a more “ground roots” level, working with self-made business people, being out in the field (literally).
On a philosophical level, however …
… it’s been a strange few weeks. I came to Chimoio expecting to “rough it” – instead, I’ve been staying at a gorgeous bed-and-breakfast where the price for three nights is greater than what 70% of the population earn in an entire year; eating heaps, watching worldwide sport and Hollywood movies – the most third-world thing has been the dial up internet! (insert nerd-like shudder)
I’ve been to see many farms, sure, and many places – but my experience so far has truly been Africa through the window of an air-conditioned four-wheel drive. I see their eyes and some of their poverty, but I have no real experience of their world.
(one photograph taken through the window on a road trip)
I struggle with the unfairness of it all – me traveling around in a 4WD, looking at them, but not venturing out, not touching. The contrast is so marked, I can’t help but feel guilty; a window separates first-world extravagance with third-world poverty …
But then I realized …
… that the third-world and first world have always existed side-by-side. That I’ve always actually lived life through the window of an air-conditioned four-wheel drive (or, in my case back home, a Holden Astra), enjoying luxury as literally billions starve. And when I eventually leave here, it’s not like their suffering goes away, only my closeness to it all …
Goodbye Chimoio. Will my thoughts about you be any different in five weeks when we meet again?
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