Anne Carney

Annie Carney, a native of Princeton, NJ, was, during this trip, a freshman in Silliman College. She sang in one of Yale's all-female a capella groups, Proof of the Pudding, and thus, served as director of "kumbayas" for the flight from Gatwick to Freetown. She has written for the Yale Globalist, the undergraduate international affairs magazine, and the Yale Herald, the weekly newspaper. In the infinite spare time that Yale afforded, she enjoyed reading, running, and pseudo-relaxing. She majored in History.

What's missing are names of and stories about people. Granted, our digital cameras are full of pictures of wide-eyed kids and their care-worn mothers; indeed, we were always surrounded by people, especially because of our conspicuous size, skin color, and SUVs. But it seems that we rarely left the disconnected "gawking" stage as observers, evident in our perpetual well-intended but perhaps invasive photo flashing.

One of my most vivid recollections is our first drive from Freetown to Kabala--my journal chronicles everything from the rows of war-charred homes to the crowds who pawed at the windows during rest-stops, hoping to sell the random Coke or bunch of bananas. But what emerges most from these impressions is the barrier between this world and my own: the isolation of the car only perpetuated the emotional remove. I was just taking notes.

I've written down many anecdotes, chronicles of the funny, the ridiculous, the poignant--all my initial perceptions of "Africa." I noted the omnipresence of Westlife on the airways; the inexplicable sadness of a young amputee who helped fold our towels on River Two; the young football players who jumped, giggling, onto the back of the car as we drove away. However, I might have made these same observations watching "Darwin's Nightmare." I learned relatively few names or nuances, though perhaps that's an unrealistic expectation for a two-week stint that covered a lot of territory. Nonetheless, without the chance to make any true personal connections, I never fully understood people beyond their categorization on the human development index. We thundered into villages, snapped some "pichas" of abstract Sierra Leoneans at work, made some (hopefully not) empty promises to find funding for computers and schools, and left, only to repeat the process the next day.

In a trip that was so rich and intense in emotional and intellectual experiences, I missed the more meaningful human exchange. I'm an affluent Westerner, not conversant in Krio - which I was acutely aware of on the trip - and yet, the absence of a shared vernacular wasn't the only impediment to this exchange. Perhaps more time and less deference would have helped bridge this gap. This ability to connect is what impressed me about the CARE workers and their close, empathetic relationship with the community.

So what does this record ephemeral experiences allow me to say about CARE's work in Sierra Leone? I can say that I'm not certain what development is, or at least what role I (might) play. But this was an incredibly instructive trip especially in that it challenged my romanticized notions of NGO work. Development isn't necessarily about hoisting a hoe and patronizingly doing the farm-work for a short stay, nor is it about renouncing material possessions and "handing-out" selflessly. Nor is it as comfortable as a conference paper in a Yale development-studies course-packet: discussion of "economic security" is necessary and has its place, but not without an awareness of the daily grind of cassava planting and water pumping.

From what I could observe, CARE understands that well-informed research is meaningless without a genuine understanding of human beings, without the cultivation of relationships that the CARE workers had in their respective communities.

To be honest, I came away with a dizzying array of emotions that may be expected from a first visit to a developing country: pity, guilt, frustration, despair, admiration, wonder, and hope. Hope may seem to be in short supply in a country that has recently emerged from a decade-long civil war, but at a time when Islamic extremism is the focus of alarmist politics and is considered "one of the gravest threats" to national security, Sierra Leone could serve as a bastion of hope: Salone is one of the few places in our increasingly polarized world where cars boasting "God Bless Allah" stickers are ubiquitous, and where Muslim communities plan to build churches to include visiting Christians.

In spite of all that Sierra Leone has suffered, there is a quiet spirit of tolerance and forgiveness in the country. CARE is to be admired for nurturing that fragile but hopeful sense of endurance.