As a naïve yet curious young girl, I
had always dreamed of traveling to Africa and changing the world. The aspiring doctor in me envisioned treating the lives
of the sickly and saving millions of people. The thought of leaving our luxurious country and venturing into the depths of
a third world nation thrilled me. As I grew older I would entertain this idea with my family around the dinner table. They
thought I was crazy. Their little blonde haired, blue-eyed, blessed but spoiled, daughter, trekking through the plains of
Africa? Our daughter who can’t even camp out for a weekend – not even in her backyard? Well, there’s not
way that would ever happen!
And so the years passed with the notion of Africa
still trapped in my mind. From a very small age I had always traveled with my family, first to relatively nearby places –
North Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Boston, New York, then to Texas, California, and Hawaii, and later across the pond to England,
France, Spain, Italy, and Croatia. Always loving adventure and the joy of meeting new people and experiencing new places,
if ever given the opportunity to travel – I’ll surely take it.
Though I’ve always been tremendously independent, I grew more
so as I embarked on my college career. After hearing from a few friends who’d recently spent time in Africa, I decided
the time was right to rekindle my childhood dream and consider the option of spending my summer in Africa. Eagerly I explored
the internet for summer opportunities in Africa, finally choosing a volunteer program in Kenya. I excitedly booked the program
and my flights, and made arrangements for my three week sojourn in Kenya. As the end of my sophomore year at UNC-CH came rapidly
to a close, I had no idea of I was getting myself into. My friends were excited. My parents and siblings were happy for me,
but rightly cautious. My grandparents, on the other hand, were outraged that I would ever willingly
choose to take a step, well more like a leap, outside of my comfort zone and enter the depths of disease, poverty, and destruction.
I, however, unremittingly tried to assuage their fears by reminding them that ‘people go to Africa and come back fine
all the time!’.
So five vaccines and one large bottle of malaria pills later, I, along with my two colossal bags and a backpack filled to
the brim, am finally leaving my lavish lifestyle and headed into Africa. While I fly over the Atlantic Ocean and through London
then across Europe and over the Mediterranean Sea, I drift in and out of consciousness. Too excited to sleep, I anxiously
await what lies in Kenya. Though you’d probably never know, I was nervous and terrified that I wouldn’t enjoy
my time in Africa. Restless, apprehensive, yet fervently eager to see the world through my own eyes, I make it through the
nine hour flight from London to Nairobi.
**Look
forward to reading more of this story in the near future!
