What the Hell Am I Doing Here

The title of my piece is “WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE???”
*Note: “Obroni” means white person*


“Well, this is Africa”, he says with a laugh.

-What does that mean?

“We are in Africa.” He says it again.

-I don’t like the way he said that but I don’t know why I feel that way…

A group from an N.G.O. has come to the orphanage to visit. They’ve seen myself and another volunteer and have come to introduce themselves. They have come to check on the progress of their latest project here- building a new 5-room school building. They are disappointed because they hoped the construction would be completed by now, but it looks like nothing has changed since their last visit. Not only that, but the rooms that are completed have leaky roofs. They are venting their frustrations to us.

The other obronis laugh in response to his comment.

-Why am I the only one that doesn’t think it’s funny?

My fellow volunteer, Carrie, is now telling the others about a project she started here at the orphanage that the management didn’t follow up on. The N.G.O. workers are nodding sympathetically to her story.

“Well, that’s Africa for you!” someone says.

I’m listening to them talk but I feel like I’m not there. Or maybe I wish I wasn’t there. I don’t want to be a part of this conversation.

-Why am I getting angry?
Why am I mad at them?
Why do I feel like Carrie and the N.G.O. people have suddenly formed some co- conspiratorial club?

Then I realize that I’m a part of that club.

-But I’m not a part of their club!

Clearly they think I am.

-Why would they think that?

What a creepy feeling spreading over my skin. I feel sick.

-What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel like this?
They are still talking. They don’t notice the storm in my head.
Now they are talking about the baby triplets.

[Well, since last week, they are now twins. The girl is very sick. She is so sick-looking she doesn’t look human. Every day I go to see her and I wonder if today will be the day that her twin brother loses the last of his family. It is tragically sad to me and I don’t know what I can do for her other than to hold her. When she is in my arms, I see her eyes looking in my direction but somehow I know she doesn’t see me. I wonder what she does see. I wonder if she already knows something that only religions seem to have the answers to.]

While visiting the orphanage, the N.G.O. people have seen the sick baby and immediately rushed her to the hospital.
They are saying how seriously ill the baby is. How when they arrived at the hospital, the doctors told them there wasn’t much they could do at this point. I hear the N.G.O man talk about Mummy and Daddy and I hear the anger in his voice.

“I can’t believe they didn’t take her to the hospital! How can they just do nothing?”

-No, maybe it’s not anger. Can you be angry with a person that you don’t see as your equal? Maybe it’s condescension?


I feel hot tears coming to my eyes and I blink them away.

-Am I crying for the baby?
-No, I guess I’m not.
-Then why do I feel like crying? Why do my instincts tell me to punch this guy and walk away?

I have never punched anyone and I don’t start now.

- I’m confused…Maybe these people have saved this baby’s life. How can I be angry with them? The children now have a school building with desks and chairs, all because of these people. Why am I so repulsed and angry? These people use their money and their time- just like me- to come here to this orphanage to help these people.
Why does it make me feel sick to think they automatically include me in their “group”- and it doesn’t seem to bother Carrie at all? I can’t even explain my reaction- it’s just my instinct. What’s wrong with me?

………but wait a minute. Why did these people walk up to complete strangers to complain about the management here? They know Carrie and I are living here. What makes them think I would agree with them? Or understand how they feel? Why would they assume we were on the same side? What makes them think we have anything in common at all? Is it because we’re the only other obronis here? Why does that automatically make us friends? What if I were a Ghanaian volunteer- would they still include me in their “group”? Would they still say, “Well this is Africa!” right in front of my face? Is it because we’re all “Westerners giving aid?” I don’t even like the way that sounds.
Well, shit! If this is how I feel about being lumped into a group with other Western volunteers, why the hell am I here?

They are still complaining about the baby. I’m so angry. I scream “shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!” in my head and wish I had the nerve to say it out loud. But I still don’t exactly know what my problem is with them. The conflict in my head becomes a war.

-What is my problem? I’ve been thinking myself that the baby could die any day…I know it’s really serious. Isn’t it good that they took her to the hospital? Why didn’t Mummy and Daddy take her to the hospital?
-But, how would they pay for it?
-Yes, I know it’s expensive. But did they even try to get some money together?
-Who knows…but if they did get some money together to send her to the hospital, would they have enough to buy rice next week for the rest of the children? And she’s so sick, it seems she doesn’t have much time left anyway.
-How can I even think that? You have to try! How could I even think of giving up on the baby without trying everything possible to save her!!!
-But maybe it’s her time to go…maybe it’s God’s will.
-GOD’S WILL?!? What am I thinking? I’m not even religious!
-What can the doctors do for her anyway? Who’s to say modern medicine works any better than the traditional medicine they practice here? Why is sending her to the hospital the best thing for her? Because that’s the way we do it?
-Who is “we”? Great, now I’m putting myself into their group.
-But I am a Westerner. I always will be.

I don’t think this inner struggle is good for me. I feel like I’m going crazy.
How do I unify my thoughts?
It suddenly comes to me.

-It’s not their actions that offend me. Their actions are fine. They’re actually very admirable. Building a school for orphans and rushing a dying baby to the hospital! Isn’t that the kind of thing that I came here to do? Why don’t I want to be associated with people who are doing such good things?
It’s not the actions. Or even the intentions. It’s the mentality behind all of it that I really can’t stand.
Who the hell are you to judge what they do here? You say, “why didn’t they do anything to help her? And I know what you are thinking. You think they don’t care enough about the children. You say they didn’t do anything, but in your mind there’s only one thing to do- take her to the hospital. To the doctors. To the people who can fix her. But what if that’s not the only thing you can do for her? What if they did plenty of things, but you just don’t see them?
What if they tried traditional medicine?
What if they put her life in God’s hands?
What if they loved her?
Who are you to say these things aren’t as good as your way??? Maybe your way is the best way to keep her alive. Who are you to say that that’s what’s best?!?
You don’t live here. You don’t understand the culture. You don’t know what it’s like to be them. To deal with the problems they face every day.
I’m not saying I do. I don’t know any more than you do. But I can’t figure out what makes you think you can judge their decisions in their lives for their children.
You come here from the western world with your money and your good intentions and you think that makes you qualified to tell them what to do to improve their lives? WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOUR LIFE IS BETTER THAN THEIRS? Because you have things? Because you aren’t poor? FINE. Give them food. Build them a school. Pay for their health care. But don’t think your money means you know right from wrong.
If your “aid” doesn’t come attached with understanding, and open mind, and RESPECT- then you can take your money and shove it.

I realize I am still standing with the group and they are still talking.
I wonder how I can walk away from the group.
I realize, though, that even if I walk away right now, I am taking this “group” with me.

I wonder how a person can walk away from their skin.


(Please go back and reread title of piece)




Update on the story:
The baby lives, thanks to modern medicine
She is now a happy and healthy 5-month-old that is loved by all- especially me.
I don’t know what that says for the story. You decide.