I was deeply moved by how attached these people felt to their spiritual lives. And while it didn’t encourage me to pack up and move to Israel to become a devout Jew, it did remind me how fiercely I longed to break out of this Western mindset and find something else. But what that something was precisely, I still didn’t know for sure.
When my parents picked me up at the airport upon my return, I could tell what they were thinking: Phew! That’s out of her system! Now we’re done with that.
Unfortunately for them, relief didn’t last long. A few days later, I sat them at the kitchen table and told them exactly what they were most dreading: Israel was just Step One. I didn’t want to just visit Israel, or any other western country, for only ten days. I needed to find a place far away and for an extended length of time. A space where I couldn’t rely on technology or other people, customs, norms, language—somewhere far from my current reality.
“If this first trip was a big deal for you,” I told them, “then get ready, because this is just a warm-up for what I’m really going to do with my life.”
I initially considered three possible destinations: South America, Asia and rural Africa. As a university student, I figured the best route would be to study abroad for the upcoming semester, and I was pleased to find there were programs available in each of these places. I quickly ruled out South America, as all the programs I found required previous fluency in Spanish. I considered several possibilities in Asia, but they required the desire to learn an Asian language. Then I found several programs in which one could study in Africa with only English or French. Within English-speaking Africa, Kenya struck me as the most appealing. It was that simple.
Well, almost. In each of the programs I explored, participants would be surrounded by English students or placed in a cosmopolitan city—the very situations I hoped to avoid. I eventually discovered a program offered through the University of Minnesota that connected students with a contact in Kenya, who would then provide a link to a host community in a rural region. I’d be required to do a great deal of months-long groundwork at the University of Illinois, then develop a research topic and conduct field studies while in Kenya. I also had to convince the dean and college at my current university, the University of Illinois, that my Kenyan excursion would be worth an equivalent year’s credit and allow me to complete my degree. Originally it seemed my professors would never agree to the idea, and I had to press hard for weeks to convince them. But to my relief, they eventually agreed.
The other issue was money. This trip was going to be expensive. Fortunately, I’d been working part-time jobs since I was fifteen: secretarial work, lifeguarding, camp counselling. All along I’d set aside eighty percent of every paycheque, always knowing that a time would come when I’d need funds for this eventual something. My friends threw away their allowances and earnings on movie tickets or dinner at McDonald’s. Those things meant nothing to me. I had bigger things in mind.
So when this trip came up, I was able to cover my plane ticket, health insurance and most other costs. This was actually happening!
I knew nothing about Kenya. When I pictured Africa, all I imagined were the stereotypical National Geographic images of wild animals, rural huts, underfed children with flies crawling across their wan faces. I looked at photographs of the capital city of Nairobi, which was unlike anything I’d seen: crowded streets, drab buildings, certainly not a white face in sight. Those photographs only reinforced to me that I had no idea what to expect. I wouldn’t know how to say “hello,” “goodbye,” “thank you,” anything. But I didn’t care. All I cared about was going far, far away. That was enough for me.
I might have asked myself once or twice, What will it be like, to go away, to not see any of my friends or family, for a whole year? But I never entertained such thoughts for long. When people asked how I would manage, I had my automatic answer: “It’s going to be fun! It’s going to be an adventure!” Adam and Erin seemed fed up with my incessant whining and complaining, so they clearly didn’t take my ambitions very seriously. Friends told me I was foolish for even considering doing this. But I would just smile and nod while inside I was fuming, thinking, As if you have any idea! You would never do what I’m about to do!
The days leading up to my departure were full of excited preparation. Mom and I talked in heartfelt conversations, holding hands and discussing how was it going to be while I was away. Through tears she told me how much she was going to miss me and that she was scared to death that I’d get sick, even die. For his part Dad said he was worried I’d get caught up in political turmoil or even choose to never return home.
Yet when my parents asked me what my fears might be, I’d vehemently declare, “Nothing!” I denied myself the opportunity to think about what could go wrong. This, I was convinced, was everything to which my entire life was leading, my big, once-in-a-lifetime chance to show everybody I was more than just some angry, rebellious kid. This was my time to do something more daring than they ever would, and I would excel and thrive in it. In your face! I thought viciously. I had no idea what awaited me and I didn’t care. I didn’t even think twice about it.
But I did feel guilty, knowing how hard it would for everyone I was leaving behind. Thinking ahead, I collected birthday and holiday gifts for my entire family for the coming year, entrusting them to my grandma to deliver at the appropriate times. I hid small notes throughout the house so they’d be found at given times. For example, I knew Dad only read his Bible a couple of times a year, so I slipped a special note in there for him to discover later. I hid Christmas cards for everyone with the stash of decorations kept upstairs. I purchased cards from a florist and gave them to one of my mother’s co-workers, arranging for them to be delivered with fresh flowers to Mom’s office at the end of every month.
I had my friends go through my clothes and pick out what they wanted, then donated the rest to Goodwill. I squished everything I’d need into one backpack, figuring I’d buy clothes when I got there. I gave away my computer and my printer and whittled down my contact list to only those addresses I really wanted to keep. The plan was to rid myself of all superfluous things and people. I had only a few bare essentials—and my mission. That was enough.
I tried to set up these systems so that those I left behind would be okay, but also for selfish reasons—with these small reassurances, I could totally break all ties and wouldn’t have to worry about anyone or anything while I was off on my adventure. In my mind, I was done with this place.
Before I knew it, it was time to leave for Kenya.
My flight was in the afternoon, so the last morning I slept in, unconcerned and in no rush for anything. A knock came at my bedroom door, and my father entered. He joined me on the bed, which he never had done before.
“Robin,” he said, “if for whatever reason, you don’t come back, if you’re in some tribal conflict, or you catch some horrible disease . . . just know we love you, we’ve always loved you and we always will.”
He was choked up, and his fears were genuine, but I was only embarrassed. I had seen my father cry only once before, at my grandfather’s funeral. I wanted to properly honour what he was doing, reaching out this way, but I just couldn’t. It was too much. I couldn’t be seen as weak now, just when I was leaving. I needed to feel strong.
“Okay, Dad,” I said. “Thanks.” I didn’t want to make a big deal of my departure, but at the same time travelling overseas was the hugest, most dramatic thing that had ever happened to me. At the airport, my dad hugged me and cried again. Then it was my mom’s turn. She hugged me and also cried, just as I knew she would. Through her tears, she whispered in my ear.
“I want to leave you with some words of wisdom, but
