Last November, I sat nervously in a chair situated opposite a desk. That's an unspectacular occurrence, except that this chair and this desk belonged to an Air Force colonel, and I was there for a job interview. It was the JAG application process, and I was tasked with making an impression on an impressive officer.
This particular colonel was drawn to open-ended questions, and she asked me:
"So, why do you want Air Force JAG?"
It's the sort of question you are prepared for unless you're stupid, but that doesn't make it any easier to answer. Luckily for me, I had a good answer. And that's because I'm blessed to know some of the most impressive people you could ever meet.
When deciding that I wanted a career combining various forms of military and civilian service, I had thought a great deal about the people who impressed me the most. Who had my respect? This question was harder than you might expect, because the people I grew up with seem to be disproportionately prone to success. Before I found some purpose, this frustrated the jealous me. As I rounded into shape, my accomplished friends served as inspiration.
It wasn't the guys who made it on Wall Street who held my respect. It wasn't so much the corporate lawyers who were raking in good money. Instead, I always held out respect for those people who were willing to go see the world. I respected my friends who had done tours in Afghanistan. I respected my friend who spent years in Colombia working on the cause of child refugees. One of the most inspiring characters in my pre-adult story was a childhood friend who had spent significant time in Kenya, bringing joy to the children there.
I told the colonel that these people had my respect, and I realized that I wouldn't respect myself unless I gave myself to a cause like they had done. Though an Air Force JAG is not exactly on the front lines, it's a few steps closer than a cushy job in a Houston high-rise.
I talked at length with the colonel about a friend named Barrett Caldwell, who took off for the Coast Guard just after leaving Clemson. We hadn't been exceptionally close in college - more good acquaintances - but I'd kept up with him through the years. At first, I admired and even envied some of his experiences. He'd cover the globe doing one thing or another, and the pictures told a story that was downright cool.
Lately, though, he and his team have been doing something bigger. They've used their talents to shine a much-needed light on some of the most impoverished areas in Africa. And they've brought hope and joy to the people there.
My friend's begun to chronicle his experiences in a blog that all here should read and most here will enjoy. The content hasn't surprised me - it's not shocking that a person who has explored the world is able to find incredible stories. It's been the style and passion with which he's written that's been most impressive, and it's made the blog one of my must-reads.
This week, he's bringing an important story to the world through pictures and prose. He and his Coast Guard team have been in Lagos, and he's seen the city's story of boom and bust. Lagos is one of the most impressive cities on the continent, but its rise to prominence has produced predictable problems. Rapid population expansion has decimated the city's infrastructure, as many residents struggle to find suitable housing and adequate water.
The city features enormous wealth, but right alongside that wealth is insurmountable poverty. The economic growth has been mostly gobbled up by connected oligarchs in a political system riddled with corruption and monied interests. Some there are comfortable cruising the streets in Bentleys while their fellow countrymen struggle to survive. Will Connors of the New York Times described the phenomenon in 2008:
More than 70 percent of the city’s residents live in informal housing, crammed into slums with no electricity or water, according to Felix Morka, the executive director of the Social and Economic Rights Action Center, a local economic rights group.
“Only the superrich can compete in this market,” Mr. Morka said. “Most people are looking for a small plot of land where they can build a shack, or to rent space in what are known as ‘I See You, You See Me’ buildings with no facilities at all. That’s what people can afford.
My friend's team approached an island community built just outside of the city's center. There, they greeted young children, most of whom had never met an outsider before. Barrett's team is spectacular in its ability to bring joy while recognizing destitution. He describes the reactions of the children upon receiving a small gift, and it's clear that the gift of joy is being passed along a two-way street in each meeting:
Kids climbed on the members of my team, showed us termite mounds that grew to 12 feet high, and played chase with us through the tall grass. The tennis ball and American football we left them were the first gifts they’d been given, and it was as if they’d received that one Christmas or birthday gift you always wanted. Children younger than six or seven rubbed our skin and played with the hair on our arms, as it was the first time they were up close and personal with something different than their own.
I suppose this is the sort of silver lining that I would cling to in the face of such obvious poverty. More than just telling the inspiring story of joy that comes with meeting an innocent African child, Barrett focuses his efforts on illuminating a problem that most put out of mind. On this island, the residents use trash - literal garbage collected from the river - to build walls that may or may not protect them from the elements. The people sleep on floors and they use the bathroom wherever they can. Their homes have been torn down, and they're struggling to make it in a city with opulent excess just a few thousand yards away.
When the residents of this community want water, they can't just go to a fountain. The water supply is contaminated, and the problem is magnified by the city's infrastructure deficiencies:
They walked me to a hole in the ground. It was a well the men had dug for the community’s source of freshwater. The maddening problem was the noticeably thick layer of oil and sand that sat on the surface of their drinking water. Another hole in the ground nearby served as an unkempt outhouse for those who chose not to relieve themselves on the ground outside their homes.
The contrast is clear for anyone who spends time with the residents there. On one shore, the poor are reduced to depending upon the discarded garbage of those enjoying the wealth on the other shore. Barrett describes the situation as a tease, but I would describe it as the illusion of hope. So physically close to the abundance that makes sustenance an easily attainable baseline, the people of this community are light years away objectively.
Communities like these need both the light that Barrett's shined on their situation and the light that his team has brought to their children. These Coasties are going above and beyond the call, and if my friend continues to find his voice, their work will stimulate the interest of those of us who might be able to help.