Finding "Belonging" in a Community

I sit here as it snows, hot cocoa at-the-ready, surrounded in steady silence. In this blanketed moment it is easy to look forward without inhibition, to see a wide, beautiful future for myself in which all dreams fall into place as peacefully as these six-fingered flakes.

Rarely, however, do the things we care most about occur so easily. I would not wish them to: satisfaction lies in wait behind the obstacles and struggles. One such struggle for myself in has been in developing a sense of belonging within community engagement.

I have, for most of my life, had some involvement in service. My family has close ties to an organization which my brother and I have advocated and fund-raised for throughout most of our lives. The organization is Nyumbani, an orphanage for HIV/AIDS affected children in Nairobi, Kenya, and was co-founded by our great-uncle. Four years ago my family and I had the opportunity to visit and volunteer in person, and it was a life-changing experience. I'd heard stories of Nyumbani throughout my life, but meeting the people behind them helped form a greater understanding of HIV/AIDS advocacy and community development, and began to break down familiar misconceptions. Our understanding is tested, and often shifts, at the crossing point between literary knowledge and personal experience.

What shifted most clearly within myself was how I viewed the people. Where I'd expected to find despair and loneliness, I found hope, creativity and camaraderie. There was a strong sense of family and of shared beliefs. I had entered Nyumbani with expectations which did not take into account the independence or unique perspective of each child, and which denied the presence of youth. I soon found, however, that each child had their quirks, preferences and pet-peeves. These children were hardly different from any I would have found at home, and it was degrading to them to have lumped them under a despair-labeled umbrella.

Now, four years down the line, I am still strongly connected to Nyumbani. I knew before I'd boarded the plane home from Kenya that I would be back, but I've begun to question if going back would be more beneficial to them or myself. This year, as I've explored community engagement through both academic and personal lenses, I've struggled with how to approach people or groups I felt distanced from. I care very much for Nyumbani and it's noble goals, but I wondered if I would fit better in domestic community engagement. I'm different from them, I started to think. I am not the best person for this job. I don't have the same cultural conditioning. I do not have the necessary assets to address their needs. What scientific wording, and what we/them distinctions! In these phrases I diluted community engagement from the potent stuff of interpersonal partnerships to a thinner substance. In so-doing, I denied the true constant of community engagement: humanity. It is true: I thought of myself as very removed and set apart from the orphanage. Wherever we go, though, we will find differences. I began to think that, instead of identifying the contrasts, I should look first to our similarities. What do we have in common? We are people. We have all struggled, we have all changed, and we each move forward. We each, as fellow human beings, have an irrevocable right to dignity and respect, and to pursue our own aspirations. Finally, we each are stronger when we work together.

Moreover, where I might fit the most comfortably (for example, in a female English-speaking constituency within the USA) may not be the area of greatest need. Limiting our capacity to contribute to social change according to personal experience puts a cap on what can be defined as community. In reality, community can be as small or as large as we define it, based on goals, shared interests, and  need. If we get big enough, the community is wide enough for us all.

This said, being aware of how you may be viewed entering a community is a beneficial perspective. When I return to Nyumbani, I may be perceived by some as an outsider, an air-headed white college girl with little knowledge of the rich, multi-faceted culture and complex history of Kenya and it's people. There is some truth in this assumption: I was not raised in the country or in a diaspora community, and I don't yet have an extensive knowledge of the country's history. I don't speak Swahili, but I'm learning it, and am looking for ways to pick up culture with history and language. It is a concerted effort not visible to the naked eye; don't let that perspective limit you.

We won't change perceptions solely with words, either, words like "openness," "community," and "reciprocity;" but reinforced with actions, these ideas take shape and become powerful tools.

When I approach community engagement this way, the world becomes smaller; each person becomes a more intimate relation, and my capacity to work with the community to address their needs expands. Acknowledging our shared interests allows us an excellent starting point for working within communities and breaking down deficit perceptions where they begin.