ALLISON CROSS

It's taken me a long time to sit down and write about Sierra Leone after coming home. I can partly place the blame on a new job and a hasty move across the country, but I also resisted reflecting on the experience because I didn't want it to be over. I returned two months earlier than I was supposed to, because of dental work I had to have done in Canada. I didn't get to travel around West Africa, as I had planned, or say goodbye to everyone I met.

I arrived back in Canada and was very much soothed by the predictability of my surroundings. Food was fresh and plentiful. Clean water came from the tap. My bed wasn't full of bugs. Cheap, new clothes were available everywhere and cars had seat belts. I relished the decadence of hot showers and mild weather. I poured over the thousands of photos I took, trying hard to remember the feeling of lying on a deserted beach. I was happy to see friends and family, and grateful they'd put up with my frantic emails and phone calls while I was away.

I relaxed after being on edge for months. Life at home was very peaceful. In Freetown, hailing a taxi and getting to work in torrential rains was a major accomplishment. Grocery shopping and trips to the bank were time consuming and frustrating, but always exciting. The constant attention from men was annoying and sometimes frightening. 

Life at home is peaceful — but also predictable. As time has gone on, I've missed that excitement more and more, particularly when there are few people who can relate to my experience.

I often tell people about what it was like in Sierra Leone: devastating poverty, petty crime, unemployment, malaria, no indoor plumbing, insects, corrupt police and government, and rain — so much rain. But I didn't expect to feel insulted when people asked, with genuine concern, why I would ever want to go to a place like that. I had to force myself to remember what I'd thought of Africa before I went there, and remind myself how foreign and foreboding it seemed at the time.

But I still come up with the same answer to that question: I go to new places to see what the world is like beyond what I see every day. It's uncomfortable and sometimes scary, but I think that's the point.

The farther I go out into the world, the smaller I feel. My personal problems and annoyances feel insignificant. My understanding of religion, society and culture seems insufficient. My capacity to affect change feels inadequate. But anyone who ventures to new places can at least begin to acknowledge how different we all are — something I am still trying to wrap my head around.

I'm working in journalism now and given the state of the economy, and the journalism industry, I'm grateful. But I get antsy for that kind of excitement from time to time. I'm hoping I can eventually combine my love of travel and journalism into a (financially-viable) career.