My trip to Ethiopia at 13 marked a turning point in my worldview, which had initially been shaped by social media. Leading up to this solo trip, my mom, an immigrant from Ethiopia, often spoke about the harsh realities that were still prominent in her homeland, such as extreme poverty and a lack of healthcare resources. As I nodded to her words, the only thing on my mind was being on an international trip with my cool grandma and being on a plane for the first time. It seemed the days were longer leading up to this trip, but after landing, the days couldn't go by any faster.
During my stay, everything that I saw was exactly what my American ego needed for development. I expected poverty, but only the American version—one that often goes unacknowledged. In Ethiopia, I was able to witness a more extreme reality. One day, while riding in a taxi with my grandma, we stopped at a light, and after getting a good look at us, people began banging on our windows, begging for money. At first, I was shocked and confused, wondering why they would bang on the taxi like that. Then I realized that they were in need. Later on, I thought, “What is wrong with me?” and felt ashamed as I grappled with the thought that I might have done the same if I were in their position. This experience was humbling, but most importantly, it led to the eye-opening realization that I needed to appreciate the privilege I had taken for granted.
As I adapted to the realities around me, I looked forward to returning home. However, in my third week, I fell mysteriously and violently ill. I entered a hospital with my entire body completely inflated, red, and on fire. Through the tears in my eyes, I struggled to comprehend my surroundings as I searched for an indication of being in a hospital, not knowing I was already in it. I soon found out when I saw the used and scattered needles on the countertops; this came as a culture shock, even when the culture was mine. I completely forgot the circumstances of a developing world and jumped straight to judgment. I still don't know if my lack of thought and sympathy was due to the hospital itself or my sensation of being on fire. However, I do know that during this experience, I was given exceptional care with the available resources. The healthcare workers persevered and showed me great patience and sympathy throughout my uncomfortable stay. My lens was widened just as I had begun to make a stereotypical assumption about healthcare in countries other than my own. I was too quick to be critical of my community, even when I had been raised to avoid this my entire life.
This experience ignited a period of personal growth as I began to shift my focus from the differences in healthcare between countries to the current efforts being made to improve them. I was fascinated by nonprofits like Doctors Without Borders and the dedication of healthcare professionals and volunteers who devote their expertise and time to aid those in need. I understood the development within myself that had occurred; I now had a passion for impoverished people who lack healthcare in developing countries. The healthcare workers of Ethiopia not only led me to appreciate and develop my worldview of being here in America, but they also sparked my fuel to persevere as I desire to make a difference. This event has profoundly shaped my sense of purpose, fueling my determination to one day join a team dedicated to making healthcare accessible to those in need around the globe. I wouldn't trade this for anything, as it continues to inspire me every day to keep striving toward that vision.