Personal Essay 2nd Draft

Starry Night in Sierra Leone

A “moron”. That’s how a student described Vincent Van Gogh.

           Last winter vocation, I went to Sierra Leone, the poorest country on the Earth. Sierra Leone is located in West Africa, near the Ivory Coast (Côte d'Ivoire). Unlike African countries on the Ivory Coast, who are comparatively rich due to abundant natural resources and tourist attractions, Sierra Leone has nothing but the blood diamond. What motivated me to go to Sierra Leone first was not humanitarian affection; rather, it was curiosity. My travel experience was limited to North America, and I had never expected myself visiting Africa. Thus, for me, Africa was the land of adventure. Illusions of Safaris and infinite land horizons attracted me like an invitation to enter Wonderland. Still, numerous television shows and news articles about its despair, brutality, and famish alerted me. Yet, going to Africa, especially Sierra Leone, for volunteering was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that would not present itself again. Therefore, I decided to journey to a gigantic land filled with hope and misery, with 7 other people (6 KMLA students and one parent as a guardian).

           On the first day of arrival, after more than 24 hours of flying, I saw the television screen. I saw what those television shows were broadcasting: unpaved roads occupied by black people of all ages in worn clothes, selling basic needs amidst crude buildings made of mud and scraps of woods. Those were the first things that I saw. Soon after, I found out that the country had neither proper waterworks nor power plants. Growing up in a country with optic LAN cables installed everywhere, this country seemed to live a world 50 in the past.

           The next morning, we headed to the Korean Protestant Missionary (KPM) secondary school to do our volunteering. Before we came to Sierra Leone, the principal of the school had asked us to teach them art and music classes, because students of this school do not have those classes in their regular schedule. Thus, we had prepared an introduction to famous artists and musicians, a drawing class, a recorder lesson, and a lecture about Korea’s development from the 1960s until now.

           A funny thing about the classes was that in a class of grade 8, there are students from fifteen years of age to nearly twenty. This was due to the test students have to take every year to move up to the next grade. Students in this country are really busy. They have to help with housework and commerce. The schools even close after 1 p.m. because students have to go. As a result, they have no time to study, which causes them to fail the grade tests.

           We had originally planned to visit middle-school students only; however, because high school students had asked us to give a lesson to them too, we changed our plan and went to high school classes on the last day. Unlike secondary school students, their sight was sharp and the atmosphere was studious. I was to give the introduction to artist. It was in the first class that the “situation” happened.

I was introducing Vincent Van Gogh. I told them that Van Gogh killed himself after long despair of being an unknown artist. This was not a problem. However, as I told them that his younger brother had supported him economically, so that Van Gogh could continue his career, one of the students showed a little grievance.

           He said “I have brothers and sisters. I work hard and study hard to support and to be able to support them. I never thought my life is pathetic though. Nor had I ever considered committing suicide. That person, Mr. Van Gogh, he’s a moron. He was just too weak to endure his own agony.”

           At the moment, I was paralyzed. Vincent Van Gogh was my favorite artist, whom I had liked from very young age. Whenever I create art work, the first thing I consider is emulating his work. Trying to capture the essence of “The Starry Night” or “Cafe Terrace at Night”, I sympathized with his feelings. I understand his agony.

Nevertheless, after hearing the student’s words, my world abruptly stopped turning. What I had believed all suddenly seemed fake. I did not understand Van Gogh; rather, it was pretense full of arrogance. I was just a copy-cat imitating what other prominent people said, never voicing my own opinion.

          Then, there came the second thought: there is a hope in this country. Youngsters here are working hard. Before, I could only see poor people that we should help; but after the snobbish shell of prejudice peeled off, I saw equally hard-working people who are trying to develop their country, like our grandparents have done. At that moment, I took a glimpse of the students in the class. Their eyes were all shining like diamonds.

           After the day ended, I could not go to sleep easily. So I went outside, to watch the sky. The sky of Africa was full of stars; the number that I have never ever seen or will see in South Korea. Was Van Gogh a moron? I laughed to myself with a mix of bemusement and sadness. Who could clearly answer this question other than the student? But there was one thing that I could guarantee: In any case, the starry sky of Africa outshone those in his paintings. At last, my thoughts adjusted. Africa was not a land of desperation. Instead, it was the land of hope.