Hope & the Hero Narrative

You may remember the story I posted in October, about walking for water with Albert, a 10 year old who lives in Katooma. We were raising money to bring clean, safe water to his community so that Albert won't have to walk up alongside a steep hill twice a day with his mother and siblings to what is best described as a trough surrounded by cow s__ where water pools so jerry cans can be filled. We were raising it knowing that soon after they received water a school would likely be built, roads would be improved and the entire community would over time be transformed. It all starts with water. 

If you’re in fundraising, you’re supposed to tell stories that go like this: “Bob was in a bad way, someone like you gave, and now Bob is doing alright. Will you join us this year to help the next Bob?” It’s called the Hero Journey - and in a fundraising world, you are the hero. Unfortunately, what fundraisers like me don’t often say is sometimes (often) it doesn’t go that way. Working with real humans, whether in North America or Africa means that you don’t always get from point A to B linearly or as fast as you’d like - and the consequence of this is that real people, kids like Albert suffer tremendously. 

It’s considered poor taste to do the opposite of the Hero Narrative: “Bob was in a bad way, but because no one stepped in to help Bob, and he got far worse; help make sure no more Bobs suffer the same fate” and I generally agree. Guilt is a cheap substitute for inspiration. But Albert’s story right now mirrors reality much closer than most of the stories we tell. His narrative goes something like this: “for reasons beyond our control, a major partner of ACTS has had to cancel out of a $220 000 committed project, which means ACTS will have to adjust, shift projects around and in turn postpone Katooma until we can replace the committed funds for a different community plus raise for Katooma & others in a ridiculously short time.” Or in plain talk: Albert has to wait years before he’ll be able to stop drinking from the same pool his cattle do, and every day that goes by, reduces his chances of survival exponentially. Other people will still receive clean safe water in the coming years (and we are grateful for this), but not Albert’s community.

This isn’t a blame game, a guilt session for anyone, or anything other than an attempt to break from the generalizations, ambiguity and unhealthy detachment to the people we serve that fundraisers like me are often guilty of. It’s an attempt to recognize that the hero narrative, while true, is only part of the story and it certainly isn’t “automatic” or guaranteed. Albert stays on my phone’s lock screen to remind me of the tension that we are called to walk, work, hustle and live in. Walking in the tension isn’t easy, but he reminds me that my actions and inactions matter, an that as I ask people to make big, sacrificial gifts, there’s a 10 year old kid on the other end of that gift who’s world - one day - will be transformed. I still believe this, and I hope you do too.