Beauty is Truth.

My previous blog entry was ranty. Some have described it as “insightful”, others “heartbreaking”; one just gave the dismayed reaction, “Oh dear, Mzungu”. I guess however it was received when read, it unearthed points that are seemingly controversial in the thoughts of many. In my naïve attempt to voice some of my own emotions and reactions to coming back to the UK, I seem (along the way) to have caused controversy where it was not intended. Reading back through my words, there is an undertone of pompousness that comes out which was not intended or in any way part of my sentiments or consciousness. I was not trying to preach, or criticise people; not trying to pretend I know better or condemn society. I was trying (obviously failing a little) to present the reality of difference that was so striking for me to observe upon my return.

Let me (try to) explain.

I am living surrounded by banana fields, a babbling brook and acres of maize fields and coffee plantations.

Birds wake me up each morning; the walk to the main road is peaceful, punctuated by the occasional bird flying past, a monkey swinging in the nearby tree or a bicycle rumbling along the path. I pass by locals and we exchange cheery morning greetings: “Habari za asubuhi?” (What’s the news this morning?) – “Nzuri sana, na wewe?” (Very good, and you?); a courteous, friendly tradition that is a given element of everyday life in Tanzania.

The bus to the market is jostling with friendly folk, all keen to make a joke or strike up a conversation as you squeeze up against each other on the packed seats.

The market is simple: food fresh from the field displayed tantalisingly on tarpaulin sheets or brightly coloured cloths, women giggling as you barter for the best price; pushing more wares into your hands as an “extra gift” for a good customer.

People saunter slowly down the winding paths; stepping over small children as they push their way through legs. The sky is filled with blue and the air crammed with laughter.

Fast-forward eight hours across the Mediterranean and the Atlantic …

I am living in London, surrounded by the A205 and a car filled side-street.

Sirens wake me up each morning; the walk to the main road is punctuated by the occasional aircraft flying past, a screeching of brakes or a bicycle tearing along the pavement.  I pass by locals and we ignore each other; a tradition that is a given element of everyday life in London.

The bus to the supermarket is packed with folk all trying desperately to avoid any part of their body touching that of the person in the next seat; all staring down at their mobile phone or ipod; all keen to avoid any sort of conversation or making eye contact with anyone.

The supermarket is garish: packaged food displayed in rows on metal shelves, assistants standing moribund behind tills waiting to serve anyone who will come; conscious that no-one wants to be served by a person now that a machine can do the job faster and avoid the need for any conversation or human interaction.

People rush down the crowded aisles; shoving aside anyone who may be loitering near the shelves. The ceiling is filled with bright fluorescent lighting and the air is overflowing with a clinical air-conditioned chill.

When I point out these differences (as I did in my previous blog) I am not criticising; I am simply trying to show difference. Reading a criticism in my writing reads that one way is preferable to another. And yes, I know which way of life I prefer, that is not hard to digest from my subconscious messages. But if you are also reading that one way seems preferable, then another point is perhaps being made by yourself. We have established a way of life, as a given, in this country that may not necessarily make us happy. It may not be a preferable way to “not smile” at everyone you pass; it may not be a good thing to have to buy packaged goods flown half way across the world to our local store. It may not be a positive thing to live in a world where technology is taking away the need for human interaction; it may not be a good thing to be told on giant billboards and in daily adverts and magazines that the only real accepted form of beauty is a size-six, long-haired flawless beauty. It may not be a good thing to allow "celebrities" to influence the way you think and to tell you how to live your life.

My rant about the press stands. I do not like the way press work here. News has become a commodity; something to sell rather than something to learn. I had the pleasure of attending a lecture from Hugh Edwards from the BBC a few years ago, when he talked about the changing face of the media and the inherent need to appeal to the masses in all publications (visual and print). This sadly means a dumbing down of news to ensure that the daily bulletin includes some politics, some international relations, some travel, some fashion and some celebrity gossip. Regardless of whether there were other news stories of global importance, this model of “selling” the news is now a norm. I have experienced this myself over the past few weeks: trying to help my friend Lelo/Elvis out with some publicity for his epic round-the-world bike ride, I have had a limited response to the five hundred plus press-release emails I’ve sent out to various news publications. One response that really struck me was from a young journalist  I met from ITN London. He said that the story was not getting much traction; partly because Lelo was not from London (!) and partly because he is fundraising for himself. Forget the fact that he is also fundraising to put ten students through university; forget the fact that he is cycling through London on his 80,000km journey cycling across the entire world; forget the fact that he is so desperate to get an education that he is spending two years of his life living in a tent in an unknown place every night, living off less than £2 a day, to try to raise awareness of pressing environmental needs in Tanzania. Forget all that, his story simply won’t sell because it is not what people want to hear.

Whenever I travel, I learn. I learn something new every day and grow in my learning. There is an inherent fear in some (and a bizarre belief in many) that admitting you don’t know everything is a weakness. I have always been struck by the disparity of this: after all, there can never be a limit to understanding and wisdom. Sure, information can be learned fairly swiftly whilst in an educational institute (if your brain works like that) but wisdom is something that you can never be finished with. Every time I learn, I change and develop. Sometimes my opinions change – and this is not a bad thing. I learn a different way, another system; a varied approach to the way I thought about something and I change my mind. Does that make me shallow? Easily led? Vacuous? I don’t think so – I think it makes me open-minded and eager to learn. Growth is an inherent part of learning; and I don’t believe it is a bad thing that people change as they learn more about the world. One of the greatest lessons I ever learned at school from my dear A-level English teacher was the importance of learning; that life will forever teach lessons that can pass on more wisdom than you will ever learn in a classroom.

So forgive me, if you will, if I come back to London and think that perhaps there is another way to do things that would be a bit cheerier; make us all a bit merrier and that I would perhaps prefer to have in my own life. That does not mean that the way we do things here is bad, is wrong, is to be criticised; it simply means that I have lived in other ways that I found preferable and that made much more sense to me in the grand scheme of happiness-stakes. And when my eyes have been opened to a different way of living, it is very hard to shut them and pretend that I cannot see. And when pathways have been opened to new adventures and new ways of thinking, it is very hard to shut down my mind and pretend that I never thought those things and don’t know where those roads begin.

I have a restless spirit; I struggle to stand still and thus I most certainly cannot go backwards. What I take most from life is beauty – whether that be in the people I befriend, in places I visit, in environments I surround myself in, in societies I live in, in words, in music, in souls. Being surrounded by such intense natural beauty for the past year has fed my soul and I want to keep feeding on that beauty *and I am sorry, but in my opinion the A205 is simply not beautiful.

Having been surrounded by such colour and vibrancy in the way people dress has dazzled every day (and the way we dress here suddenly seems so bland as a contract.)

Being inspired by people doing such incredible things with their daily lives has motivated me each day.

I am not ready to give up on a world full of beauty. Yes, I know I can find beauty in the world here, but why not make that beauty even grander rather than accept a compromised version? I don’t want to have to accept that the systems we use here (that do not necessarily make us happy and are not filled with beauty) are actually the best way for us to live. That is just my opinion but an opinion that I will hold onto wherever I choose to hang my hat.

Romantic poet John Keats concluded one of his most famous poems, Ode to a Grecian Urn with a couplet that I have cherished ever since that dear old English teacher read it to me all those years ago. It is a sentiment that I have inscribed into every diary I have written, every notebook I have kept and which lurks in every thought that I have. It is the way I wish to live my life, and so, wherever the next road leads me, it will be on a journey to realise Mr Keats’ wisdom on the meaning of life and to make it a part of my own:

Beauty is truth, truth beauty.

That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.