Terminal 5

"On November 4th, you won't be able to vote, but we'll all feel the consequences" - BBC News

Sitting in the airport, halfway back to Lesotho, I was treated to live simultaneous broadcasts of Obama and McCain's latest entreaties to the people of Pennsylvania. It wasn't so much what they had to say that moved me, but rather the reactions of the international jet-set awaiting connections in Terminal 5 of Heathrowe.

I started this job ten weeks ago, and in that time, the work, the people, and the cause all have captured my attention in such a way that much of the outside world has been lost on me. I've missed Tina Fey, The Bailout, the faltering economy and the realization that thousands of people are losing their jobs.

Coming back was a little bit like walking into your old bedroom and flipping on the light and realizing that nothing's really changed, there's just a little dust lining your old pictures.

It wasn't a big transition. I somehow missed the dreaded "reverse-culture shock." More than anything, I realized that there was an alternate reality out there that I hadn't paid much attention to, and now that I was knee deep in it, I was a little embarrassed that I felt at times out of place. The past ten weeks have felt like I was in a parallel universe. Neither worlds overlap but in conversation, and even then it's easy to forget about the other world, except of course for the loved ones keeping us at bay.

The only time I felt one world invade the other, so to speak, was when the American Election found its way to the international terminal. Never have I been more proud of my country, never have I felt the incredible potential we have, and never have I hoped more for a still uncertain outcome. It's been titled by the worldwide community as "The Election That Affects Us All." Obama ended his speech with a quote from a supporter asking him to fight for them, in essence, to fight for injustice levied on the common American. And looking around that terminal, there were open jaws and stunned silence - think of what we can do if we are able to deliver on all of these promises.

The one thing that has bothered me with all of this, with the talk of fight, and the feeling of alternate realities, is how easy it was to turn off the light when I left the room, when I left Lesotho. It makes me wonder what it will be like at the end of all of this, when it's time to come home. Will it be so easy? Will I look back if I have no planned return. I've spent over two months here, but the minute I came home, it was business as usual. I realize that it's this feeling of parallel universes, and separate, unlit rooms that makes it easy to compartmentalize everything else that goes on in our world, to forget. I'd like to believe that with this talk of change, with the feeling of this impending renaissance, and the renewal of American benevolence, that the ability to forget/ignore this other world will become more and more difficult.

A couple weeks ago, a high ranking Sesotho military officer, in a moment of weakness imbued by drink, confessed to me that without the United States and it's aid, his country would be vastly worse off. Like it or not, there are people beyond our borders that are counting on us. It's easy to forget when you're on top of the pile how, ultimately, all of our lives are intertwined. With words like hope and change, I wonder if its finally the beginning of a movement, our time for redemption, our recognition that we have something greater to strive for. In Terminal 5, its very promise stopped some dead in their tracks.