My Gap Year

The first stop on the Africa portion of my gap year trip was Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, and my first stop in Addis Ababa was the Ethiopian National Museum. One of the main reasons I wanted to visit Addis Ababa was to see what is referred to as the “Lucy” skeleton, uncovered in 1974.  At more than 3.2 million years old, Lucy was the most complete skeleton found that proved that early human ancestors were walking upright before they developed large brains.  This flipped evolutionary theories on their head.

Standing in front of this small skeletal reproduction of a being that lived over 3 million years ago, I was taken with the idea of our communal ancestry.  Maybe we’re not all directly related to Lucy, but we probably share a huge portion of her DNA.

The longer I spent in Africa, and the more I became aware of all of the differences among the people there, I was nonetheless impressed by how much of a communal society remains.  There are something like 350 different tribes just in the countries that I’ve visited so far (Ethiopia, South Africa, Namibia, Uganda, Rwanda, Kenya and Tanzania).  Tanzania alone has about 120 tribes.  My assumption was that, with all those tribes, there had to be conflicts and feuds and stereotypes that divided people along ethnic lines.  But each one of my guides responded to my question regarding tribal friction the same way:  although people lived in different tribes, they all consider themselves one people and conflict is rare.  Tribal affiliations cross country boundaries (the Maasai, for example, live in both Kenya and Tanzania), and I was told over and over again that official borders had little to do with extended family and tribal relationships.

That’s not to say that there aren’t things that divide tribal groups; sometimes, they can be pretty trivial.  My Ugandan guide, Jacob, complained that he was not able to eat grasshoppers – a delicacy in his tribe – at home, because his wife came from a different tribe that thinks eating grasshoppers is disgusting.  Since she did the cooking, he was left to look forward to trips home where his mother would make his favorite dishes, including those grasshoppers.  Some divides are more complicated.  Although I wouldn’t say my White guide in Namibia was racist per se, he definitely lived in a neighborhood that was racist-adjacent.  I had to hear several stories about ways in which turning farms and business over to Blacks had been huge mistakes for a variety of reasons.  I did my best to steer the conversation in different directions while sitting in a car with him for about 7 hours a day.

On a much more serious and devastating scale, in Rwanda I visited the Genocide Memorial dedicated to the members of the Tutsi tribe that were brutally slaughtered by the Hutus.  In 1994, over the span of only about 3 months, about 1 million members of the Tutsi tribe were raped, tortured and murdered.  There are many factors that led to this genocide, and any attempt I might make to describe all of those factors would do a terrible disservice. Some blame colonial influence for the genocide – the Belgian rulers favored the minority Tutsi tribe, giving them better access to education and leadership roles.  The Belgians even introduced ethnic identity cards to specifically differentiate between Tutsi and Hutu.  Over time, the Hutus gained control of the government in Rwanda and began a systematic oppression of the Tutsi using the same kind of propaganda that the Nazis used against the Jews in 1930’s Germany.  The violence that was unleashed when the Hutus began their systematic effort to eliminate the Tutsis was mind-boggling.  Ultimately, once things returned to some kind of normal, there was a criminal court established to try the Hutu leaders, and, surprisingly, the Genocide Memorial describes ongoing efforts being made to make amends and eliminate the tribal differences that were at the root of the horrific history.

I’m not a complete stranger to tribalism.  We Jews sometimes refer to each other as a “member of the tribe” – kind of an inside joke or shorthand way of recognizing a shared cultural background.  It’s kind of like Adam Sandler’s “Hannukah Song” – it’s way of identifying people as Jews even when they may not fit the mold.  Sometimes we also use landsman, which in Yiddish literally means “compatriot” or “countryman” to establish that connection to a person of otherwise unknown affiliation. While I consider myself a cultural Jew, I’m by no means a regular synagogue attendee, and I don’t agree with everything the leadership in Israel does. That last part, in and of itself, can be enough to create a rift between me and other members of the “tribe.”

So what does this all have to do with my gap year?  Groucho Marx famously said, “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.”  Given the prevalence of tribal affiliations no matter where you look (do you watch MSNOW or Fox?), why am I so resistant to the idea of finding and committing to a tribe of my own?

Sociologists say that we’re hard-wired to look for tribal associations.  Most people crave belonging.  Neuroscientists say that when we connect with people who share our views, goals or backgrounds, our brains release oxytocin (referred to as the “bonding hormone”).  Oxytocin makes you love your group, but it simultaneously amplifies suspicion and antagonism towards those who are not members of your tribe.  In ancient times, being cast out of a tribe usually meant death; that’s why disagreement with members of your group often triggers anxiety. 

There was a psychologist named Solomon Asch, who, in 1950, performed an experiment where subjects were asked to identify lines of equal length. There were groups set up of about 10 members, only 1 of whom was the test subject.  At the beginning of the experiment, the 9 non-test subject group members identified the correct line, and the group got the correct answer 99% of the time.  But, when surrounded by group members who gave a deliberately wrong answer, 75% of the test subjects agreed with that incorrect answer at least one time.  The reasons given by the test subjects for conforming included a fear of being laughed at or considered “weird.”

The Asch Experiment really resonated with me.  I have always viewed being part of a group as requiring two things:  forcing you to surrender your genuine individual identity and requiring you to share parts of your life that you are otherwise uncomfortable sharing.  I did some research and found out that the fear of “de-individuation” – a loss of your personal identity in favor of adopting the identity of the group – is one of the main reasons people resist becoming part of a group. My need for compartmentalization and privacy make it virtually impossible for me to share information about myself with people I don’t know.  I view myself as “complicated,” which is admittedly probably a huge understatement. That self-image undoubtedly creates a barrier to my acceptance into any group, and I often find myself questioning why anyone would want to include me.

I’ve always looked at people who are super gregarious and outgoing as having skills that I wish I had.  I’m envious of those people who walk into a room and immediately make their presence felt.  Then again, I had a partner who was the living embodiment of that type of huge personality who wound up shooting himself in the head.  Obviously, people act the way they do for lots of different reasons.

But the more I thought about it, I realized that my attitude about joining and staying part of a group is not a personality trait.  It is a choice I make given my fears of losing myself and being forced to conform to a set of rules that just don’t resonate with me as a person.  That’s not to say that “social anxiety disorder” or intense shyness aren’t legitimate reasons to avoid making connections; in my case, I use those types of emotional responses as a cover for the ambiguity I feel about those connections themselves.

At work, my colleagues always characterized me as “standoffish.”  I think they were (mostly) joking, but the description always mystified me.  I certainly didn’t feel standoffish – I tried to communicate support and concern for my co-workers and enjoyed their company.  In retrospect, I think my fear of genuine connection came across, rightfully, as distance.  It’s not that I wanted to be alone, I just didn’t know how not to be alone.

I’m certainly getting my fill of solitude during my gap year.  There have been days where I haven’t even exchanged a word with another human.  But then there are days when I find myself in a group and actually enjoy asking questions to learn more about the people I’m sitting with, and feel good about sharing my experiences.  My travels certainly give me a lot of fodder for conversation, and I take pride in the experiences I’ve had.  I don’t mind talking about what emotions my journey has generated or what I’m trying to figure out during my gap year.  It seems like I find it easier to connect with people I don’t know if it’s unlikely that they’re going to remain a part of my life; I’m sure it’s, at least in part, based on my ability to present a curated life which can’t be disputed by people who don’t know me and can’t be undercut by knowledge of the “truth” of me.  I don’t have to worry about not fitting in or, worse, being judged and found unworthy.

These surface level interactions have been like training wheels. Now the challenge I face is taking some of these experiences and allowing them to influence my choices when I return home.  Can I let myself be open to the possibility that connections would improve my life? Can I stay “complicated,” but also be part of a group?  I’ve decided I’d rather be me and find a group that fits instead of trying to fit into a group that doesn’t appreciate what makes me me.  I may not be the life of the party, but I think I’d be an interesting guest.  Just invite me.