4 Values Dirk Collins Embraces to Manifest Success

Graduation. Everyone’s asking you what’s next and their expectations are palatable. Supposedly, this is the best time of your life but you can’t wait to leave. You’re ready to sink your teeth into life’s next phase, but whether that means college or an office job, you remain unconvinced the traditional path will satiate your desires. Society beckons you with its easily-accessed roads toward average success and creature comforts, but that’s not really what you’re seeking. You need adventure, exploration, and to figure things out on your terms—creature comforts be damned. Although college is a valuable option for most careers, many people pursue their dreams without formal education. This is not an escape from education; learning simply happens in a different way. Graduation speeches propagate an idea of success that not everyone buys into. Similarly, a recently earned degree can tether you to a ladder you didn’t mean to climb. But regardless of where you are on that ladder today, you can still choose differently.

Dirk Collins

Dirk Collins. Photo credit Ty Klocke

Dirk Collins, who founded two successful film production companies, is one such person. As founder of OneEyedBird Marketing & Entertainment and co-founder of Teton Gravity Research, he’s traveled to some of the most remote places in the world, worked with some of the top adventure athletes, and continues to learn knew things every day. Breaking into the film industry is difficult, and starting a production company is downright foreboding, yet Dirk never attended college. Tackling any career away from the insulated guidance of college is a vulnerable place to experience trial and error, thus four values have become pillars in Dirk’s ability to navigate the system and manifest success: progress convention, build upon past success, commitment to passion, and hard work. Of course, Dirk didn’t begin adulthood with those pillars, he learned them along the way, and with every challenge he’s learned to embrace those pillars further.

But at one time, he felt exactly like you.

Dirk recalls his high school commencement speech: “The ex-mayor of Anchorage was up there telling us how this was the most amazing time of our life and we needed to really enjoy it and the next couple of years were gonna be phenomenal and all I can remember is this is the dumbest time of my life and I can’t wait to get the hell out of here and be out of everybody’s control so I can go do what I really want to do.”

So what did he do?

#1 Progress convention

Every day, workers proffer their mental energy and stress to soulless businesses that don’t care for them in return. Many companies don’t deserve such power over their employees, yet they succeed in taking it. “I struggle with society constantly because I don’t buy into most of it and the older I get the less I believe in any of it.” Simply rejecting convention, however, is embittering. One must put that energy into something positive. Dirk invested it in skiing.

As heli-ski guides in the early nineties, Dirk and his friends, Todd and Steve Jones, pushed the big mountain skiing scene around Valdez, Alaska and Jackson, Wyoming. In the wake of Greg Stump’s instantly classic ski film, The Blizzard of AAHHH’s, they felt the then-current ski movie formula—cutaways from one powder turn to the next—lacked big mountain soul. “We’ve got our own philosophy of what ski movies should look like and we wanted to see the full line.”

All three friends were making good money fishing in Alaska in the summers. One day Dirk and Todd were hiking a couloir and they realized they had the ability to make the ski movie they wanted to see. “We know all the talent and none of these film guys can go anywhere; they want to shoot from the groomer. We need to get in there and do it. We can ski anything and climb anything.” It was a risk, but Dirk says, “it’s never safe to live your dreams.”

That conversation was the impetus of Teton Gravity Research (TGR). Among the talent was Jeremy Jones, Todd and Steve’s younger brother, who would go on to become Snowboard Magazine’s ten-time Big Mountain Rider of the Year. They used some of their fishing money to buy cameras, learned how to operate them, and over the next few years filmed Continuum and began building an adventure film brand.

These guys didn’t just reject the convention, they progressed it.

Dirk Collins big mountain skiing

Dropping in on the other side of the camera. Photo credit Brittany Mumma

Thirteen years, 23 films, and over 70 television episodes later, Dirk itched to diversify. It would have been easy to stay with TGR, which continued to grow as a leading adventure sports platform, but the easy route has never been Dirk’s way. It was time to build something new once again. He parted TGR on good terms and started OneEyedBird, a production vehicle for building brands and messages through multimedia platforms. Once again, Dirk set out to progress conventions.

Listen to Dirk recall his nervousness at the premier of TGR’s first film, Continuum

#2 Build upon past successes

Strength coalesces from many areas in one’s life. Of all the activities Dirk was exposed to in his outdoorsy childhood, skiing fulfilled him from a young age. His story begins in Salmon, Idaho, a then-unincorporated nook of the United States that in the 1970 census boasted a population of 186. At 2, Dirk started skiing at a nearby resort. Before long, a group of local, pro mogul skiers took him under their wing and skied with him on weekends. At seven, however, Dirk traded downhill skiing for nordic skiing when his dad accepted a job in Alegnagik, a remote village in Western Alaska. He was bummed to lose skiing but adapted to his new environment.

He and his brother became the only year-round white kids in the village, something he remembers fondly. “Talk about a sick place for a ten year old to grow up, right? Boats and snowmobiles, fishing and hunting, and exploring and wandering around and playing with Eskimos and yeah, it was rad.” In fifth grade he moved to Dillingham, a larger village that these days is connected to Alegnagik by a well-maintained 25-mile road, but back then the road was always washed out, iced over, or snowed in. He transplanted from a class of a handful of kids in Alegnagik, to one of perhaps a hundred in Dillingham, to a school of around 2,000 in Anchorage.

Filming on Baffin Island, Canada

Filming on Baffin Island, Canada. Photo credit Dirk Collins

The transition could be overwhelming for any displaced small-pond fish, but Dirk’s mom channeled her son’s troublemaking energy into something productive. Dirk began helping a commercial fisherman at Point Possession, Alaska that summer—a more intense situation than he suspects his mom was aware. “I don’t think she had any clue how dangerous that was, because it was pretty gnarly.” Dirk soon graduated into real commercial fishing and by high school was making twenty grand a summer, and essentially living without parents. “I was a total loose canon.”

But another thing Dirk’s mom did was involve her young son in junior ski patrol at Alyeska Resort, 30 miles down the road. In Anchorage, downhill skiing quickly obsessed Dirk once again and the opportunity with ski patrol got him on the hill more than they could otherwise afford at that time. There, Dirk met many of his mentors, gained professional skills, and began steering his path toward guiding. After high school, and “free of everyone’s control,” he delved deeper into the thing that made him happiest: big mountain skiing.

Dirk’s life tells of challenge and success. A kid from remote Alaska is an unlikely profile for the film industry. To manifest success, each of us must draw from our personal well of experience. How we approach obstacles defines us not only in the moment, but in future challenges, as well. Through uproot, divorce, and physical challenges Dirk learned perseverance. Although he now has many career successes to draw from, at the ground level he only had that which he held in his heart—confidence born from past challenges. By absorbing such lessons, we empower our future selves.

#3 Commitment to Passion

The word passion has been rendered meaningless through overuse, so what is it really? Passion compels you, whether you heed it or not. If ignored it will corrode and leave you hollow. It can add depth to your life and help you achieve your highest goals, but only if you make it a priority—otherwise society will calmly guide it to slaughter.

On the job: A musher and his team push on toward the Bering Sea coast en route to the finish line in Nome, Alaska during the 2015 Iditarod.

On the job: A musher and his team push on toward the Bering Sea coast en route to the finish line in Nome, Alaska during the 2015 Iditarod. Photo credit Dirk Collins

Dirk’s passion lies in storytelling through adventure. “A lot of the stuff we’ve been trying to do [at OneEyedBird] is kind of take my roots of action sports but grow them into bigger stories and feature documentaries and bigger television.” Adventure means more than just thrill-seeking. There’s an educational component implicit in travel. “Some of the most important education that a person can get or that a child can get is traveling because it creates tolerance and understanding.” It’s not enough to live somewhere special; traveling fosters something bigger by breaking down misconceptions. “You start to gain respect for other places, and other people, and other animals, and tolerance for religion and other ways of life that don’t make sense if you never leave the United States. So I think it’s critical, right? Everybody really should have to do it.”

But not everyone can so Dirk funnels the world into people’s homes and hopes to inspire social change through media. Whether he’s helping the World Wildlife Federation track snow leopards, or snowmobiling a thousand miles across Alaska filming the Iditarod Sled Dog Race, Dirk has a passion for creating content that promotes understanding. Clearly kids are plugging-in more than ever, and Dirk sees that as an opportunity. “It gives us the ability to pipe content to them so maybe we can get some good messages to them that way.” Passion is inspiration, which begets action.

Butchering a yak

“Villagers butcher a yak as children watch and learn. While on location for the WWF snow leopard project I spent quite a bit of time with the people of the village, which was amazing. No matter what part of the world they are from it is always amazing to see the skill, efficiency and lack of waste characterized by indigenous people and the food they harvest. The butchering of this yak took about an hour, start to finish. Not a drop of blood was spilled and when they were finished only a small pile of dung (from the intestine) remained. Everything else was used.” -Dirk Collins

“Every day—if it’s a bad day, or a good day, or a bad month, or a bad year—I’m still super stoked to get up and do my job. I love it. I get to work with phenomenal people and I get to go to amazing places and I learn new shit every day and, you know, a lot of it’s super dangerous and a lot of it’s hard work—actually probably all of it’s hard work—but I’m living, right? I believe in everything I do and I’ve created a vehicle right now where I have influence and can tell stories and make change.”

That is the voice of passion embraced. As Dirk states, however, passion begets hard work. If you starve passion of commitment you cheat yourself and, for that matter, the world and that is why #4 is the most important value of all.

#4 Hard work.

It doesn’t matter how much you embody the first three qualities if you don’t invest your blood, sweat, and tears into the battle. “You’ve got to fight to do what you want to do, and it’s really easy to say, ‘it’s too difficult or I’m too beat down’ or whatever and ‘I’m just going to get a normal job.’ […] I’ve just never been able to do that.” Dirk’s work ethic is revered. IMDB shares: “With experience based in adventure, Dirk is renowned for his ability to get the job done no matter the athletic challenge, remote location or harsh environment.” His passion consistently convenes with challenge, something he’s learned to embrace. “With business and life I’m always taking the most difficult path because I feel like that’s the one that’s closest to your heart.”

These days, inspirational mantras litter social media. “People love to throw around quotes from famous people or people who took risks.” But for most people, the commitment ends there. “Those things are easy to throw around but to live that is super difficult and to live that you’re going to get beat the fuck up, and so most people can’t do it. They can put it on their photo on Instagram or whatever but to actually live by that, I’ve learned, there’s not too many people that do it.” If you’re not willing to dedicate long hours and endure sleepless nights and deal with rejection, trailblazing isn’t for you.

Dirk Collins

Dirk doing what he does. Photo credit Chris Owens

Dirk lives amazing adventure but not without cost. Recently, two major projects ended that cost OneEyedBird a couple million dollars in lost revenue. But OneEyedBird continues to evolve and is developing several major new projects.

The first is an adaptation of Steven Kotler’s book, The Rise of Superman: Decoding the Science of Ultimate Human Performance. It studies the concept of flow, a heightened state of decision-making that enables adventure athletes to progress their sports at a never before seen evolutionary pace, which Kotler believes can be decoded and applied to advance all areas of society

The second project follows Mike Horn, perhaps the greatest living explorer today. The 48 year-old South African’s accomplishments are too extensive to list here, suffice to say, he swam the Amazon from source to sea (roughly 5,000 miles) and skied solo around the Arctic Circle and Antarctica. Now, OneEyedBird wants to develop a multimedia platform using Mike’s upcoming pole-to-pole, circumnavigational trip to create broad-scale educational content through adventure.

OneEyedBird at work

OneEyedBird at work. Photo credit Brittany Mumma

Both projects, however, have met resistance from the industry. “This is so phenomenal and amazing, you know? How come Nat Geo’s not jumping on this or why isn’t someone paying attention?” Even so, each barrier becomes fuel for the fire. It’s the way Dirk’s always greeted opposition his life. “Just like they’ve told us the whole time since I was a kid, they’re like, ‘you can’t do that,’ and so it’s like, ‘okay cool, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’” Where there’s passion and hard work, Dirk knows there’s a way.

Listen to Dirk Collins talk about determination and perseverance in his own life

Conclusion

yak and herder

“Not a bad commute. A herder and his yaks begin a two day walk down valley to trade potatoes and wool for firewood and millet.” Photo credit Dirk Collins

The college to corporation track, though valuable, is not suited for everyone. Graduation speeches advise you to go out and contribute to the world. Do it. But do so on your terms. 

Dirk progressed the norm with TGR, which empowered him to start OneEyedBird. He’s accomplished so much, yet the future continues unfolding possibilities because he sticks by his values. “I’ve been all over the world a hundred times and met amazing people and worked for some of the best athletes in the world and got to interview crazy people and I feel like I’m just starting. That’s the cool thing, I don’t even feel like it’s really even begun.” With a healthy dose of passion and hard work, nothing is impossible.

So imagine, take risks, and create because trailblazing promises no linear path. If your passion means something to you then it will to someone else. Embrace these four pillars and never lose site of them as the world tries to crush and conform your values. Pursue your dreams to the fullest because there’s no other way. Without them, you’re not really living.

But, of course, it’s one thing to read it here. It’s another to have the courage to go out every day and live it.

Filming giraffes in Kenya

Filming in Kenya

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More Than a Tourist #4

Itineraries are a jumping off point for misadventure. We travel to gain understanding and collect new experiences but our deepest memories are often etched where plans fail and resourcefulness takes over. Every country boasts unique attractions but the most impactful travel experiences are often found where money can’t buy admission. No matter how many incredible experiences we purchase, it is the unplanned moments and conversations that often resonate the most.

Cail Hubert spent a couple months backpacking around Indonesia with friends but his most meaningful memories were forged when he connected with local people—usually the result of something going wrong. Mishaps abroad can leave travelers feeling vulnerable, but Cail shows us it also opens us up to one of travel’s greatest gifts: human connection. When we drop our pretenses, we allow ourselves to understand each other on a basic human level unimpeded by language or cultural barriers. Misadventure, therefore, becomes a window to human connection.

Join us for the fifth and final installment of the More Than a Tourist series two day from now on Tuesday, June 9th!

Click on the first picture to expand Cail’s photo jounral!

Return to More Than a Tourist #1, #2, or #3

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When have you become “More Than a Tourist?”

Professional Nomads reach for a deeper connection with the world around them. Last month we explored our relationship to landscape in a reader-based photo collage themed, “Show Us Your Playground!” This month we explore it through cultural connections in a slightly different format. We’d like you to share with us your experience being “More Than a Tourist,” in the form of a short picture book. Here are the details.

Dog houses on the Bering Sea coast. Ever wonder what's the story behind a photograph?

Dog houses on the Bering Sea coast. Ever wonder what’s the story behind an Instagram?

This is an opportunity for Professional (and amateur) Nomads to shed light on our collective vision of traveling. Whether you’ve moved someplace totally new or just visited one, by sharing your experience we learn what’s truly important about travel itself. Travel isn’t about luxury cruises and 5-star hotels, nor is it about drinking from coconuts on beaches (well, not totally). It’s not even about seeing how others live—it’s seeing what they value, and letting that experience change us in return. The traveler’s mind is nothing if not fertile. When humans shed business, political, and religious agendas, we make our most raw and genuine connections. Let us share yours.

What would compel people to duct tape their face?

What would compel a person to duct tape their face?

In 3-12 photos, assemble and briefly caption a short picture book that invites us into your experience. This is a simple way to divulge a story you’ve wanted to tell; that time all the stars aligned or misaligned to allow you to delve a little deeper into a culture or place. Connect those Facebook photos with a little narrative and show us what they really mean to you. We want to know: during your adventures in aperture, when have you become “More Than a Tourist?”

This month, the first five participants will receive a Professional Nomads sticker so email professionalnomads@gmail.com and let us know where to snail mail your shwag! Selected work will be showcased on ProfessionalNomads.org. Professional Nomads retains the right to use your submission anywhere on ProfessionalNomads.org as well as ProNo social media (giving you credit, of course); photographers retain reprint rights as well as bragging rights in social settings.

Deadline: May 31, 2015

Where will your Professional Nomads sticker go?

ProNo Sticker Matt $

Alaska

ProNo Sticker Dad

Colorado

St. Thomas, US Virgin

St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands

ProNo Sticker Bruce Lee

New Mexico

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Photo Collage: Show Us Your Playground!

Landscape offers a canvas for the imagination. For professional nomads, it’s not a thing to tame or conquer but something with which we connect and develop a relationship. Artificial environments don’t cut it. We seek an authentic, full-sensory experience that envelopes us in the moment within our environment. Our landscape is our playground. We learn how to fit into the environment and as our minds and bodies mature we keep the childhood wonderment but up the ante, push the limits, and redefine what we are capable of. The land becomes a part of us and we’re a part of it, for we’ve learned it is not harsh, but hospitable. We blend with the landscape itself—a purpose that fulfills us, mind, body, and soul. 

In this moment, the laws of nature are all that matter. We tune into our environment; the sailor senses the nuances of the wind, the winter backcountry enthusiast deciphers the composition of the snowpack, and the fisherman learns the ecosystem of their local fishery. The more we learn about an environment, the more the landscape gives back and enhances the experience. Through this we develop a quiver of tools that extend to other life experiences. Our playground becomes a source of strength for life’s curveballs—countless metaphors for perseverance and a refuge for healing. Time in our playground fortifies the soul.

We asked you to “Show Us Your Playground!” and you responded with oceans, mountains, rivers, lakes, and skate parks. Thank you! Because of you, this collage represents six countries, ten states, and one U.S. territory. It’s tied together by contributions from four Professional Nomads previously featured on this site, as well as one to-be-featured ProNo, Mike Boyce (see the sailing in Greenland photo). Many of us have built a community around our playground, but something greater continues to draw us in. The landscape gives us a sense of belonging while empowering and humbling us simultaneously. Focused completely in the moment, what happens next depends solely on us. Here, we connect to something bigger than ourselves, amidst a raw canvas that beckons the imagination.

Show Your Playground Final

 

Expand to view individual photos:

 Left side of the collage part 1  and part 2;         Right Side of the collage

 

Stay tuned to Adventures in Aperture! Next week we’ll reveal details for the next open call for submissions. We want to hear from you!

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Photo Collage: Show Us Your Playground

Professional Nomads’ new monthly feature “Adventures in Aperture” allows YOU to shine. This month we want to know what your playground looks like–diving in the tropics, riding a roundup, hiking your local nooks and crannies, urban skateboarding; desert, snow, the tree in your front yard—whatever; you show us! Get artistic with your lens and we’ll post a collage of the best submissions May 1st! Email submissions to ProfessionalNomads@gmail.com, provide some beta to flesh out the photo, and Show Us Your Playground!

Denali, the exclamation point of a 6 million acre playground

Denali, the exclamation point of a 6 million acre playground

This month, the first ten participants receive a Professional Nomads sticker so let us know where to snail mail your shwag! Selected work will be showcased on ProfessionalNomads.org. Professional Nomads retains the right to use your submission anywhere on ProfessionalNomads.org as well as ProNo social media (giving you photo credit, of course); photographers retain reprint rights as well as bragging rights in social settings.

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Five Hundred Dollars in Rwanda

“They say Mzungu, you are white,” the man sitting next to me informs me.

I shrug, “I know.”

“You see the gorillas?”

“No, it’s too expensive.”

“It’s $500, very cheap.” We are sitting in a small bus in Musanze, Rwanda waiting for it to fill with passengers for the fifteen minute ride back to Kinigi. Every seat is occupied, but max capacity is negotiable in Africa.

“Actually, it’s $750 for one hour. Not cheap.”

“Five hundred dollars, very cheap in the United States, you can earn it very fast.”

“Maybe some people but not me.”

“Everyone has money in America.”

“I’m not sure about that.”

“Does everyone have a car?”

The last passenger squeezes into our row and pushes a nursing mother slightly onto my thigh. I wiggle closer to the man I am conversing with and notice he is carrying a manilla envelope. If it rains, which it is prone to do in Rwanda in late October, whatever documents he’s carrying will be ruined.

“Most people.”

The bus starts on the second try and departs.

“How much does a teacher make?”

“Maybe $25,000 a year, but then they take taxes from that and you pay for your home and food and there is not much left.”

“Here a teacher makes $50 a month. It is hard to save with only $50 a month. Nothing left to invest.”

I smell sage burning and look outside at a woman carrying a bundle of wood on her head. Agriculture extends in every direction, right up to the border of Volcanoes National Park.

“I see your point. It’s hard to explain. Five hundred dollars can be a lot here but in the U.S. it doesn’t get you so much. One loaf of bread is $5.”

“How much for this?” He nods to his envelope.

“I’m not really sure.”

The bus swerves, honks, and a collective gasp waves through the passengers as we realize a boy still in diapers just ran into the road to touch the bus. Even after our near miss he still reaches for the bus, tottering toward us in the zombie traipse universal to children new to walking. The passengers silence as the intensity dwindles.

“You take nice photos here?” the man asks finally.

“Yes, some.”

“You go back and show your family?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You show them, this is Rwanda this is the black people?”

I pause. “I guess.”

There was no condescension in his tone. Even as I felt led toward a trap I assessed him for the hint of a viper attack, but he wasn’t venomous. He simply wished to know and wished to tell, and in doing so he unwittingly put into words exactly what I’ve been feeling.

A family near Lake Kivu

A family near Lake Kivu, Rwanda

Like many travelers, I enjoy photographing people. There is a challenge in capturing individual expression and the uniqueness of cultural dress. Yet more often than not, I shame myself into leaving my camera in my pack. First of all, I’m not incredibly skilled in photography, and secondly it feels intrusive to pull my camera out and make a spectacle of someone’s life without permission. Although it is not my intention, it feels pompous in the moment as if I am trying to capture an entire people through one photo and show people back home how life is abroad: This is Rwanda, this is the black people.

Such photography is perverse in nature, as if all of Rwanda bears an elusiveness akin to the gorillas in the mist. Behold the intangible beauty of a people so unique and yet almost like me! In truth, we are not all that different. Certainly cultural and lifestyle differences exist but at the core we are strikingly similar in needs and values. Yet we seek evidence of difference when we travel. We have conversations with locals to show we are the same; we take pictures to prove that we are different.

Maasai people in Tanzania

Hoodies juxtaposing traditional robes. The Maasai people in Tanzania.

Before arriving in Rwanda, I visited Tanzania where I preferred to take pictures of the pastoral Maasai people in full traditional robes rather than those wearing jeans. I’d skip photo ops of Maasai using cell phones, even though it was obvious that everyone carried one. Effectively, I edited reality through the framing of my lens. I opted for the photo that provided evidence that I dug to a cultural depth that I didn’t. This is Tanzania, this is the black people.

In Kinigi, I thank the man for talking with me and walk to my hotel, unsure of how to spend the rest of my afternoon. Rwanda has priced me out from its most alluring activities. Even yesterday’s hike up a volcano cost over $100, and looking out for my bank account leaves me slightly remiss. Yet, right or wrong, the price tag makes sense.

During the genocide, only twenty years ago, Rwanda received international support from no one. When France finally did intervene they aligned with the perpetrators in a baffling blunder of international aid. Essentially, Rwandan rebel forces pulled through for the country on their own. Now that politics have simmered and travel in Rwanda is nonthreatening, it’s hard to fault a country for pricing out the international community that consistently abandoned them during their most desperate times.

Bosoke volcano in Volcanoes National Park, Rwanda

Mt. Bisoke, a volcano in Volcanoes National Park, Rwanda

When I arrived in Kigali’s international airport, I was surprised to declare I had visited an ebola affected country in the previous three weeks: the United States. The punishment was slim—a compulsory online survey to be filled out daily to apprise the government of any symptoms I experienced—and even slimmer in that the mandate was rescinded two days after it was implemented. This requirement was introduced on the heels of two Rwandan students being refused entry into their New Jersey school simply because they visited an ebola affected continent. Details like Rwanda has remained entirely ebola free or that continental flight patterns make it nearly impossible to introduce the disease to the small country didn’t concern the United States, and that obfuscation did not go unnoticed by the Rwandan government. Undoubtedly, pressures from the United States squashed the compulsory survey, but the message was clear: you mess with our people and we won’t hesitate to mess with yours. Simply put, we don’t need you.

Those are the politics but the problem of $500 remains incommunicable. Perhaps the man on the bus was more correct than I. After all, I can travel and he cannot, and perhaps that right there is what $500 represents. Truthfully, I don’t save my money as wisely as many of my peers and instead I opt for occasional, half-assed world exploration, but ultimately I have $500 to use as unwisely as I wish. I could burn $750 in a pile right now should I so choose but much like spending it on the gorillas that’s not going to help me pay rent this winter.

The fact is, I have a choice to be in Rwanda; this is not my home. When the country fell apart it wasn’t the product of some long-standing tribal feud, it was instigated through colonial imperialism. Outsiders stirred up trouble, left the country to its own devices, and the world turned a blind eye. The United States, for instance, wouldn’t even admit the genocide existed in the moment.

But we’ll come to see gorillas, thank you very much.

Although I don’t agree with the price tag of Rwandan tourism, I find it difficult to fault.

Rwandan countryside

Rwandan countryside

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