Every now and then during an interview, I break down. It only happens at just the right moment during just the right kind of interview. But when it does, there’s no holding back—I’ll find myself crying alongside whoever is in the hot seat. In Arusha, Tanzania, I was in that exact situation.
Expedition life, documenting the planet’s decline while searching for slivers of hope, constantly leaves you feeling bittersweet. On one hand, you hear about species on the brink, ecosystems unraveling, and humanity facing some of its greatest challenges. But on the other hand, you witness the most breathtaking wild places, encounter wildlife in ways you never would have imagined, and meet people dedicating their lives to pushing for a more just and sustainable future. It’s a space of stark contrasts: beauty meets destruction, pain meets progress.
These highs and lows pull you in every direction, and over time, you learn how to manage them. But sometimes, it can’t be contained. And I believe that’s for good reason. By the time we arrived in Arusha, we had spent two weeks trekking through Kenya, immersed in stories of extreme progress—wild spaces being fiercely protected, entire teams of people dedicating their lives to conservation, communities reclaiming what had been lost. Meanwhile, back in the USA, tension was boiling over. The looming election had the world on edge, and no matter how far we were—even in East Africa—we couldn’t escape the narrative: Kamala vs. Trump. We were exhausted by it, desperate for solace from any source.
Arusha was meant to be a layover before heading into the Serengeti, a brief pause at the Arusha Coffee Lodge. But that stop led us to Shanga—a workshop of artisans handcrafting products from recycled bottles and materials. We knew Shanga employed people with disabilities, providing equal opportunities. But we had no idea just how deep that mission ran, or how wildly impactful this business truly was. Or how much it would pull on our heartstrings.
We expected a typical interview—questions and answers, learning about the great work done here, and leaving with a feeling of inspiration. But as we sat down with three long-standing members of Shanga, we instantly felt this was going to be a different kind of interview. Each conversation was translated from Swahili to English, and each person we met was living with a distinctive disability. One had lost her hands in a fire as a child. Another had lost his legs in a car accident as an adult. The third was navigating an invisible ailment that had kept him from having a voice at work. But the common thread for all of them was Shanga.
Shanga was providing jobs just as much as it was creating a community where dignity and creativity were everywhere. The workshop hummed with energy as artisans worked with glass, fabric, and beads, turning discarded materials into stunning handcrafted goods. Recycled bottles became intricate glassware, old textiles were woven into vibrant tapestries, and delicate beadwork adorned everything from jewelry to home decor. Every piece told a story. One of sustainability and people proving that ability is not defined by seen or unseen limitations.
As we moved through the space, we saw firsthand the pride and camaraderie among the artisans. One man, expertly shaping molten glass, beamed as he explained how Shanga had changed his life and brought him purpose after years of being overlooked. Another woman carefully threading beads onto a wire told us that before joining the team, she had never imagined becoming independent. Now, she was able to support her children, something she once thought impossible. Again and again, we heard the same song: Shanga provided work, but more importantly, it gave them confidence, belonging, and the chance to build something bigger than themselves.
A woman was given the tools needed to work with lost hands. A man was given new legs. It’s not every day a company can say that they offered something of such extreme value. And our interviewees, as well as the rest of the team we met, all unanimously shared a sense of gratitude and dedication. Expressed in ways I never witnessed so profoundly. In a world rife with prejudice, hate, and anger, their positivity, against all odds, was humbling. When people are given the chance to shine, when they are treated with dignity and respect, real change is possible.
It’s so easy to get caught up in the negatives—what we lack, what we can’t do or what will never be. We drown in sensationalism, the relentless news cycles, the bad-news rhetoric. We succumb to the clickbait. We spiral into climate anxiety, lose hope, and let our fight slip away. Complacency sets in. We spend more time staring at our screens than living our lives, feeding into the very systems we claim to resent.
But in Tanzania, inside the workshops of Shanga, that wasn’t the case. Life was being celebrated. The little things were being cherished. And human compassion and empathy ran deep. We had felt this throughout our entire time in East Africa—people happy just to be contributing, to be part of something bigger than themselves, to be supporting the place they call home.
Meanwhile, the USA election had been consuming me. My heart ached as friendships fractured over clashing views, anxieties rose within my family circle, and the never ending barrage of content thrown in my face. I was getting lost in the chaos, doom-scrolling through sleepless nights, sinking into over-analysis and exhausting frustration. But the moment I stepped out of Shanga, this dissipated and this mindset shifted.
There is so much to be grateful for. Across the world, people are fighting for what’s right. Working to repair the damage, striving for something better, creating a future where everyone belongs. We’ve met them everywhere—from the Americas to Africa to the Pacific Islands and beyond. But no stories hit harder than what we experienced in that small workshop in Arusha, where discarded materials were transformed into something beautiful, and where purpose was woven into every creation.
Even on such a small scale, the impact was undeniable. It was the kind of hope we needed to keep going, especially in the midst of a hard moment experienced on expedition, where distance from home had become more challenging than ever to cope with. To witness true support, to feel the power of purpose—it cracked something open. The crying wasn’t happening just because I was moved. It was also happening due to this front-of-face wakeup call. Shanga was a reminder of why we do this; why we push forward; even when it’s toughest to do so.
To be continued …
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