A Letter to Boas

Are we greater than we think we are?

Years ago, my wife, Ali, sponsored a young African through his college education. We’ve kept in touch with him like he was a distant son. Boas Fernando was born in the African bush, in Angola. His early education happened evenings, around a communal campfire, where he learned from his tribal elders how to hunt, fish, farm, and deal with tribal life.

In 1991, when the Angolan civil war reached his village, eight-year-old Boas and his family were forced to flee. They walked, barefoot, for more than two weeks, through the bush, ultimately reaching a refugee settlement in neighboring Zambia, their home for the next dozen years or so. 

Boas was discovered in that refugee settlement by a young American social worker, and through an unlikely chain of events, came to the attention of Ali, who jumped at the chance to help this promising young African earn a college degree. Ali financed his education and encouraged Boas by mail, never meeting him face-to-face, yet growing fonder of him with each passing year. He calls her “Mama Ali.”

Boas is an interesting mix of sophistication and wisdom, tempered by an endearing naivete. We first met him in person when he ventured to America in 2013, the year of his thirtieth birthday. When he saw Lake Wildwood, our home in the Sierra Nevada foothills of California, his question was, “Are there crocodiles?”

The point of this column is not to tell Boas’ life story. If you’re interested, you can read his memoir, The Happiness of Misery, A Life Made Out of the Dust of Meheba Refugee Settlement. My purpose is to make a broader point that may be relevant to all of us. Let me set it up this way: In his early years, in college and for a very few years afterwards, Boas was an idealist. He wanted to make a difference for Africa. But he became disillusioned, seeing nothing but corruption in his government, and learning of the personal dangers associated with trying to make significant changes. So, he resigned himself to a career as a businessman and responsible family man and father.

Lately his desire to serve a purpose greater than himself has been resurfacing. There is a lot of gentle power in this still-young man. He is one of those who has the potential to make significant changes and positively affect many lives…make a difference, as we say. He knows he’s smart, ambitious, and hard-working. He knows he’ll be successful, and he’s right. But I’m not sure he knows his higher potential, so I’ve written the following letter to him.

Dear Boas,

Mama Ali and I think of you often. A favorite memory is the time we visited with you when you were at Drake University, as one of the young African leaders selected for President Obama’s Mandela-Washington Fellowship. One afternoon, we watched as you interacted with the other Fellows at one of the leisure events. Ali and I were deeply impressed by the caliber of young women and men we met, but we were most impressed by you. Without intending to, you stood out from all those high-achievers, and they treated you with great respect. Seeing you among them made me think of Nelson Mandela. I’m not saying you are another Mandela, but I am saying that you share some of his spirit, and others respond to that spirit.

Even though you are aware of your talents and possibilities, you are also in many ways humble. I worry that your humble side may cause you to lose sight of your full potential for doing good in the world, and for that reason I want to remind you of what Nelson Mandela said:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure… We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.”

So, here’s my advice: You have gifts that others don’t. Use them. Depend on them. And in those times when you feel small, know that you are a spiritual brother to Nelson Mandela, and let that motivate you to persevere. Whether or not you succeed in a cause that is greater than yourself, the effort is worth the best you can bring to it.

There is potential for greatness in you. Please share it with the world.

With great affection,

Alex

So, that’s my letter to Boas. But why do I share it with you? It’s because I believe we all have the desire to do something for the greater good, but most of us don’t feel up to it. We’re deterred by the risk of getting in over our heads and being overwhelmed by a task that is bigger than ourselves, or the embarrassment of failure, or maybe something as simple as not knowing where to start. 

My thought is that the world—or at least the communities in which we live, maybe just our families—would be better off if we could find it within ourselves to dare, at least a little bit, to be as “brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous” as we possibly can.

Boas isn’t the only one with the capacity to make the world a better place. To a greater or lesser degree, we all have that potential.