There are many images that will haunt me when I leave Niger. The groups of children roaming the streets holding bowls, begging for left-over food; the sheer numbers of those blinded by Rubella or paralysed by Polio, diseases that are preventable with a cheap and simple vaccination; and of course the faces of many of the children that died in the hospital despite our efforts.

As I reread the above paragraph I realise I probably sound tired, or guilty, or in need of another holiday. It’s clear that the constant awareness of suffering can leave us feeling emotionally exhausted. Yet I don’t feel that I should have done more. Of course there is always more we can do, but we strive to find this sacred balance between seeking happiness for ourselves, and trying to help others to do so (and of course the two are not mutually exclusive). And guilt? I think it’s okay to feel a bit guilty – we feel guilty because we are living, sentimental beings, and we can’t abide the idea of other beings suffering while we are living comfortably.

Paradoxically this guilt allows us to live better, to be happier. Just as we feel guilty as we observe the injustice around us, we feel liberated and lucky to be free (relatively) of suffering. Guilt can quickly metamorphose into celebration of our health, our liberty and our autonomy.

In my mind’s eye I see those images of hardship metamorphosing into more light-hearted views of this exuberant country, a few of which can be seen below. The beautiful Hausa architecture; the huge, life affirming Baobab trees; the children who get better and their mothers who dance with joy when you agree that their baby is ready to go home. I think I’ll leave here feeling lucky, and happy, and a bit guilty, but also a bit proud that I have done a good job.