Better Than Good

Our group of 14 has risen at dawn in the Nou Forest, our tents scattered through a thickly wooded campsite 7500 feet high in the hills above the Rift Valley in northern Tanzania. We have taken a long and invigorating hike through the forest and have spied numerous exotic birds and animals and have even, for a while, tracked an elephant through the surrounding hills and valleys. We have been guided by a trio of men from the local Iraqw tribe, an agrarian people whose tidy farms, nestled on the steep hillsides all around us, we have admired yesterday on our journey here. These men, in their thirties and forties, while not yet official elders in their communities, have begun to assume greater authority among their people. Certainly, the competence and confidence with which they guide us speaks volumes about their readiness to take on full leadership roles.

It is evening now, and, having eaten, we are sitting around a cheerful campfire under a sky blazing with stars. The waning moon has begun to rise in the east; it is just past full and brightens the horizon as it ascends. We are engaged in what we call an “inventure session”—an opportunity to journey inward together as we have journeyed outward together on our safari. Our discussion has been inspired by a lovely poem by Derek Walcott called “Love After Love,” in which Walcott admonishes the reader to “Peel your own image from the mirror / Sit. Feast on your life.” We are exploring in conversation what this means and how each of us can take a long hard look at the man in the mirror to more fully celebrate the gift of life we have been given.

As we move deeper into our discussion, a common question emerges—one we have broached already and which we will continue to expand upon in the coming three weeks of our safari. It revolves around what it means to be an elder in our own Western society and how this compares to the roles and responsibilities of elders in more traditional societies, like that of the Iraqw with whom we are visiting. Not surprisingly, most of us express some confusion, consternation, and even sadness over the generally devalued way in which people “of a certain age” are perceived in the contemporary world. Richard articulates this view well when he refers to the standard literature about aging, which typically sees life completely in terms of ascent to around middle age, and then descent in one’s later years. While none of us is unaware of the inevitable physical changes that eventually slow us all down, we also, to a man, chafe somewhat at the notion that the best years of our lives are past.

At the same time, however, we are products of our society. Each of us, in spite of being vital and engaged older men, cannot help but feel some trepidation and discomfort about what the coming years hold for us. We would all be lying to ourselves and each other if we said that we wholeheartedly, and without hesitation, embraced all that it meant to be an older person in today’s modern world.

As a way of addressing our question, we have engaged in dialogue with our three Iraqw hosts. With the help of translation by our safari guide, Daudi Peterson, we have begun to talk about the leadership role that elders play in Iraqw social and political organization. Essentially, all the important decisions in their group are made through what we might call elder councils. Among the Iraqw, those who have lived the longest and seen the most are revered for their wisdom and are consulted on all matters that matter most to the community: land rights and ownership, discipline and punishment, group organization and direction. While these elder councils do not operate in isolation, but draw upon the input and participation of any and all affected by their decisions, they do, however, have the ultimate say about things and their decisions and decision-making processes are deeply respected and revered.

Through Daudi, we ask one of the Iraqw, a proud and handsome man of 48 (although he looks no older than 35 at most) named Karoli, how one becomes an elder among his people. His answer makes us all laugh. Essentially, he says, one becomes an elder by living long enough.

The elders in his community are those who have lived the most years. It is not exactly that one automatically becomes an elder by getting old; however, it is the case that unless one has a certain number of years under his belt, one cannot truly ascend to elderhood. Karoli tells us that, at 48, he is on the cusp of becoming an elder. He has a wife and a family, owns land and livestock, and participates to a significant degree in community decision making. But he is not yet, by virtue of not being quite old enough, an elder among his people.

With our doubts and concerns about being among the old ones in our society in mind, we ask him if he looks forward to becoming an Iraqw elder. Karoli, who up until now has affected a rather serious countenance, smiles broadly but doesn’t speak. Daudi clarifies our question, asking in Swahili, “How do you feel about becoming an elder?” Karoli smiles even more. “Safi. Safisana. Afadhali sana.” “Good. Very good. Better than good.”

“Better than good.”

This expression becomes a sort of mantra for us on our trip. Whenever we need to describe another of the amazing cultural, ecological, and/or spiritual experiences we are having individually and collectively on our safari, the words, “better than good” spring to our lips. We delight inwardly and outwardly at the language Karoli has given us for describing the wonder and glory of the African landscape and experience we are savoring together.

But more poignantly, his words give us a framework for comparison about finding our own voices as elders in Western society. How many of us see the prospect of our later years of one as “better than good”?

This becomes one of the central inquiries in our “inventure sessions” on the remainder of our time together in Africa. In the two and a half weeks ahead of us, we continually come back to the question of what it means to find our elder voices in the West and how, if possible, it can be an experience that is, for all of us, “better than good.”

This same question then, has become one of the central puzzles in the pages that follow. How do we, as those with the most years of experience in our own lives and the lives of our communities, find a voice for ourselves that is wholehearted, authentic, and purposeful? How do we draw upon the wisdom of experience to make contributions to society that enrich our lives together? How, ultimately, do we make the years to come the best years of our lives, how do we make them for ourselves and others, indeed “better than good”?

The answer, we believe, is to be found in a life of what psychologist Erik Erikson called “generativity,” a life of meaningful connections to and caring for future generations.