People do not know that you cannot successfully innovate in an existing organisation unless you systematically abandon. As long as you eliminate, you'll eat again. But if you stop eliminating, you don't last long.
- Peter Drucker
He introduces himself as Thaddeus Ole Koyie, the village chief. Gripping my hands firmly, he invites our group to be his guests. In the lively conversation that follows, Koyie, who will be our Maasai guide for the upcoming trek, tells us that he has been educated at missionary school, where he learned to speak English. He does not explain, though, why he has turned his back on "modern" ways. Clearly, he is an influential chief, particularly for a man who is only forty. But there is something more and it implies a powerful sense of place and deep contentment with village life.
The Maasai are intensely communicative in the company of people they know. For reasons of their own, however, they are aloof and suspicious toward strangers. Happily, we don't remain strangers for long. All of us are quite taken with Koyie. A gregarious and witty man, he has the uncanny ability to move easily between the two worlds of our group and his village, transcending the barriers of language and custom. That night, around the small campfire, when he speaks of the drought, tears glisten in his eyes. Through his passionate eloquence, we come to understand that drought, to the Maasai, is very nearly a death sentence.
Early next morning, as we leave Koyie's boma on our trek, I proudly sport a brand-new backpack. It is one of those high-tech ultralight models designed for maximum cargo-carrying efficiency. You know the kind - covered with snaps, clasps, and zippers, full of pockets and pouches, compartments inside compartments, a veritable Velcro heaven - and I have the thing stuffed. I'm a walking advertisement for a Patagonia or L.L. Bean catalogue. But of course, I have to be. As expedition leader, I'm responsible for the entire group. So, in addition to the required group-size first aid kit, I've also been sure to bring along items that will make our trek not just safe, but enjoyable. I'm no Boy Scout, but I certainly subscribe to their motto, "Be prepared." And I have made it a point to be prepared for just about anything.
As we walk along, Koyie keeps glancing at my pack. Time and again, I see him mentally comparing the heavy load I carry with his own, which consists of nothing more than a spear and a stick used for cattle tending. Eventually we get to talking about my backpack, and he expresses his fascination with seeing its contents. Pleased at how impressed he appears to be, I offer to show him my stuff. I look forward to letting him see how carefully I've prepared for our journey and how ready for anything I am.
The opportunity presents itself late that afternoon as we are setting up camp near another boma. Proudly, I commence to lay out for him everything in my pack. I unsnap snaps, unzip zippers, and un-Velcro Velcro. From pouches, pockets, and compartments I produce all sorts of strange and wonderful items. Eating utensils, cutting devices, digging tools. Direction finders, star gazers, map readers. Things to write with, on, and for. Various garments in various sizes for various functions. Medical supplies, remedies, and cures. Little bottles inside little bottles inside little bottles. Waterproof bags for everything. Amazing stuff! At length, I have all the gear spread out. It looks like that photo they always have in the centerfold of the great explorer article that shows everything necessary for a successful trip to the farthest reaches of the planet. Needless to say, I'm pretty satisfied with my collection. I look over at Koyie to gauge his reaction. He seems amused, but silent. I understand. Surveying the items arrayed about us, I don't know quite what to say, either. Finally, after several minutes of just gazing at everything, Koyie turns to me and asks very simply, but with great intensity: "Does all this make you happy?"
There was something very powerful about Koyie's question. His words seemed to hit right at the heart of my deepest values. I honestly couldn't answer him that evening, and even weeks afterward, I couldn't completely say for sure. In a split second, his question had gotten me to think about all that I was carrying and why - not just on our trek, but through my entire life. Compelled by a need to explain it to Koyie - and myself - I immediately began going through all that I had, trying to decide if it did make me happy. He and I sat around the fire and talked long into the night. As he listened to me, I listened also, for I found that I was clarifying the core values of my life. In response to the question, I began to realize the truth.
Some of the things did make me happy, but many of them didn't - at least not in any way that made sense to be dragging them along. So as I repacked, I set those things aside, and eventually I gave them to the local villages. I went on the rest of the trek without them. I'm not sure that I'll never want or need them again, but I certainly didn't suffer for not having them at the time. My load was much lighter after I'd re-examined my needs. And on the rest of the trip, I was quite a bit happier for having repacked my bags.
- Richard J. Leider and David A. Shapiro, Repacking Your Bags
