For a moment, I won’t lie, I lost faith in Somalia. I watched as people celebrated, ignoring how corrupt politics is, even if the man has a charming smile and a way with words. Like the men before him. Then I watched the famine come, drain the wells, fill up the camps, exhaust the resources and evaporate the little hope that was left. Many nights spent listening to the hushed voices of my parents as they discussed the relatives that have passed and the despair of knowing how little difference they are making. It is nights like these that I wonder, why do we celebrate politicians, when in reality it is the average person who makes the greatest of differences. The youth who have dug deep into their already empty pockets, the mothers who gather to collect their savings, the fathers who make use of their connections and the strangers who facilitate grand projects that give back to the locals. It is the people on the streets, the mothers, fathers, and the youth across the diaspora that deserve our praise and love because their resilience is what keeps fueling the hope within and making the greatest difference.