Because my career path recently took an unexpected turn, I’ve found myself back on the job market contemplating what I really want to do with my life. I realized village living is not for me, despite my romanticized ideas about it, and have been seeking opportunities in Nairobi. One job I applied for is with USAID and since I’m visiting the city this week, I thought I’d drop off my application in person.

The first challenge was finding their office. The job description said applications needed to reach the ground floor of their human resources office at Village Market, a huge shopping complex, yet when we arrived at the scene, the office was nowhere to be found. I tried calling for directions but the number was out of service. We asked a custodian where the office was located and he directed us beyond the gate, toward the U.S. Embassy.

As we approached the Embassy, which faces the United Nations complex, several SUVs with UN plates raced past us, many spewing a trail of black smoke in their wake. There were two guards at the edge of the Embassy, one armed and one manning a booth. We continued walking and passed a guard near an enclosed booth with “Enquiries” written across the glass. I asked about USAID and he said it was around the corner. We continued walking, past the heavily guarded UN buildings teeming with expensive cars and foreigners. There were no signs for USAID, but a man on the street confirmed it was located within the Embassy.

We walked through the Embassy gate and the guard at the first security checkpoint asked about the nature of our business. I explained I had an application for the USAID human resources office. He said all parcels needed to be submitted on the other side of the building, so we retraced our steps. As we approached the Enquiries booth, the guard asked if we needed help. I explained my objective and he directed us back to the first booth, at the furthest corner of the complex. We arrived at the booth and were redirected to a man sitting at a desk in an empty parking lot with “American Services” painted on the wall.

I handed my application to the man and he swiped the folder with a piece of cotton then knocked on a locked door and patiently waited for someone to open it and take the cotton for testing. When my application proved not to pose any threat, the door opened again and the man inside took my folder, presumably to ensure it was routed to the intended destination.

The whole episode left me questioning how people who work within these guarded fortresses, located in one of the wealthiest communities in Nairobi, are motivated to care about the world beyond the gates. Why does development matter to someone who enjoys all the comforts of high society? And if people are concerned about the future wellbeing of Kenya, why drive around in gas-guzzling, poorly serviced cars that are visibly polluting the environment?

I’m now feeling a little disillusioned over my desire to join the ranks of a high-profile development organization. I still believe there’s a perfect job for me and trust it’s just a matter of time before I find it. In the meantime I’ll continue meditating on what I truly want to do and what development is all about.