12 January 2014
Two years ago I was waiting to hear from my Peace Corps
recruiter to find out if Kevin and I would be invited to become volunteers or
have to re-apply and try again for the next round. I was ready to go—ready to leave the comfort
of my Ohio home, my salaried job, my friends and family, my cat, everything—for
the chance to chase a dream and become a Peace Corps volunteer. At the time, I drove an 18-year-old Camry
[affectionately called Ellie, who was laid to rest last year]; I had a very
un-smart camera phone (I actually refused to upgrade to a smart phone); Kevin
and I lived in a rented house that had seen better days; I shopped for most of
my work clothes at the local Goodwill store, and we washed our dishes by
hand. Our favorite pastimes were
inexpensive—hiking, inviting friends over to play board games, trying out new
recipes in the kitchen, gardening. We were
by no means poor, but we lived quite simply.
Perhaps one of the reasons we tried to indulge modestly was that in some
way we felt it wasn’t quite right to enjoy nice things all the while people in
poor countries were suffering, starving even.
I anticipated that after serving as a Peace Corps volunteer for 2 years,
I would come home even less interested in things
and more willing to live without what I considered to be luxuries.
In some ways that expectation has been met—we currently live
without electricity or running water in our house. We wash our dishes by hand,
buy secondhand clothes that were donated in the US, and walk just about
everywhere we go. And we’re happy with that, at least for now. We’ve found that
we don’t actually need lights in every room, that reading is a great way to
spend a day, and that quality time with friends and family can fill the hours
as well as plopping in front of the TV can.
After seeing the cars that run on horrible roads here, having a “junky”
car in the US seems fantastic. Living
without many of the amenities that we were used to in our pre-Peace Corps life
has proved to us that we can survive the simple life. Still, we look forward to re-complicating our
lives when we’re done with our service. Traveling
back to the US for Christmas illustrated to us that we’re more into things than we used to be. My dad re-activated my phone number on my
brother’s old smart phone, and I couldn’t get enough of having the whole
internet at my fingertips! We went to
the movies, drove nice cars on even nicer roads, drank craft beer and liquor,
took hot showers, bought new clothes that we maybe didn’t need, and indulged in
a thousand ways. As they say in Krio, wi enjoy o! And here’s the really
notable part—we didn’t feel even a little bit guilty about any of it.
I’ve been trying to deconstruct this change in us—both the
fact that we’re interested in material things that didn’t interest us before,
and that we seem to have lost that overhanging feeling of guilt that used to go
along with enjoying such things. What
I’ve landed on is the conclusion that living in the developing world, putting
real names and faces in the place of the hollow images from late-night
infomercials that haunted my pre-Peace Corps existence, has helped me realize
that the people of the developing world are people too. Their daily lives may be
more filled with financial worries and difficulties feeding themselves and
their families, but they also think smart phones are awesome. They love
computers, enjoy watching movies, can’t get enough of the newest music, and
proudly show off new and stylish clothes when they have them. Sierra Leoneans want a car, paved roads,
high-speed internet, a PA system in the school, running water throughout their
cities and villages. They want what
Americans take for granted as much as Americans do. My dad may have said it best during a phone
call a few months back. He told me that while he sometimes thinks he should
feel bad about his consumption, he has realized that my Sierra Leonean friends
and neighbors would consume just as much if the opportunity were available to
them. While that doesn’t necessarily make it right for the balance of money,
goods, and power to lean heavily toward the richer countries of the world, it
certainly takes away a measure of the blame we put on ourselves individually
for having been born in a rich nation.
When I shifted from leading a modest existence in a wealthy
country to leading a somewhat extravagant existence in a poor country, I came
to see that even in this remote corner of the world, technology is touching
lives and moving society forward. Many
of my Sierra Leonean friends have Facebook or email accounts, and in the next
5-10 years I imagine more and more will join in. Cell phone towers dot the
country, and rumor has it that fiber optic cables have been strung into
Freetown to bring even more connection to the world at large. Advances in
technology bring information about who is famous, what styles are popular, what
music the rest of the world is listening to, etc. Sierra Leoneans want to be in the loop. With all these advances making their way even
into my town that has no paved roads, no central water or sewage, and no
electrical grid, my idea of what separates the developing world from the
developed has been turned on its head.
As we start the second term of our final year teaching in
Sierra Leone, my mind frequently jumps ahead 9 months—to where we will be
settling when we return to the US, what jobs we may have, how we will choose to
spend our money and our time, and I have some plans formulating. For one, I’ll be re-activating that smart
phone upon arrival. My little camera
phone was lovely, but I’ve been converted.
Kevin plans to buy some nicer camping gear and to get rid of the rust on
his car. I want a pair of brown leather boots.
We are definitely going to buy a smart TV (those things are SO COOL!).
And hopefully, we’ll carry the lessons learned in Peace Corps back with us—that
feeling guilty about the life we live isn’t going to solve anyone’s
problems. The “poor starving Africans”
of lore are real people, some of whom are not poor, many of whom are well-fed,
and all of whom appreciate the material things that we value—even if they
admire from afar and we have the chance to enjoy up close.
I know not everyone is willing to go live in the jungle (or a yurt, as the case may be) for
two years to get rid of that nagging sense that you’re somehow culpable for the
suffering of the masses— and for those of you reading this, the best thing I
have to offer you is my own experience.
As for me, I know that beating myself up for driving a nice car is not going
to bring development to Sierra Leone. Instead, I want to work toward continuing
the great work that’s been started—helping my friends participate in the global
economy, making training and habilitation possible, and supporting policies and
organizations that have as their goals not to simply feed and clothe the poor,
but to support the development of real people living in developing countries in
the twenty first century.
Well said. Great post!
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