I recently went home to New York for three weeks. Since returning to Lilongwe, I’ve had time to reflect on aspects of living in Malawi that I’ve “gotten used to.” I’ve adapted to the power cuts like the one I’m currently experiencing and the selection at the grocery store, quite different from what I was accustomed to at Trader Joe’s. I’ve accepted the fact that getting stuck behind a slow driver is sometimes inevitable when so many roads in Malawi are only two lanes. I take it as a sign that I should spend some extra time admiring the green scenery.
A concept that I’ve heard repeated numerous times, both amongst expats in Malawi and friends and family in the United States, is the idea of “getting used to” the poverty that I see on a daily basis. In order to have a good experience, one might advise, you should become accustomed to the suffering around you, so much so that you can go on with your life without noticing it. Just as a vaccine gives immunity to an infectious agent, one should aim to become immune to the effects of seeing uncomfortable things. If you can block all the “misery” out of your vision, I once heard, you’ll be able to better appreciate all that the culture has to offer.
I disagree. I hope I never become oblivious to things around me that are hard to think about: wealth disparity, inequality, poverty, misery, suffering. I talk of wanting to feel “challenged” by my experiences abroad. Should that challenge last only a month, or even just a week, before I put my blinders on and get sucked back into my own life? I hope I’ll always actively work to not let that happen.
A concept that I’ve heard repeated numerous times, both amongst expats in Malawi and friends and family in the United States, is the idea of “getting used to” the poverty that I see on a daily basis. In order to have a good experience, one might advise, you should become accustomed to the suffering around you, so much so that you can go on with your life without noticing it. Just as a vaccine gives immunity to an infectious agent, one should aim to become immune to the effects of seeing uncomfortable things. If you can block all the “misery” out of your vision, I once heard, you’ll be able to better appreciate all that the culture has to offer.
I disagree. I hope I never become oblivious to things around me that are hard to think about: wealth disparity, inequality, poverty, misery, suffering. I talk of wanting to feel “challenged” by my experiences abroad. Should that challenge last only a month, or even just a week, before I put my blinders on and get sucked back into my own life? I hope I’ll always actively work to not let that happen.
I’m especially struck by comments on how focusing on suffering can take away from the appreciation of the culture of a society. Culture is so inherently separate yet fundamentally intertwined with the resources of a community. We can't define cultures based on the resources at people's disposal, especially since these "resources" are often categorized from a Western perspective. It’s possible to simultaneously view the culture of a place and recognize the resources, or lack thereof. Yet it’s also important to recognize how the means of a community affect the way of life of the citizens. I can witness the colors of a culture while learning about where they came from and not blocking other uncomfortable things out of view.
Since moving to Malawi, I’ve been quite cognizant of the way I portray the lives of Malawians. Given how the West portrays this continent, I hate to reaffirm the claims that all people here are living in complete devastation and are doing nothing to improve their conditions. Not all people here are living in poverty, and many of those who technically are don’t live in “misery.”
At the end of the day, though, Malawi is objectively ranked as one of the poorest and least developed countries in the world. Each day, I try to recognize how the lack of resources affects this society, while at the same time appreciating the human ability to create beauty and build community regardless of money or possessions. The latter doesn’t require me to be immune to the pain I see around me, though.
Since moving to Malawi, I’ve been quite cognizant of the way I portray the lives of Malawians. Given how the West portrays this continent, I hate to reaffirm the claims that all people here are living in complete devastation and are doing nothing to improve their conditions. Not all people here are living in poverty, and many of those who technically are don’t live in “misery.”
At the end of the day, though, Malawi is objectively ranked as one of the poorest and least developed countries in the world. Each day, I try to recognize how the lack of resources affects this society, while at the same time appreciating the human ability to create beauty and build community regardless of money or possessions. The latter doesn’t require me to be immune to the pain I see around me, though.
I’ve come to realize that people are often more selfish than we realize. In some ways, that’s beneficial. When a friend is overly concerned about what others are thinking, I like to remind them that a lot of people are doing the same thing: all persons are worrying about their own perceptions more than those of others. The other people in the story have probably moved on and have stopped thinking about that horrible thing that happened.
In other ways, of course, that selfishness is detrimental. It may be idealistic, but we should be trying to better the lives of people around us. On an even more basic level, however, we should not remain wrapped up in our own lives. We can’t forget to look around and think about things that aren’t directly related to us. We can’t compartmentalize what we see as the experiences of others such that we forget that we are shaped by what we see.
In other ways, of course, that selfishness is detrimental. It may be idealistic, but we should be trying to better the lives of people around us. On an even more basic level, however, we should not remain wrapped up in our own lives. We can’t forget to look around and think about things that aren’t directly related to us. We can’t compartmentalize what we see as the experiences of others such that we forget that we are shaped by what we see.
I wonder if it’s possible to live while simultaneously acknowledging all the bad in the world and maintaining one’s sanity. Perhaps there’s a balance to be struck, one that would allow people to sleep at night. I don’t want to feel guilty all the time.
For some context: I’m typing this on my MacBook Pro at the table outside my large guesthouse in Lilongwe. The guard for the guesthouse is sitting across the yard. He biked here this morning and is wearing the same work uniform he wears every day. Now he’s sprinting across the yard to the gate to let my roommate drive into the compound in his car that he bought for his year here.
Nothing about that description is exaggerated. It is, however, a negative way of spinning my current situation. I catch myself thinking that way a lot. It’s pretty easy for me to find things to feel guilty about here.
I’ll never forget the feeling of being approached by dozens of children begging for empty beer bottles as we entered an extravagant music festival that had overtaken their village for 3 days. The picture of a woman pleading for money through the car window after I finished a meal at one of the cheaper Indian restaurants in Lilongwe will forever be in my brain. And while I love the work that I do with Urunji, I couldn’t help but feel guilty as I gave a presentation on cervical cancer to a group of women who can’t afford the HPV vaccine, which I received years ago.
While living abroad, my guilt comes from disparity. It’s that bad feeling in the pit of my stomach when I’m reminded that I have things that others don’t. It’s about thinking how other people could use the money that I just spent on X or Y. About how there’s always work that could to be done given all the world’s needs.
With all of that, you could say I’m a person who often feels guilty. People have often told me to try to get rid of my guilt, as if it’s an unnecessary emotion that I should move to the recycling bin in my brain. I wouldn’t want to ever stifle that guilt completely, though; instead, I’d rather explore it.
One of my roommates here is a devout Catholic. We’ve begun talking about the subject of guilt and have come across an interesting distinction.
“I think the way I’ve come to think of it is just that nothing is deserved,” I said to him one day. “I have more money and opportunities than a lot of people, but if I just consider myself lucky then maybe it’ll help me reason through things.”
“That’s funny,” he responded, “because I see things in the opposite way. I think that everything is a gift from God, so we should all just be happy with what we have.”
It was an eye-opening statement. His justification was so much more positive than mine, while I put a negative spin on the situation. At this point in my life, I don’t believe in a higher being. It’s therefore difficult for me to justify the differences between people by saying we all get gifts, since I don’t have a source for where those gifts could come from. Having said that, I’ve set out to find the most positive ways of thinking about these differences.
For some context: I’m typing this on my MacBook Pro at the table outside my large guesthouse in Lilongwe. The guard for the guesthouse is sitting across the yard. He biked here this morning and is wearing the same work uniform he wears every day. Now he’s sprinting across the yard to the gate to let my roommate drive into the compound in his car that he bought for his year here.
Nothing about that description is exaggerated. It is, however, a negative way of spinning my current situation. I catch myself thinking that way a lot. It’s pretty easy for me to find things to feel guilty about here.
I’ll never forget the feeling of being approached by dozens of children begging for empty beer bottles as we entered an extravagant music festival that had overtaken their village for 3 days. The picture of a woman pleading for money through the car window after I finished a meal at one of the cheaper Indian restaurants in Lilongwe will forever be in my brain. And while I love the work that I do with Urunji, I couldn’t help but feel guilty as I gave a presentation on cervical cancer to a group of women who can’t afford the HPV vaccine, which I received years ago.
While living abroad, my guilt comes from disparity. It’s that bad feeling in the pit of my stomach when I’m reminded that I have things that others don’t. It’s about thinking how other people could use the money that I just spent on X or Y. About how there’s always work that could to be done given all the world’s needs.
With all of that, you could say I’m a person who often feels guilty. People have often told me to try to get rid of my guilt, as if it’s an unnecessary emotion that I should move to the recycling bin in my brain. I wouldn’t want to ever stifle that guilt completely, though; instead, I’d rather explore it.
One of my roommates here is a devout Catholic. We’ve begun talking about the subject of guilt and have come across an interesting distinction.
“I think the way I’ve come to think of it is just that nothing is deserved,” I said to him one day. “I have more money and opportunities than a lot of people, but if I just consider myself lucky then maybe it’ll help me reason through things.”
“That’s funny,” he responded, “because I see things in the opposite way. I think that everything is a gift from God, so we should all just be happy with what we have.”
It was an eye-opening statement. His justification was so much more positive than mine, while I put a negative spin on the situation. At this point in my life, I don’t believe in a higher being. It’s therefore difficult for me to justify the differences between people by saying we all get gifts, since I don’t have a source for where those gifts could come from. Having said that, I’ve set out to find the most positive ways of thinking about these differences.
The idea of balance seems to be a theme in my life right now. My roommates have heard the phrase, “I think there’s a balance to be struck” come out of my mouth countless times. I’m adjusting to a lifestyle of working 9am to 5pm and finding a balance of doing productive things after work versus watching Netflix until I fall asleep. I’m finding my own balanced diet – and clearly still figuring it out, since my vegetarian diet left me with too low a level of hemoglobin to donate blood last week. It’s balance in competition: learning to be motivated by others, but not letting comparison be “the thief of joy,” as Theodore Roosevelt once said.
And I’m striving to find a balance of thoughts: recognizing difference yet finding similarity, giving to others and still giving to myself, teaching things that can’t be physically given and finding unexpected learning moments.
And I’m striving to find a balance of thoughts: recognizing difference yet finding similarity, giving to others and still giving to myself, teaching things that can’t be physically given and finding unexpected learning moments.
While I'm here on this continent, I want to take advantage of the opportunity to travel. I know I’ll be back, but I don’t know when. When I first wrote about this topic, it was in my journal, appropriately travel-themed with quotes and pictures in the background of each page. Written on the next page was “I <3 Travels,” an accurate statement and a reminder of something I truly enjoy. With buying plane tickets to Cape Town or Zanzibar, though, comes the guilt over giving that money to the profits of airline companies rather than into the hands of people who could use it for survival. Going towards either extreme, I could forget about those people or feel guilty enough that I don’t go.
There’s a balance to be found, though. It could be a direct monetary balance: for each dollar I spend on travel, I should donate the same to a worthy cause. The balance must also be philosophical, though. For every nice thing I’m presented with, I should remember that very few people have the resources I have and be thankful for that. I should recognize that other people have worries that will never be a concern of mine. For every nice thing or new opportunity, I should aim to do something good for other people, whether that’s taking time to give a health presentation with Urunji or giving an extra enthusiastic, “Muli bwanji?” to the next person I greet.
There’s a balance to be found, though. It could be a direct monetary balance: for each dollar I spend on travel, I should donate the same to a worthy cause. The balance must also be philosophical, though. For every nice thing I’m presented with, I should remember that very few people have the resources I have and be thankful for that. I should recognize that other people have worries that will never be a concern of mine. For every nice thing or new opportunity, I should aim to do something good for other people, whether that’s taking time to give a health presentation with Urunji or giving an extra enthusiastic, “Muli bwanji?” to the next person I greet.
I suppose it sounds cliché – pass it on, give on to others what you have been given, etc. What I learned in seventh grade when I began watching the news daily, though, is that the world needs more nice things. While living in a place so different from any place I’ve ever known, I should try to strike that balance. It’s easier said than done: it would sometimes be easier to forget about other people while at other times I could just let myself feel hopelessly guilty for having more possessions than others. I don’t ever want to get so used to seeing suffering, however, that I don’t acknowledge difference or appreciate my situation. It should always be in the back of my mind, a sometimes quiet and sometimes loud reminder to appreciate what I have and pass it forward.