On Tuesday, there was a bombing in Algiers, and 17 people died. Closer to home, I read the story of a teenage girl who committed suicide after getting hate mail on a MySpace account, supposedly from a boy, actually from the mother of another teenage girl down the block.
We went to the mall to go Christmas shopping and look at all the pretty things.
On Tuesday, many people here in Oregon continued to be homeless, flooded out; their wrapped presents and early Christmas trees swept away, pets drowned and cars overwhelmed in the deluge. A late mudslide sent trees crashing into houses and swamped a highway; the photo of it on the cover of the morning paper was amazing.
We lit the lights on our tree and played Christmas carols, enjoying the sound of ethereal voices soaring up, up, up on a descant at the end of O Come, All Ye Faithful.
It is easy to forget about other’s sufferings. Turn off the television (something we’re always happy to do), only read the funny bloggers and don’t read the Yahoo news, think of happy things. We’ve all got our own grief. My mother’s health is failing, for example. She’s 84 and has Parkinson’s. I’m trying to spend all the time with her that I can, but it isn’t much—there are many logistics that make it difficult. But I can always escape into a book or a movie.
No matter where we live in the world, it is easy to close ourselves off from the pain of others. Sometimes this is good. If we are dealing with our own struggles at a time when they are intense, it may be necessary for our mental health. But it can also be a way to absolve ourselves from the responsibility we have for our fellow human beings.
In America, it’s really easy to forget. Our roads are paved, our houses are lit. In Africa, it’s a bit harder. I would walk out every morning from my nice house and see a family who lived in a tent; they regularly rang my doorbell and asked me for water. When’s the last time someone who wasn’t just a visiting thirsty friend asked you for water, so necessary for everything we do throughout the day?
In America, life is easier. We stress about the things we want—pretty candles for decoration! new holiday-themed cushions for the couch!—but in general, we know that even the homeless on our streets can, if necessary, find a bed and a meal for the night. Our government is involved too; giving money for flood relief and monthly checks to the mentally ill on the streets. We can give money to help shelters, so that we don’t have to worry about giving an addict money for another shot or another drink, and feel absolved from guilt.
In Africa, it’s harder to get that feeling. It’s complicated. The intersections are lined with beggars, women in wheelchairs holding up emaciated infants before your horrified eyes, and you know that they are not getting monthly checks from anyone. But you still have to be smart. Those small boys…surely that one is not more than 4 or 5…with huge brown puppy-dog eyes, holding up a red can and telling you they’re hungry, must not be given money—at least not if you know the system. These are Talibe boys, who have been sent by their parents into the care of a local imam; he in turn sends them into the streets to beg. If you give them money or tea or sugar, they take it back to their imam. If you hand them a carton of milk you have just bought for yourself, you must open it first—otherwise they will take it back into the store and get the money for it. The same goes from bananas and oranges. Many boys spend the years of their childhood on the streets of Nouakchott; I’ve heard that those who return with their cans empty at the end of a day may be beaten. And yet there are seemingly thousands of them on the streets on the city, surrounding your car everytime you stop.
I’m happy to be in America. I’m happy to have a break from that crushing guilt of wealth—of knowing that we can afford to eat meat every day, of knowing that we may feel stressed about our finances but if we run out of water, we’ll still be able to buy some. Far from there being something wrong with this, there’s something beautiful about being in this situation; it’s a lovely thing to have your needs met. The problem is when we forget that we are in the minority in this world; when we think that the pretty things at the mall are all there is, when our window on the world is blocked by the weight of our possessions.
18 comments
December 14, 2007 at 3:10 pm
Kelly @ Love Well
I love the line “the crushing guilt of wealth.” My husband grew up as abandoned orphan in a third-world country. He has never forgotten those days as a gutter rat, and even now, he carefully weighs his response to poverty and hunger in the world with the materialism around us.
Thoughtful post.
December 14, 2007 at 6:36 pm
Veronica Mitchell
That last image of the cluttered window is excellent.
December 14, 2007 at 6:51 pm
Rebecca
Oh. This was just beautiful.
December 14, 2007 at 11:24 pm
Owlhaven
Thanks for this reminder!
Mary
December 15, 2007 at 8:25 am
Inkling
I, too, thank you for the reminder . . . but what do we do with it? Feel more grateful? Be more generous? Sit down in despair and weep? I’m serious in asking. When I begin to think about all the suffering in the world I feel so overwhelmed and helpless . . . which aren’t productive feelings. Maybe you’ve found a satisfying way to act on the feelings. Have you?
I’d still like to meet you! Christmas break starts Wed. for us, would be a good time.
December 15, 2007 at 1:37 pm
nan
No, weeping and despair are not productive. But sometimes, we have to admit our emotions… Just for a while… Because if you see suffering every day, it is bound to affect you if you are a sensitive person. (as most women are!) My own fix is to give of my time and expertise to organizations that I feel are pulling people out of that “loop” of poverty, hunger, crime and despair. And being grateful is so good, thanks for reminding me Planet Nomad!
December 15, 2007 at 8:48 pm
Jolyn
I think most of us could do more. Many of us need to just do something. There is so much out there to belabor upon…thank you for sharing your thoughts in this post: writing about it, is in a very real way, doing something about it. Even if it’s indirect by moving others to do more — or to do anything at all.
But I’m rambling, because this is something that has been weighing on me for so long — how can I do something? What can I contribute that will make a difference? Even if to just one person? Something besides giving money? And how do I instill the value of this to my children?
Whenever you have the urge to write more on this topic, feel free — would love to hear how you and your family have responded to the suffering you have around you — especially at times when you have not had to witness it first-hand.
December 16, 2007 at 6:29 am
cce
My daughter just announced that there are not enough gifts under the tree. She is so oblivious to the fact that whole continents can’t even dream of the festive orgy of gift giving and indulgence we Americans call X-mas. We all need a reality check. Thank you for bringing me back to earth.
(P.S. I’m trying to read the kids the real Dicken’s Christmas Carol, sadly it is way above their heads but I still love the message of this story and hopefully, through the tough words and difficult writing style they will parse the important message…we must walk through this earth thinking of others and trying our hands at benevolence in order to have lived a good life.
December 16, 2007 at 4:33 pm
Lonie Polony
Thank you for this post. It’s along the lines of what I have been thinking and agonising over lately, but blogging the serious stuff only ever seems to come out trite and insincere from me.
December 18, 2007 at 7:37 am
Antique Mommy
Such truth. And provided with such clarity. Excellent post and so very timely. Thank you.
December 18, 2007 at 8:47 am
Shalee
Last night, pre-prayer time with The Boy, I made the comment that I’m so very thankful to God that we have a warm house and a bed in which to sleep because there are so many who don’t have both or either. He looked at me and said, “But God still loves them.” I looked at him and said, “Yes, God does love them very much, but so should we.”
What a pointedly exquisite reminder that it’s not supposed to be all about us… any time of the year.
December 18, 2007 at 8:56 am
WeevilMaw
Thank you. In this joyous season with all of the extravagance and wealth on display it is easy to forget that so many are suffering.
I just dropped off my donation for the angel tree of our local child welfare board. I live in a community of 1500 and there were sooo many angels on that tree. You just don’t see the total picture of it on a daily basis.
December 18, 2007 at 9:33 am
Sue
I found my way here via Antique Mommy. Wow. What an amazing and thought provoking post. You gave me much to think about. Thank you.
December 18, 2007 at 10:05 am
Mrs. Who
Thanks for this post. The way that I manage is to help the students at my school during the holidays. These are kids that I know and I know their families need help. I think if we can take our giving a little closer to home, it makes it real and might make a little difference.
December 18, 2007 at 12:52 pm
Lela
I didn’t know about this kind of world until I started receiving World Vision magazine. I didn’t know that I was in the minority; I didn’t realize how wealthy I really am. I absolutely feel wealthy. In the eyes of Americans, I am average, but in the eyes of the world, I am rich. I think about this often. I show my kids, I talk to them about it. American children do not know this, how else will they if we dont’ speak of it? Thank you for revealing to us the life you are leading; it is opening a window to a world many do not know about.
I left a World Vision magazine with my sister. She said, “I cannot read it.” I left it on her table. I said, “you must.”
December 18, 2007 at 4:12 pm
BrookAnn(the Great)
I am so happy to find your blog. I am an American living in a small poor part of Mexico experiencing the “crushing guilt” that you spoke of, for having what I need because so many around me, don’t. We in no way have wealth, but we have water and food everyday. What an eye opener. I still struggle though, longing for the pretty things that i used to have, and the elaborate meals that I know my family is eating back home, I am sick of beans and rice and tortillas. I want to be as grateful as the people around me who are truly grateful to wake up one more day, even if they have cardboard walls and dirt floors. I have so much to learn from them. I enjoyed your insights. Thank you.
December 20, 2007 at 11:21 pm
The G-Ma
Here’s what one little girl did–one of my grandchildren, 10yo. She had wanted and been promised a new bedroom set–bed, dresser, night stands. Her mom by chance received a World Vision brochure detailing the striking poverty in many third world and African countries. This little girl looked through the brochure, asked pointed questions, and was aghast that some people did not have food, water, even houses made of wood or plaster. She said she would rather her parents give the money for her new bedroom to World Vision. She ended up buying a pig for some family in Africa.
I am so proud of her, and of her parents.
And I thank you, Ms. Nomad, for knocking on our collective consciences. Periodically we need to acknowledge the wealth we have which we have not earned nor merited but which has been bestowed because our parents loved, cared for and educated us, as perhaps did their parents. It is the merest accident of our birth that we live where we do. We are blessed beyond telling!
December 23, 2007 at 4:13 pm
Teresa Jones
What a great post. Thank you for lending some prespective…we all need it.
PS. Antique Mommy sent me…