4/11/05

At our last training session, one of the other Volunteers commented that he wondered if most Chadians realize just how crushingly poor they really are. It's an interesting question for sure, although it may be a little patronizing. I'd guess that most people here see the world around them, compare it with what they know of life outside Chad, and realize something might be lacking. That doesn't mean everyone here is unhappy though- on the contrary, I hear more laughing and joking here than I ever heard in the States, even if I don't understand it most of the time, and what I do is usually at me. I suppose it really is a matter of perspective- if you're convinced that you're poor, and as a result should be miserable, chances are you'll be exactly that. Although the majority of Chadians live in conditions most of the developed world would consider appalling, they nonetheless seem pretty happy.

Examples of this divide- my perspective as a young, relatively-educated American from northern California, and the Chadian outlook of my friends and neighbors seem to keep finding me, whether I want them to or not. We're at the height of the hot season now, with daytime temperatures regularly approaching 120º F (45+ºC), and nights dropping to a chilly 100ºF (≈39ºC). I'm managing to survive, mostly by trying to convince myself that a breeze cooling things down to 115º isn't so bad, but I had to make sure I wasn't in a parallel universe when I see Marc first thing this morning, and he asks me "Comment le froid?" How's the cold? It was almost 100ºF. At 6:15 AM. I guess it really is a matter of perspective.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure." We've all heard that saying before, and again, I see it being played out every day in Gounou-Gaya, usually among my neighbors. I try making popcorn the other day (not so easy over charcoal, and using peanut oil), and although I manage to salvage some of it, maybe half the pot ends up as a smoky, sticky black mass of peanut oil, popcorn, and my hope for lunch. There are a few kernels left in the bottom of the pot, which I scrape into a plastic bag and put by my desk outside, waiting for my next trip to the trash pit. I get up to go toss it, just as Ertchey arrives at my front door.

"What's that?" He asks, looking at the bag.

"I was going to eat it, but it's burned," I say.

"Let me see." I show him the bag

"I'll eat it," he says.

"Well, OK, if you really want it," I tell him.

He goes off, clutching the bag of charred popcorn, saving me a trip to the trash pit. I walk by his house later in the day, and through the open door, I see him munching away. As I pass he looks at me, looks at the popcorn, and smiles.

"C'est bon," he says. It's good.

The same thing happens with a stack of old newspapers I receive in a package from the States, also with Ertchey. I'd finished reading them, and had put them in a pile for fire starter. He sees them sitting by my front door, and asks if he can have them. I hand them over; I actually have plenty of fire starter, and it's one less thing for me deal with. I get back to the book I'm reading, and hear Ertchey nailing something to his wall next door. I go out to see what's happening- again his front door is standing open, and do a double-take. Every bit of the wall is covered with pickups, proclaiming "BILL JAMES FORD, THE NUMBER ONE TRUCK DEALER IN THE TAMPA BAY AREA!" I suppose I shouldn't be surprised- even if he can't understand the words, the pictures look cool.

To take the 'trash and treasure' saying to its most literal form, every time I toss something in the communal trash pit a squadron of children arrive, usually less than 10 minutes after, searching for anything edible, or play-worthy. I think it's more the fact that it's the white guy who threw it away, rather than what it actually is that makes if so interesting- I never see them go after Marc's trash. Onion peels, moldy bread, (more) burnt popcorn, all of it is consumed by the kids. I know they eat with their families, but if boule was what I had to look forward to literally every meal of every day, I might start picking through nasarra trash for food scraps too. Because of this, I have to toss anything that could possible be dangerous into my pit latrine- these kids are exposed to enough hazards every day, and hardly need me to add in my old batteries, insecticide cans, and razorblades. Reba, who just recently finished her Peace Corps service, told us a story about how she wasn't careful with her trash at first, and tossed practically everything into the nearby pit. The next day she was out near her house, when she saw a little boy running around with a birth-control hormone patch. Her birth-control hormone patch. On his forehead. Fortunately, she caught him, and ripped it off- who knows what hormones like that would do to a seven or eight-year old Chadian boy? The kid didn't see it as medicine, it was just a cool sticky thing to play around with.

But I see this astonishing difference of perspective in more than just trash- one of the most common situations I notice it in is money matters. Not too long ago I'm chatting with one of my neighbors who'd given up school the year before- I ask him why.

"The supplies are so expensive," he says. "A notebook, that's 150 francs, a pencil is 75, pens are 100 each, and a ruler is another 125."

I stop to calculate it out before I answer; 150+75+100 (x2, a red and a blue pen) + 125, a total of 550 Francs. 550 Francs is about $1.10. $1.10 was preventing him from continuing his education. If we weren't in the middle of the school year already, I would've simply handed him the money. In the end I say something like, "Oh, I see," again realizing just how fortunate I am, even here. When I'm in N'Djamena for our training a few weeks later I go to the Meridien Chari, the one really nice hotel, for Sunday brunch. As I sit there enjoying the omelettes, fruit juices, fresh bread and more, I can't help but recall the conversation I'd had before, and realize that for the price of my 7000 Franc breakfast I could've given almost 15 Chadians a year's worth of school supplies. I still enjoy the breakfast and the company of the other Volunteers, but once again it reminds me of the privilege I have.

Despite the fact that I'm living in Gounou-Gaya, Chad, just like my friends and neighbors, the reality is that I live in a different world, in so many ways. I've already written about the differences in living situations between the average 24-year old Chadian man, and myself, but it's more than that. The opportunities I have are boundless compared to the people around me, which I should never forget. Cynical as this may sound, no matter how annoyed I may get with transport (or lack thereof), merciless heat and dust, no running water, and mail maybe once a month, this whole experience is one short chapter of my life. When it's over, I'll go back to the developed world; my neighbors won't, and their situation isn't likely to change, barring incredible advances in development. The opportunity that I have, to return to America is something that most of the town of Gounou-Gaya (and the rest of Chad, frankly) would give anything for. When I look at my students, and realize that many of them are older than I am, but are still in the equivalent of 10th grade, I see just how different my reality is to the world they live in. While I can only make a tiny difference, perhaps it works both ways. I can allow my students and neighbors to begin to learn English, and conversely, they can help me, as an unofficial ambassador from a place so different it may as well be another planet, to understand their lives. I don't know what, if anything, the cross-cultural exchange will do for the citizens of Gounou-Gaya, development-wise, but maybe, just maybe, it's a start.

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