9 /1/05

Watching world events unfold in the media, particularly when they're far away always feels so abstract. Before I came to Africa I heard about famine, drought, locust plagues, and all of the other catastrophes that regularly befall Sahelian Africa, but it was always in front of my laptop, on the TV, or in a newspaper, and never something I could fully appreciate. After having been here almost a year now, seeing kids with gigantic swollen stomachs and glazed eyes in person, the word 'famine,' is no longer a foreign concept. But then, once you experience something with your own senses, it always takes on a new meaning.

As I tune in to BBC tonight, I hear about a stampede on a bridge in Baghdad, where up to 1,000 people may have been killed. It's a terrible tragedy for sure, in a country that needs more bad luck as much as Chad needs more heat and poverty, but I have a hard time feeling more than a cursory sense of sympathy. I've never been to Iraq, and hopefully won't be going anytime soon. I can think of few places in the world that'd seem more alien to me than the streets of Baghdad. The closest connection I have to the country is through my Israeli ex-roommate, whose family moved to Tel Aviv 57 years ago– if I actually knew someone there, I imagine I'd be much more disturbed. Instead, I finish listening to the news, and fall asleep.

If you have a tie to somewhere through, no matter how distant, it's amazing how much more you can empathize with tragedy there. I've never been to New Orleans– the extent of my knowledge of the 'Big Easy,' comes from Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles series. Josh, a friend and fellow PCV, has lived there his entire life though, and hearing about the devastation caused by hurricane Katrina there, while having him as a focal point really brings it home. Hearing about 80% of an American city under 10 feet of water, thousands of potential casualties, no safe drinking water or food, fleets of looters and armed gangs is incredible– that's the sort of thing that happens in Mogadishu or Monrovia, not the States.

I get a text message from Josh, "Tell me everything you've heard about the hurricane– most of my family have homes on the water. Phones are dead, I'm really worried."

Reading his message, I can imagine his anxiety, the sickening pit of worry that seems to open up in your stomach. I remember feeling it this year after hearing about three massive earthquakes hitting almost simultaneously on the far northern coast of California, a suicide bombing in a Jerusalem neighborhood where a former co-worker lives, and an equally massive hurricane bearing down on Florida's Gulf Coast. What makes it all the more difficult is that virtually anywhere else in the world you'd pick up the phone or fire off an email, to see if everything's OK, but here, that's not an option.

I can imagine the relief when an hour or so later, I get another text from Josh. "Whew, just talked to Nelson (our boss), and he says the family is OK."

As they begin to rebuild their lives and property, the people of the Gulf Coast will have all the resources of the US government behind them, support unimaginable in the developing world. It sounds terrible, but maybe they're luckier than they realize.

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