I used to really enjoy going to Western Europe. The history is interesting, the architecture so beautiful, there is a more social and less xenophobic feeling in the air because of the manner in which it seems to be able to integrate itself through public transport and public spaces being so common and so well populated.
On my way to South Africa last year, I took 10 days in Europe en route, a few days in Copenhagen, and then a week to troll a bit around southern Europe before I flew to Joburg from Malpensa airport just outside of Milan. But despite all the interestingly colourful architecture, the 'openness' of staying by the water and having canals run underfoot, and of course the beautiful young Danish women in their summer dresses riding down the streets of Copenhagen on their bicycles, something felt wrong. It was different than before. True, I still had to finish my thesis revisions before my re-submission and I was a bit pressed for time, and I also was about to step into the unknown in terms of committing to a year in South Africa, a country I had heard so many horror stories about in terms of personal safety, but it was much more than that. For the first time, I really started to look at the people... search their faces... observe their mannerisms... and for the first time, I didnt understand.
My time in Asia the winter before had had a major effect on me it seemed. Here was a world that was so strange and foreign to me, but I had had a number of interesting experiences where, despite the language barrier in a Chinese village and a Vietnamese town, I was made to feel like I belonged; I was included in various things that happened to be shared by the community at the time. And now searching all these faces in Denmark, there seemed to be an emptiness about it.
Of course, I am a bit of an elitist because I can survive comfortably in the developing world and I dont know what its REALLY like to be oppressed and impoverished, but one of the main things that I realized is that I travel to engage with people, because people are the most interesting and unpredictable beings in the world. I realized that my boredom in North America stems from the predictably of it all. Most people take life for granted because they dont have to be challenged, they dont really know or care whats going on outside of their immediate social circle because they dont have to. There is the implicit understanding that despite their not having as large a house and as many cars as the next person, they will survive. Or maybe it just doesnt occur to them to critically engage with reality should their bubble be effectively burst.
South Africa, in particular, I really really love. When I first arrived, I was a bit paranoid because of what I had heard about this unknown country. But when I arrived back from India, I just said 'fuck it' and stepped boldly out into the unknown, which provided me with interesting experiences aplenty. But the main thing is that I have a public place where I can constantly engage with people. True, it gets a bit boring now and again, but what doesnt? The main point is that I would very rarely go 'clubbing' or 'partying' back in Canada because I already knew what it was about: expensive beers, pointless conversations, 'dancing', some people trying to hook up, others trying to start fights... in general it too often seemed to be a pointless exercise. But here I go out most nights. One is because the beer is ridiculously cheap (750ml for R13 ~ $1.80), but the other is that its a 'black bar', meaning that ex-pats looking for opportunity in Cape Town come together with backgrounds from all around Africa, and they always have interesting things to say about their own countries and what's going on, but they also understand and are interested in discussing the situation in general. It is because they are in a position where if they begin to take life for granted, if they stop being vigilant, then their situation will become precarious.
One of, if not the, closest friend I have at the moment is one of my roommates, 'Rasta'. He's from Tanzania, looking to make ends meet in Cape Town. He does leatherworking at a kiosk in the area, making belts, handbags, sandals, etc., fixing shoes, etc. But whenever I talk with him, whether it be in the evening over a toke or in the morning after starting the day, I can see the strain on his face, and he often begins with a sigh and the utterance 'Life is so hard, mah man.' Ive known him for a fair bit of time, and we often end up discussing similar things. He tells me 'it's not hard if you have a bit of capital, because then all you gotta do is be creative'. He tells me about how he wants to meet a beautiful girl, but not yet because he doesnt want to bring a child into the world while he's in his financially tough situation. He tells me about how much he misses Tanzania, but that he can see how South Africa is slowly turning into Tanzania, and its becoming more and more difficult to survive. He tells me 'the government, they dont tell about the real situation, the people on the streets, you only really understand when you have to go hungry and you dont know where your next meal is going to come from'. He tells about how tired he is because he has to wake up every morning, haul out and set up the kiosk that sits in storage overnight about half a block from where he sets up his shop. He tells me about how much he wants to go back to finish school if he can put some money together, but he's 28 and isnt sure when or if he can make ends meet. But in the end, he reiterates 'Life is so hard, mah man'.
When I first went to Asia, I had real sympathy for people and wanted to help them out, but after being in Cambodia, where there are people constantly haranguing on you because civil war and vast economic inequality has made a lot of people desperate, I realized then and there and said to myself 'you cant save everybody, especially with the little money you have'. But there are sometimes when I must help. When I stayed in Chamanculo, the individual there that I went to visit turned to me one day and asked 'can you help my family put a proper roof on the house?' and I said 'ok.' I didnt know it would cost 5000 meticais (about $130) and this perturbed me a little as it started with a bit of money here and there and slowly escalated, but at the end of the day, despite my frustration, I was happy to help: by depriving myself of few extra luxuries here and there, I was able to provide something sustainable for a family living in abject poverty. And anyway, they allowed me to stay at the place for free, so I suppose it was the least I could do.
And then there is Rasta. There are many times when we go to the pub to hang out or play pool or whatever, but despite his upbeat approach to the world, I can always see that behind it all, there is a battle going on, a battle to survive. Now and again I give him R100 'to buy ganja', because I smoke with him plenty, I needed a belt, so I went down to his shop and had him make one for me. He said it was R150, but I gave him R200 and said 'keep the rest for smokes'. He told me about how sore he was from having to set up and take down every day, so I told him to wake me tomorrow and I'll walk up with him and help him set up. Why not? I think about maybe in a few years when Im living in Dar es Salaam or Accra or Bombay or Manila or Canada or who knows where, I can contact him, bring him to where I'm living and just let him take it easy for a bit and enjoy life.
It is true. I can't save everyone. But sometimes, in certain situations, I feel that I must do something...
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