If Africa was affluent

Published in the Ontarion: November 13, 2008

By: Abid Virani

Imagine spending months in a small rural community, under the blazing equatorial sun, having to drive hours to the nearest banking machine. Last summer in Africa, I visited my parents' home and volunteered as an English teacher, but my experiences outside of teaching are the ones I remember the most.

I inevitably stumbled into situations where volunteers were needed and embraced those opportunities. Through volunteering, I received countless lessons in humility, kindness and faith, but the underlying tone of my trip came from a basic realization through interactions with children.

It was my second day in Uganda when I was standing atop the utmost tower of a Kampala mosque and admiring the rolling landscape. I climbed down the steep stairs to meet three siblings running in my direction; Elizabeth, the eldest, was the only one able to speak English. After only a few minutes, Elizabeth asked me to come to her home.

I followed her into the worst housing I have ever seen – the slums. Drawing eyes from several people, Elizabeth lead me to meet her family. Their home was one room, 10 by 10 in size, shared by nine people. Throughout the day, I was welcomed by each of them and learned about their lives. The children had dreams of becoming engineers, pilots, photographers.

Elizabeth wanted to become a doctor. Of course, I thought, a girl living in severe poverty wanted to make money, be of a higher class, hold a respected position in society. When I asked why, she responded simply, "Doctors help people. And people need help."

While in Tanzinia, I spent time at IMUMA, an orphan and vulnerable children centre. The name stands for Imani Upendo na Matumaini, meaning faith, love and hope. I arrived just in time to hear the calling for food. Children all came running towards Mama Ashah, a parent who opened her home to any child in need, to get their tidbit of maize and tea. A group of four or five children would fill one plate and sit in a sharing circle.

My eyes wandered to a little boy, perhaps the age of four and visibly malnourished, walking slowly towards Mama Ashah. She noticed him coming and picked up a small plate, filled it with food for one and gave it to him. He weakly took the plate and sat on his own, away from the rest of the children. My body moved instinctively and I quietly sat down next to him, conscious of every move I made.

Ten minutes later, I sat there entertaining myself by doodling in the dirt. And then I was whacked on my shoulder. My mind raced; I was worried I had offended the boy somehow. I looked up to see him holding out his dirty hand filled with food, a simple gesture offering to share.

Although I grew up thousands of miles away from IMUMA, I found a slight parallel between my life and those of the children. There were two wooden boxes sitting in the dirt as toys. When I was growing up, I always loved playing with boxes. Whether it was a spaceship, car or transporting machine from the future, I hated when other people went in my box or moved it.

I'm not sure if the two wooden boxes at IMUMA are ever imagined as anything other than two wooden boxes, though. Still, the children tie strings to them, pull each other around and jump off of them making funny poses mid-air. Although we similarly enjoyed playing with boxes, there was a striking difference that will never leave my mind. While the children were playing on the field, two walked back to play with the wooden boxes. Nobody else was around and they could have had a box each, but they decided to leave one unused and to share the other.

The generations preceding these children have taught them the importance of sharing and caring for others. I don't know if that is the message Western generations have taught us.

The Western generations preceding us have permitted millions of people to fall into poverty. They have allowed 15,000,000 children to be orphaned in sub-Saharan Africa because of a disease that is preventable. They managed to find $800 billion in a week to spark a slow market, but have not found the $180 billion needed to end poverty and stop the transmission of HIV/AIDS.

The Western generations that follow us, our children, will not say this. Our children will say the Western generation preceding them learnt how to share.

If Africa was affluent and the West was struggling, the world would be drastically different. From my experience, I learned they would share. I don't think Africa would have let the gap between rich and poor reach such astronomical levels. I think their values of sharing and caring for others would have resulted in a much healthier global community.

Unfortunately, the world of opposite affluence will likely never exist. Still, I reflect on what I realized each day during my travels; Africa may be able to learn from the West, but the Western world has a few things to learn from Africa.