"It isn't your fault that your were born privileged. You cannot help what you're born into, any more than those living in the informal settlements (aka shacks). You have to remember that when you're feeling intense guilt."
The message they're telling us is true... It wasn't my fault that I grew up in a super wealthy consumerist country, in a middle class family, only child, etc. It isn't my fault that I have items in my purse worth more than a South African will make in an entire year... It isn't my fault that I'm privileged.
But isn't it my fault if I remain privileged?
We live on a hill, in a part of Cato Manor called "Bonella". Our families are lower middle class, which means various things. My house, for example, is viewed among the group as "really nice". And it is. It's very small, but everything is clean and well taken care of. Our furniture is in good shape (crushed green velvet), we have a microwave, a washing machine (which isn't used), insane doors that look like they're from a high security prison (doors are definitely a status symbol), and I have an oscillating fan in my room (JACKPOT). Many people in the neighborhood take 'basin baths', where you sit in the tub and pour water over yourself. However, wealthier families sit in the water (like mine). When sitting in the tub, there's about three inches of water on either side of me-- it's pretty necessary for me to flip on to my belly and wiggle to get the soap on my front side off. Yes, paint is peeling off the walls, and chameleons are everywhere, but my house is nice.
The rest of the houses nearby are in similar or worse condition. There is one woman that seemed to randomly set up an informal settlement or shack between two houses. She hangs out a lot in my friend Becca's house.
However, at the bottom of the hill, by the gas station, are endless informal settlements. I mean endless. Their roofs overlap from their closeness, and all that is visible is a sea of shacks of patched together tin and wood.
Everyday, a driver picks us up from various points in the neighborhood to bring us to the program center. The center is in Cato Manor as well, but we drive from one side to another, mostly along the road with the informal settlements.
On days when I'm not aware, I let the colors and sun bounce off the tin roofs and glaze over what those shacks hold.
On days when I am aware, it's hard.
People live in those shacks.
Children, walking on their way home from school. Parents, trying to raise a family and put food on the table. Grandparents, dying, wondering what to do now that they can no longer provide...
This is something wearing on everyone in our program, I think. One girl broke down the other day with the emotion of it. It is hard to see, hard to internalize and make sense of.
This experience only further validates and strengthens my desire to live a simple life, a life that is focused on community and not myself. To keep taking those small steps towards voluntary poverty that Dorothy Day talked about. To continue to let my life be transformed into something that isn't only about me, but about all of us.
No comments:
Post a Comment