I stepped outside the back of the darkened hut,
and was greeted by the blinding African sun. After the darkness inside it took
several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the light. I wondered what it would be
like to spend much of my life in such a darkened environment. Also, I
considered if the house were to catch fire would everyone get out alive? The
dry thatch roof material would burn quickly, and there is no fire truck and no
fire protection available. There is no water near her house, and nothing to
impede the progress of the flames.
Outside we looked at the round, bamboo grain
storage bin. It was over half empty, and obvious that the family would be
rationing their food; if they were not already. It is eight months to harvest,
and last year’s rains were not conductive to good crops. The old lady has no
savings, and no food reserve, except for what is in the maize bin, and a
25-lb., half-filled bag of potatoes suspended from the living room ceiling to
keep them away from the mice. We knew none of her neighbors had much more than
she, so there would be little help available from them if she ran out. Neither
did the government have much in the way of food reserves, and even less in the
way of money to expend to feed the poor. There are just too many; and when food
shortages come, starvation will not be far behind. As our eyes grew more
accustomed to the light I looked at her intently. How many famines had she
experienced in her life? When will her aged eyes see the next one? This year?
Next? Or ten years down the road? The next one will be far too soon for her
weakened body to withstand, and with so many children to care for, she and
they, are far too vulnerable to any problems that come along.
I stood for several minutes before we
continued the tour. The view of such a disparity flooded over me, like a heavy,
drenching rain coming in off the Indian Ocean. Near the backdoor of the hut was
a large tub; the bathtub for the entire family, and just a few feet away was a
kitchen. It was composed of several long sticks of firewood, and two blackened
bowls. Nearby sat two old buckets, one partially filled with water, and the
other sitting on the fire. How could I explain this back home? Words won’t do
it. Words are understood within the framework of one’s life experience, and
culture. Poverty in America is far different from poverty in Africa where even
a glass of cold water is a rich man’s commodity.
Next
time – The garden and family orchard
