Hauling Charcoal
So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation which, in the midst of civilization, artificially creates a hell on earth, and complicates with human fatality a destiny that is divine; so long as the three problems of the century—the degradation of man by the exploitation of his labor, the ruin of woman by starvation, and the atrophy of childhood by physical and spiritual night—are not solved; so long as, in certain regions, social asphyxia shall be possible; in other words, and from a still broader point of view, so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, there should be a need for books such as this.
—Victor Hugo, Introduction to Les Misérables, 1862
This passage written in 19th century France, is disturbingly relevant to 21st century Zambia and much of the African continent today. On an early morning run yesterday morning, the internal conflict about Africa I’ve faced over the years hit me like a hammer; specifically the vast gulf of inequity between those on the bottom rung of society and the rest of us.
One of the overriding themes I’ve often thought about in trying to describe, ‘what is the essence of Africa?’ In my simple mind, I always come back to this, Africa is a place of outermost and paradoxical extremes. I think of: Intense rainy seasons with rivers bulging, green landscapes – hot, dry, dusty, inhospitable barren earth; Overwhelming hospitality, the warmth of its resilient and eternally optimistic people – suffering human condition where brutal violence is all too normal; Vast intact natural landscapes teeming with iconic wildlife—sprawling cities of squalor, open pit trash dumps, thick smoggy air; A rural villager who offers his guest his best chair and coolest cup of water—the government minister zooming past the village in his Mercedes, leaving a trail of dust on his way to pilfer the national treasury; The colorful traditional market where a stack of fresh tomatoes cost 10 cents—the modern supermarket with imported grapefruits that cost $5 each; Basic homesteads with mud walls and thatch roof—5-star luxury safari lodges on the edge of pristine wilderness; Dark nights where you can’t possibly see your hand in front of your face—nights under a full moon with kids playing outside in their moon shadow as if it were mid-day.
And this is the image I was struck with yesterday morning: me on a run, a physical action of choice and relative luxury, meant to maintain fitness, and for a release after a busy week in front of a computer and sitting in meeting rooms, a gratifying excursion on my way to a slow relaxing Saturday morning sitting on our porch talking with my wife over a cup of gourmet coffee, reading a book, and playing with my kids. This image juxtaposed with life in the neighboring village, where at 6:30 in the morning, a man wheeling a ramshackle wheel barrow full of bananas going to market, sweat already covering his entire body in the cool morning; a group of men sitting on top of a rock pile breaking rocks barehanded with a rough hammer, stacking them into piles of gravel; the mother with her newborn wrapped on her back, washing last night’s dishes in a basin, scraping together breakfast over a three-stone open fire; men hauling 100lb bags of charcoal on the back of their bicycles; women walking 5 miles one way with heavy baskets on top of their heads, full of produce going to market.
For me living in Africa, these images constantly force themselves into our daily life here. And when you dive deeper into the statistics and start quantifying these disparities, per capita income, net financial worth, etc, the truth gets even more daunting. The reality of these inequities gnaws at me daily. It pervades our life here and is always just below the surface causing discomfort, some guilt, and a longing to be back home where we are more ‘middle class’ and less ‘privileged’, at least where we feel more normal and the injustices of our own society are seemingly less obvious. We’re left with a dull ache and constantly asking the question: why does it have to be like this? So much suffering by so many people, when others have so much more. Will we help to solve this problem? Probably not. Can we make a difference in very small ways? Maybe. Perhaps by remembering this stark reality and somehow preserving these uncomfortable feelings once we return back to our comfortable life will somehow mobilize action and help change this situation. Is this enough? To strive to continue thinking about these problems when we’re back home, to be compassionate and hope for a brighter future for a vast majority of an impoverished world? Is this enough?
