Things

I thought I would take a moment to write about some things that I
thought I needed before I joined the Peace Corps. One of the most
common things people said to me when I left was about things. I
couldn't live without this or that. I won't pretend that it is easy
to get used to not having things. It isn't. Many an afternoon I have
done nothing but fantasize about things. Truthfully, I have missed
things as much as I have missed people. But I have had the
opportunity to live without a lot of things—and that has been
priceless.

In the US it is easy to develop strong preferences for things, or ways
of life, and to erase the word want from our vocabulary. I often
believed that I needed things when I simply wanted or preferred them.
Electricity, running water, television, freshly cleaned
clothes-towels-sheets-straight out of the dryer, my own seat on a bus,
a wide variety of foods, certain foods, foods made certain ways,
running shoes, clothes that fit me, clothes that I find cute, hot
water showers or baths, Kleenex, a closet of clothes, more than one of
everything, something new when the old thing works fine, special
toiletries, air conditioning, heating, news, current music or films,
washing machines, microwaves, diet coke, a car, cheese, a decorated
house, a comfortable bed, 7-eleven, TJ Maxx…

Right now I live in a bedroom with a bathroom. I share one set of
dishes with about six people. I have one towel and one sheet. I use
the same soap for everything. I wash and dry my clothes by hand. I
cook all of my meals from scratch. I have about five outfits. All of
my belongings fit into three bags—plus my guitar.

The list above might sound like a list of things I miss but it is
really a list of things I thought I needed—things I have realized were
simply preferences. I need food, shelter and love. Luckily I also
have electricity and running water and a laptop for music and films.
But I don't need it. I didn't have these things in my last house and
I settled into a different routine—a routine where the sun had more
control over my sleep schedule.

I don't mean to suggest that Malagasy people, or Nigerien people,
don't want or need things—that we as Americans can be passive knowing
that things are not the answer. I am not suggesting that we can
relax in knowing that poverty is no big deal. Indeed, a 'thing' like
running water (if it is clean) has health ramifications we rarely
consider in the United States as does consistent electricity. I am
only speaking of the experience I am having—the experience of living
in a rich country and then living in a poor country.

Part of what I am trying to say is that finding myself in a new
context has given me the opportunity to see myself beyond my
superficial preferences. To observe that I really don't need what I
thought I needed. To observe that my deepest needs, beyond food and
shelter, are not met by objects and never will be. Objects may be
fun but they can also be a prison. Sometimes your possessions
possess you—financial and psychologically.

One of the first things I realized in Peace Corps was what I had done
in the past for recreation—because I had to create new forms of
entertainment. I realized that one of the main things I did for
entertainment was shop. I know I am not the only American for whom
this is true. And I didn't even think of myself as a big shopper.
But many Saturday afternoons, it is what I did. I bought things and
it made me a little bit happy for a little while. Here I shop for
food but the 'rush' of buying something is rare here. Occasionally I
feel it—though I can't recall the last time. Perhaps when I find
something outrageous at the frip (where you buy clothes—like
Goodwill).

When I return I will probably be completely indulgent for awhile if I
can contain my reverse culture shock. I will likely just wallow in
all of the things. Buying clothes in the right size, new
clothes—wandering around grocery stores with my jaw on the floor.
Aisle after aisle of foods, things, products—all there ready and
packaged up for me to buy buy buy buy buy. And I shall buy!

But I predict a Saturday afternoon, where I don't want to shop for
fun. I predict an afternoon where I want to feel alive and have
experiences. An afternoon where I want to make soup from scratch
with ingredients that are organic—not because they are from a special
store—but because unnatural foods haven't penetrated the society. I
predict a day when all of the comforts and preferences won't comfort
me at all. On that day I will miss simply feeling alive—a feeling
that having or buying things imitates but cannot truly provide.