As I go through life here, thousands of miles away from home, now eight months into this trip, I frequently snap pictures in my mind of images I want to hold onto, images I don't want to forget. Not all of them are nice images; in fact, a lot of them are heart-wrenching.
But I do this to protect myself from taking my life for granted- to assure that once I do go home, I don't forget how the rest of the world lives, so that I don't get completely sucked back into the vacuum of Western culture where what we spend on lattes each month is often the monthly income of a grown man here.
The images of poverty and hopelessness are difficult enough to deal with, but I've found that even more difficult is when I see these images coming into contact with their opposite. For instance, I have an image in my mind from the other day: a well-to-do, tall and handsomely dressed, vacationing Westerner with a three-thousand dollar camera hanging around his neck, snapping photos of a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk. Seeing the two opposite realities juxtaposed against each other was almost too much for me to take.
Last night, another blaring juxtaposition presented itself and this time, I really started realizing how much these contrasts affect me. Hassan and I had gone to a bar to hear Khalid play live music in his Gnawa fusion band. The bar is definitely a tourist place; the price of beers are more than what I'd pay back home. But we were going for the music, wanting a change from Seddik's house.
When we walked in, we noticed television cameras and boom microphones and all kinds of special lighting focusing on one table in the center of the outdoor patio where a bleached blonde woman sat, sipping her wine, tossing back her long, curly hair and blabbing on in a tacky and classic Californian accent. Men and women were doting on her, fluffing her hair and tucking it behind her ear, straightening her sleeveless dress and placing special lighting gadgets on the table to light up her face. And then various important-looking men came around to chat with her, all of it on camera. Another brunette woman, also with bare shoulders and hair tossed back, joined her and together they giggled and flaunted and flirted and jiggled in their seats to the music.
I actually found myself becoming angry. I started grumbling to Hassan about how wrong this scene was- where just outside the door, people were barely living and here are these self-important women drinking their $15 martinis, acting as if a make-up job were the most important thing in the world.
Hassan found the whole thing amusing and joked that he would go over and strike up a conversation with them (they were on TV!) and try to give the blonde a kiss on the cheek. For me, it was taking all the restraint in the world to resist throwing my shoe at this woman at the whole TV crew.
Later, the anger dissipated into just plain sadness... and the fear of how I will deal with seeing these images every day when I go back home.
I don't believe that wealth or high standards of living are inherently negative. But what gets to me is the fact that often, the collective mentality of people or cultures with so much more than they need to live are ignorant and unappreciative of the other realities of the world. Like that so many of us take for granted that to simply have food in one's stomach, a roof over one's head and an education already puts you in the top 10% of the most fortunate people in the world.
Believe me, even while I was feeling sorry for myself about my back being out for a month, I was constantly reminding myself, “Well, at least this is just temporary for you, Tamara. Think of the people in the world who will never walk, who have no legs, who have no chance to do the things you can do.”
It's my duty after having these experiences to never forget what I've seen- so that if I catch myself complaining that my coffee is cold or that I can't afford the latest and greatest sports gear, I can snap back to this part of the world and remember what truly matters.
