Growing up in Ethiopia...

I was asked several questions about a recent post. The main question was:

How has having material goods impacted what you "own" in terms of your attitude, personality, thoughtfulness, etc?

I was raised in a family where I had wants but not needs. We were pretty well-off but my mother didn’t spoil us – she could have given us a lot more than she did in terms of material possessions, but she made a point to make sure that we didn’t get everything we wanted all the time. She was a firm believer in getting what you paid for. She would go to a flea market and refuse to buy a napkin if she thought she was being ripped off, and then buy a whole set for a far more expensive price because the quality of the item matched the price. I never had an allowance – if I needed money I’d ask for it and get it – but I wouldn’t get as much as I’d asked for all the time, and sometimes I wouldn’t get any at all. Which is, I suppose, no different than many other children in other parts of the world. So I wouldn’t get everything I wanted but I never was in need of anything.
The fact that I never needed anything and that I lived in a country where I was surrounded by people in need helped me develop a self-consciousness which allowed me to develop what I you call “thoughtfulness.” Growing up in Ethiopia, I was painfully aware that inequality existed in the world – it’s not something someone had to tell me or that I had to read in a book. Every time I walked outside my door, I would be followed by three to five children begging for money. It was a normal part of my life and I didn’t feel guilty about not giving them some, as many tourists who come to Ethiopia do, because I understood that that was life and because it was normal to me. But at times, it would hit me, and I couldn’t ignore it.
One time my favorite beggar (yes, you start having favorites) -- a young man who had dreadlocks, no legs, and the biggest smile in the world and who would stand outside the bakery… wasn’t there anymore. Every day I would go to the bakery and see him… and whether I gave him anything or not, he would always grin at me, and I would grin at him. It was an intimate moment… the recognition of one human being to another… and it would always leave me with a smile on my face. Well, this one time, he wasn’t there. A few weeks later he showed up again, but he didn’t smile at me. I felt crushed. Not because he didn’t smile at me – but because I knew that he wasn’t smiling at all anymore. His eyes were overcome with a veil of sadness and it was like he had given up hope. He kept looking more destitute by the day and wouldn’t accept money if I gave it to him. He just waved me away. The guy who had always managed to smile, even though he had no legs, no job, no money, and lived on the street, wasn’t smiling anymore. Somehow his spirit had been crushed.
I remember going home and crying that first day that he didn’t smile. It was like a world had collapsed. I felt angry and helpless and overcome with emotion. And then I decided that I wasn’t going to eat any more. I don’t know why I did it, really… it’s not like I went out there and gave him my food. But I didn’t eat. For days my mother tried to get me to eat and I wouldn’t… and my brothers laughed at me and said, in their practical voices: “what good is your not eating going to do to him?” But I wasn’t listening to reason. Eventually I fainted. And my mom made me start eating again. It was bizarre and I can’t explain it. I guess I just wanted to feel what he felt, to understand what could make one die inside. Of course I failed.
I guess I realize by growing up in a country as poor as Ethiopia how goddamn lucky I am to get to have the things I have. A blanket, a toy, a car… these are all luxuries. You just don’t know it in America most of the times. Do you know what they use for toys in Ethiopia? The children get scraps off the floor and fill them into a sock and make that into a ball. Their court is the street. They get broken bicycle rims and take a long stick and try to get the rim to roll upright on the ground as long as possible without falling over. I guess I never had the coolest toys or the latest anything… but I always had a real ball. And whenever my mom was driving and a kid happened to lose control of the ball, she would make sure to swerve out of the way so as not to destroy it because, she would say, “how would you like it if I ran over your toy?”
So I guess that set of experiences has impacted the value I ascribe to material possessions and what I subsequently “own” in terms of character, personality, etc.