The Have's and the Have Not's

Monday was Republic day in which Kenyans celebrate much like Americans might celebrate an independence day. They observe both independence and republic days. I spent a part of the day at a cookout at Mark (Josephine's husbands) bosses house. He works for Microsoft and his boss lived in a modern and beautiful home just outside of the slums in Kisumu, the third largest city in Kenya. On the way to the beautiful gated house we passed slums, bare-foot children, begging cripples on the side of the road, factories that pollute the air and are just steps from people homes, garbage piles, roaming animals that shit where they please, etc...before we arrived at the house and one of the two armed guards opened the gate. The party was held in the guest house where we were served as much food and drink as our bellies could hold. Toward the end of the party, I was recovering from my "itis" when a man sat beside me and decided he wanted to small talk. I really wasn't in the mood. I am not very fond of African men in general, and I knew I wasn't going to like this one.
"So! How do you find Kenya?"
"I love it. It is a beautiful country."
"Say, is this your first time in Africa?"
"No. I visited Ghana earlier this summer"
"Oh, so Kenya is more developed than Ghana. Yes?" (Why is he asking me this?)
"Um. It depends on what you consider development."
"Eh, What do you mean?" (Why is this man pressing me? I am trying to be nice.)
"Well if you consider development tall buildings and paved roads; then yes, Kenya is developing quickly and maybe more so than Ghana. But if you consider development everyone having access to clean water, decent housing situations, low HIV/AIDS rates, and opportunities for employment, then no Kenya is not more developed than Ghana. I see more people here with lots of money, but I also see an over-abundance of impoverished people. I see more poor people than I see people like yourself. So until the masses are living a decent life in which their most basic needs are met, than perhaps a country is not truly developed."
"Eh. I see." (Was that a look of embarrassment on his face? Perhaps he had ignored the slums we passed on the way to this one gated mansion.).
"Well, I have to go now. Nice talking with you"
I could not stand this man another second. I have such mixed feelings about success in the form of wealth in this country. It was great to see Mr. Microsoft-Boss man was a brother and all the people on the team were black as well. Black people doing well in Africa! That did my heart some good. But I am somehow disgusted by their disconnection to all the poor people, who look just like them, who are surrounding them. If you talk to a wealthy African about the poverty of the vast majority of African people, they will respond as if they are talking about a distant stranger, "Oh yes. It is so sad for them". This furthers my belief that race is still an issue in America, and throughout the world; but race is no longer the issue. Socio-economics and class divisions are the civil rights issue of our time. It is not just an American issue, it is global issue...and it just happens that the majority of poor people are people of color. But the focus should no longer be Black people the focus should surely be poor people... Note: I am a big fan of Dr. Martin Luther King's work and 3 years before he died his focus was on class division. He wanted more rights for poor people because he noticed that the civil rights movement had benefited middle-class Blacks...not the Blacks that the movement intended to benefit. Read about it...it is very interesting that he called that so long ago and it reins true today.

Later that day we went back to Josephine's village, Kendu Bay, and I listened to the president's Republic day speech while shucking corn with my bare hands. Josephine's family is a farming family, like most of the people in the Western Province, and they were removing corn from the cob to sell it in the market. At first I was enjoying the novelty of it all: Here I am, in a remote village in Africa, shucking corn, talking with the locals, listening the presidents speech on an old radio, a chicken just walked by me, the dog is asleep at my feet, I am full, I am happy, it's a good life...And then I noticed that my thumbs were starting to get tired, because we were doing this by hand. I wanted to stop but every one else looked so content and peaceful and I didn't want to complain like a weak little privileged American! I worked on. Maybe a conversation would help. "So, how often do you all remove the corn from the cob like this?"
The grandmother smiled. "EVERYDAY!"
"Oh. For how many hours?"
"Some days 8 hours, some days 13 hours. It depends on the sun and on how much money we need to make in the market."
1 more hour passes by. Fuck. I'm screwed. I physically can't do this anymore. My thumbs are going to bleed...or break off.
"Okay. I am tired. I have to stop now. My thumbs are broken."
Laughter.
A boy decides to share something to cheer me up, "Yes. It is hard work. You have to get used to it. You did a good job. There are actually machines to do this work now. We just can't afford that, so we do it this way. Here, drink some water."
I sat down and pretended to drink the water he handed me, because I don't want to show my American-ness again by reminding him that I can only drink bottled water. But while I sat I thought about the conversation that I had with the idiot man at the party earlier that day and his comments disturbed me all the more. Perhaps he had never done this type of work? Maybe no one he knows does this type of work? Or maybe, just maybe, he really didn't care about the people who remove corn from a cob all day so that they can survive in homes with scarcely running electricity, unclean water, inadequate health care and who can't earn enough money to escape it...no matter how hard they work...and believe me....they were working really hard.