Watching Oprah in Africa...
It always strikes me as strange: the cultural impact that the U.S. has, usually unknown to the majority of its citizens, in various parts of the world. Always, through reading newspapers and magazines, I had heard of the Westernizing influence that culture from the United States and Western Europe had on the rest of the globe. Yet, that influence, and the peculiar ways in which it is filtered down into Africa, will always strike me as a bizarre phenomenon.
In my naiveté I viewed such happenings as western clothing or music as being the main influence of America. Yet, it goes so much farther than that. I will always be shocked at the infiltration of “American values” into village life. Whereas I am surrounded by people living in poverty; it is shocking to see the influx of materialism that has permeated the conscious of these very same African people. People, who have next to nothing, will buy 150 dollar shoes, and still use a pit toilet or have a roof that leaks. They will buy a full entertainment center, with an exaggerated television, a sound system, and a DVD player, regardless of the fact that they don’t speak English and therefore can only understand a tiny portion of programs on TV a long with the reality that they have no DVD’s to play. In the afternoon, as I watch television in a set up that was nicer than the one my family owned in the U.S., I shake my head at the insanity of it. In my mind I see their priorities as severely misguided as their pit toilet heads toward the point of overflowing and Khutso continues to sleep on a blanket on the floor.
Many of the Africans I know have “things.” My host brothers and sisters wear brand name clothes much more expensive than my own. I may have more clothes than they do but they are far better dressed than I am. It traverses much farther than even this. In the haste to hide the poverty and to equalize themselves with the models they see in magazines and television, western culture in itself is misconstrued. The other day I was riding in a taxi having a conversation with a man about America:
“You are so lucky to be so very rich.”
“I am not rich. I’m only a volunteer. I live in the village just like you and ride in taxis just like you because I don’t have a car.”
“Yes I know but I also know you’re pretending. I know you are very rich: all Americans are.”
“You watch too much TV, not all Americans are rich.”
“Maga (Liar)!!”
“No, seriously, some people in America are very poor. When I was a teacher in America I had students in my class that were homeless.”
This cyclical conversation continued. The man simply could not believe that the streets of America were not paved in gold. This is my frustration, people here have had the idea that all westerners are rich so engrained in their head, that they see me as a walking bank and are embittered when I reject their pleas for money. So the cycle continues. I am annoyed with the dependence of people here on handouts from the West, and they are frustrated with someone they see as a cash cow hoarding away her money and not sharing it with them.
So, in the afternoon, on my family’s large television, I continue to watch the American shows that have overtaken much of the culture that was here before the influence of the West seeped in. Lucky for me, today Oprah is interviewing Dave Chapelle and he is discussing his trip to Africa: once again emphasizing these stereotypes by talking of African poverty and his own fifty million dollar contract. This is going to do nothing for my legitimacy in the village…
In my naiveté I viewed such happenings as western clothing or music as being the main influence of America. Yet, it goes so much farther than that. I will always be shocked at the infiltration of “American values” into village life. Whereas I am surrounded by people living in poverty; it is shocking to see the influx of materialism that has permeated the conscious of these very same African people. People, who have next to nothing, will buy 150 dollar shoes, and still use a pit toilet or have a roof that leaks. They will buy a full entertainment center, with an exaggerated television, a sound system, and a DVD player, regardless of the fact that they don’t speak English and therefore can only understand a tiny portion of programs on TV a long with the reality that they have no DVD’s to play. In the afternoon, as I watch television in a set up that was nicer than the one my family owned in the U.S., I shake my head at the insanity of it. In my mind I see their priorities as severely misguided as their pit toilet heads toward the point of overflowing and Khutso continues to sleep on a blanket on the floor.
Many of the Africans I know have “things.” My host brothers and sisters wear brand name clothes much more expensive than my own. I may have more clothes than they do but they are far better dressed than I am. It traverses much farther than even this. In the haste to hide the poverty and to equalize themselves with the models they see in magazines and television, western culture in itself is misconstrued. The other day I was riding in a taxi having a conversation with a man about America:
“You are so lucky to be so very rich.”
“I am not rich. I’m only a volunteer. I live in the village just like you and ride in taxis just like you because I don’t have a car.”
“Yes I know but I also know you’re pretending. I know you are very rich: all Americans are.”
“You watch too much TV, not all Americans are rich.”
“Maga (Liar)!!”
“No, seriously, some people in America are very poor. When I was a teacher in America I had students in my class that were homeless.”
This cyclical conversation continued. The man simply could not believe that the streets of America were not paved in gold. This is my frustration, people here have had the idea that all westerners are rich so engrained in their head, that they see me as a walking bank and are embittered when I reject their pleas for money. So the cycle continues. I am annoyed with the dependence of people here on handouts from the West, and they are frustrated with someone they see as a cash cow hoarding away her money and not sharing it with them.
So, in the afternoon, on my family’s large television, I continue to watch the American shows that have overtaken much of the culture that was here before the influence of the West seeped in. Lucky for me, today Oprah is interviewing Dave Chapelle and he is discussing his trip to Africa: once again emphasizing these stereotypes by talking of African poverty and his own fifty million dollar contract. This is going to do nothing for my legitimacy in the village…
posted by Cait at 10:06 AM
2 Comments:
Amen, Cait! You put it all so well - the race issues, the western influence, the frustrations of being perceived as someone you are not.
I don't live in a village, but I imagine I feel 1/10th of the exact same feelings you do.
the thing is..you are wealthy, in fact fabulously wealthy compared to the people in your village. Yes you are living there along with people in your community, but this is a choice that you have made. Your family if given the choice would love a large home with running water, electricity, send their children to the best schools etc. but they cannot afford these things...they can however afford a TV, or a DVD player, it believe it or not makes the poverty hurt a little less, seem a little less hopeless. Your living in the village is situational and will come to an end, whereby you will go back to the US to live a life of amazing comfort and convenience compared to these poeple, they on the other hand will most likely live there for the rest of their lives. Even if you are living in a not so nice neighborhood in the U.S. you will have so much more than many of these people can ever hope for. I am an a RPCV from Lesotho and it took me a while to realize that I could never really live the same lifestyle as the people in my community, even if I lived with them, because I would always have access (just by virtue of being American) to more cultural(if not always economic) capital than my community members could ever hope to have.
Post a Comment
<< Home