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Fiction and Perspective
Anybody who knows me well knows that I have a very strong “non-fiction only policy.” There are too many facts to learn and fascinating subjects to explore, and there will never be enough time to tap into even a fraction of the things I’m curious about. But my roommate Dinachi strongly disagrees, so we made a deal that I would read Chinua Achebe’s “Things Fall Apart” in exchange for her reading “SuperFreakonomics.” I’ve been especially curious about Nigerian culture since Dinachi grew up in Nigeria, so this seemed like a great opportunity to both learn more about Nigeria and satisfy Dinachi’s request for me to read a novel.
Sidenote: I’m sure Jenny (best friend double majoring in English and Life) will be heartbroken to learn that I read a work of fiction for another friend in a world void of problem sets and midterms. Fear not, Jenny! I promise to read any book you name (as soon as I am in a country where I can find a bookstore in English, which hasn’t been the case for many weeks…).
Even though after finishing the book I promptly ran over to my backpack to pull out Nassim Nicholas Taleb’s “The Black Swan,” I must say that I learned a lot from the book and thoroughly enjoyed it. These days, women’s rights are always an easy topic to refer to for politically incorrect jokes, it was eye-opening to read about the lives of the women who lived in a culture where they were one of many wives, experienced routine beatings from their husbands for faults as simple as forgetting to make lunch, and experienced literally no freedom. I was equally struck by the examples of the blind obedience to the will of the tribal gods, leading men to actions as severe as killing their adopted children or even themselves. Call me a stereotypical American, but reading “Things Fall Apart” really fostered within me a gratitude for all the freedoms I take for granted, especially freedom of thought and choice.
But the most powerful part of the book for me this quote (context – Uchendu is speaking to his nephew Onkonkwo, who is about to be banished for seven years for accidentally killing a boy):
“You think you are the greatest sufferer in the world? Do you know that men are sometimes banished for life? Do you know that men sometimes lose all their yams and even their children? I had six wives once. I have none now except that young girl who knows not her right from her left. Do you know how many children I have buried- children I begot in my youth and strength? Twenty-two. I did not hang myself, and I am still alive. If you think you are the greatest sufferer in the world ask my daughter, Akueni, how many twins she has borne and thrown away. Have you not heard the song they sing when a woman dies?
For whom it is well, for whom it is will?
There is no one for whom it is well.
I have no more to say to you.”
It’s easy to complain about the fact that my windows lack screens so my house is always filled with bugs. Or that I have no fan so it feels impossible to escape the Nicaraguan heat during the workday. Or that almost ever meal here consists of nothing more than beans and tortillas. Even easier to be miserable about the fact that I have had limited contact with my loved ones back at home, due to no internet in the house and a pay-as-you-go cell phone plan which causes international calls to constantly cut out. But then I go to downtown Managua and see sections of the city filled with houses made from tin sheets nailed together, or even sadder, garbage bags tied to sticks. I remind myself that while I’m going back home in three weeks where I’ll undoubtedly be returning to a life of Starbucks, air-conditioning, and the ability to be with my loved ones whenever I want, the people in my village are here to stay. And most importantly, I remind myself that no matter how hard I work in the next 3 weeks at this hospital, I will still be leaving them with more problems than anybody in the United States could even conceive of. Frustrated with long hours in the waiting room, high insurance bills, or tiring side effects? Imagine a world where side-effects from electro-surgery are burns from the grounding pad (a problem I’m working on fixing!), the operating room has bugs, cracked paint, and broken equipment, and the annual budget of the hospital is less than some typical corporate salaries.
Area in Managua, post-earthquake.
It’s all relative. I even experienced that this weekend when I complained of the cockroaches in my room and faucet for a shower. Some of my peers on my program responded that they spend their nights killing rodents, and that they have to take their morning showers in a garbage can (which also serves as the home to a family of cockroaches). Even more inspiring was the fact that these girls described their conditions with a huge smile on their face. “We’re still in the euphoria stage,” they explained. Euphoria stage. Amazing.
