Culturally Enriching

Recently, one of the girls in our courtyard caught a glimpse of our laptop computer. I saw her face change upon seeing it, and my heart fell. Before we came to Burkina, the materials from the Peace Corps advised that while a computer was not necessary here, many volunteers found it helpful – and cautioned that “a computer is an enormous symbol of wealth in Burkina Faso; if you reveal that you own one, it will affect how people view you.”

Nearly everyone here already thinks that, by virtue of being American, we are wealthy. And it is somewhat true – by Burkina standards, we are relatively well-off. The Peace Corps pays us a healthy living wage and we don’t hunger for much. However, people here always assume that we have giant swimming pools of money back home and that American trees sprout silver dollars. It’s hard to continually convince people otherwise. I find myself getting quite defensive about money and it makes me very uncomfortable because I don’t like talking about money. It’s not as uncomfortable for Burkinabé because they always relegate themselves to saying “I don’t have the means for (insert conversation topic here).”

At times it’s hard to share my American culture with host country nationals (2nd goal of Peace Corps) without concomitantly drawing a contrast between our different financial situations. It seems like every aspect of American vs. Burkinabé culture that comes up in conversation centers around wealth disparity. “You have machines to wash clothes in America,” or “High school is free in America,” or “You have too many socks,” or “Is that an iPod? How much does that cost?” or “You owned a car in America.” It’s hard to explain that all of these things are considered normal in America without further bolstering their vision of an endlessly opulent “land of the free.”

Sometimes children on the street will randomly stop me and ask me to give them money. Today, a group of children yelled out to me, “Hey, white one! Give us a soccer ball!” (I was not carrying a ball). Occasionally the children in our courtyard will pat Dave’s pockets down, LAPD style, searching for candy or cookies (He has never carried candy nor cookies in his pockets).

It sounds weird but a lot of times I will lie about possessions or experiences I’ve had because I feel like there already so many barriers between myself and Burkinabé due to disproportionate financial situations. I want to appear more accessible and live at “their level.” I don’t know if that’s the best way to go about my two years here, but I find it more comfortable than the alternative. Other PCV’s have had similar experiences – for example, someone recently talked about how people in his village have only been to Ouagadougou (the fancy, modern capital of Burkina Faso) once in their lives or never, so his having gone in twice in the past month (for official Peace Corps meetings, mind you) shocks them beyond disbelief. I think he might tell them he has to go to a funeral or something the next time he goes (in a few weeks) to downplay the visits.

All of this has had me pondering whether the level of wealth the general population of a society enjoys is intertwined with their culture and/or identity, or if they can be separated. Clearly the perception of America here is one of infinitesimal prosperity, so is a poor American a countercultural one? Also, how would the Burkinabé culture change if there was a prominent middle class? Would people still eat tô all the time, which is cheap but nutritionally inferior to other starches, or would they trade up to more rice and pasta? Is America’s wealth the reason why literacy is so high compared to Burkina? Or is America wealthy because the literacy is so high?

The same girl who saw our laptop had earlier engaged me in a conversation about employment in the U.S. She said, matter of fact-ly, that there are plenty of jobs in America, and anyone who wants to work, can. She complained that here in Burkina there isn’t work to be had. I wanted to tell her my true thoughts, which is that America is a generally a meritocracy whereby people who work hard to develop marketable skills and close information gaps to find employers who are hiring have a reasonable chance of finding work. However I didn’t want her to infer that Burkinabé don’t have marketable skills, because I didn’t mean that at all, but as I said earlier, its hard to present American culture without concurrently implying a contrast to their culture. So I just changed the subject (employing classic indirect communication skills) and asked her what type of work she wanted to do. She said that for a time she was making good money braiding hair, but her husband did not “accept” it, so she had to stop.

After that conversation, I could not stop thinking about how her husband’s inability to “accept” her efforts to generate income affected her family, in terms of having money to feed, clothe and educate the children, her confidence and independence, etc. Could a dual income household helped to pull them into the middle class? It is relatively common for women to have to ask their husband’s permission to do most things, even to give birth at a state-funded clinic (in lieu of at home). Clearly this is a cultural aspect of family dynamics, but is this also tied into the culture’s prosperity, albeit tenuously?

Any sociology majors out there want to opine in the comments?