Appreciating Luxury

Things here are very different. I do what I can to give a picture of what it's like to live here, but I was thinking it might be interesting for you to see what I miss from home and what it's like here, by contrast. So I've made a list of some of the things that I miss from home, gave a description of one of my favorite fantasies about being home, and then gave a description of what it's like to be here, by contrast. I hope you enjoy.

Some things I miss:

• cheese, yogurt, ice cream
• hot water
• couches
• cushy beds
• my car (mobility: the ability to get around, the freedom and knowledge and safety and understanding of my surroundings to get around, the social norm that I can go unaccompanied wherever and whenever I need to go)
• smooth roads with lanes and laws and people who follow them
• animals that live in pens or zoos or anywhere but the road
• pets that are cuddly and friendly and clean
• kitchens that are equipped with appliances that I recognize
• trash pickup services
• mirrors
• toilets equipped with toilet paper available everywhere
• carpet
• grocery stores!
• high quality produce
• boneless chicken and other meat
• food that is more protein than carbohydrates (less rice, more other stuff)
• real fruit juice
• washing machines
• dishwashers
• wine
• not attracting attention just by virtue of my skin color
• real coffee
• personal space
• TV/radio in English
• speaking the same language as pretty much everyone around me
• having shared experiences and shared backgrounds with those around me
• sushi
• drinkable tap water
• garbage disposal
• the gym, the ability to go work out
• being seen as my own person (not daughter of [father’s name] or wife of [husband’s name] [no, I’m not married, that’s just what is on every official document here])
• wearing summer clothes (short-ish dresses, shorts, shirts that show my collarbone)
• having authority over where I go and what I do
• lack of stench (garbage, manure, burning garbage)
• quiet (no roosters, no honking, no people screaming about things they’re selling, no people blasting radio announcements over loud speakers strapped to the roofs of their cars, etc)

We (American residents/citizens) live in a world of unbelievable luxury.  When I was living in Senegal, my favorite fantasy to think about was one of the most mundane things imaginable if you’re in the U.S., and here it is similarly fantastic. Here’s the fantasy:

I wake up in my incredibly soft bed at my parents’ house in California, with the sun coming in the large (clear glass) window. It’s quiet outside. I put my feet on the carpeted floor and get out of bed, wearing whatever pajamas I happen to be wearing and not concerned about whether I’m dressed modestly enough. I walk down the hallway, which is quiet and carpeted, and which has sunlight coming in the windows. I get to the kitchen and stand barefoot on the linoleum floor without any concern about cockroaches or other creepy crawlies getting on my feet. I make myself breakfast looking out the window at the street: a few people jog by, some people walk their dogs, the cars drive by quietly, on the right side of the road, not emitting an absurd amount of pollution. The road is clean, the houses have neat yards, and no chunks of road are missing. I have access to all the familiar food things I want, I am allowed to prepare them for myself, and no one forces conversation on me if it’s clear that I want to just be quiet. And if I do feel like talking, I speak to whoever is there in English, and we understand each other easily. Then, I take a warm shower, dry off with a soft towel, and put on whatever clothes I feel like wearing, with no thought as to their modesty (If I own the clothes, they’re modest enough). The end.

It’s amazing the simplicity of some of the things we take for granted in our everyday life. I hope you’ll think about some of the things you’ve had access to today that many people live without for their entire lives. It’s amazing how much the meaning of “normal” can change based on your circumstances.

Just to give a comparison, here’s my “normal” morning in Hazaribag:

I wake up at 5 because the sun is up and I feel like I’ve overslept. I check the time and go back to sleep, but I soon wake up because the roosters are going crazy, the neighbors are scrubbing and cleaning right next door, there are cars/motorbikes/rickshaws honking, and people are shouting to each other. Eventually I get up (checking the floor for insects before I put my feet down) and Skype with Jeff and/or my parents, but if the power is out (which it often is), I have to keep it short so my computer doesn’t die. I take a cold shower, which is even colder on chilly mornings because the sun didn’t warm the water at all. When I finish, I use the foam water-pusher thingy to scrape the water on the bathroom floor toward the one drain (showers here are not enclosed in any way). I dry off with my towel, which feels a little crispy from line drying and harsh detergents and pick out an outfit that I hope will attract as few stares as possible. I boil milk for breakfast (milk here is not adequately pasteurized to drink without boiling) and make oatmeal and coffee. No view to the outside, because my windows are frosted glass and if they’re open, I need the curtains closed so the neighbors don’t gather around to look in at me like they used to before I had curtains. Occasionally someone from downstairs will knock loudly and come in for conversation, which cannot be politely refused. I clean up breakfast, then bike to work, hoping not to get caught in the rain that comes at least once per day. The end.