The Godfather Principle

It’s amusing to sit here in my house and meditate on how drastically my daily habits and circumstances have changed in Malawi. And how rapidly. From the routine of brushing my teeth, daily upkeep and getting around, it has all changed. For example, I can’t simply turn on a faucet and brush, I need to fetch water from the borehole, pour in a cup and brush. It’s as if some invisible hand tore down the curtains and moved all the set pieces off stage, leaving just me; the actor in my own life, to mime the remaining acts.

To be blunt, PCVs live like, for lack of a better phrase, hobos. Dirty, grungy, welcoming free food and a free place to stay, and hitching the only mode of transport. No wonder most of these volunteers dutifully own a copy of Jack Kerouac. While we don’t come close to Gandhinian sacrifices, and a caveat that we can leave anytime, we do live quite menially. Little income, about $200 a month (which would not suffice if we had families), no transport, lack of proper telecommunication, etc. It’s the life we signed for, took our oath for as volunteers. I was chatting with an Indian shop owner in Mzuzu and mentioned my monthly salary and he threw a fit, and then offered me a cold beverage and some food.

Contrasted to this my life back home was the polar opposite. Trading a penthouse overlooking Boston for a humble brick house currently level with a dry, dead landscape. A shiny Audi for hitching and usually boarding an unreliable, unsafe, dirty bed of a 2-ton truck for transport. A giant television with all the trimmings for a book by candlelight. Those things at home I never really took for granted, though I was fearfully beginning to. I do miss comforts afforded by America; the conveniences for the most part.

While the case for missing is valid in a material sense, perhaps wrongly reinforcing that money buys happiness, the missing is nonexistent in a human sense. And I would trade a material world for a more humane world any day. The people here are more wonderful and unconditionally caring towards strangers than anyone back home. A visitor is a blessing, for example when a friend visits from afar, a huge celebration takes place with music and dancing all day.

The give and take of relationships; be it favors, a cup of sugar, or a meal when you’re sick, is unconditional here. Wellesley and I were discussing how American relationships are a very zero-sum affair: debits credited, credits debited. If I give you a cup of sugar, culturally you feel obligated to someday return the favor with one of equal magnitude. Let’s call this the Godfather Principle. This principle is so ingrained in us that Wellesley and I can’t seem to shed its effects. When people in our villages do something for us, help us, we get restless and anxious, worrying about how we can pay them back or return the favor. Forever self-burdened unless we find a solution.

In Malawi, people do favors with no expectations for it to be returned in any way. They believe that if the circumstances were reversed, you would do the same in the situation. In many ways it’s like you are family by simply being in the community, where everyone cares for everyone.

Reading through this I should clarify that I’m not implying one culture is better or that one nation is better, which is never the case. Nor am I aggrandizing myself for leaving a life of comfort for the village, for that means nothing if I still long for material comforts and if large families in my village live on less than I make here a month. I’m simply pointing out the stark differences on the other side of the pond, entertaining my thoughts because it’s dark and there’s nothing else to do. This provokes a greater question: how did so many starkly different, intricate, beautiful cultures come in being?

Pardon, I have a candle-lit rendezvous with Jared Diamond…where is that book?