"They have Nothing, and they're So Happy"

Here I've written out some reflections on my experiences on the trip to Marotte, Haiti with Engineering Ministries International Canada. This is a story about disillusionment and communication.

I grew up amid stories about poverty (in particular, poor Christians), and many of them made it sound like a pretty good deal. In devotionals, in songs, in parables and on Missions Sundays, the poor were usually portrayed as living in a Nirvanic ambivalence, or even ignorance, of their material lack, driven by their unwavering faith in Jesus Christ. Their faith is supposed to be stronger, their relationships deeper and their daily routine more meaningful than we distracted, ungrateful Canadians could ever dream of. This portrayal was consistent enough that I wondered why we were even giving them things. Why should we spoil it for them?

To me, the main attraction of the contented pauper image is that, at first glance, he seems to lack certain problems I have never been able to escape from: He has a large, close family―How could he be lonely? He never has real privacy―How could he be tempted? He doesn't have to go to school―How could he experience performance anxiety? These are not "first-world problems," and to imagine they don't exist in poor populations is ignorant.  They are not "first-world problems" in the sense of being unimportant, either, as some of my struggles with them have been genuinely traumatic.  There is a part of me that panics at the prospect of spending the foreseeable future in the West, a wasteland of shallowness and vanity, and which part takes comfort in the escapist fantasy that someday, maybe, God will send me permanently away from Canada, to Ecuador or India or wherever.

Rationally, I recognised this as mere fantasy before embarking on this internship. It wasn't hard to picture the pauper asking equally ignorant questions: "You Canadians import the whole world's food―How could you have hunger? You have public healthcare coverage―How could you be sick? You have post-secondary education―How could you be worried about your future?" Before the trip I assumed that, when I would see the conditions in Haiti, it would surely drive reality into the spot in my mind or heart that needed it. It didn't happen that easily, though.

Just outside of Marotte, we met a farm family who would help us gather data about the soil and the groundwater. (These data were needed for designing foundations, septic fields and a well.) One day, the father of the family said he could walk us over to the outskirts of Marotte to get a sample of wellwater for tests, but when the time came, he wouldn't budge. We couldn't figure out why. Not only could he not explain what was wrong (our interpreter being busy elsewhere) but I couldn't see that he was even upset at all. I later found out that several of his kids had been gone on an errand much longer than it should have taken, so he was worried sick. This illustrates how difficult it was for us to understand them. They didn't look at all discontented with their meagre food and tiny house, sure, but what does it matter what the blind see in their faces? Where there is no understanding, there is no disillusionment. For that, I needed backup.

Prior to the trip, someone had predicted: "The Father knows every person you'll meet, and the Spirit can reveal about them what you can't perceive." Following our first day with the farmers, the Spirit commanded me to forget about my own wounds and dreads, to not be offended that my own pain wasn't being understood and to give up the fantasy and watch the reality all around me. The reality was that this family was struggling to obtain the resources they need to live, and consistently failing. The Spirit reminded me of where it is written, "[Lazarus] longed to eat the crumbs that fell from the rich man's table" (Luke 16:21).

Lazarus and the rich man are under the same curse. Both can send their roots into the desert, if they are foolish, and despair (see Jeremiah 17:5-8). But many have sent their roots to the stream, and a well-watered tree is beautiful to know. I have known many, and to the best of my perception these farmers were among them (although literal water remains for them a persistent source of frustration). I pray that in time I too will grow into one of them.

Concerning the cultural habit of romanticising poverty, I haven't totally decided what I think, but this post has gone unposted for long enough already. In the meantime, (1) I think of the contented pauper as an inspiring and not-entirely-fictional character, but he is certainly a bit of a stereotype. (2) Poverty shouldn't be conflated with leading a simple life.  And (3) I guess I'll try to redirect my escapism toward Heaven.