The Common Sense

We came down out of the Usambara mountains 2 days ago, leaving behind the pastoral, idyllic life many of us had become so enamored with, and the one that had raised so many questions about our own. Of course, we, well, okay “I” told myself that I was seeing all this clearly and not romanticizing the mountain villages. But of course I was. For a first-time traveler to the “developing world,” I’ve struggled not to impose my own values around the definition of the quality of life, but to listen–carefully–and to learn the lessons perhaps I haven’t even considered. But…

… But there are the pathways and stairs dug out of the red clay connecting one home to another, or to the road and the many rustic wooden kiosks to sell whatever one may, or perhaps to simply gather.  There is the funeral procession along the main road, where every male in the village has come – some in their traditional hats and a jacket, some in University of Michigan sweatshirts and Chuck Taylors. There are the women layering various cloths of vibrant patterns for skirts and wraps against the misty chill. There are the farmers digging in the fields while the children run and laugh, and goats wander up and down the hillside. We meet the tea grower, balancing his crop atop his head, who stops to chat with our guide and me.  He is dressed in sport coat for the morning rain, a button down shirt, pinstriped pants tucked into rain boots, and some sort of ascot worn and frayed, but still useful, He proudly tells us he has planted 5 hectares this morning. As our guide translates, my eyes grow wide and I turn to look him. He smiles back with a shrug, and warmly welcomes us to the Usambara.

So many paths through this tropical forest, and a story along each one.  Then you realize that the path is part of a network of paths, and the village a part of a network of villages, and all these stories combine to form a people and culture. How does one not idealize it?

All of this is just common sense. It’s what is needed, so it is what is done. How dare I find it charming, enviable. I rationalize my feelings by arguing to myself, it’s the warmth of the people I envy. Incredibly friendly, curious, and when they speak to you, they look you DIRECTLY in the eye. You cannot look away, and again you feel that connectedness to everyone around you. And the children. Oh my, the children. So joyful and wondering. Again and again, we pass, and there they are smiling and waving from behind a home, down a narrow path, or atop a hill. “Mambo!” “Poa!” “Hiyeeeee”  “How are yooooouuuu?!” And delighted every time with any response we give. On several occasions they have followed us as we go, and we find we have collected dozens of them like REI-clad Pied Pipers.

In a few discussions among the group, we have wondered aloud if modernity will corrupt this culture, or how it will.  Some members of the group have used words like “pure.” We mourn what is lost or perhaps never known in our own society, and wonder if our life of comfort and convenience have driven us to be disconnected and without community.  Is there a tipping point in “modernity” and the use technology where a community goes from a society like we see here to shallow, success-driven individualism? What would it be? Sanitation? Education? Cell phones? Television? How does a society decide how much is enough? Is this society, this culture, resilient enough to withstand the pressures of the western world?