I mentioned that I would talk about the orphanage later, I wanted to combine it with another similar experience: the walk around the school and hospital at Kande beach.
Regarding the facts, Ruth organised for us to go to an orphanage that she, when on her first trip to Africa, stumbled upon and ever since has been involved with. She took us there to give books, pens, clothes, money, whatever people wish to spare as donations. The kids sang us songs and everyone played with them (except myself), we saw their dorms, chicken coops, etc...
Ruth said that "we could take photos and interact with the children". I personally found that incredible insulting to the children and patronising to us. The children aren't animals. They've lots their parents. Everyone else was happy to play with them, take photos, etc... but I wouldn't because I was quite overwhelmed with emotion. It was as if we were tourists at zoo for children without parents. It felt disgusting.
Secondly, I was overwhelmed with the sadness of fact that a child would not have parents and potentially a full, happy, innocent and carefree childhood. Unfortunately, that is inevitable.
Thirdly, I didn't have anything to give which made me feel even more disgusting as a human being. What little I could do, I hadn't. I had nothing to give. Even if I did though, I would still have felt that same guilt, because only after renouncing everything I own to go set up an orphanage in some remote underdeveloped country would I be able to say I have done my duty.
The kids are happy though. They sing songs. And tourists bring donations. It's disgusting that there's a market for donation tourism, but there is and they might as well use it. No one's intention is bad, but I personally couldn't take it.
The village walk that we did in Kande, we organised ourselves (though there was one organised by Ruth, we thought it best to spread the wealth to other villagers and also maybe avoid any commission Ruth might potentially be taking - though I don't think ill of her in this way, and it's very unlikely, it's still a possibility we are weary of). We saw our guide's house, met his kids, saw the water pump, their local produce (Chobe - a root vegetable they dry out in the sun).
He took us to the school where all the kids ran up to us, trying hold hands and play. One child grabbed my hand and stayed with me for the better part of an hour, he followed me round the school and out and half way home. ...but some children would also approach us to say things like "Hello, give me money" or pointing to our water bottles, etc...It showed an ingrained form of begging which we believe their parents have taught them.
Both at the school and hospital, we were taken into a small side room where the headmaster or main nurse respectively gave a quick talk before asking for donations. I did donate some money, but I felt disgusting for taking time away from a teacher from teaching kids or a nurse from helping someone who's ill
(the hospital was particular packed).
The stares from those waiting for the doctors and nurses cut quite deeply. They looked at us to say "Why do you come here? Take time from our doctors? Can't you see we're ill? Fatally sick? What little resources we have left, you are taking away from us. The scars you've left here will run deep. You are not welcome. You are the disease that plagues us: wealth out of reach. You should feel disgusted with yourself". Wearing sunglasses, board shorts, clean t-shirts, with functioning digital cameras, we were taking a tour of a hospital; I felt disgusted with myself and I reflexively personified that emotion through the way the patients were looking at us.
Erring on the side of hypochondria, I tried to avoid contact with sick people. So it was my worst nightmare, a developing nation's hospital. Disease, malaria all around and no antibacterial wash. But that thought itself made me feel ethically disgusted with myself for thinking it.
The dependence on charity is a disease in Africa which is a consequence of too much charity. Whether donations from tourists or from the World Bank/IMF/nation states, charity breeds lethargy. Obama said it himself, these people need to work to progress themselves, not depend on anyone else to do it for them. Cliché as it, teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime. It's the only way to create a sustainable and dignified way of life. As such, I'm ever more convinced my micro-finance. Though there is some corruption or profit maximising where interest rates are too high or conditions too unreasonable, loaning money at a reasonable interest rate to a group of people (mostly women, as men have a tendency to piss it away on alcohol and prostitutes, while the maternal instincts lean more towards societal stability), jointly liable (causing a stigma on those who fail to make their payments) for a multifaceted business venture allowing them to trade amongst them is the way to progress.
Having to pay back the money means there is pressure to present a good business plan and follow it through. It has to be viable to be convincing. This sorts those who are willing and able to push for development from those who are not. And a sense of ownership means dignity. It might seem unfair on those who are unable to do this, but not on those who are unwilling. But only once progress is full steam ahead can a welfare state begin to take shape to provide education, health and benefits to those who most need them (those dependency on benefits is no different, so it has to be very carefully means-tested).
Micro-finance is a form of structured charity; altruism without foreseeable externalities.
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