Poor & Happy

Article

I’m a nobody. I wouldn’t trade my “nobody–ness” for the world.

Recently I had the opportunity to observe life “on the other side of the tracks” when I was invited to an evening meal at the personal residence of the director of the World Bank in Yemen.

The home redefined extravagant. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen a house that big in the US. Another friend had been there the whole day and told me she got lost inside. There were multiple staircases, eight bedrooms, 3 or 4 kitchens, and a personal chef. We ate our dinner at a table that must have seated 25 people. The meal consisted of multiple courses and included the widest variety of fruit I have ever seen in Yemen. The total number of occupants in the house? Three. But I think the third will be moving out soon. Two.

A pleasant conversation ensued. Much of the discussion seemed to revert back to “the Yemeni people” and what it is like to do various things with them. I was asked things such as, “Do you mean to tell me you actually ride the bus with them?” “What is it like?” Repeatedly I was asked “Is it dangerous to…” With a good deal of satisfaction, I told them about all the many times that complete strangers had paid for my bus fare, helped me find my way or gave me gifts. I thought of the countless gestures of hospitality and friendship of which I have been the recipient here. I crave that experience for everyone.

But the tragedy is that many people will forfeit all of these experiences by the walls between them. The wall surrounding the mansion was a fitting metaphor of this great chasm. It was so high that you couldn’t see the house from the street. A guard ensured that only approved visitors were admitted.

No doubt, the occupants of this home enjoy a whole dimension of societal strata that I will never experience. So one could argue that they aren’t missing anything. They just have a different social class with whom they meet. But as I sat in my enormous chair at the dinner table, I longed for the closeness of my ordinary friends close to my side around a shared dish on the floor. There is something about the humility of a shared rug that knits human hearts together.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I am not saying that the rich are bad. The reality is he is an important individual, and he is probably required to live in a house like that due to security concerns. In addition, we were treated warmly and with respect. I feel honored to have made their acquaintance.

I just think it is unfortunate to be stuck in a big house and live in fear of the ordinary people around you. The beauty of Yemen is found in these ordinary people.