On guilt (sigh)

On guilt

Apologies in advance if this doesn't read totally coherently.  We're going with a "stream of consciousness" theme on the blog today.  In general, I suppose I don't spend a lot of time feeling sorry for people in my community, or for that matter, for Benin as a country.  There's no value in that.  The majority of people I encounter have what they need to get by, and I think it's evident that most of the time (there are exceptions), I'm not living in a Save the Children commercial.  Granted, I think my perspective is a bit different based on my time in Niger; there are legitimately people starving in Niger.  Here, less so.  Or at least it's less evident   Kandi, for example, has the infrastructure to deal with malnourished children.  The resources are there, but organizing and strategizing for the optimal usage of said resources is the real issue.  The Peuhl, an ethnicity of semi-nomadic herders who absolutely fascinate me, bear the brunt of the malnourishment problem in this commune.  But why?  They have the cows who produce milk, milk that the Peuhl make into cheese.  They're not lacking in nutritional resources (and as a vegan - at least while in America - that's hard for me to say).  I think in the case of the Peuhl, it's not a lack of caring about their children, certainly, but rather a matter of knowledge.  And this, of course, is where volunteers like me come in.

Where I do not feel I fit into the picture is as a source of money.  Most of my fellow volunteers, and certainly the agency, feel the same way.  I dislike the "teach a man to fish...." analogy because it's so overused, but it's true.  We're here to help "Africa stand up," as our friends at Songhai like to say.   But standing up means taking responsibility for yourself.  My dad and I have debated whether or not it's a good thing that Peace Corps has such a long history in Niger and Benin (arriving in 1962 and 1968, respectively).  Is this breeding dependence?  Some would argue so.  On most days, I would, too.  Where things get messy is when a co-worker, someone you see and interact with daily, asks for help.  This is where I start to doubt myself.  He claims he hasn't been paid in sixteen months.  I didn't really understand his explanation as to why this was so, but I was almost immediately dismissive given that these requests inevitably arrive near holidays (first before Tabaski, and now, near New Years).  But what if his kids aren't eating?  Then again, why is he only asking me and not our other co-workers?  The Beninese have a collectivist society; if your family is struggling, you can depend on your extended family, and to some degree, your neighbors.   I don't know if this should include the "batoure" who clearly does have a lot of resources, even if I do my best to hide them.  Most volunteers I know have lent money people in their villages (neighbors and host families, for the most part).  I made a rule against this before moving to post and have only budged twice: once for my neighbor with a sick child (the equivalent of $2) and once so that the guy next door could get a  new carte d'identite (ID card); he promptly repaid it after I specified a deadline.  And so today I (nicely) refused my co-worker, citing my not being here to just dole out cash.   But I feel guilty about it, and I don't quite know why.  Part of me feels like I do at home: if I have the means, it's my moral obligation to share them.  But I also feel like I've already given up a lot just by being here.  How much is enough?  Argh.  I don't know.  I hate not knowing the answer.