Pauper Aristocracy

Due to a power shortage, the power goes out at my apartment about every other night. This is not the most convenient fact of life here, but I’ve gotten used to it. I’ve already figured out how to ready myself for bed in the dark. Plus, I recently had a very nice, Jane-Austin evening of reading and writing by candlelight.

Before I got here, I mentally prepared myself for living in a third world country, on a budget that puts me at the federal poverty line. Yet my life is not hard by any means.

Lest anyone thinks I’m being modest about “roughing it” in a third world country, let me tell you about my living situation. For $500/month, which I’ve learned is an enormous sum to spend on rent, I have a furnished, one-bedroom apartment to myself. It is bright and spacious and comes with all the amenities of most modern apartments: running water (including hot water), flushing toilet, stove and oven, even a TV and DVD player. Every weekday, a couple of ladies come by and make the bed, wash the dishes, hand-wash and iron the laundry, and generally keep the place clean and tidy.

The apartment is one of four units inside a compound with an armed guard watching the gate 24 hours a day. It is within walking distance to work, to the supermarket, to the foreign exchange bureau, to the taxi (or bus) stop that connects me to just about anywhere in town. Oh, there is also a pizza and ice cream parlor in the compound; I poke my head in the back entrance, place an order, and food shows up at my door in about 15 minutes. All in all, a very nice place to come home to at the end of the day.

In sum, the same income that would make me a very poor person in America makes me an extremely wealthy person in Uganda. I knew this in theory before my arrival, but living it is disquieting. I feel safe; I'm comfortable; I appreciate the convenience. But is it right to live like this, to have so many luxuries when others live without necessities? I had asked myself this question when I shared Los Angeles with people living in roach-infested slum apartments. The same question followed me all the way to Africa, but I still haven’t any answer.