Are You Happier Than Nigeria?

What makes you happy? I'm sure you've been asked this before at some point. Maybe you even had a specific answer for it. But maybe you also struggled to answer it. Did you struggle because nothing makes you happy? Doubtful. The term happiness is so abstract that it is tough to decide what that means. Even if you know what makes you happy, why is it that it makes you happy? There's an old saying that money can't buy happiness. I'm sure you've heard it. But, if happiness can't be purchased, there is another question: What does happiness cost? I don't mean cost in currency, but it's actual affect. Is your happiness ever at the expense of someone else's happiness? Or is this conversation just going in circles now?

It is estimated that during the colonization of Africa, half of the native population of the continent perished. Picture that for a second. Half of a continent. They were imprisoned, put into slavery, beaten to death, or forced to work themselves to death. All while white men declared the land unpopulated and saw it as open to ownership. Ten million people, at least, perished in King Leopold II of Belgium's Congo alone. 10,000,000 people. That's seven zero's. And that was only during colonization, that does not include the number of people who have died because of the society that was left behind when the European powers pulled out and left the newly independent African nations in shambles. Leopold was so desperate to get his hand on land to colonize that he did not care what he had to do to get that land. He did not see the native Congolese people as human or having civilization. The fact, however, is that already in place were extensive societies and monarchies stretching across the continent, being ruled by Kings and having a successful societal structure in place. When Leopold died and it was discovered the extensive amount of wealth he had attained at the expensive of millions of native lives, people debated who should get that money. Leopold's daughters wanted their share, the Belgium government wanted their share, and Leopold's mistress wanted her share. Nobody ever stopped to consider that the money should go back into the Congo. Why is this? Why was it such an unheard of idea that the Congo had real people living in it, and deserved the profits from their resources and hard work? 

King Leopold believed that the only thing that could make him happy was to have a colony under his rule. He wanted power, recognition, and money. His happiness cost ten million lives, the destruction of societies, and created a system that is still highly impoverished to this day. His happiness was more important in his eyes than the happiness of anyone around him. While clearly this is an extreme case, I challenge you to ask yourself what your happiness costs. 

In America, it is often believed that you need things to be happy. You need the latest iPhone. You need the biggest house. You will not be happy unless you have these things. And while this may be true in the moment, is it really true in the long term? Will the newest iPhone still make you happy when there is a newer iPhone released? How long does that happiness last when you get that phone? I began thinking of this question after I watched a small child throw a tantrum at work because her mother would not buy her a Dora the Explorer book that she wanted. In the midst of her crying, she told her mom that she needed the book. It struck me that we teach these values to our children at such young ages. How is it that a 4 year old already has this idea that they need things to be happy? I guarantee that by the next morning, that girl probably didn't even remember the book, or that she "needed" it. So why was that the only thing that would have made her happy at the time?

Despite the old saying, it is a common belief that happiness follows money. If you have money, you can live a comfortable life, you can buy things you need, you can buy things you "need", you can vacation whenever you want, you can have the best car, you can have a huge house, anything. But do these things really bring happiness? If you do a quick Google search to find the happiest country in the world, most of the sites you get are based off of who has the highest per-capita GDP. Basically, who has the most money. Their descriptions of happiness and how they measure it are all about how money lets you buy things. However, I also found another measurement. The University of Michigan does a survey called the World Values Surveys. In these survey's, they ask people around the world various questions about happiness in order to determine happiness in a measurable form. When asked "Taking all things together, would you say you are: 1. Very happy, 2. Rather happy, 3. Not very happy, or 4. Not at all happy?" they found the country that was the most happy was Nigeria. An African nation that is ranked 175th in the world in per-capita GDP. Beyond this, the next 4 in line were all developing nations as well.

While I believe you can measure happiness many ways, I don't think it is possible to beat a simple personal opinion. Who know's better than you if you are happy? Nobody. So why is it that such a poor nation is so happy and American's aren't? During my time in Kenya, I found in myself that I was happier simply because there was less pressure. People aren't in such a rush to do things or buy things or surpass others. Developing nations often have a large emphasis on community and interpersonal relationships. Children are raised by the village, not by their parents, and there isn't the same fear of others that there is in America. We had a running joke while we were there about a concept called "African Time." We'd be told to meet somewhere at 2pm, and we would ask if that was in African Time or American Time. In American Time, we'd probably arrive at 1:45, and expect the event to start exactly at 2pm. In African Time, that probably meant that the event would start by maybe 5 or 6. Things move slower, and people are more concerned with the experience than the details. It is so liberating to not be tied down by a need to constantly check email or worry about if you are wearing the right thing or have the latest iPhone. There is a different sense of what is important in a place like Kenya or Nigeria. Happiness is about the people surrounding you, not the items surrounding you.

I want to challenge you to make a list of what makes you happy. Look at that list, and count how many of them are based on money or a need to fit in. Put each item on that list in the order of how long it makes you happy for. I find with myself, some of the most seemingly inconsiquential things are the items that make me the most happy for the longest amounts of time. I challenge you to find happiness in yourself, before you find happiness externally. If an iPhone makes you happy, is the source of happiness from that phone? Or is it from the societal image placed on you because you have that phone? Are the resources necessary for you to get a new phone every year and the lives put at risk to gather those resources worth the happiness you get from that phone? Was King Leopold's happiness as owner of a colony and the wealth from that colony worth the ten million people who perished in the process? If you had to give a yes or no answer, would you say that you are happy right here, right now?

Remind Yourself

“They say time changes things, but you have to actually change them yourself.” –Andy Warhol.

It’s funny how we justify things. It’s funny how events in our lives affect those justifications. It’s been awhile since I wrote my first blog. While I was back home in Covington, all I could think about were the places I wished I would rather be. Kenya. Bellingham. Not suburbia. Anywhere that had something to do that was unique to that place. Anywhere that I could function in society without a car. Anywhere that tree’s were more abundant than asphalt. Nature more than engineering. Truth more than fabrication. I just wanted to go somewhere that I felt my yelling and screaming about my frustrations would actually be understood, and, more importantly, joined in on.

Then I got my wish. I made it back to Bellingham. I’m moved into my very first house. I have great roommates. People don’t make fun of me for wanting to compost. My house is so broke that trying to be eco-friendly is simply a way to help ourselves survive. But I find it simply becomes a justification for old habits. I still drive to visit a friend on South Campus, because I don’t want to put the effort into walking from North Campus. But why? Ask yourself this. Why is it that we will drive somewhere that we can walk within a half hour? Why is our time so precious that we can’t even put the effort into bettering ourselves and the world we live in? Why is it that as soon as I’m finally back in a world that is likeminded as me, I use that as an excuse to do small acts of terror? I figure, it’s ok, it’s Bellingham. My Subaru will fit in with its rainbow sticker and kayak racks. Everyone else is hippy here. My small un-environmental acts somehow matter less here, because less people do them. But let’s analyze that statement. Just because less people in Bellingham drive, does that mean the emissions of my car produce less than they do in Covington? Why am I suddenly not critical of myself for these choices anymore? I get this idea that my hippy is back, and I’m more at peace back in Bellingham. But have my habits really changed? My challenge for everyone this time is to analyze your habits. What do you do? Why do you do it? Really think about it. Why. Why do you do what you do? Why do you drive short distances? Why do you choose to throw out a plastic bottle instead of walking 50 feet to a recycle bin? Why are these habits more acceptable in some places than they are in other places? Are these habits so necessary they cannot be changed for the better?

Sunset over Lake Victoria

But I stop and think. What changed? Why do I suddenly not get angry for these things? I find myself feeling more and more lost in life the further away Kenya gets in my mind. I try desperately to reach out and grasp what small pieces I can. I make chipati. I think about it constantly. I keep up on the Daily Nation. I lie in bed at night, and stare at the map of Kenya on my wall, retracing my path in my mind. I find myself consistently restless. I promised myself that when I got a job this year, I would make sure it was something applicable to my future. Give myself experience. Feel I was accomplishing something with my work. Reality? I’m likely days away from being back working at Lowe’s after dozens of unheard-from applications. I’m going back to work to sell people things they don’t need, with money they don’t have. I’m continuing to promote a world I don’t believe in. For what reason? Simple. Money. One more things I don’t promote. Something I don’t believe in living for. Life should be lived for passion and compassion. Not for the highest bidder.

It’s an interesting thing. Justification. Why are my poor actions always someway justified? They aren’t justified because I need to drive my car. They aren’t justified because I need to leave the lights on. They aren’t justified because I need to buy new things. I justify them because I am too lazy to put the effort into walking. I’m too lazy to get up and turn the lights off. I’m too lazy to try and live my life without the new products. A month ago I was tearing apart at the seams trying to get anyone who would listen to me to try and understand why these things are bad. Instead, the further away from Kenya I get, the more of a dream it becomes. The easier it becomes to just forget it all. Try and run from life for a little bit. Forget how important these things once were to me. Forget the faces of the children of Kochia suffering poverty because of these exact choices.

Natasha and Sarah, my reminders

So the question is this: How do you keep from forgetting? Maybe you aren’t trying to remember Kenya. Maybe you’re trying to remember that one person who changed your day from bad to good. Maybe you’re trying to remember why you’re in school. Maybe you’re trying to remember why you love someone. Maybe you just need a reminder. My map of Kenya that takes me back in time every day. Another great customer at work that can make you smile. A new class that re-sparks your passion. The laugh of the person you know you love. Life doesn’t come easy. You must work at it. You must put your own effort into reminding yourself why you move from day to day. You cannot let time do the work. Nothing will change in time’s hands. You must change what you need changed.

Flash back to my time in Covington. I was so ready to leave and get to Bellingham. Surround myself with like minds. But here is the ultimate question: does it do any good? Do I accomplish anything being in Bellingham, with people who all believe the same things I do? Or, as frustrating as it may be, is it a better use of myself to surround myself with people who don’t? Should I preach to a choir, or should I preach to those who don’t know? Bellingham is comfortable. But comfort accomplishes little. If I throw a rock into a waterfall, it won’t make a difference. But if I throw a rock into an unchanging pond, it’s going to ripple. I would argue a ripple is a better use of my resources than yelling what everyone already agrees with. 

Count Your Shoes

I'm living in a world I don't believe in. I'm promoting things I don't agree with. I do things I tell people not to do. But this is the world we all live in. This is America, and to Americans, there is nothing more than America. After spending 6 weeks in Kenya this summer, it is a constant adjustment being home. I feel like I just want to talk about it nonstop, but I don't, because I want to talk about it to someone that will understand it. I want to not make people sick of hearing about it. I want to describe the taste of ugali by putting it in someone's mouth, and I want to tell the feeling of holding hands with the girls at Ombogo by weaving people's fingers myself. There is no other way to describe these things with total justice without physically experiencing them. I struggle with not wanting to even put forth the effort to tell my stories, because no matter what, I cannot replicate the shouts of the children in Kochia: "Mzungu! Mzungu!" I cannot sing like the women of the house can, and I cannot place my mothers arm around the shoulders of my best friend Natasha in order to fully help her understand. Instead, I become increasing frustrated with the world around me, and their lack of realization of their impact on the furthest people away from them.


I went to a Mariners game tonight with my family. It was an interesting experience to look around and realize how much money, time, and energy is poured into professional sports each year in America, and feeling nearly sick realizing that it's such a small piece in the world. If the MLB, NFL, or NHL was to stop playing for a year, what would happen? Would the world drastically change? Would it be worse off? We joked in Kenya that we would come home and view the world in shillings. Well, as I sat back down in my seat in Safeco Field tonight, I looked down at my water bottle that I just bought. I realized that for the price I just paid, I could send a child in Kochia, Kenya to primary school at Abba Primary School for over two months. I could buy 40 bunches of bananas at Thursday market. I could feed a family for who knows how long. All this, while the glacier on Mt. Kilimanjaro is set to be gone within the next ten years, and leave millions of people without any water.


These are choices I make everyday, as well as millions of other Americans. We choose to buy things we don't need, while we instead convince ourselves that our life will not be whole without them. I work at Lowe's, and spend every day ringing up people's purchases for "that one tool designed to save 30 seconds" that will cost them $50. 10 months of primary school. 250 bunches of bananas. I watch people paint their rooms simply because the old color is 'boring.' I see people spend $300 dollars on flowers. 5 years of primary school. 1,500 bunches of banana's. Half a year of private secondary school at Ombogo Girls Academy. Why do we convince ourselves that these things are necessary? And why, in our society, are you a better person if you have these things?


I've made a personal goal for myself to not buy any new clothes for a year. It's interesting though how people try and work around this. They find it great that I want to do that, but ask if it's against the rules if they buy me clothes, or find excuses to explain to me why they could never do that, but they're so proud of me for trying. In the end, they all miss the point. This isn't about me saving money. This is about the experience I had walking through Homa Bay, Kenya, and seeing children with Ohio state tee shirts on, likely not having any idea where Ohio is. This is about wandering through Thursday market in Kochia, and seeing rows and rows and rows of used clothing laid out to sell, shipped over and donated from the Western World. We love to think we are helping out these far way helpless Africans. We think they don't know what they want and need in life, and think we are the cure-all to their problems. We aren't. Here's a fact for you: Since 1981, 50% of unemployment in developing nations was caused by donated shoes and clothes destroying the textile industries of these nations. We are keeping them further impoverished by treating them as less than human. In all reality, the people I met during my time in Kenya were more hardworking, determined, and uncomplaining than anyone I have ever met during my entire 20 years of life in America. Ever.

Thursday Market in Kochia, Kenya

Back to my year without new clothes. I challenge you to look in your closet. Look in your dresser. Count your shirts. Count your pants. Count your shoes. Please girls, count your shoes. Do I have 40 T-shirts because I need them to survive? Or do I have them because I convinced myself that the old one's weren't enough, so I bought new ones to wear, and forgot about the old ones sitting there, rejected and unacceptable? The fact is, I have no reason to buy new clothes. Many of my jeans are wearing through, and I'm also losing weight, making some pants not fit well. However, if I was to use an old unwanted T-shirt to patch the hole in those favorite jeans, how many more years do you think I could get out of them? 2 years? 5 years? Where would they have ended up otherwise? A landfill maybe, destined to sit in the ground for the next thousand years? The back of my closet, destined to sit just as long? Maybe a market in Kochia, Kenya, destined to put heads of the house out of work indefinitely? Or, I could live within my means. I could wear what I already have, and buy used clothes if desperately necessary. Save someone else's old jeans from putting a man out of work. Refuse to support a major corporation's unfair labor practices in sweatshops in China. Keep myself from using resources that don't need to be used. Our choices everyday impact the entire globe.


As American's, we love the idea of helping other nations develop, and come out of poverty. We donate to 'charitable causes,' we buy shoes so other shoes will be given away, and we wear T-shirts with peace signs on them. But the simple fact is, we keep them in poverty based on our actions. Even developing nations suddenly were able to live like us, it is impossible. The world cannot sustain the ways that American's live. We live so far beyond our means of what is necessary, and convince ourselves that it is completely necessary, that we cannot turn back. Our society is set up in such a way that without a car, you are limited in your life choices. Without a large house, you will not be happy. Without 30 pairs of shoes, you will not be able to walk anywhere. I own one pair of tennis shoes that I wear everywhere. There are holes in them, and they are nowhere near the color when I bought them. But I put them on my feet every morning, and they take me from point A, to point B. They do not affect the person I am, and they do not change how I live my life. However, when I asked my best friend why she owned so many shoes, she responded that she needed them. I struggle to understand the necessity behind a different pair of shoes for every day of the month. During my walks to and from Ombogo while I was in Kenya, the local children would run up to walk us to our destination. Everyday, I saw the same children, in the same outfits, and the same shoes. They wore these until they were literally falling off of themselves. I saw pants without bottoms, I saw children in one shoe, because the other sandle broke. However, they cannot afford more outfits, because there are no jobs left in the country. I would never ask my friend to give up on her 30 pairs of shoes, because that would simply be inconveniencing her. We love to donate clothes to help those children without clothes, but we drive our Hummers to donate them. We donate our clothes so we have room to fit all of the new clothes we just bought. We are sad to see poverty in developed nations, and do our best to avoid it, because it's simply easier not to think about it.

Celeste and I with some of the children of Kochia

Why is it that living beyond our means is 'cooler' in America than living within our means? Why do people judge me for trying to make a smaller impact on the planet during the course of my life? I am judged because I care about the people in developing nations that are in poverty because of the choices I and my family and friends have made our entire lives. I went out of my way to compost instead of throw away old food the other day, in which my friend simply laughed and said "you would." Yes. I will. I vow to live within my means, and not use resources that do not rightfully belong to me. I will do my part to make a fair world for everyone to live in. I was being the "crazy hippy girl" by choosing to recycle instead of waste, and choosing to not buy clothes for a year. But it never crossed anyone's mind that maybe I was being "the girl who wants to make sure her friend in Nairobi will have a job when she graduates secondary school." I mentioned that I am very close to being vegetarian to a friend the other day. She laughed a little as expected, and responded with "please don't... I hate vegetarians... I love meat too much." How has our society come to a place where we ostracize those people who choose to live only as much as their ability allows? Why are you judged for wanting to make the world a better place for everyone to live in? Are we so set in our ways in America that it is such a difficult task to change our habits? If I cannot help my best friend to understand these things about myself and my desires, who can I get to understand? Who can I get to listen to me, and change their ways? How will the world ever change from it's sad state without people taking steps to change it?


A friend asked me when I got home from Kenya what the biggest thing I learned there was. I told her I didn't know yet, because everyday, new things hit me. Experiences that seemed inconsequential suddenly would have meaning to me as I looked back on them in the context of returning to America. As I rose for the national anthem at the Mariners game tonight, I looked down at the American flag waving in the breeze. I thought, as always, how unproud I am of that flag, and how much I detach myself from it, and detach myself from being American. But it hit me. It doesn't matter what I say, I will always be American, whether I like it or not. Sadly, but fortunately in some ways, I was born American. I cannot deny that, and grudgingly accept that whether I like it or not, I will always be American. With being American comes the knowledge that the choices I have made in my life have directly or indirectly caused the suffering of others, and that is a fact I must live with, and work to change in the future. This blog is designed to log my efforts at living a better life, and fighting my American instinct to do none other than consume. This blog will likely offend some, upset others, and tell stories people do not want to hear. But the fact is, they must be told. This is my life as a Mzungu, living in America.