A Global Perspective
Reposted with working links to photos...
I am back from the Caribbean and fully tethered back to my Blackberry. In addition to the beauty of the Caribbean, what struck me was also the poverty surrounding the high end luxury tourist sites. The Cayman Islands are selling $3m two bedroom condos at the Ritz. In Haiti, Royal Caribbean has a private enclave called Labadee that is hidden from the rest of the country. All you can see is rich forest running up the mountain. An yet, according to Wikipedia:
"Haiti remains the least-developed country in the Western Hemisphere and one of the poorest in the world. Comparative social and economic indicators show Haiti falling behind other low-income developing countries (particularly in the hemisphere) since the 1980s. Haiti now ranks 153rd of 177 countries in the UN’s Human Development Index. About 80% of the population lives in abject poverty, ranking the country second-to-last in the world for that metric."
Whitney Tilson recently sent me the following passage and photos. He is the hedge fund manager whose parents now live in Africa helping Kenyans. With the New Year kicking in, it certainly helps put things in perspective. Make certain to add something altruistic on the Resolutions this year...
"I just got back from Kenya and wanted to share the story of the most interesting two hours of my trip -- a visit to a family in Kibera, the notorious Nairobi slum that is home to approximately 700,000 people -- 1/3 of the population of the city -- squeezed into a tiny area that can't be larger than two square miles. Kibera is the largest slum in Africa and, from all reports, is one of the poorest and most desperate in the world -- to get some sense of it, see the bottom four pictures below.
On Friday morning, we went to visit a health clinic on the periphery of Kibera and then drove deep into the slum to visit one of the clinic's patients -- a woman with a heart-breaking story that captures what AIDS is doing to Africa -- see the first two pictures below.
Only a few years ago, she was living a decent life: she lived in a rural area outside Nairobi with her husband and five children. They owned two acres of land, on which they farmed tea. Then she got HIV, most likely from her husband (philandering husbands are, sadly, the norm), and with her resistence weakened, caught TB. She came to Nairobi with her children, seeking treatment, and could only afford a tiny room in Kibera (her husband had left her by then; again, the norm). She is now being treated for TB for the third time and is also taking antiretroviral drugs for her HIV, which are keeping her alive -- for now. Her life expectancy can't be more than a year or two.
When we walked into to her "home" -- a 10' x 10' room -- it was almost completely dark, with only a tiny bit of light coming through a small translucent piece of plastic in the roof (I guess they keep the light off to save the bulb and electricity). Huddled in there were the mother and three daughters, ages 12, 7 and 5 (roughly). When they turned the light on, I could see the walls were made of mud and there were a number of large insects on them. It wasn't clear, but at least six people share the room and maybe as many as 10.
It's hard to imagine anyone being more destitute than this mother and her children, but it could get a lot worse: monthly rent is $20, she's fallen behind and the only reason they're not out on the street is a benevolent landlord (apparently quite a rarity in Kibera).
In addition, the children may have to drop out of school. While Kenya recently declared that primary schools are now free, they're really not. While the schools can no longer charge $30-$40 annual fees, they charge for lunch (the only meal most kids get every day; about $25/year thanks to food donations from the World Food Program) and computer classes ($10/year), plus each child needs a uniform as well (another $5). Her oldest daughter said she's 3rd in her class of 36.
She also told us about her two sons, ages 16 and 18. When the family moved to Kibera, they took to the streets and she said they are dead -- we later learned that they are, in fact, still alive, but barely: they sniff glue and she rarely sees them anymore, so what she meant is that they are dead to her.
At one time, she was able to support herself and the family (barely) by selling charcoal (in the 2nd picture, you can see the charcoal buckets stacked behind her) -- my understanding of the business is that she'd buy a relatively large quantity of charcoal (perhaps a wheelbarrow full?) and then break it down into small pieces and sell it in her neighborhood for $0.30/bucket. To start the business, she received a loan from the local Catholic church -- your classic microenterprise loan -- but her sickness left her unable to continue the business and she had to use the seed capital to feed her family. I think the only food the four of them are eating every day is the cup of porridge you see in the first picture below, which is provided by the clinic as part of her TB treatment.
I asked our host from the clinic how common her situation was among his patients -- he said maybe 1/3 of them are this bad off.
In the face of such widespread hardship and destitution, what is one supposed to do? While a tiny amount of money could save this family, it could reasonably be asked, "What's the point?" There are hundreds of thousands of identically situated people in Kibera alone, millions across Africa and maybe 1-2 BILLION worldwide.
I don't know what the answer is, but we sure as hell couldn't walk out of there without helping one family. We told her we'd pay for her kids to go to school -- a grand total for three kids of maybe $120/year -- and, though she doesn't know this yet, we are going to give her enough money to start her business again (if she's able) and cover food and the rent.
The mother and her three daughters. On the table is a cup of porridge -- all that they eat every day.
This is the narrow passageway that leads to the door of her home. Stacked behind her are the charcoal buckets she used to use for her business.
Seen from the air, Kibera is almost entirely rusted tin roofs, with only a few narrow dirt roads.
The street fronts are almost entirely tiny shops -- everyone seems to be selling something.
A few of the shops up close.
Children are playing everywhere in the streets. Note the open sewer in the middle of the road. I don't think there's any running water in
