by Jessica Campbell photo Jessica Campbell
I felt conflicted as I walked through Mtapo village in Malawi, Africa. The peoples’ homes were likely as you have seen on TV. Most were made of clay, with no glass windows and guarded by an older woman sitting on the floor at the doorway watching groups of children play outside. The kids wore torn clothes, no shoes, and were covered in what appeared to be a permanent coat of red clay. I was in the village in June to interview a farmer. Mahchi Petalo grows and sells tobacco to provide for his family. But, in attempt to regulate the country’s tobacco industry, the Malawian government recently put a limit on how much each farmer can grow. In 2012, Mahchi’s crop size was cut in half. He now sells less tobacco and makes less money as a result. He fears for his family’s health and security, he said. Yet, the man still smiled. In fact, they all smiled. It was only five seconds after our interview ended that the other villagers, who were sitting around Mahchi and me listening intently, celebrated my visit to the village they call home. The men stood in the middle of a circle playing their African drums. The woman and children danced and sang passionately around the men. I was captivated by the energy of the people.
I took time to seriously consider why I was confused about how much sympathy these people needed. They don’t have much, but are so goddamn happy—which explains my initial sense of conflict. And then it hit me. I, like many people in the world, had succumbed to the assumption that those with fewer material things are amongst the unfortunate, and, as a result, are unhappy. The people of Mtapo showed me very quickly that one’s home is no indication of who they are, or how content they might be. In fact, it suggests very little, if anything. It was only five months after my visit to the village that I had this realization reemphasized. This time it was in my own life, and in my own country. In November, I moved to Golden, British Columbia. I came to work at the ski hill, Kicking Horse Mountain Resort. Naturally, this means I am surrounded by “ski bums,” people who forfeit making any money “just” to ski or snowboard everyday. Just as villagers in Africa experience, ski bums, at times, are stereotyped as having “nothing” based on their material wealth. No money, de-
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sire, education, future ambitions or potential. They are simply living their lifestyle by default, not by choice. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. In my short time here, I have met some phenomenal ski bums, just like Mahchi and his fellow farmers and friends. Some have teaching degrees, their own personal training companies, speak multiple languages, or even plan to carry on after this ski season to complete their master’s degrees. At first glance, some of these people appear to be living in not much nicer conditions than those in Mtapo village. A handful of them even live out of the backs of their vehicles or stop by the local church every week to pick up the free bread that is offered. They make do because they have to. And yet, they’re also happy—ecstatic, in fact. They have less, but it doesn’t matter. They’re finding contentment in what they are doing and who they are around, and not in what they have. In my opinion, it’s these people who have the nicest homes of all. Their homes are where their feet are. They find home within themselves.
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