Portrait of a Modern Civilized Culture

- A Human Face but with a Lost Soul   -

28/12/2008

 I checked the word civilize online dictionary,[1] and it said: 

...to bring out of a savage, uneducated, or rude state; make civil; elevate in social and private life; enlighten; refine: Rome civilized the barbarians; and with synonyms: humanize, acquaint, cultivate, develop, educate, enlighten, idealize, improve, polish, refine, tame, teach... 

I thought to myself: I can’t say that what I see around me corresponds with, or even approximates, that definition.  I think people today may be even worse than people were before Rome civilized the barbarians of the ancient times. Why do I say that?  I will try to explain. 

In my ten years traveling and living in several countries of the African continent and in Madagascar, I found the natives to be much more human than the developed, educated, and civilized general population in our western world. The People of those so-called underdeveloped countries might not be so well educated, refined, polished, and taught as in an industrialized country like Australia, the United States, Canada or Europe, nonetheless they are better off in many other aspects.

Part one

If I compare these two types of people, the western and the southern [the eastern, Asian people, fall in the latter category] I would say the differences are striking.   

Westerners

Now I will base what I will say on the premise that most of the western population are urban dwellers, that is, people living in towns or cites.  I do not include rural people in the characterization that follows. 

Nowadays, psychologically speaking, the western man or woman, on the street, if taken individually, is in a constant fear; fear of the unknown or the unforeseeable.  This is because of their lack of real knowledge; apart from what the media give them, under the label of news and information, they live in a moral, or spiritual, vacuum[2].  The popular use of illegal drugs and the abuse of alcohol in our society today are an attempt to fill that vacuum.   

In order to overcome this fear of the unknown, modern man has created for himself an constantly noisy, distracting, artificial environment, listening to (or playing) music[3], drinking alcohol to excess, taking illegal drugs, watching television, playing [but mostly watching] sport, living a promiscuous sexual life, etc.  In other words, man today lives a totally different life-style than people did two generations previously.  But what is the result of this?  Are people happier today than their grandparents?   

Have you noticed that people walking on the street hardly ever make eye contact with you?  They try to avoid it.  What makes it even harder is that many people nowadays wear dark glasses even when there is no need, but because it’s trendy.  Or do they have something to hide?  What is it that they try to hide?  The answer is fear, the irrational force, of which the Book of Wisdom[4] says:  

Fear is the cause for depression and unhappiness in our society. Therefore depression and unhappiness drive people into irrational eating habits – that is why obesity is so common in the western world – and sexual promiscuity, in particular among young people.             

Part two

The southern type

To describe the nature of man, native of those so-called underdeveloped countries, I will tell a story that happened to this author about forty years ago in Madagascar.  

One morning, the late don Mario Prandi and I were walking down the hill towards the local hospital when we met a small group standing beside the road.  There were three Malagasy women and two children.  One of the women was holding a little child in her arms.  After the formal greeting, Don Mario Prandi said to the woman holding the little child:  “How are you, my dear lady?”    

“I am well, thank you Father.”  She replied, smiling. 

“And the child,” don Mario asked, pointing to the little child she was holding in her arms, “how is he?”    

“He is dead, Father.”  She said, still smiling at him, but now with tears in her eyes.  Nothing more was said.  Then the women walked way with their children and Don Mario and I went to the hospital. 

Later during the meal, Don Mario, after relating the incident of the woman with her little dead child, made the comment: “It is really extraordinary that these Malagasy people are always happy even in time of death.” 

That episode which I never forgot left a permanent impression in my soul.  That was the beginning of my understanding of Malagasy people.  

When walking anywhere in the Malagasy countryside, people whom we had never met before, always greeted us with a big smile.  They talked to us as if we were friends.  They invited us to their humble homes.  They feed us during our stay as if we were part of their family.  

The old lady Rafotsy

I recall one morning – I had spent the night in one of the villagers’ huts – A Rafotsy (that means in Malagasy, a old lady with ‘white hair’) arrived, followed by a group of people, holding in her hands a vessel.  She gave to me with these words: 

“Tapa-bata tantely; ny fo no mameno azy - this dish is half-full of honey; the other half is filled with my heart (i.e., love).” 

Those Malagasy people are poor as in any other third world country [like Bangladesh, Haiti, Botswana] but they give you what they have.   

The big man in white robe

One day while traveling in Tanzania, I was exhausted after walking several hours on the dusty road, so I lay down to rest under a tree. A big man in a white robe stopped near me and said: “Buana, safary? - Sir, are you traveling?”  

“Yes, good man,” I answered him, “I am traveling north.  I am just resting for a little while.” 

“Buana, you come. Follow me!”  he said. I got up and followed him along the dusty road.  In less than twenty minutes the man walked down a slope and entered a house.  I followed him inside.  He invited me to sit on a wooden chair saying: “You rest here while I will get something to eat for you.”  And he disappeared inside another room.   

Apparently I was in a small shop with bare shelves. I gathered that he was the owner.  Maybe another twenty minutes passed when he reappeared bringing with him a bowl of chicken soup, bread and something else that I don’t remember.  And he gave me something to drink.  When finished I opened my wallet to pay him and asked him: “How much do I owe you?”  He answered: “You don’t need to pay me anything, Buana. Just go in peace.” 

“I was astonished and moved almost to tears by the man’s kindness.  On leaving, we shook hands and my heart was overflowing with real joy.  

Hriday, the Indian

In Kenya, I recall walking the unsealed road en route for Nairobi when a car stopped.  The driver, Hriday, an Indian in his late thirties, asked if I wanted a lift.  I accepted his offer and got into the car with him.  He was traveling to Nairobi too.  The trip lasted several hours, for Nairobi was over 500 kilometers away.  We enjoyed meaningful conversation on several subjects, and as invariably happens with me, we started talking religion - nothing was more interesting than that.  Hriday told me that he was Hindu, and a married man with several children all living in Nairobi.  Because of their religion they were strictly vegetarian.  I told him that I was a Catholic.  Hriday said he did not mind me being Christian; in fact he was quite sympathetic towards Christianity. 

Before arriving in Nairobi, Hriday asked me where I was going to stay.  I told him that I would probably go to a hostel for the night. He drove me all the way to a hostel in the city, and before leaving me, he invited me for dinner: “I will pick you up at 7 p.m. We’ll have a vegetarian dinner at my place and you will meet all my family,” he said as he drove off. 

True to his word, Hriday arrived on time and drove me to his home.  He introduced me to his beautiful young Indian wife Indira, and the two of us had dinner together, served by his wife. Next he took me to the living room, where his family was watching television. He introduced me to all of them.   

I noticed that all the women wore the sari, Indian style, while the men dressed casually in western clothes.  I watched TV with them for a short time, then Hriday drove me back to my hostel, where we said good bye.  I never saw him again.  That was in 1966.   

This story clearly shows the spontaneity, generosity, kindness, and openness of heart of people for strangers that still exists in those parts of the world and which are very lacking in our western society. 

Essaouira: Ibrahim, the young shop owner

Early this year, 2008, my wife Angela and I traveled to Morocco and Turkey.  One morning, the two of us were strolling in Essaouira, a coastal town of Morocco.  We went to the souk of Medina, a crowded market place.  We entered a shop which sold Moroccan spices and fragrant oils. The owner was a young Moroccan in his late twenties.  Ibrahim was his name. 

The first thing Ibrahim did was to offer us a hot drink.  “Do you like Moroccan tea?” he asked.  My first thought was that this man was offering us tea to entice us to buy his merchandise.  We were not intending to buy anything.  But then I felt that I could not refuse it, because, in the way he spoke to us, there was a kind of gentleness in his voice.  We accepted. 

He invited us to sit on stools against the shelves of his tiny shop. Ibrahim showed us the ritual of selecting and mixing the various aromatic spices used in tea making. The pungent aromas made for a rare olfactory sensation. I was worried that he might put some drug in it. Who knows what will happen then? ...I thought. 

We sipped our tea, which was delicious and refreshing, and we chatted about many things. Ibrahim told us: “I would like you to come into my shop any time you’ll feel like.  You come.  You shouldn’t feel that you have to buy anything. My offering tea to you is a gesture of Moroccan hospitality and friendship to you.  Feel free to come to visit us again, my friends.” 

After that, we visited him again a couple of times. The second time we visited to the spice shop, Ibrahim’s brother was there to receive us.  Ibrahim was busy at the time, dealing with customers in the next door shop, which also he owned.  So Ibrahim’s brother took over this time making tea for us and Ibrahim joined us later.  

The two Moroccan girls

Another time, Angela and I were at a park in the centre of Casablanca.  While sitting on a park bench watching people walking to and fro, we were admiring several Moroccan girls - almost certainly members of one family - walking with a mature woman. They, on their part, were looking at us intently and smiling.  After they had passed by, they turned and looked back at us several times, until they disappeared from our vision. A short while later, while we were still commenting on their graceful style, we saw two of the girls coming back towards us.   

They came to us and embraced and kissed Angela on both cheeks, as daughters would have done to their own mother. I was totally astonished, for I was taken by surprise to see such a display of affection from two strange young girls in a strange country.  They started speaking Arabic, but realizing that we did not speak their language they spoke French.  I answered them in my rusty French, which I had not spoken for several years. 

Between French and some English words we had a significant conversation.  They wanted to know about us; what we were doing in Morocco; if we liked their country and so on. As they departed, I noticed the excitement and pure joy in the way they looked at us, as only natural, unspoiled people on this earth can experience.    

Part three

An only case in point among others...

Those few stories reflect the nature of people living in a different world from us.  They are unsophisticated, and so natural and full of joy in their daily life.  Now one may say: those episodes were taken from Africa and Madagascar; couldn’t you give us a single positive instance, here in our western world?  Or are you saying that everything that comes from this part of the world is totally negative?   

Actually there is a good story of which I was part.  It happened in the year 1951 when I was not yet eleven years old. My family was evacuated from our hometown of Adria because the Po River had broken its banks and flooded most of the Veneto region. 

I recall distinctly, it was late in the evening.  I was in a small Fiat with other people, while my parents, my sister, and my grandparents were in other cars, somewhere ahead or behind us, I was not sure.  Along the way, our car stopped near a coffee-bar for refreshment.  I climbed out and looked around for members of my family, but I did not see any of them.  I entered the coffee shop.  As I looked among the crowd to find that all the people were totally strange to me, I felt a pang in my stomach.  I was at a loss: “Where are my Mum, my Dad, my sister and the rest of my family?” I asked myself.   Then as from nowhere, I heard this soft voice: “What is your name, son?” 

I looked around. There was a tall man looking down at me with warm friendly eyes. “Are you alone, my boy? Where is your family?” he asked.   

“My name is Nadir. I don’t know where my parents are.”  I told him.   

“Nadir, how would you like to come to live in my house?” he inquired.  “I have a son of your age. Guido is his name.  I also have three other children, two smaller and a girl, older than you.  So what do you say, are you coming with me?” 

“I don’t really know, Sir,” I answered.  “What about my family?” 

“You don’t have to worry about your family,” he responded.  “We will find where they are and then bring them to my place too.  What about that, Nadir?” 

I agreed to follow him.  Within an hour, we arrived at the man’s place.  It was a villa in the country; more like a mansion in fact.  In no time my Mother, my Dad and my sister arrived there in another car.  To make a long story short, my Mum, my sister and I spent a couple of months in that place at no cost to us.  My Dad did not stay with us because he had business to attend to but he came to visit us once a week. 

So that story was the only case in point.  And, I repeat myself, it was the only instance, because in those days people did not watch television – there wasn’t any – they were poorer but healthier, less selfish, or better to say, less self-centred.  In other words, people of those days were more human and with an unspoiled heart.  

Depression, eating disorders and exhibitionism

People in the so-called underdeveloped countries don’t know what is depression - or fear of tomorrow.  They take one day at a time without complaint. Few die of heart attack, stroke, or cancer, as happens in our western world. 

Of course, they get sick and die as everybody does on this planet; but from different causes than are so common in our healthy society.  Any one who travels in those parts of the world will observe that obesity is a rare occurrence – though quite common in western society.  Eating disorders don’t exist there.   

They might suffer poverty-related infectious diseases, malaria, or malnutrition, but their women don’t abort their unborn children in the way and at the rate we do here in our affluent society.  They have a certain dignity and decency; they don’t strip themselves and go half naked in public, as happens among us.  If it happens that someone is naked, it is because they are destitute.  Here among us, people strip themselves to the bare skin for pure exhibitionism.  Last and not least, women in the so-called underdeveloped countries still keep their femininity; in our western society many women look like men and men look like women.  The ugliness of the butch type of woman has become almost normal among us; whereas their counterparts are admirable for their feminine beauty.  

Conclusion 

In conclusion, people in our modern civilized culture are materially rich, but morally poor and spiritually starved to death.  We still have a human face, but we have lost our soul.  Whereas the people in underdeveloped countries are very poor, but they are more human and with a living soul and a golden heart that says: “Tapa-bata tantely; ny fo no mameno azy.”   

Rendered in plain English: My dear Friend: This dish is half-full of honey; the other half is filled with my heart.  It is for you to take. 

Maranatha

 Comments:

Archbishop Fulton Sheen, once said:
"The whole world is dying of hunger; the Eastern world is dying of hunger of the body; the Western world is dying of hunger of soul."