Intrusive vs. Included

Intrusive versus included, us versus them, white versus black...a constant tension in being accepted or rejected. 

While visiting the families in the Binaba community, I often wondered if we were being intrusive. 

As a child, I often remembered what happened in our household before we had visitors. First, they called. They told us who would be coming and when. As soon as my mother hung up the phone, that started the countdown for cleaning and beautifying the home along with getting food for the house. "Alright", my mother said as she looked in the pantry to survey the cleaning supplies, "I'll start downstairs." "Y'all", she said looking at my sisters and I as we sat in the family room watching tv, "should start on those rooms." Rooms? Check. Bathrooms? Check. Kitchen? Of course, check. Floors vacuumed? Check. Kitchen floor mopped? Check. Food in the fridge? Check. 

Okay *exhale* now we are ready for company. There was a process to this, people. So, when we entered their homes, I wondered how they felt. 10 privilege Americans coming into their homes, walking pass the baby ducks that came and went, pass the pigs that lay on their bellies outside, pass the chickens that clucked through the door and out, and pass the nuts from the tree that lined the walkway. 

We entered the roofless, doorless home with amazement in our eyes...greatly urging us to pull out our cameras and take pictures...inconspicuously looking for the first person to pull out their camera - because that would make it "okay" for the rest to follow. We stood in the center of the home, looking as the walls, about shoulder height, stood around us and as the sun shined on us. To the right, a kitchen. Bowls and pots sat on the ground, waiting for use. In front of us and to the left were two rooms. If one were to enter, one would have to duck down into the cubby-like space. The room was just about the size of a walk in closet. Clothes hung from a clothing line. Pots, pans and dishes laid stacked on a table, while a space surrounded by a mosquito net represented one's place  for sleeping. 

Through Collins, her translator, Avuubono told us how helpful the mosquito nets had been. She explained how before her family of 8 had the 3 mosquito nets, they contracted malaria about every two weeks, but now, they rarely get it. Avuubono posed as we took pictures of her and her mosquito net. I could not quite tell how Avuubono felt about the picture taking and possible "intrusion" in her home. I looked at her family's faces and expressions as they watched us take pictures, watched us ask her questions that were translated by Collins, and watched as she humbly answered them in her native tongue. I understand the importance of Episcopal Relief and Development and its partnership with ADDRO, and how helpful the organizations had been to families like theirs, by providing resources such as mosquito nets; however, at that moment, I could not help but wonder if they felt obligated to participate and violated, for in a sense, being put on display. What were they feeling?!

Once again, I felt in violation - in violation of privacy... of space and sensitivity to one's feelings. She and her family smiled and waved as we left - taking our time to step in the right places; but I still wondered how they felt, for us coming into their homes as if we are on a tour in a museum. 

I apologize Avuubono. Our amazement, fascination, and interest overcame us. Generally speaking... or rather writing, this is a great group of people who care about all people and the work of the episcopal church. It's just that at times, our American perspective overcomes us. 

 Written on July 23, 2013
Photo Credits: Karimah Shabazz