www.simoncollier.ca

I sat on the coach driving through the Cuban streets as the houses and shacks floated by and watched the people living their lives in a world far different to my own. They were incredibly poor compared to myself, but that’s not what made them different. They were darker skinned that I was, but that wasn’t it either. They spoke a different language, but language is only one tool we have in our communications kit.

The homes were about the size of a two-car garage and in the darkening evening I could see lamp light shining through the wooden panels that clung together as walls. As I looked through the open windows I could see inside homes with only the most basic of features: A table, a couch, a bed. Old women with tired faces would lean on the fence of their deck as they talked to their neighbours. In the fading light I could see a family playing baseball together, one child practice-swinging his bat as he waited for his father to throw the ball. The bus passed a young teenaged couple; the boy was peddling an old silver bicycle with his girlfriend perched sideways between the handlebars and the seat. They looked at peace. Three generations lived in each home, sharing personal space and working six days a week for each other as much as themselves. Buying a television was a massive investment, and a holiday abroad was too much to even dream of.

There was a sense of contentment there. Some would say a feeling of resignment, but I would argue that they have a better awareness of their own priorities: family, friends and children.

“I have a home,” said one man. “I have a girlfriend, and we are happy.”

What about nights out?

“We can’t afford to drink all the time. Sometimes we get together with friends, and I say ‘how much do you have? 2 pesos? And you? 3 pesos? I have 4 pesos, let’s get some rum!’”

For someone that earns about 15 pesos a month, there would be significant gaps between parties.

I came home and couldn’t help but compare the poor contentment of Cuba with the greedy lust of Canada (and England, and the U.S.). Driving along in my own car with no passengers I complain of the $1.10/litre gas price while I look out at the empty Edmonton streets. If I peer into a home here I will see fat kids in front of their 42-inch LCD televisions playing X-Box 360 (because the old X-box is so 2005). Their parents will be divorced, they will have an allergy to peanuts, they will have some sort of thyroid problem and they will be explosively miserable when asked to walk to the store – or indeed anywhere – to pick up some freely-available and inexpensive milk.

We consume more than we need, we drive bigger than we need, we eat more than we need, we spend more than we have. We throw away and buy again, unwrap and discard, use once and dispose. We are a fast-paced society, always plugged-in and always online. I can check my work email from home, update my Facebook status from my cell phone, bank from my phone and buy milk at 3am. We are always on, always moving and always, always hoping that our next purchase will be the one that makes us happy.

Perhaps our priorities will never allow us to be happy for so long as we can afford to keep those priorities.