A privileged Life.

As I write this it is just past 2:30 on Sunday afternoon and I am sitting outside on a generous, white denim covered couch, deliberately in the shadow of the roof overhang, a few steps from the edge of the pool.  I’m wearing my bathing suit which was what I pulled on when I got up, declaring to myself that with the temperature already at 30, and nothing on the agenda, it was going to be a bathing suit all day kind of day.  Which means I have been in and out of the pool, doing lazy strokes in the warm, salted water, rinsing off after in the convenience of the outdoor shower.

As usual when at “home” we have all done our own  breakfast/brunch/lunch- mine was a brunch of toasted brioche (a deliciously sweet with egg yolks and sugar braided bread) bought yesterday at the market, topped with a fried egg, accompanied by a side of the guacamole I made for dinner last night.  Everything tasted so delicious and satisfying.

We have laundry washing, laundry drying on the line, dinner meal ingredients at the ready and a complete contentment with how easy life is.

And here’s the kicker; if you read my last social media posts you will have noted that New Caledonia, despite our first, rural impressions, is actually a rich country.  Correction:  I was right in my initial assessment; rurally the country is quite poor with much of the wealth located in the capital city of Noumea.  (Population of the whole country is approx. 300,000 with a third living in the capital.)  Nickel mining in particular contributes a lot to the wealth.  And the disparity between the haves and the have nots is quite significant.

Back to the kicker….  We are living in a gated community literally in the middle of nowhere.  Located 20 minutes from the town of Paita, on a windy, paved but liberally potholed road, with the last house before you get to our community probably 3km from the entrance.  And that house is one of a sprinkling located on a small stretch of the road, so it isn’t like it is heavily populated between there and town. 

I am guessing when I say there are 40 houses in this neighbourhood; all different sizes, some looking well established while others are works in progress.  There seem to be no covenants around size of homes as we have seen some being built that are quite small, including one near us who’s core is a metal freight container.  But it is a little hard to assess the finished homes as I have only gone by one that isn’t fenced and gated.  And most of the fences are solid and create much privacy.  And I wonder to myself- okay, so there are gates to keep people out of the actual neighbourhood but who are the fences and gates designed to keep out within the neighbourhood itself?  Do the neighbours have cause to be nervous of being robbed (or worse!) by the people next door, or down the street, or one block over?  Or is it just fashionable to wall off your home and keep everyone else at bay?  And if so, wow, how does that seem like convivial living?  And what about the fact that our whole community is gated?  Who are we keeping out?  And is there a legit concern that we need to keep ourselves safe from locally living people?  And how did I get to be one of the lucky ones, able to afford to  be here as a tourist, lying by the pool with not one iota of food insecurities.  Oh, I know logically why.  I worked hard all of my life, spent carefully (for the most part), sold my house opportunistically when the market was at an all-time high bubble.  But in the bigger scheme of things, I am here, free as a bird, healthy loved ones near and far, because I was born into a solid middle-class Canadian family and therefore automatically had privileges.  Oh yes, of course, being female presented at times some progression challenges but all in all, if I worked hard I benefited in proportion to that work.  And yet here I am, knowing that not far outside the gates of this holiday home community are people who have worked hard, are working hard, and will never enjoy the worry-light life I lead.

I have to admit, this caused me discomfort the first few days here.  I don’t know this feeling of privilege, it feels new, and it made me squirm.  It’s such an obvious delineation of people; those who have the fob to enter the gates and those who don’t.  Even if that fob is opening the opportunity to live her for just a week, it’s an opportunity many other here don’t get, won’t ever have, no matter how much they scrimp and save and how many of them decide to go in together to pay the rent for a week in this private paradise. 

And here is what is even scarier, for me anyway.  It’s day 5 and I feel less guilty.  Oh I don’t feel entitled and deserving but I am less conscious of the disparity and more comfortable with being here.  So I am glad it is only for a week.  I wouldn’t want to live in this bubble for long, becoming less and less aware of how lucky I really am and in turn, how unlucky some others are.

If you have made it this far, thanks for reading.  It’s been weighing on me and I felt an urge to share.  I hope no matter how old I get I never lose the joy and appreciation in being able to live the way I do, have the experiences I have. 

xo