A PEACE CORP VOLUNTEER BREAKS COVER
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Karin McQuillan was a White volunteer worker for America’s Peace Corp foundation and charity (https://www.peacecorps.gov/. Karin is young enough to be my granddaughter. As a world traveller during the 1960s I lived and worked all over Africa. Her report about ‘modern’ Africa is true today as it was in my time and the time of James Conrad and David Livingstone.
Had I had an opportunity to talk with Karin I could have told the young idealist everything she is now saying. In fact, I could have written these very same words over 50-years ago. Being an idealist ~ and a realist, I know that folk won’t listen; they have to find out for themselves. Karen did so, and this is what she writes.
‘Three weeks after college, I flew to Senegal, West Africa, to run a community centre in a rural town. Life was placid, with no danger, except to your health. That danger was considerable, because it was, in the words of the Peace Corps doctor, “a fecalized environment”
In plain English: shit is everywhere. People defecate on the open ground, and the faeces are blown with the dust onto you, your clothes, your food, the water. He warned us the first day of training: do not even touch the water.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that a few decades later, liberals would teach generations of our kids that loving your own culture and wanting to preserve it are racism.
Last time I was in Paris, I saw a well-dressed African woman in a grand boubou have her child defecate on the sidewalk next to Notre Dame Cathedral. The French police officer, ten steps from her, turned his head not to see.
Senegal was not a hellhole. Very poor people can lead happy, meaningful lives in their own cultures’ terms. But they are not our terms. The excrement is the least of it. Our basic ideas of human relations, right and wrong, are incompatible.
As a twenty-one-year-old starting out in the Peace Corps, I loved Senegal. I quickly made friends and had an adopted family. I relished the feeling of the brotherhood of man. People were open, willing to share their lives and, after they knew you, their innermost thoughts.
The longer I lived there, the more I understood and it became blindingly obvious that the Senegalese are not the same as us. The truths we hold to be self-evident are not evident to the Senegalese. How could they be? Their reality is totally different. You can’t understand anything in Senegal using American (Western) terms.
Take something as basic as family. The family was a few hundred people, extending out to second and third cousins. All the men in one generation were called “father.” Senegalese are Muslim, with up to four wives. Girls had their clitorises cut off at puberty.
Sex, I was told, did not include kissing. Love and friendship in marriage were Western ideas. Fidelity was not a thing. Married women would have sex for a few cents to have cash for the market. What I did witness every day was that women were worked half to death. Wives raised the food and fed their own children, did the heavy labor of walking miles to gather wood for the fire, drew water from the well or public faucet, pounded grain with heavy hand-held pestles, lived in their own huts, and had conjugal visits from their husbands on a rotating basis with their co-wives. Their husbands lazed in the shade of the trees.
The Ten Commandments were not disobeyed as they were unknown. You were supposed to steal everything you can to give to your own relatives.
We hear a lot about the corrupt elites of Africa. My town had a medical clinic donated by international agencies. The medicine was stolen by the medical workers and sold to the local store. If you were sick and didn’t have money, drop dead.
In Senegal, corruption ruled, from top to bottom. Go to the post office, and the clerk would name an outrageous price for a stamp. After paying the bribe, you still didn’t know it if it would be mailed or thrown out. That was normal.
One of my most vivid memories was from the clinic. One day, as the waiting grew hotter in 110-degree heat, an old woman two feet from the chattering medical aides collapsed to the ground. They turned their heads so as not to see her and kept talking. She lay there in the dirt. Callousness to the sick was normal.
We think the Protestant work ethic is universal. It’s not. My town was full of young men doing nothing. They were waiting for a government job. There was no private enterprise. Private business was not illegal, just impossible, given the nightmare of a third-world corruption.
All the little stores in Senegal were owned by Mauritanians. If a Senegalese wanted to run a little store, he’d go to another country because your friends and relatives would ask you for stuff for free, and you would have to say yes. You are not allowed to be a selfish individual and say no to relatives. The result: Everyone has nothing.
I couldn’t wait to get home. So why would I want to bring Africa here? Non-Westerners do not magically become American by arriving on our shores with a visa, but of course, we’re racist for even entertaining such thoughts. Only Liberals know what’s best for America. Many in Africa are likely starving, but does any supposed help America sends to that Continent, really ever get to those truly in need?
We are lectured by Democrats that we must privilege third-world immigration by the hundred million with chain migration. They tell us we must end America as a white, Western, Christian, capitalist nation to prove we are not racist.
I don’t need to prove a thing. Leftists want open borders because they resent whites, resent Western achievements, and hate America. They want to destroy America as we know it. We have the right to choose what kind of country to live in. I was happy to donate a year of my life to help the Senegalese I am not willing to donate my country.
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Michael Walsh Was awarded Euro Weekly News ‘Writer of the Year 2011’. With 60 books bearing his name, thousands of news stories and columns, Michael is arguably Britain and Europe’s most prolific author of multi-topic books.
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