holy zambian bananas

When I was in high school my very best friend was a guy named Kasala from Zambia. My high school (for 2 of 4 years) was an american school in Alexandria, Egpyt, and the rule was that at least one parent had to be non-Egyptian. So most of the kids were ambassador's children, they came from everywhere from Australia to Hungary to Israel to Japan to Zambia to Lethbridge, Alberta. We had us some fun, him and I. We used to go to the local hotel and order beer and read Jean-Paul Sartre and dream big dreams and pretend to be so intellectual. And we were nothing but friends, but best of friends. And then I left, cuz grandpa was sick and my step-dad's contract was over, and I lost touch with everyone. Those were the days before internet (gasp!), and a handwritten letter was a committment that not many 15 year olds kept up with. I have been looking for these folks for years, especially Kasala, and even signed up for Classmates for a while to try to find him with no results. So imagine my surprise yesterday morning when I log in to facebook and lo and behold there he is, in my inbox, 18 years later. It's unreal. We've been emailing back and forth for the last couple of days and I'm trying to wrap my head around what life in Zambia is like. I spent a while reading about it yesterday cuz I'm ignorant and learned that it is one of the world's poorest countries. The average life expectancy is 39. There is a 18% HIV infection rate. And the average annual income is $395. $395. Three hundred and ninety-five fucking dollars. My mind's been kind of blown since. Why don't I complain about the price of gas some more while I drive around in my new-ish vehicle that I own and hang out in my house that I own and live in alone and fuck around on my laptop that I own while flipping through the 300 channels that I have. Jesus. I am pretty sure that I am going to send him a lot of money. Because no matter what that means to me (which is what? more interest on my line of credit? a little while longer to pay off the visa? forgoing a couple of concerts?), it is NOTHING compared to what it means to someone who lives like that. Crazy.