In a society where material wealth often defines success, it’s easy to assume that those who come from less economically developed places are “poor.” But what if we’re measuring wealth the wrong way? This question struck me years ago when I met a man from Africa who became part of my family.
The rest of my family was beaming with pride, congratulating themselves on their open hearts and generosity for “adopting” this man into our fold. He had come from what they viewed as a place of extreme poverty—a country with limited infrastructure and few modern conveniences. They were patting themselves on the back for their altruism, assuming they were giving him the opportunity of a lifetime.
But as the conversations unfolded, I began to see a much broader picture. This man, whom they perceived as “poor,” spoke five languages fluently. He switched effortlessly between his native tongue, two regional African languages, French, and English. His multilingualism wasn’t learned for leisure or personal growth—it was a necessity, a survival skill in a culturally rich and linguistically diverse part of the world.
I started to wonder: who was from the country that is actually poor in this scenario?
Sure, the country lacked the material wealth we consider essential—fancy houses and luxury cars. But they possess an intellectual wealth and adaptability that most of us could only dream of. They have a profound understanding of different cultures, the ability to communicate with people from vastly different walks of life, and a deep connection to their heritage.
On the other hand, here we were, speaking one language—in fact only 8 percent of Americans can communicate in more than English. We often view multilingualism as an achievement when it’s learned for fun but fail to recognize its richness when it’s a way of life.
This experience forced me to reevaluate what “poverty” really means. If poverty is defined as a lack of resources, then yes, there are materially poor places. But if we define poverty as a lack of skills, connection, and adaptability, then perhaps we’re the impoverished ones.
It’s easy to fall into the trap of viewing ourselves as the saviors in situations like this. The “poor” man from Africa must need us, right? Yet, I realized we were the ones who had something to learn. His resilience, his linguistic dexterity, his ability to navigate diverse cultural landscapes—all of this highlighted gaps in our own lives.
We often view the world through a lens of materialism, and generational advantage; equating wealth with possessions, education with degrees, and success with popularism. But there’s a deeper kind of wealth—one that comes from experiences, relationships, and adaptability. This man’s life was a testament to that truth.
So who is truly poor? Perhaps poverty is less about what you don’t have and more about what you don’t realize you’re missing.
This encounter didn’t just challenge my perspective; it changed me. It reminded me to value the intangible things, the skills and experiences that truly enrich our lives. And it taught me humility—because no matter how much we think we have to give, there’s always so much more we can learn.
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