Africans happiest people? Give them more space to be happier!

A chance Internet post made my day the other day, and I said I was going to put it down so that it lasts within reach. I hope someone else came across it, but for those who have not seen (or heard) it, here goes: I am going say something that you may find hard to believe: the people of Africa are the happiest people in the entire world. Africa may be one of the poorest continents in material terms, but there is an irony here: people who possess less may sometimes experience less of the stress produced by the endless desire of more. We have been programmed to believe that happiness comes from material possessions. But the more you have, the more you may want. You get one million dollars and soon you want two million. You buy one house and then want a bigger one. The pursuit itself can become a source of stress. In many African countries, happiness is found in things that cannot easily be measured in money: family, friendship, music, dancing, laughter, community and a sense of belonging. That does not mean poverty is good or that Africans do not suffer. They do. Poverty, disease, unemployment and inadequate service are bad and painful. But material wealth and happiness are not necessarily the same thing. Perhaps that is the paradox. Africa can be poor in material and yet rich in human connection. And perhaps the question we should ask is not simply, 'How much do you have?' but also: 'How much of life do you actually enjoy?' As I went through this post and thought about it, my mind wandered about all my life, assessing moments of happiness that I experienced without any material improvement, pure happiness that gave a spiritual lift without any corresponding improvement in what I possessed, and I found many. I remembered moments when something completely outside of me gave such happiness that one could have though there was something I was gaining from it. I thought of the elation I felt as I watched Muhammad Ali beat Joe Frazier in the 'Gorilla in Manilla' fight. I was in Paris that night, and broke, and I watched the fight courtesy of Kassim Mwawado (later Ambassador Mwawado) who had invited me to say with him for that week. Today I still remember that the happiness I felt from the victory in the fight was augmented by Ali's remark before the fight when he was introduced to the Philippines dictator, Ferdinand Marcos: 'You're not as dumb as you look; I saw your wife this morning!' The following month, I was in Luanda to attend the independence celebration of Angola on November 11, when battalions of Cuban soldiers disembarked onto Luanda, which was then surrounded by South African troops. The great great great great grandsons and granddaughters of the slaves who had been kidnapped from the Atlantic coast in the 1500s were coming back to help liberate their brothers and sisters, making Fidel Castro a great Pan-Africanist hero. After that I went to Addis Ababa to attend the OAU summit discussing the Angola crisis, in February 1976, and I witnessed the spectacle of Angola's then prime minister, Lopo do Nascimento, trailing three white South African Afrikaner prisoners captured as POWs in the Angola war. Do Nascimento was parading them before the OAU and international media. For these pleasures, I actually put on weight in that semester of bliss, though most of these days, I insist, I had no money in my pocket. I felt rich, blessed beyond measure. These were the happiest moments of my youth, and though my wages were a pittance, it is difficult for me to forget those days and the thrills that buoyed me as if I were a feather. But then, the days moved on, and I still took in lessons in happiness and its relationship with material wealth: In recent years I was sent to observe presidential and parliamentary elections in Ghana and was sent to constituencies in the Kumasi area. One day, we were going for lunch and as I broke with my colleagues, I saw a beautiful Kente shirt a way off and I was crossing a small street to get a clearer view when I came across someone who looked like a beggar – tattered clothes, shaggy hair, the works— seated on the pavement and as I was about to pass by him, he lifted his bowl of ugali and beans, and said to me, 'Welcome, sir!' with a smile on his craggy face. Welcome, sir, from someone who maybe was holding all he was worth in his hands, not knowing when next he may have another luxury of such a feast! That Ashanti beggar remained on my mind for a considerable length of time and I see various versions of him from time to time. Yes, I incline to agree that we have the happies people of all mankind.