Factfulness: Ten Reasons We're Wrong About the World – and Why Things Are Better Than You Think

get things in proportion.
•
Compare.
Big numbers always look big. Single numbers on their own
are misleading and should make you suspicious. Always look for
comparisons. Ideally, divide by something.
•
80/20.
Have you been given a long list? Look for the few largest items
and deal with those first. They are quite likely more important than all
the others put together.

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•
Divide.
Amounts and rates can tell very different stories. Rates are
more meaningful, especially when comparing between different-sized
groups. In particular, look for rates per person when comparing
between countries or regions.
OceanofPDF.com

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CHAPTER SIX
THE GENERALIZATION INSTINCT
Why I had to lie about the Danes, and how it can be smart to build half a
house
Dinner Is Served
An orange sun was setting behind the acacia trees on the savanna of the
Bandundu region south of the Congo River, half a day’s walk from the end of
the paved road. This is where you find the people who live in extreme
poverty: they are stuck behind that mountain, beyond where the road ends.
My colleague Thorkild and I had spent the day interviewing the people in this
remote village about their nutrition, and now they wanted to throw us a party.
No one had ever walked so far to ask them about their problems.
As Swedish villagers would have done 100 years ago, they were
demonstrating their gratitude and respect by serving their guests the biggest
piece of meat they could find. The entire village was gathered in a circle
around Thorkild and me as we were presented with our plates. On top of two
large green leaves lay two whole, skinned, grilled rats.
I thought I might throw up. Then I noticed that Thorkild had already started
eating: we were both very hungry after a whole day’s work with no food. I
looked around at the villagers who were smiling at me expectantly. I had to
eat it, and I did. It was actually not that bad: it tasted a bit like chicken. To be
polite, I tried to look happy as I swallowed it down.

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Then it was time for dessert: another plate, full of big, white larvas from
the palm nut tree. And I do mean big—each one was longer and thicker than
my thumb, and had been lightly fried in its own fat. But I wondered, had they
been 
too
lightly fried? Because they seemed to be moving. The villagers were
proud to offer us such a delicious treat.
Remember, I am a sword swallower. I should be able to push anything
down my throat. And I am not usually a fussy eater: I had even once eaten
porridge made from mosquitos. But no. This, I couldn’t do. The heads of the
larvas looked like little brown nuts and their thick bodies like transparent
wrinkled marshmallows, through which I could see their intestines. The
villagers gestured that I should bite them in two and suck out the insides. If I
tried I would puke the rat back up. I did not want to offend.
Suddenly, an idea. I smiled softly and said regretfully, “You know what, I
am sorry, but I can’t eat larvas.”
Thorkild turned to me, surprised. He already had a couple of larvas hanging
out of the corners of his mouth. He really loved those larvas. He had
previously worked as a missionary in Congo, where they had been the
highlight of every week for one whole year.
“You see, we don’t eat larvas,” I said, trying to look convincing. The
villagers looked at Thorkild.
“But he eats them?” they asked. Thorkild stared at me.
“Ah,” I said. “You see, he comes from a different tribe. I come from
Sweden, he comes from Denmark. In Denmark, they love eating larvas. But
in Sweden it’s against our culture.” The village teacher went and got out the
world map and I pointed out the water separating our two countries. “On this
side of the water they eat larvas,” I said, “and on this side we don’t.” It’s
actually one of the most blatant lies I have ever told, but it worked. The
villagers were happy to share my dessert between them. Everyone,
everywhere knows that people from different tribes have different customs.