As time passes here in Malawi everything seems to be getting easier. It is as if my life here in Malawi started out ill-shaped and spiny but time has ground out lots of rough edges. Things that used to bother me aren't really that grating anymore. Transport, my work situation, dietary concerns and everything else are just not so bothersome. The reasons for this change are many. In part, I just don't care as much as I did; after a certain amount of frustration I don't get bent out of shape about these things. Perhaps my attitude has been Africanized, haha. I'll just sit around and wait, just expecting that "it" will get done someday. It isn't a good thing really, but it certainly is a survival tactic.
News flash! I just got the papers I was waiting for to write a grant and I am now going to do that. Perhaps I should write that I want to have a business camp and that we'll include HIV/AIDS education. Stopping HIV/AIDS and helping Malawians jump start their stagnant economy with private entrepreneurship skills. Yeah boy! Anyway, I'll let ya'll know about the progress on that.
Oh, and as a side note, I've got a girlfriend who is another Peace Corps Volunteer in the South of Malawi. Her name is Megan Wilkerson and she is a nurse from Indiana who went to school at Purdue. I think she is an outstanding human being who is fun to be around. I enjoy her companionship, we'll see where things between us go. In the meantime, it is great to have her support. We are also going to Victoria Falls together next week with some other volunteers. It's gonna be good times.
Ok, time for work. See you all!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The rain is here!
My life has settled into a nice routine of gardening, reading, visiting with friends, and working on projects. I wake up every day at 5am and work on my garden. I'm making a gravel path around my house, swales to reroute water, terraces for soil conservation, and planting trees aplenty. I'm reading all kinds of stuff, mainly nonfiction. I am just a non-fiction kinda guy; I have been reading a lot about permaculture and books on development of impovershed nations. I guess due to my lack of enthusiasm for Malawian culture and lack of affinity for Malawians themselves I've been feeling very free about travelling around. I've been visiting my friends a lot on the weekends. I want to the southern province of Thyolo for Halloween, last week I spent playing around the lake, and this weekend I'm chilling with my homey Ben Nebo in Lilongwe. This Peace Corps gig is not all about helping others. Today we made quiche, it was bad ass! And then there are my projects . . .
Well my greatest love lies in my agricultural pursuits. Inside of my fence I am working hard to create the most awesome permaculture garden that Peace Corps has ever seen and outside of my fence I'm working on a more educational demonstration plot. Perhaps demonstration is the best way to teach these people here. At least I could lead a horse to water . . . Otherwise my oil pressing group is moving along. I am making them do yard work for me to help pay for the oil press, but I'm not able to find the hybrid peanut seeds I want. But perhaps the most interesting project I'm working on is forging a relationship between my village and a company that sells baobab fruit powder. This would entail my villagers providing labor to collect and do minor processing to the fruit. The company will provide bags, rent money for storage in the village, and a vehicle for transportation of goods. It would be a great deal if people would only get their asses in gear and work hard! We'll see . . . I'm gonna have a meeting on wednesday with people who are interested in doing the actual collection. We'll see who shows up. . . . I don't know. I've had several meetings and informal informational sessions, we'll see who is really enthusiastic. All I need to do to derail and project with these people is put them in a possition of responsibility. When someone wants to do a mud stove training, all I have to do is say, " OK, you collect the materials and I'll come do the training. Tell me when you've got them and I'll come." Most of the time that is all that is necessary. So you'd think that asking them to show up wasn't much . . . but it is really quite impressive when they are that responsible. Can you tell that I don't particularly care to work with Malawians? hate to say it, but it's true.
Well my greatest love lies in my agricultural pursuits. Inside of my fence I am working hard to create the most awesome permaculture garden that Peace Corps has ever seen and outside of my fence I'm working on a more educational demonstration plot. Perhaps demonstration is the best way to teach these people here. At least I could lead a horse to water . . . Otherwise my oil pressing group is moving along. I am making them do yard work for me to help pay for the oil press, but I'm not able to find the hybrid peanut seeds I want. But perhaps the most interesting project I'm working on is forging a relationship between my village and a company that sells baobab fruit powder. This would entail my villagers providing labor to collect and do minor processing to the fruit. The company will provide bags, rent money for storage in the village, and a vehicle for transportation of goods. It would be a great deal if people would only get their asses in gear and work hard! We'll see . . . I'm gonna have a meeting on wednesday with people who are interested in doing the actual collection. We'll see who shows up. . . . I don't know. I've had several meetings and informal informational sessions, we'll see who is really enthusiastic. All I need to do to derail and project with these people is put them in a possition of responsibility. When someone wants to do a mud stove training, all I have to do is say, " OK, you collect the materials and I'll come do the training. Tell me when you've got them and I'll come." Most of the time that is all that is necessary. So you'd think that asking them to show up wasn't much . . . but it is really quite impressive when they are that responsible. Can you tell that I don't particularly care to work with Malawians? hate to say it, but it's true.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Just a little something while I happened to be near a computer
Hello Internet! I’m here in Lilongwe on sort of a random Sunday and there is no one here so I get all the bandwidth at the IRC to myself! MWahahah! I didn’t finish my last post on my trip to Liwonde, but let’s just say that I saw lots of animals and it was totally sweet! I would also like to note that there was a certain part where we went to a lodge to use the pool. When we arrived there was a huge crowd of devout Muslims wearing head to toe clothing in the pool, women in burkhas sitting at tables, and any man that could was sporting a beard. This isn’t a problem, nor does it bother me. However, my friends and I were pouring liquor into our cokes and we were only wearing our sort shorts, which made us feel we might be a little offensive. Certainly an awkward turtle situation if there ever was one. But it was also hilarious!
Hmm, I am just waiting for my good friend Prashantha to show up at the IRC so we can have a meeting of the minds and discuss the possibility of a business camp. He is an interesting guy; an Indian immigrant who worked in Boston’s financial sector for a couple years before coming to Peace Corps. Most of his work so far seems to be about different business related things; Selling peanut oil, using the waste product to make peanut candies, and more marketing things that I’m really not sure of the details. Here in Malawi, and as I’m lead to believe all over East Africa, most of the major businesses are run by Indians or Pakastanis. The Chinese are sort of late comers to the game, but they certainly have their claim in the game now. But why is that? Why aren’t there more successful black Malawian business men? Lack of training I suppose, they don’t have the technical knowledge.
In other news, when I got back to my village, I was greeted by a broken borehole. What bad timing I tell you! Right when things really started to heat up, my source of water crapped out on me! Oy, vey! The villagers tried to fix it by replacing an O-ring, but that didn’t fix the problem and now they are depending on me. It’s not that I mind helping them fix it, I am here to help, but the dependence unnerves me. A former volunteer got funding for the construction of the borehole and now they are depending on another volunteer to fix it when the quick, easy solution was to no avail. What will happen in the future when there isn’t a volunteer around?
When David Livingston arrived in this part of Africa, he and his compatriots considered the local inhabitants primitive. They wore very little clothing, lacked complex nations, and lagged behind the Eurpoeans in technological advancement. But they were progressing, just at a different speed. The Chewa had mastered archery and learned metallurgy which they used to create weapons. They had independently (at least of Europeans) attained this knowledge and had the proceeding foundation to build upon.
But it feels like now there is a serious disconnect between the imported technology available and Malawi’s ability to comprehend those goods. It’s different from in America where the average person watches TV but couldn’t build a TV, or even knows the fundamental principles behind it. All of the expertise necessary to construct, maintain, and understand the machines exists. Furthermore, there is a strong supply chain that can be tapped to access what has been out sourced. Malawi is devoid of all of these things due to its lack of education, expertise, and internal structure.
People love to use all kinds of technology here, but don’t know what to do or even prepare for them to break down. My borehole is a good example; the villagers were anxious to use the borehole, but not learn how to fix it or where to go for help when it breaks down. They told me that they man who came to teach about maintenance didn’t do a very good job. Which made me silently ask, “Well, if you knew that your education on the pump was inadequate, why didn’t you seek out more? Or ask me previously to do so on your behalf?” This is a modern convenience that they want to benefit from but cannot maintain do to their lack of competence. They are dependent on foreign goods and foreigners. And the way I move to take care of it all for them makes me feel like I am enabling them to remain this way. In addition to fixing this borehole, I must help to strengthen the community’s sense of ownership of the borehole and further their education on how to fix it. Capacity building is important, they must learn to do things for themselves.
Hmm, I am just waiting for my good friend Prashantha to show up at the IRC so we can have a meeting of the minds and discuss the possibility of a business camp. He is an interesting guy; an Indian immigrant who worked in Boston’s financial sector for a couple years before coming to Peace Corps. Most of his work so far seems to be about different business related things; Selling peanut oil, using the waste product to make peanut candies, and more marketing things that I’m really not sure of the details. Here in Malawi, and as I’m lead to believe all over East Africa, most of the major businesses are run by Indians or Pakastanis. The Chinese are sort of late comers to the game, but they certainly have their claim in the game now. But why is that? Why aren’t there more successful black Malawian business men? Lack of training I suppose, they don’t have the technical knowledge.
In other news, when I got back to my village, I was greeted by a broken borehole. What bad timing I tell you! Right when things really started to heat up, my source of water crapped out on me! Oy, vey! The villagers tried to fix it by replacing an O-ring, but that didn’t fix the problem and now they are depending on me. It’s not that I mind helping them fix it, I am here to help, but the dependence unnerves me. A former volunteer got funding for the construction of the borehole and now they are depending on another volunteer to fix it when the quick, easy solution was to no avail. What will happen in the future when there isn’t a volunteer around?
When David Livingston arrived in this part of Africa, he and his compatriots considered the local inhabitants primitive. They wore very little clothing, lacked complex nations, and lagged behind the Eurpoeans in technological advancement. But they were progressing, just at a different speed. The Chewa had mastered archery and learned metallurgy which they used to create weapons. They had independently (at least of Europeans) attained this knowledge and had the proceeding foundation to build upon.
But it feels like now there is a serious disconnect between the imported technology available and Malawi’s ability to comprehend those goods. It’s different from in America where the average person watches TV but couldn’t build a TV, or even knows the fundamental principles behind it. All of the expertise necessary to construct, maintain, and understand the machines exists. Furthermore, there is a strong supply chain that can be tapped to access what has been out sourced. Malawi is devoid of all of these things due to its lack of education, expertise, and internal structure.
People love to use all kinds of technology here, but don’t know what to do or even prepare for them to break down. My borehole is a good example; the villagers were anxious to use the borehole, but not learn how to fix it or where to go for help when it breaks down. They told me that they man who came to teach about maintenance didn’t do a very good job. Which made me silently ask, “Well, if you knew that your education on the pump was inadequate, why didn’t you seek out more? Or ask me previously to do so on your behalf?” This is a modern convenience that they want to benefit from but cannot maintain do to their lack of competence. They are dependent on foreign goods and foreigners. And the way I move to take care of it all for them makes me feel like I am enabling them to remain this way. In addition to fixing this borehole, I must help to strengthen the community’s sense of ownership of the borehole and further their education on how to fix it. Capacity building is important, they must learn to do things for themselves.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Liwonde National Park
I just spent the last four days at the Liwonde National Park taking part in the annual game count. It consisted of other volunteers, rangers with M16s, and myself doing transect walks through the park and stationary counts. We saw herds of elephants, several hippos, hundreds of impala, hundreds of water buck, sable, kudu, vervet monkeys, yellow baboons, banded mongoose, warthogs, duiker, and probably a few other animals that I am not remembering. Put simply, I had a great time!
The first day we arrived about mid afternoon and just wandered around the youth hostel camp where we stayed. Immediately we encountered a handful of animals while walking around the mopane woodlands that constitute most of the park. It was a welcome shock to see animals; most people have few living around them except for livestock. It fulfilled part of our inaccurate expectations about this continent and were reminded us that we aren't in Kansas anymore. The couple animals we saw impressed us a lot, but the following several days eclipsed the sightings of the first day.
The proceeding days we woke up early in the morning to view the animals before the heat became unbearable. The second day I went on a "walking hide" where I wandered around a flood plain next to the Shire River. Right off the bat I saw endless amounts of water buck and impala with warthogs here and there. Everywhere I looked were these huge animals with horns casually grazing. They looked at us with caution, but never seemed to get unerved. If we came to close they'd saunter off, but never "ran for the hills". When my guide heard the hippos make there low Jabba-the-hut-bellow we looked at them in the river and that was super cool. And just as we were on our way back to the camp we were called back and saw 27 elephants in a giant herd. I was a bit far away from them, but judging from the gigantic foot prints left in the dried mud they must have been huge. It was awesome.
The next two days weren't as good for game viewing cause we were walking through the forest and that makes noise which scares off the animals.
time to go! Love ya! the boss says leave!
The first day we arrived about mid afternoon and just wandered around the youth hostel camp where we stayed. Immediately we encountered a handful of animals while walking around the mopane woodlands that constitute most of the park. It was a welcome shock to see animals; most people have few living around them except for livestock. It fulfilled part of our inaccurate expectations about this continent and were reminded us that we aren't in Kansas anymore. The couple animals we saw impressed us a lot, but the following several days eclipsed the sightings of the first day.
The proceeding days we woke up early in the morning to view the animals before the heat became unbearable. The second day I went on a "walking hide" where I wandered around a flood plain next to the Shire River. Right off the bat I saw endless amounts of water buck and impala with warthogs here and there. Everywhere I looked were these huge animals with horns casually grazing. They looked at us with caution, but never seemed to get unerved. If we came to close they'd saunter off, but never "ran for the hills". When my guide heard the hippos make there low Jabba-the-hut-bellow we looked at them in the river and that was super cool. And just as we were on our way back to the camp we were called back and saw 27 elephants in a giant herd. I was a bit far away from them, but judging from the gigantic foot prints left in the dried mud they must have been huge. It was awesome.
The next two days weren't as good for game viewing cause we were walking through the forest and that makes noise which scares off the animals.
time to go! Love ya! the boss says leave!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Mulanje Massif
Mulanje Massif! What a place to be,
From the top you can catch a view of the salty sea.
Trudging up the path with bags aplenty,
We’d often sit down and eat sandwiches a’ many.
The porter and guide helped us carry our load.
We needed it to climb that steep road.
Up and down the mountain went,
All part of this peculiar Peace Corps experiment.
That is my ode to the tallest mountain in Malawi, Mount Mulanje. It stands alone in clear contrast to the plains of Southern Malawi. At its base, the monolith is 13x16 miles in dimension and is mainly covered on top by an alpine ecosystem. The highest peak, which we surmounted, is about 10,000 feet tall. I climbed the mountain with my friends Jackie, Bri, Amy, Colin, and Tomas. This is our story.
Colin, Tomas, and I set off early on the morning Camp Sky ended. We were fortunate to be able to chaperone campers in a pre-arranged mini bus to Lilongwe, or so we thought. The kids with us had to go very far and suddenly our driver decided that his payment wasn’t enough. He slowed down grumbling about his fee and then pulled over. All these kids needed to get a good strong jump on the day to make it home by sundown and this jerk started threatening not to go another inch unless we cough up some more shekels. The three of us “counselors” started to get very agitated and began considering all the possible scenarios: take the kids down to Lilongwe in groups on public transport, lie that we’d pay more, and of course the most logical choice was to kill the sleazy driver and hijack the bus (my favorite solution). Luckily, before we acted, we had the forethought to call our Camp Commander. She bitched the driver out something vicious and he pouted all the way to our destination.
From Lilongwe, the three of us had a pleasant ride with a wealthy Malawian all the way to Blantyre. Blantyre is the commercial capital of Malawi and it is much more city-like than Lilongwe. There are sidewalks, high-rise buildings, and even a movie theater! There we met up with Jackie, Amy, and Bri at our classy hotel. (To give you an idea of how stylish the hotel was, the room could be rented by the hour). It was elating to see some of the far-flung Southern volunteers; we chatted about our mutual frustrations, individual accomplishments, and told lewd jokes. After a delicious pizza and ice cream with caramel dinner, we went out and hit the club.
There are two Chez Ntembas in Malawi, one in Lilongwe and the other in Blantyre. They are both covered in floor to ceiling mirrors with young, self-absorbed Malawians checking themselves out. The Malawian’s Narcisism is a spectacle in itself but the publicly acceptable homoerotic behavior in a decidedly homophobic nation put it over the top. I saw one Malawian man bent over grinding on another and nobody batted an eye. But that particular evening there was an added curiosity, a gigantic Indian from South Africa who took a liking to me.
At first I was thinking, “Who is this guy? He is huge!” He seemed to be there alone and when he looked at me, I decided smiling cordially was the best course of action. He took this as an invitation to start talking my ear off. We had a chat; he told me that he was an interior decorator and worked for the National Bank as a floor manager at a huge building, which we could see just outside the club. I thought this was an outlandish story, but didn’t perceive him to be a threat.
He ended up sort of dancing in our circle of friends. My PCV friends were initially leery of him, but they ended up chatting together. The real kicker was when I was dancing with my back to him and when I turned back he was swinging his t-shirt one handed over his head. Our circle instantly moved a good two meters away and he was asked to put his shirt back on. Which, thankfully, he cooperatively did. Good times out on the town in Blantyre, Malawi.
Our next move out to Mulanje District was an hour and a half mini-bus away. Mulanje is really a pleasant place; the mountain is awe-inspiring and weather conducive to emerald tea plantations. Amy played host and treated us to turkey, the only catch was we had to butcher it. The process, which Tomas and I handled, wasn’t tidy. However the end product was cooked well and tasty.
We rose early to meet our guide and porter, Gift and Jackson, for the epic ascent. They were very strong and consumed little food or water. While our group was out of shape, sweated profusely, and breathed heavily the whole way. Though this physical hardship didn’t diminish our enjoyment of the surrounding environment. We started out amongst verdant tealeaves, bunches of bananas, and prickly pineapples below the clouds. Slowly we passed through the mist to reach the dry grass of the alpine plateau. It reminded me of how much I enjoy the tenacious flora of high altitude habitats and of early backpacking adventures in the Olympic National Forest, Washington.
In total we spent four days hiking around and three nights sleeping on top of the mountain. All of the cabins we slept in were nice and cozy: The first had an intoxicating Mulanje Cedar scent, the second had a great view of the flat land below, and the third had weak solar powered lights. However, none of the buildings did a particularly good job of keeping us warm so we had lots of snuggle parties. Unfortunately, I became seriously congested and snored a lot. My most sincere apologies to those of you who were there. But we had a good time climbing to the highest peak, which was very cold, and making jokes.
We came up with all sorts of silly jokes. There was a running joke about Colin starting a goat etiquette school to teach an imaginary goat named Scarlet to be a debutante and drink tea. Absurd stories about all the members of our PC Environment 2010 group were made up to confuse the next intake of volunteers. Three of us also ripped our pants on the mountain. I ended up with a rip that went from my hip to my knee and walked all the way down the mountain with my underwear exposed. And everyone was very flatulent which provided lots of disgusting yet humorous moments. Being caught in a narrow space between rocks when someone farts is horrible for you, but funny for others.
Upon descending the mountain, we made a dash to pick up stuff from Amy’s house and get back to Blantyre. This was extremely fun because all six of us took bike taxis. The spectacle of six white people with huge backpacks strapped on riding through a rural Malawian village was quite hilarious. I’d already discussed the possibility of a bike taxi race at Camp Sky. But at the time no one wanted to participate because they felt it was degrading to treat Malawian bike taxi drivers like racehorses. In the end, we had a race anyway!
To round out the trip south we went to the only movie theater in the entire country and watched Youth In Revolt. Of course, we’d timed our trip to coincide with the half off Wednesday tickets and the rest of our behavior was a classic demonstration of PC poverty. Before the movie, we went to the grocery store next door, bought food, and then hid it in our pants and bags. Inside the atrium, we gawked as local expatriates gathered and bought popcorn from the confectionery while we cringed at the prices. Peace Corps volunteers are very different from expatriates; from our lifestyle to the nature of our work in country, we are just two dissimilar animals. Point in case was when all the other members of the audience got in their cars to go home and we started waving our hands to hitch a ride. All part of the Peace Corps odyssey, I suppose.
Overall, my first trip to the south was very enjoyable. Good friends, good food, and just good times for all. I’m safe, healthy, and optimistic about the future. Love to all my family and friends abroad, stay safe.
From the top you can catch a view of the salty sea.
Trudging up the path with bags aplenty,
We’d often sit down and eat sandwiches a’ many.
The porter and guide helped us carry our load.
We needed it to climb that steep road.
Up and down the mountain went,
All part of this peculiar Peace Corps experiment.
That is my ode to the tallest mountain in Malawi, Mount Mulanje. It stands alone in clear contrast to the plains of Southern Malawi. At its base, the monolith is 13x16 miles in dimension and is mainly covered on top by an alpine ecosystem. The highest peak, which we surmounted, is about 10,000 feet tall. I climbed the mountain with my friends Jackie, Bri, Amy, Colin, and Tomas. This is our story.
Colin, Tomas, and I set off early on the morning Camp Sky ended. We were fortunate to be able to chaperone campers in a pre-arranged mini bus to Lilongwe, or so we thought. The kids with us had to go very far and suddenly our driver decided that his payment wasn’t enough. He slowed down grumbling about his fee and then pulled over. All these kids needed to get a good strong jump on the day to make it home by sundown and this jerk started threatening not to go another inch unless we cough up some more shekels. The three of us “counselors” started to get very agitated and began considering all the possible scenarios: take the kids down to Lilongwe in groups on public transport, lie that we’d pay more, and of course the most logical choice was to kill the sleazy driver and hijack the bus (my favorite solution). Luckily, before we acted, we had the forethought to call our Camp Commander. She bitched the driver out something vicious and he pouted all the way to our destination.
From Lilongwe, the three of us had a pleasant ride with a wealthy Malawian all the way to Blantyre. Blantyre is the commercial capital of Malawi and it is much more city-like than Lilongwe. There are sidewalks, high-rise buildings, and even a movie theater! There we met up with Jackie, Amy, and Bri at our classy hotel. (To give you an idea of how stylish the hotel was, the room could be rented by the hour). It was elating to see some of the far-flung Southern volunteers; we chatted about our mutual frustrations, individual accomplishments, and told lewd jokes. After a delicious pizza and ice cream with caramel dinner, we went out and hit the club.
There are two Chez Ntembas in Malawi, one in Lilongwe and the other in Blantyre. They are both covered in floor to ceiling mirrors with young, self-absorbed Malawians checking themselves out. The Malawian’s Narcisism is a spectacle in itself but the publicly acceptable homoerotic behavior in a decidedly homophobic nation put it over the top. I saw one Malawian man bent over grinding on another and nobody batted an eye. But that particular evening there was an added curiosity, a gigantic Indian from South Africa who took a liking to me.
At first I was thinking, “Who is this guy? He is huge!” He seemed to be there alone and when he looked at me, I decided smiling cordially was the best course of action. He took this as an invitation to start talking my ear off. We had a chat; he told me that he was an interior decorator and worked for the National Bank as a floor manager at a huge building, which we could see just outside the club. I thought this was an outlandish story, but didn’t perceive him to be a threat.
He ended up sort of dancing in our circle of friends. My PCV friends were initially leery of him, but they ended up chatting together. The real kicker was when I was dancing with my back to him and when I turned back he was swinging his t-shirt one handed over his head. Our circle instantly moved a good two meters away and he was asked to put his shirt back on. Which, thankfully, he cooperatively did. Good times out on the town in Blantyre, Malawi.
Our next move out to Mulanje District was an hour and a half mini-bus away. Mulanje is really a pleasant place; the mountain is awe-inspiring and weather conducive to emerald tea plantations. Amy played host and treated us to turkey, the only catch was we had to butcher it. The process, which Tomas and I handled, wasn’t tidy. However the end product was cooked well and tasty.
We rose early to meet our guide and porter, Gift and Jackson, for the epic ascent. They were very strong and consumed little food or water. While our group was out of shape, sweated profusely, and breathed heavily the whole way. Though this physical hardship didn’t diminish our enjoyment of the surrounding environment. We started out amongst verdant tealeaves, bunches of bananas, and prickly pineapples below the clouds. Slowly we passed through the mist to reach the dry grass of the alpine plateau. It reminded me of how much I enjoy the tenacious flora of high altitude habitats and of early backpacking adventures in the Olympic National Forest, Washington.
In total we spent four days hiking around and three nights sleeping on top of the mountain. All of the cabins we slept in were nice and cozy: The first had an intoxicating Mulanje Cedar scent, the second had a great view of the flat land below, and the third had weak solar powered lights. However, none of the buildings did a particularly good job of keeping us warm so we had lots of snuggle parties. Unfortunately, I became seriously congested and snored a lot. My most sincere apologies to those of you who were there. But we had a good time climbing to the highest peak, which was very cold, and making jokes.
We came up with all sorts of silly jokes. There was a running joke about Colin starting a goat etiquette school to teach an imaginary goat named Scarlet to be a debutante and drink tea. Absurd stories about all the members of our PC Environment 2010 group were made up to confuse the next intake of volunteers. Three of us also ripped our pants on the mountain. I ended up with a rip that went from my hip to my knee and walked all the way down the mountain with my underwear exposed. And everyone was very flatulent which provided lots of disgusting yet humorous moments. Being caught in a narrow space between rocks when someone farts is horrible for you, but funny for others.
Upon descending the mountain, we made a dash to pick up stuff from Amy’s house and get back to Blantyre. This was extremely fun because all six of us took bike taxis. The spectacle of six white people with huge backpacks strapped on riding through a rural Malawian village was quite hilarious. I’d already discussed the possibility of a bike taxi race at Camp Sky. But at the time no one wanted to participate because they felt it was degrading to treat Malawian bike taxi drivers like racehorses. In the end, we had a race anyway!
To round out the trip south we went to the only movie theater in the entire country and watched Youth In Revolt. Of course, we’d timed our trip to coincide with the half off Wednesday tickets and the rest of our behavior was a classic demonstration of PC poverty. Before the movie, we went to the grocery store next door, bought food, and then hid it in our pants and bags. Inside the atrium, we gawked as local expatriates gathered and bought popcorn from the confectionery while we cringed at the prices. Peace Corps volunteers are very different from expatriates; from our lifestyle to the nature of our work in country, we are just two dissimilar animals. Point in case was when all the other members of the audience got in their cars to go home and we started waving our hands to hitch a ride. All part of the Peace Corps odyssey, I suppose.
Overall, my first trip to the south was very enjoyable. Good friends, good food, and just good times for all. I’m safe, healthy, and optimistic about the future. Love to all my family and friends abroad, stay safe.
Friday, September 3, 2010
My Peace Corps Family
I’ve spent the last two weeks out of site and I’m completely ready to go back to site now and try some more. I’ve really enjoyed the time I’ve spent away and it has given me the opportunity to realize at least one thing; Peace Corps Malawi really has become like a family to me. I climbed Mt. Mulanje with some friends from my Environment group and it really showed me how I truly relate to them like family.
The way they would tease me and I knew it was out of love; the way I would snore causing them to lose sleep and they would still let me join the cuddle party; And how they would do things that I found annoying but I let it pass cause I know that they have other great qualities. Maybe due to my increase patience I treat them better than I treated my own brother and sister who’ve annoyed me in the past.
One great example is a certain little “joke” that some of my fellow environment volunteers are “playing” on me. When I was at camp Sky I spent the night in the room of another volunteer and from that came a short quip that I am gay. Now it is one thing to just to say. “ Sam is gay, ha ha ha!” But it is another when you go all out and perpetuate this rumor to the point of where people are asking me after several degrees of separation if I am gay! Even more so when I know these guys are doing it on a continual basis. But I suppose that I don’t get pissed because I just shake my head, call the creator of this rumor a Stupid Asshole and know that he isn’t truly being malicious and just wants laughs. It is like one of those obnoxious family jokes that you are the butt of and everybody likes except you, but you kind of smirk every once in a while and you don’t fight too much cause your family loves you anyway.
They are like my family in another way, I don’t get to pick them, I am stuck with them, and I don’t have to like them but I do have to love them. Oh Peace Corps, what a funny institution you are.
I'll blog about Mt. Mulanje later. Love you guys!
The way they would tease me and I knew it was out of love; the way I would snore causing them to lose sleep and they would still let me join the cuddle party; And how they would do things that I found annoying but I let it pass cause I know that they have other great qualities. Maybe due to my increase patience I treat them better than I treated my own brother and sister who’ve annoyed me in the past.
One great example is a certain little “joke” that some of my fellow environment volunteers are “playing” on me. When I was at camp Sky I spent the night in the room of another volunteer and from that came a short quip that I am gay. Now it is one thing to just to say. “ Sam is gay, ha ha ha!” But it is another when you go all out and perpetuate this rumor to the point of where people are asking me after several degrees of separation if I am gay! Even more so when I know these guys are doing it on a continual basis. But I suppose that I don’t get pissed because I just shake my head, call the creator of this rumor a Stupid Asshole and know that he isn’t truly being malicious and just wants laughs. It is like one of those obnoxious family jokes that you are the butt of and everybody likes except you, but you kind of smirk every once in a while and you don’t fight too much cause your family loves you anyway.
They are like my family in another way, I don’t get to pick them, I am stuck with them, and I don’t have to like them but I do have to love them. Oh Peace Corps, what a funny institution you are.
I'll blog about Mt. Mulanje later. Love you guys!
Utopia;A good place that is no place
Dear Friends and Family,I have just been afflicted by one of the regular, yet temporary, electrical power failures in Malawi. Of course, I had to feel secure in my place in the universe and I neglected to save my thoughtful blog post. The following will be some semblance of what I had written before. I am at the Kasungu Teacher’s Training College to attend a Peace Corps sponsored event called Camp Sky. Camp Sky allows Peace Corps Volunteers to select a student or two from their local secondary school to participate in a variety of educational and extracurricular courses to be a part of a unique intellectual environment. They take classes in a diverse array of subjects such as, solar engineering, theater, dichotomous plants, health, and mud stove construction (my group) amongst others. Most these youths have never done much travelling but now they have earned the opportunity to go to another part of the country for two weeks and even a field trip to the capital. They are going to see the parliament building and the World Bank offices, but I assume like last year their favorite stop will be the airport to eat lunch. Along with the privilege of travel, they are getting to socialize with their peers from around the country. Different tribes, different locals, and (much to their pubescent enjoyment) a mixed gender crowd has all come together for them to learn from. The level of intellectual activity I’ve seen amongst these Malawians is refreshing and inspiring. I live in an area where I am one of the few literate people; I can write and read A-Z. This is an accomplishment that I never thought much of until I moved to a community where few people have that skill. This atmosphere fools me into believing that I am the only person who has ever been to school. These kids shocked me back to reality with their articulate answers to our questions about the environmental benefits of mud stoves. They used a foreign language to eloquently explain to four disorganized Peace Corps Volunteers all about the ills of deforestation. I felt so thankful to know that there are people, Malawians, who are thinking, learning, and want to make changes to their own country. The youth truly are the future and I’m more determined than ever to go back to my village and work with them. This enthusiasm my quickly fade when I return to the reality of my own village where the kids are illiterate, rambunctious, primary student, but I’ll try to roll with it right now. On a different subject, I went to see Lake Malawi for my first time. It was a nice relaxing break from life at site. I went to the house of these Filipino VSO volunteers who treated me very nicely and got to walk their dog. I was feeling very fed up with things and very frustrated, wondering if I could really carry on with life out there in the village and then I visited a slice of the comfortable, decadent, secure world that America epitomizes. There is a luxurious hotel chain in Malawi called Sun Bird. I went to their Livingstonia Beach branch at Senga Bay to get a beer. As I sat at the bar and thought, “Ah, this seems nice and civilized,” I glanced over at the television –void of all sanity in the known universe- and questioned myself. There was a “news” program on called “The Political Man”. The title leads me to believe that there is some form of hominid more evolved than Homo Sapiens like myself, Homo Politicus? But the program was the very antithesis of humanity as I know it. Humanity is rational, tries to be objective, praises cognitive effort, but what I viewed lacked all of these characteristics. Sensational sheep herding is more what I observed. Blinding graphics combined with a man that would have been perfect calling out every choreographed move of a professional wrestling match attempting to sound serious about the “big” events of world. The horror of remembering what America and much of the world is being spoon fed on a daily basis . . . I was hit by a sudden sense of shock, like cold water being tossed in your face when dozing bringing you to a terrified state of wide eyed alertness and panic. I turned to my fellow comrade in arms and said that I’ll never go back. There are so many strange sicknesses of the mind that are indulged in the USA and they make my skin crawl. But there are also many sicknesses of both the intellect and body that plague people here. I suppose nowhere is perfect.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
The regular irregularity of life in Malawi
Life is settling into a continuous stream of abnormally normal events that I think I just have to tell you guys and explain a little bit.
Several weeks ago I turned on my phone in the middle of the day I turned on my phone to make a call. After completing my own call I left my phone on and was suddenly bobbarded by an unknown numbers electromagnetic radiation. The voice on the end of the phone was that of an English woman's, strange and unexpected. She claimed to be Fiona Melville of the BBC World News and that just left me thinking she'd gotten the wrong number. What could she want with a lowly Peace Corps Volunteer like myself? As it turned out she didn't really know either! There is some sort of contest for different technological applications in the third world and an application had been written for a peanut sheller that my predessesor had brought to the village. She told me how the project has been such a success in Ghana but the entry had been written about Malawi. I retorted with the reality that they are different places and things haven't been to successful here. There aren't any commercial markets that are readily available for shelled peanuts here in Malawi. Thus the village never uses that machine, but if they had an oil press maybe they would. We agreed to spin the story and talk about how the peanut sheller is a piece of a larger puzzle and arrange to have her come to the village and meet with me.
The day before she came, she explained in greater detail that the application had been written because the sheller had been used to sell peanuts and raise money for a borehole that stopped a chronic cholera problem in my area. This didn't really help because my villagers told me that no one had ever used the machine excet for the three times they used our defunct oil press. I thus went on a mad search for those that new about the use of the sheller. Everyone knew about getting money through selling hoe handles, but not shelling nuts. On my way the next morning to meet Ms. Melville I bumped into a friend of mine and I he knew that the machine had been carted off to neighboring areas to shell nuts for a company that has since closed shop. So because a small amount of money was raised with a currently idle machine the story was infact substantiated (of course this was glossed over in our filming).
The filming was a ton of fun! She filmed the chairwoman of the borehole commity talk about how great the borehole was. The kids got super excited and she filmed them singing some song in their classroom. We had a slightly more honest segment that was done with the lady from my oil pressing group on how we need a press to make the machine useful. They filmed the use of a pump that they donated (thus reiforcing the idea that white people bring money and objects). We filmed lots of charcoal related stuff and then she filmed yourstruly talking about the need to generate income or they will have no option but to tear down the forest and make charcoal. Really the best thing to come out of it was that I got a free ride into the capital and was taken out to Chinese food.
Oh, you thought that I was only going to regail you with my tales of stardom, oh no. I also have to tell you about my journey to the land of Sara Lane. Sara Lane is another volunteer from my group and we wanted to have a little party at her site. She said that the directions to get to her site would be in my e-mail and so I trusted that they would be there. When I checked the e-mail, there were no instructions on how to get to my destination. Luckily, one person sitting around the office happened to have been to the site. I got some directions, that were very good, but I still ende up walking for five hours becuase I missed the last flatbed truck that was going to her site. I arrived right before sundown (darn those Malawians and their sense of everything being close) and surprised everyone. They didn't think that I was coming by that late in the day and, frankly, I didn't think that I would make it either. That night was awesome! We ate psuedo-mexican food and had our own rave. The rave consisted of techno music being played at very low volume from the 90s and leftover glowsticks from the last volunteer. It was really funny how we were jumping up and down and shuffling about at such volumes that you really couldn't hear the music. It was good times and we need that sort of relief. I love you fellow volunteers. Ok, all of you out in internet land, love you and take care! Read this now and read something else latter! Peace.
I also read the botany of desire and that was a good book. More or less. bye.
Several weeks ago I turned on my phone in the middle of the day I turned on my phone to make a call. After completing my own call I left my phone on and was suddenly bobbarded by an unknown numbers electromagnetic radiation. The voice on the end of the phone was that of an English woman's, strange and unexpected. She claimed to be Fiona Melville of the BBC World News and that just left me thinking she'd gotten the wrong number. What could she want with a lowly Peace Corps Volunteer like myself? As it turned out she didn't really know either! There is some sort of contest for different technological applications in the third world and an application had been written for a peanut sheller that my predessesor had brought to the village. She told me how the project has been such a success in Ghana but the entry had been written about Malawi. I retorted with the reality that they are different places and things haven't been to successful here. There aren't any commercial markets that are readily available for shelled peanuts here in Malawi. Thus the village never uses that machine, but if they had an oil press maybe they would. We agreed to spin the story and talk about how the peanut sheller is a piece of a larger puzzle and arrange to have her come to the village and meet with me.
The day before she came, she explained in greater detail that the application had been written because the sheller had been used to sell peanuts and raise money for a borehole that stopped a chronic cholera problem in my area. This didn't really help because my villagers told me that no one had ever used the machine excet for the three times they used our defunct oil press. I thus went on a mad search for those that new about the use of the sheller. Everyone knew about getting money through selling hoe handles, but not shelling nuts. On my way the next morning to meet Ms. Melville I bumped into a friend of mine and I he knew that the machine had been carted off to neighboring areas to shell nuts for a company that has since closed shop. So because a small amount of money was raised with a currently idle machine the story was infact substantiated (of course this was glossed over in our filming).
The filming was a ton of fun! She filmed the chairwoman of the borehole commity talk about how great the borehole was. The kids got super excited and she filmed them singing some song in their classroom. We had a slightly more honest segment that was done with the lady from my oil pressing group on how we need a press to make the machine useful. They filmed the use of a pump that they donated (thus reiforcing the idea that white people bring money and objects). We filmed lots of charcoal related stuff and then she filmed yourstruly talking about the need to generate income or they will have no option but to tear down the forest and make charcoal. Really the best thing to come out of it was that I got a free ride into the capital and was taken out to Chinese food.
Oh, you thought that I was only going to regail you with my tales of stardom, oh no. I also have to tell you about my journey to the land of Sara Lane. Sara Lane is another volunteer from my group and we wanted to have a little party at her site. She said that the directions to get to her site would be in my e-mail and so I trusted that they would be there. When I checked the e-mail, there were no instructions on how to get to my destination. Luckily, one person sitting around the office happened to have been to the site. I got some directions, that were very good, but I still ende up walking for five hours becuase I missed the last flatbed truck that was going to her site. I arrived right before sundown (darn those Malawians and their sense of everything being close) and surprised everyone. They didn't think that I was coming by that late in the day and, frankly, I didn't think that I would make it either. That night was awesome! We ate psuedo-mexican food and had our own rave. The rave consisted of techno music being played at very low volume from the 90s and leftover glowsticks from the last volunteer. It was really funny how we were jumping up and down and shuffling about at such volumes that you really couldn't hear the music. It was good times and we need that sort of relief. I love you fellow volunteers. Ok, all of you out in internet land, love you and take care! Read this now and read something else latter! Peace.
I also read the botany of desire and that was a good book. More or less. bye.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Meeting Bingu
A very funny thing happened yesterday, I attended a party held by His Excellency Professor Bingu wa Mutharika President of the Republic of Malawi and First Lady, Madame Callista Mutharika at their estate. The function was a luncheon held to recognize the work of the Peace Corps in Malawi. I would have to say that it was perhaps one of the most surreal experiences of my life.
The whole of Peace Corps Malawi assembled at the office in the morning (minus a few silly people who were absent). We milled about and marveled at how we can actually look presentable and not like degenerate Americans in Africa. The busses arrived a while later and we were loaded up to embark on our voyage another universe.
The gates of the grounds were the first thing I found to be silly; a stately metal fence with large brick pillars for cars to pass through and then a chain link fence that was over grown with weeds. That was the beginning of the ridiculousness, but far from the end. It turned out that it was only a superficial barrier, there was a much more substantial fence inside that one. When we hit that point we got off the bus and were patted down before being directed to a large tent, with a billion air conditioners. It was then that I was positive I had arrived at the circus.
Inside was the parallel dimension I had been searching for: tables were set up with state china dishes and silver wear, the scaffolding was covered in red, black, and green fabric, chandeliers hung from the ceiling, video cameras were everywhere, the marching bands instruments were in one corner, a stage for the jam band was erected, and the obligatory pedestal and throne for the big man completed the mirage. The whole time it was quite difficult to remember I was in one of the poorest nations on the planet. Makes you think about how donor money is being spent across the world and the disparity between the haves and the have-nots.
The event was monotonous except for the surprise ending. We stood when Bingu entered, listened to the national anthem, ate a great meal, and drank a variety of alcoholic beverages. There was a spokes woman for the volunteers who gave an amazing speech in Chichewa, the country director for the Peace Corps spoke, and so did El Presidente. The kicker though was that at the end of the function Bingu demanded that we all dance and he danced with us. I shook his hand and we took the mandatory group photo.
All in all, it was a blast cause we got to eat and drink and dance and party and had the strange experience of meeting the leader of a country, an obscure African nation no less. As a side note, they televised a lot of the event on the evening news. I was sitting near one of the cameras and thus was frequently shown. In fact there was a solid 15-20 second close up of just my face as I sat and starred in awe. Good times.
In other news I had a divine revelation and now feel much better about being a Peace Corps volunteer. I came with the expectation to change people and their lives. The fact is though that I cannot change people or their lives but I can help them do it themselves if they want to. Therefore I have given up with the idea of trying and I am just going to give the people what they want, and that is to chat with them. They just want to talk to me and get to know me. I came cause I wanted to work, but they aren’t necessarily interested in working. But they do want to chat. And that is that.
The whole of Peace Corps Malawi assembled at the office in the morning (minus a few silly people who were absent). We milled about and marveled at how we can actually look presentable and not like degenerate Americans in Africa. The busses arrived a while later and we were loaded up to embark on our voyage another universe.
The gates of the grounds were the first thing I found to be silly; a stately metal fence with large brick pillars for cars to pass through and then a chain link fence that was over grown with weeds. That was the beginning of the ridiculousness, but far from the end. It turned out that it was only a superficial barrier, there was a much more substantial fence inside that one. When we hit that point we got off the bus and were patted down before being directed to a large tent, with a billion air conditioners. It was then that I was positive I had arrived at the circus.
Inside was the parallel dimension I had been searching for: tables were set up with state china dishes and silver wear, the scaffolding was covered in red, black, and green fabric, chandeliers hung from the ceiling, video cameras were everywhere, the marching bands instruments were in one corner, a stage for the jam band was erected, and the obligatory pedestal and throne for the big man completed the mirage. The whole time it was quite difficult to remember I was in one of the poorest nations on the planet. Makes you think about how donor money is being spent across the world and the disparity between the haves and the have-nots.
The event was monotonous except for the surprise ending. We stood when Bingu entered, listened to the national anthem, ate a great meal, and drank a variety of alcoholic beverages. There was a spokes woman for the volunteers who gave an amazing speech in Chichewa, the country director for the Peace Corps spoke, and so did El Presidente. The kicker though was that at the end of the function Bingu demanded that we all dance and he danced with us. I shook his hand and we took the mandatory group photo.
All in all, it was a blast cause we got to eat and drink and dance and party and had the strange experience of meeting the leader of a country, an obscure African nation no less. As a side note, they televised a lot of the event on the evening news. I was sitting near one of the cameras and thus was frequently shown. In fact there was a solid 15-20 second close up of just my face as I sat and starred in awe. Good times.
In other news I had a divine revelation and now feel much better about being a Peace Corps volunteer. I came with the expectation to change people and their lives. The fact is though that I cannot change people or their lives but I can help them do it themselves if they want to. Therefore I have given up with the idea of trying and I am just going to give the people what they want, and that is to chat with them. They just want to talk to me and get to know me. I came cause I wanted to work, but they aren’t necessarily interested in working. But they do want to chat. And that is that.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Happy Fourth of July!
Happy Fourth of July! It is officially the fourth of July here in Malawi and all of us folk here representing the good old USA have had our fun and are more or less all tuckered out. We had quite the celebration on the third; there was an official gathering at the US ambassadors house, the Peace Corps volunteers commandeered the local youth hostels as our hangout spots, and we danced the night away at more than a few of the local watering holes. And now, your faithful narrator is awake in the wee hours of the morning compiling this monologue.
Life at site has been a roller coaster of highs and lows thus I certainly needed to blow off a little steam. Just being with my peers acting like, and I use the term loosely, a “normal-twenty-something-year-old” was quite a relief. We made dick and fart jokes, we ate hamburgers, we went out dancing, and perhaps most importantly we imbibed alcoholic beverages. Ah, what a pleasant release from all the constraints of site.
Locals considering me getting water for myself ridiculous, waiting long amounts of time for transport, and the treacherous, uneven, long road that leads me to my house all work against me. But I take it in stride and get through it. Things appear to be coming together, slowly but surely. I’m holding some meetings soon to start tree nurseries and a nature club with the children. Last week I taught how to make mud stoves and I’ve got more “seminars” scheduled for the coming weeks. The work will come slowly with patience. People here love to chat and thus make friends before doing work. Opposite of the way my mind is structured. But anyway.
I’ve been reading a lot; lots of travel books, Chinese, and various development related thing to be specific. A fellow volunteer passed a wealth of environment materials on to me and another gave me some business teaching materials. Learning is a key part of Peace Corps work. There is a man who wants to make a fishpond and I know nothing about aquaculture, but I’m learning. I suppose that is one of the good things that college does for you, is provides you with ample opportunity to practice independent learning. Seems to be serving me well, ha ha!
I just want to add this random story to the mix of mangled thought I’m throwing onto the internet: There was a piece of Kraft cheese in a singlet package languishing on a table at the ambassadors house when the party was over. The cleaners would certainly have just thrown it out, so I snatched up this valuable commodity and put it in my breast pocket. I had full intention to eat it later after digesting a couple things. But what actually went down was that I got drunk and went out dancing where it became a prop that was shaken around by many volunteers in place of many 100 dollar bills. We made it rain in the club . . . rain cheese. Love ya'll take care!
Life at site has been a roller coaster of highs and lows thus I certainly needed to blow off a little steam. Just being with my peers acting like, and I use the term loosely, a “normal-twenty-something-year-old” was quite a relief. We made dick and fart jokes, we ate hamburgers, we went out dancing, and perhaps most importantly we imbibed alcoholic beverages. Ah, what a pleasant release from all the constraints of site.
Locals considering me getting water for myself ridiculous, waiting long amounts of time for transport, and the treacherous, uneven, long road that leads me to my house all work against me. But I take it in stride and get through it. Things appear to be coming together, slowly but surely. I’m holding some meetings soon to start tree nurseries and a nature club with the children. Last week I taught how to make mud stoves and I’ve got more “seminars” scheduled for the coming weeks. The work will come slowly with patience. People here love to chat and thus make friends before doing work. Opposite of the way my mind is structured. But anyway.
I’ve been reading a lot; lots of travel books, Chinese, and various development related thing to be specific. A fellow volunteer passed a wealth of environment materials on to me and another gave me some business teaching materials. Learning is a key part of Peace Corps work. There is a man who wants to make a fishpond and I know nothing about aquaculture, but I’m learning. I suppose that is one of the good things that college does for you, is provides you with ample opportunity to practice independent learning. Seems to be serving me well, ha ha!
I just want to add this random story to the mix of mangled thought I’m throwing onto the internet: There was a piece of Kraft cheese in a singlet package languishing on a table at the ambassadors house when the party was over. The cleaners would certainly have just thrown it out, so I snatched up this valuable commodity and put it in my breast pocket. I had full intention to eat it later after digesting a couple things. But what actually went down was that I got drunk and went out dancing where it became a prop that was shaken around by many volunteers in place of many 100 dollar bills. We made it rain in the club . . . rain cheese. Love ya'll take care!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
So, basically . . . . .
I don't get Africans. The mental process doesn't make sence. But at the same time i accpet it more and more. Things are moving along. I had a good meeting with my mushroom group and i'll teach the women in the group to make mud stoves next week. The world continues to turn.
This is an interesting lesson in why Africa is the way it is. Colonialism, African culture, human nature, and myself seem to be the topics of my strange education.
Take care all!
This is an interesting lesson in why Africa is the way it is. Colonialism, African culture, human nature, and myself seem to be the topics of my strange education.
Take care all!
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Culture and Mentality, can you divide the two?
Last night, I went out to a very interesting establishment, the paramount of Lilongwe’s cosmopolitan nightlife. It was a casino with an adjunct bar with a dance floor. There I wandered around and gazed on at this “Wonder of the Lilongwe World” – and Lilongwe is a world unto it’s own. There were Chinese businessmen who were endlessly slapping at the slot machines, men from South Asia crowding the black jack tables, and a smattering of people of European descent floating about.
In the true Malawian fashion, I sat down with some men who happened to be of Pakistani origin and started to chat. They were well to do businessmen and had very interesting things to tell me about why Malawi is the way it is. I know that leaves the uninitiated wondering how Malawi is, but that you’ll have to extrapolate from my blogs. The subject of culture was a continuous theme throughout the conversation. It made me realize that culture does matter and can really shape a country and its national character.
America is a land of all cultures and yet no culture. Immigrants from around the world go there and take with their own cultural heritage and undergo a sort of reciprocal cultural transmutation. They are transformed by what they arrive into and transmute what they find already established. The multiplicity of it all made me forget how profoundly important culture is. I never over emphasized my own culture and never wanted to downplay the other effect of others. And for some reason everything in China just made much more sense to me, much more natural. Though my first impressions of the Middle Kingdom were that it was dirty, I was never hit with the feeling of confusion as to how the people function. Perhaps I just have a greater cultural affinity for those people, I certainly gravitate towards them no matter what corner of the globe I’m at. Here, in this unfamiliar land, I’m constantly in a state of mental consternation.
I don’t really understand the way the people think here and I don’t understand the underlying logic of their culture. There is a habit of starting something and not finishing it; which just doesn’t make sense to me! Why would you start something and not finish it? Just don’t do the project at all, right? The gentlemen that I was chatting with at the casino explained this as a remnant of the colonial culture. For quite sometime, foreigners have been doing things for the people of Malawian. All the various tribes have been affected by this in a seemingly similar way – they became dependent. Malawi is a politically dependent country, and yet not. The most recent case of the homosexual men, where they were sentenced to 14 years in prison and then pardoned, shows how international donors have pull on this country. About 70% of the government’s budget comes from foreign aid. This nation is not fully free and independent. Economic independence seems to be the dominant factor in determining political self-determination.
I suppose that is why the goal of our organization is capacity building. Just trying to enable Malawians to do more things for themselves. Money makes the world go round, doesn’t it?
I just had an epiphany! There are many different tribes here in Malawi with differing cultures. What is really puzzling me isn’t so much the culture of the people as it is there mentality. Which makes me think that the underlying root is more economic than anything else. But I’m still not sure; I’ll continue trying to figure it out.
Any thoughts from the outside world? I’m right here in the thick of it and I’m definitely confused.
In the true Malawian fashion, I sat down with some men who happened to be of Pakistani origin and started to chat. They were well to do businessmen and had very interesting things to tell me about why Malawi is the way it is. I know that leaves the uninitiated wondering how Malawi is, but that you’ll have to extrapolate from my blogs. The subject of culture was a continuous theme throughout the conversation. It made me realize that culture does matter and can really shape a country and its national character.
America is a land of all cultures and yet no culture. Immigrants from around the world go there and take with their own cultural heritage and undergo a sort of reciprocal cultural transmutation. They are transformed by what they arrive into and transmute what they find already established. The multiplicity of it all made me forget how profoundly important culture is. I never over emphasized my own culture and never wanted to downplay the other effect of others. And for some reason everything in China just made much more sense to me, much more natural. Though my first impressions of the Middle Kingdom were that it was dirty, I was never hit with the feeling of confusion as to how the people function. Perhaps I just have a greater cultural affinity for those people, I certainly gravitate towards them no matter what corner of the globe I’m at. Here, in this unfamiliar land, I’m constantly in a state of mental consternation.
I don’t really understand the way the people think here and I don’t understand the underlying logic of their culture. There is a habit of starting something and not finishing it; which just doesn’t make sense to me! Why would you start something and not finish it? Just don’t do the project at all, right? The gentlemen that I was chatting with at the casino explained this as a remnant of the colonial culture. For quite sometime, foreigners have been doing things for the people of Malawian. All the various tribes have been affected by this in a seemingly similar way – they became dependent. Malawi is a politically dependent country, and yet not. The most recent case of the homosexual men, where they were sentenced to 14 years in prison and then pardoned, shows how international donors have pull on this country. About 70% of the government’s budget comes from foreign aid. This nation is not fully free and independent. Economic independence seems to be the dominant factor in determining political self-determination.
I suppose that is why the goal of our organization is capacity building. Just trying to enable Malawians to do more things for themselves. Money makes the world go round, doesn’t it?
I just had an epiphany! There are many different tribes here in Malawi with differing cultures. What is really puzzling me isn’t so much the culture of the people as it is there mentality. Which makes me think that the underlying root is more economic than anything else. But I’m still not sure; I’ll continue trying to figure it out.
Any thoughts from the outside world? I’m right here in the thick of it and I’m definitely confused.
A few things that have struck me . . . .
Ladies and Gentleman, I’m still alive, if only barely, hahahah! The dementia is starting to set in! Mwhahahaha! This life that I am living is so very different from those that I’ve known before, although there is one element that ties them all together, it is a strange life. The sheer contrast to my previous life is far to overwhelming for me to cope with right now. My mind is quite a jumble of what to write about. The basics are that I am eating well, I’ve not been sick, and that things are still going. As I’ve been quoted as saying, “Always forward, never straight.”
Perhaps, I’ll just pick and choose a couple of things that have struck me as different and wrote this in a James Joyce-esque stream of consciousness sort of way. Let’s give it a try, shall we? DISCLAIMER: None the things listed below are meant to belittle the Malawian people.
1.Fish tied to the front grill of mini buses barreling down the highways. This is a unique phenomenon that I was really taken aback by. The first time that I witnessed it I naively thought, “Oh, look as a symbol of how much these people like fish they strapped some fake fish to their care. Oh, isn’t that cute.” But that didn’t really make any sense. I asked about it and I got the simple explanation that it is a method to dry fish. Now you’d think with the way they use charcoal and firewood with reckless abandon that a little to smoke the fish would be a good way to preserve them. But no, here in Malawi they strap them to the front of the cars, blaze down the road, and pick up little bits of extra insect protein as they go.
2.The facts that I have seen no Malawian in this entire country use the restroom once! When I was living with the Chingualu family in Dedza I never saw a single person use the bathroom once. Now, I am spending lots of time at my landlord’s house and I never see any of them use the toilet. Apparently, the reason for this is that Malawians don’t like it when other people know they are defecating. This drives the locals to do two things that I find silly; one is to stealthily use the facilities by cover of darkness, and the other is to cop a squat in the cornfields. The fields do need to be fertilized, but I can approve of untreated waste being dumped in the open when cholera is a major concern here.
3. How incredibly objectified I feel in this country! Being a male who grew up in the United States, I successfully avoided being thought of as an emotional object. However the Malawians have cut me down to size. My landlord, who is 70 years old and studied agriculture at the University of Massachusetts, tells me that when he was a little boy in Southern Rhodesia (present day Zimbabwe) white people weren’t considered people. White people weren’t “anthu=people” because we had no souls! When little children see me, they scream, “Give me money!” (Makes me question the merits of international aid programs) The children stare at me, which is “normal”, but then they also follow me. That makes sense too, cause they really have nothing to do, no toys to play with, and no place to go to “chill”. What makes me feel dehumanized is when I tell them in their own language not to follow me, they repeat what I say, laugh, and continue to follow me. The adults also laugh at me when I do normal things that the Malawians do. I’m very accustomed to being stared at, with and without gaping mouths. But when I’m treated like that it makes me feel as if they don’t recognize I have feelings- a soul if you will.
4. The jealousy of the Malawians in their society. My village is more or less all extended family. But they are very jealous of each other and covet many material possessions of the other villagers. It causes them to be very cruel to each other. A very common occurrence is for villagers that plant trees, especially fruit trees, to have them uprooted. Or another more anecdotal example was when a pastor told me how higher leaders of his church wouldn’t help facilitate the creation of a pen pal system for Malawians and members of the church abroad. He said they didn’t want other people to learn to speak English well. These things don’t make sense to me. Why not steal the fruit of your uncle’s trees? Why hold down poor children who just want to learn? It appears to work as follows; in a society where everyone is living in abject poverty even the smallest bit of property or knowledge can be used to make an individual feel superior. The result is that no advancement in their world is ever made. They have a very strange culture of jealousy, whose ugly head is only starting to be reared.
Hmm, that all does seem a little bit negative. Let’s see if I can think of something happy to write about.
Oh here is just something that I have been musing about that makes me laugh. I’ve been walking around meeting the locals and whenever I go about they always give me peanuts. So, I’ve always got peanuts to eat and that is a good source of protein. I’m really thankful for the food type things I’ve got going on for me here.
I get so excited now whenever I go into town and just drink a Coca Cola or have a bag of salt and vinegar chips. I never knew how awesome processed foods were until I started a diet that involves pretty much zero processed foods. The guilt factor of shoving handfuls of lays potato chips in my mouth is gone! And I found this macadamia nut honey that is amazing! And there is this farm, Mchenga, they produce real milk that is so rich I can’t help but buy at least a liter each time I go to town and chug it on the spot. I never knew the luxury of having such a varied nutritious diet. Nor did I ever really appreciate eating three sumptuous meals a day. Many people eat just one meal a day in my community and it consists of just corn mush. Very, very sad.
Anyway, I’m Ok. Things are moving. I’ll report in later. Love ya’ll!
Perhaps, I’ll just pick and choose a couple of things that have struck me as different and wrote this in a James Joyce-esque stream of consciousness sort of way. Let’s give it a try, shall we? DISCLAIMER: None the things listed below are meant to belittle the Malawian people.
1.Fish tied to the front grill of mini buses barreling down the highways. This is a unique phenomenon that I was really taken aback by. The first time that I witnessed it I naively thought, “Oh, look as a symbol of how much these people like fish they strapped some fake fish to their care. Oh, isn’t that cute.” But that didn’t really make any sense. I asked about it and I got the simple explanation that it is a method to dry fish. Now you’d think with the way they use charcoal and firewood with reckless abandon that a little to smoke the fish would be a good way to preserve them. But no, here in Malawi they strap them to the front of the cars, blaze down the road, and pick up little bits of extra insect protein as they go.
2.The facts that I have seen no Malawian in this entire country use the restroom once! When I was living with the Chingualu family in Dedza I never saw a single person use the bathroom once. Now, I am spending lots of time at my landlord’s house and I never see any of them use the toilet. Apparently, the reason for this is that Malawians don’t like it when other people know they are defecating. This drives the locals to do two things that I find silly; one is to stealthily use the facilities by cover of darkness, and the other is to cop a squat in the cornfields. The fields do need to be fertilized, but I can approve of untreated waste being dumped in the open when cholera is a major concern here.
3. How incredibly objectified I feel in this country! Being a male who grew up in the United States, I successfully avoided being thought of as an emotional object. However the Malawians have cut me down to size. My landlord, who is 70 years old and studied agriculture at the University of Massachusetts, tells me that when he was a little boy in Southern Rhodesia (present day Zimbabwe) white people weren’t considered people. White people weren’t “anthu=people” because we had no souls! When little children see me, they scream, “Give me money!” (Makes me question the merits of international aid programs) The children stare at me, which is “normal”, but then they also follow me. That makes sense too, cause they really have nothing to do, no toys to play with, and no place to go to “chill”. What makes me feel dehumanized is when I tell them in their own language not to follow me, they repeat what I say, laugh, and continue to follow me. The adults also laugh at me when I do normal things that the Malawians do. I’m very accustomed to being stared at, with and without gaping mouths. But when I’m treated like that it makes me feel as if they don’t recognize I have feelings- a soul if you will.
4. The jealousy of the Malawians in their society. My village is more or less all extended family. But they are very jealous of each other and covet many material possessions of the other villagers. It causes them to be very cruel to each other. A very common occurrence is for villagers that plant trees, especially fruit trees, to have them uprooted. Or another more anecdotal example was when a pastor told me how higher leaders of his church wouldn’t help facilitate the creation of a pen pal system for Malawians and members of the church abroad. He said they didn’t want other people to learn to speak English well. These things don’t make sense to me. Why not steal the fruit of your uncle’s trees? Why hold down poor children who just want to learn? It appears to work as follows; in a society where everyone is living in abject poverty even the smallest bit of property or knowledge can be used to make an individual feel superior. The result is that no advancement in their world is ever made. They have a very strange culture of jealousy, whose ugly head is only starting to be reared.
Hmm, that all does seem a little bit negative. Let’s see if I can think of something happy to write about.
Oh here is just something that I have been musing about that makes me laugh. I’ve been walking around meeting the locals and whenever I go about they always give me peanuts. So, I’ve always got peanuts to eat and that is a good source of protein. I’m really thankful for the food type things I’ve got going on for me here.
I get so excited now whenever I go into town and just drink a Coca Cola or have a bag of salt and vinegar chips. I never knew how awesome processed foods were until I started a diet that involves pretty much zero processed foods. The guilt factor of shoving handfuls of lays potato chips in my mouth is gone! And I found this macadamia nut honey that is amazing! And there is this farm, Mchenga, they produce real milk that is so rich I can’t help but buy at least a liter each time I go to town and chug it on the spot. I never knew the luxury of having such a varied nutritious diet. Nor did I ever really appreciate eating three sumptuous meals a day. Many people eat just one meal a day in my community and it consists of just corn mush. Very, very sad.
Anyway, I’m Ok. Things are moving. I’ll report in later. Love ya’ll!
Monday, May 10, 2010
Beginning Life in The Village
I am now in the hinterlands at my remote village of Chiyenda in the district of Dowa. Surrounded by the rolling hills and baobab trees, I’m slowly adjusting to this leisurely pace of life. The glorious ceremony at the US ambassador’s lavish residence and my speech in Chichewa came and went. Now, to quote the late, great Michael Jackson, “ This is it.”
If you travel about 70 kilometers on the paved Salima Road heading toward Senga Bay you’ll see a dirt road. Don’t blink! If you do, you’ll certainly pass it by (I have both times I’ve come out here). Take that bumpy, undulating road for about 6 kilometers and you’ll be somewhere near my humble abode (emphasis on the humble).
My home is very typical Malawian house. It is made of fired, red clay bricks and slapped together with mud. The floor is smooth cement, slightly more elegant than the smeared mud norm. The windows and doors have wooden frames with rough timber planks swinging precariously on rusted hinges. Upon arrival, I upgraded the window latches from the standard bent nail to cheap brass bolts made in China. WOW, aren’t I classy. The roof is thatched grass with a layer of black plastic to keep out the rain. It sounds ghetto, but actually it is much cooler than corrugated iron sheets in the hot months. I’m pretty pleased with my accommodations. It’s just my roommates, the bats, haven’t been potty trained. But it can’t be all roses, ay?
My landlord is really awesome. He is a gentleman of venerable age and was educated at the University of Massachusetts during the late sixties. Mr. Masangano speaks English very well and is quite forward thinking. I feel very fortunate to have at least one person in my community who can comprehend the challenges of life abroad. His family wife and children are also well educated. They can all speak English to varying degrees, some quite well. At the very least, they completed high school. Finishing high school is actually a pretty high level of education in a community with only a primary school. He owns a lot of land and as part of my rent I get an entire hillside to farm. It is a beautiful hillside that overlooks a valley, the Lilongwe River and the Thuma Forest Reserve.
The forest reserve is a verdant territory that is in constant battle with the surrounding communities. The uneducated, subsistence farmers charge into the woodlands and illegally extract charcoal and bamboo to sell. And in retaliation the elephants come forth to eat the maize crops of the villagers. It is a vicious cycle where the humans destroy the bamboo supply of the elephant’s, which forces them to eat the human’s food. This unchecked aggression will not stand. Thus I’m confronted with the problem of finding alternative methods of making a living. Hopefully, something will present itself in time.
In the meantime, I’m just getting my bearings and meeting the community. Although I can’t really believe it myself, I’m somewhat of a figure of authority. I’m meeting the local chiefs of various ranks and getting to know everyone. Which is a bit of a trick since I can’t speak their language well and few of them speak English. Right now, both parties have settled for very rudimentary communication. This morning I was hanging out with two guys that were building my grass fence and they seemed to appreciate my attempt at dialogue. However my head began to hurt after a certain amount of incomprehensible, high velocity vernacular buzzed like angry hornets in one ear and out the other. The first four months of service Peace Corps tells volunteers to just work on our language skills, integrate into the community, try to identify possible projects and find motivated people to work with. I get the feeling all of this will take quite a bit of time.
The pace of things here is very slow and unfamiliar to me. People allow the days to drift by and don’t visibly feel the pressure created by the brevity of life. Which strikes me as ironic because the average life expectancy is about 47 years old. The construction of my dish rack, a basic wooden rack of posts and crossbeams, is a multi-day process. To me, it’s bizarre to allow such a simple undertaking to linger on for such a long time. But then again, I suppose the perception of time is relative and what’s the hurry when you are ignorant to any other lifestyle. Life in the fast lane will surely make you lose your mind. Well, for a high energy, goal oriented person like myself, life in the slow lane is also a bit maddening.
This whole experience will certainly be an exercise in patience. Economic development is a gradual process and I’m starting to understand why. Ha, even my appreciation and respect for this maxim is coming slowly. Maybe, this is another one of life’s lessons that can only be understood slowly. Time will tell . . . ha ha ha . . .
Love to all my family and friends. Peace be with you.
If you travel about 70 kilometers on the paved Salima Road heading toward Senga Bay you’ll see a dirt road. Don’t blink! If you do, you’ll certainly pass it by (I have both times I’ve come out here). Take that bumpy, undulating road for about 6 kilometers and you’ll be somewhere near my humble abode (emphasis on the humble).
My home is very typical Malawian house. It is made of fired, red clay bricks and slapped together with mud. The floor is smooth cement, slightly more elegant than the smeared mud norm. The windows and doors have wooden frames with rough timber planks swinging precariously on rusted hinges. Upon arrival, I upgraded the window latches from the standard bent nail to cheap brass bolts made in China. WOW, aren’t I classy. The roof is thatched grass with a layer of black plastic to keep out the rain. It sounds ghetto, but actually it is much cooler than corrugated iron sheets in the hot months. I’m pretty pleased with my accommodations. It’s just my roommates, the bats, haven’t been potty trained. But it can’t be all roses, ay?
My landlord is really awesome. He is a gentleman of venerable age and was educated at the University of Massachusetts during the late sixties. Mr. Masangano speaks English very well and is quite forward thinking. I feel very fortunate to have at least one person in my community who can comprehend the challenges of life abroad. His family wife and children are also well educated. They can all speak English to varying degrees, some quite well. At the very least, they completed high school. Finishing high school is actually a pretty high level of education in a community with only a primary school. He owns a lot of land and as part of my rent I get an entire hillside to farm. It is a beautiful hillside that overlooks a valley, the Lilongwe River and the Thuma Forest Reserve.
The forest reserve is a verdant territory that is in constant battle with the surrounding communities. The uneducated, subsistence farmers charge into the woodlands and illegally extract charcoal and bamboo to sell. And in retaliation the elephants come forth to eat the maize crops of the villagers. It is a vicious cycle where the humans destroy the bamboo supply of the elephant’s, which forces them to eat the human’s food. This unchecked aggression will not stand. Thus I’m confronted with the problem of finding alternative methods of making a living. Hopefully, something will present itself in time.
In the meantime, I’m just getting my bearings and meeting the community. Although I can’t really believe it myself, I’m somewhat of a figure of authority. I’m meeting the local chiefs of various ranks and getting to know everyone. Which is a bit of a trick since I can’t speak their language well and few of them speak English. Right now, both parties have settled for very rudimentary communication. This morning I was hanging out with two guys that were building my grass fence and they seemed to appreciate my attempt at dialogue. However my head began to hurt after a certain amount of incomprehensible, high velocity vernacular buzzed like angry hornets in one ear and out the other. The first four months of service Peace Corps tells volunteers to just work on our language skills, integrate into the community, try to identify possible projects and find motivated people to work with. I get the feeling all of this will take quite a bit of time.
The pace of things here is very slow and unfamiliar to me. People allow the days to drift by and don’t visibly feel the pressure created by the brevity of life. Which strikes me as ironic because the average life expectancy is about 47 years old. The construction of my dish rack, a basic wooden rack of posts and crossbeams, is a multi-day process. To me, it’s bizarre to allow such a simple undertaking to linger on for such a long time. But then again, I suppose the perception of time is relative and what’s the hurry when you are ignorant to any other lifestyle. Life in the fast lane will surely make you lose your mind. Well, for a high energy, goal oriented person like myself, life in the slow lane is also a bit maddening.
This whole experience will certainly be an exercise in patience. Economic development is a gradual process and I’m starting to understand why. Ha, even my appreciation and respect for this maxim is coming slowly. Maybe, this is another one of life’s lessons that can only be understood slowly. Time will tell . . . ha ha ha . . .
Love to all my family and friends. Peace be with you.
Monday, April 26, 2010
My first post in Malawi!
Dear family, friends, and adoring fans around the world, this is my first post of substance from Malawi. I’ve journeyed from the beautiful shores of my homeland, to the frigid land of my forefathers (Pennsylvania), to venture to a place no Engelman has ever gone before - Malawi. My goal is to bring ya’ll up to speed on what’s been going on this side of the equator. However, please excuse this missive if you find it a tad bit mechanical or sterile. The amount and variation in the emotions, misadventures, and new experiences I’ve had is too much to relay succinctly. Hopefully in the future I’ll be able to post regularly and provide detailed accounts of my activities that are informative and not so stiff.
Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? I left home on a red-eye flight on the evening of March 25, 2010 heading to Philadelphia to begin my odyssey into the unknown. The brief orientation held on the east coast was redundant and unnecessary. There was nothing said that hasn’t been repeated a million times since we arrived in Malawi. But it was the place I met my fellow trainees, ate an authentic Philly Cheese-Stake sandwich, and ate one last authentic Chinese meal in a Chinatown.
The bus from Philly to New York was far too early and the plane ride from New York was long and uneventful. But at the Johannesburg airport I bumped into a crew of Chinese people, and my suspicion about the creeping presence of the Chinese in Africa was confirmed. The flight from J-burg to Lilongwe was short and when we arrived there was a throng of Peace Corps volunteers yelling, “Peace Corps!” They were extremely enthusiastic, perhaps a little bit too much so. All of us trainees were tired and disoriented; to hit this mass of people was a bit shocking. My friend and comrade in arms, Ben Nebo, was there to greet me and it made my day. After brief introductions, we were whisked away to the Malawi College of Forestry and Wildlife.
The college was our home base for training. The first week in country we spent at the college getting vaccinations and introductions to the schedule for training. The dorm style living arrangement set the summer camp tone that would carry through till the end of training. Everyone was having a great time getting to know each other and trying to figure out what brought them to be in Malawi as Peace Corps trainees. Our new group of environment volunteers has young, energetic, positive agents of change from all over the US. It is extremely novel for me to meet people from all over the states and hear their stories. We are fairly diverse in almost all aspects except ethnicity, and it makes for a stimulating environment. But it was our similarities that brought us here. Together we hiked the hill behind the college and enjoyed the beautiful greenery of the landscape that is characteristic of the rainy season. Flora and fauna were a common point of interest, all of it new and fascinating as if we’d landed on an alien planet. The diversity on this Earth never ceases to amaze me.
After that initial week we began our home stay adventure, returning to the college every Thursday to have group sessions. The twenty-one of us were divided ten and eleven to two villages - I was amongst the ten in Mzengereza. I stayed at the home of the Chingualu family. Their compound was home to an extended family of eleven people: Grandpa, Grandma, my host Mom-Emily (26), my host Dad-Paul (30), Emily’s sister-Loveness (20), Emily and Paul’s kids- Masautso (boy, age 12), Gibson (10), Priscilla (8), Gloria (2), and Loveness’ kids Ellen (3), and Kevin (1). They have a compound with two parts, the family of the Emily and Paul in one part and then Grandma and Grandpa with Loveness and her kids in another. All the buildings were fired bricks with mud mortar, except for the kitchen that was a separate dried grass hut. Some roofs were made of tin sheets and others had straw with a layer of plastic. The floors were all smeared clay. The roof beams were raw, stripped tree branches or tree trunks. None of the houses in the village had electricity or running water. To get drinking water we had to walk about 800m to a borehole. They lived a pretty austere life, with a thin margin between them and the edge of survival.
Despite their lack of material wealth they were very nice and respectful. Emily barred with my inability to accurately communicate. The boys helped me out with my various projects around the house. The whole family was very helpful in showing me what life is like for Malawians. My only complaint was the constant screaming at the house. Since there were three little kids they could take turns to cover all my waking hours. I woke up to the sound of roosters and screaming kids, ate lunch to the ambient wailing, and drifted off to sleep with a baby wailing away. I was fairly burnt out by the end of my five weeks at their house. But as rough as I’d like to pretend it was staying at there home, the life they lived was infinitely more arduous.
Everyday the women woke up early to sweep the yards, fetch water, and start preparing breakfast. Soon after the men would rise to work in their fields all day. The children would infrequently go to an elementary school that was located 8 or 9 kilometers away. During the day the women did all different kinds of domestic work along with the children. They peeled beans, pried kernels of corn from the cob, and took the corn to the mill to make flour. This labor was all done by hand, all the physical labor makes Malawians tough. Feet that had rarely known the comfort of shoes were thick as leather and hands without gloves became as calloused as their feet. Our most basic of comforts and necessities were out of reach for them.
Education, healthcare, transportation, and nutrition are all on levels that Americans can’t even comprehend. Only primary school is free and mandatory, but the reality is that few even complete that. Schools might not be near rural communities and there is no way to enforce attendance policies. Harvest time pulls all the children to the fields and schooling is neglected even more. Clinics are free in Malawi, but they are staffed by individuals with a high school diploma and eight-weeks of medical training. There is a constant shortage of medication and they are often far away. Dirt roads, that can be seasonally impassable, will prevent all vehicles from taking passengers to where they’d like to go. This also limits the exchange of goods; people eat what is grown locally and are at the mercy of the seasons. In America, we can eat anything anytime. I never realized what a luxury having a choice in what I eat is. A common Malawian meal consists of corn flour paddies, Nsima, and a small amount of some vegetable side dish. Meat is eaten infrequently and most of it will go to the men in the household. I’m glossing over a lot of details, but basically the point is we got it pretty good in America. It gives me a stronger desire to help these people and work hard during training to learn as much as I can.
The instruction we’ve received can be divided into two parts, technical and language with culture. The technical trainers are forestry extension officers who’ve taught us about all sorts of things: gardening, composting, tree planting, bee keeping, candle making, HIV/AIDS in Malawi, mud stove making, income generating activities, and even how to slaughter a chicken. My Chichewa language teachers were Chrissy and Agatha. I spent most my time studying with Agatha and think she is an excellent educator. Class was organic and grew from our questions, interests, and problems. Because one of my classmates had serious bowel issues we thus ended up learning all sorts of potty vocabulary. He would fart, we’d evacuate the classroom, and we’d learn how to say, “Don’t fart in class!” Whenever we’d come across some kind of slightly embarrassing subject Agatha would hide her face behind the chalkboard. She was also very open-minded and we had some good discussions about Judaism and homosexuality in this conservative Christian nation. And now, for the edification of my friends who love languages, a note on Chichewa.
There are a countless number of different Bantu languages in Malawi alone, not to mention in Africa. The one I have been learning is called Chichewa, language of the Chewa people. It is completely different than any language I am familiar with. Verbs are the crux of each sentence and everything is built with them or off them. The language only has seven true adjectives, the rest are derived from conjugating verbs (EX: kukongola- to be beautiful, kokongola-beautiful). Adverbs are also either made by conjugating verbs or nouns (EX: kuchedwa- to be slow, mochedwa-slowly; Chisoni-sadness, mwachisoni-sadly). Many nouns are derived from verbs as well (EX: kuvala-to wear, zovala-clothes). Verbs are the glue that holds sentences together and all other information is structured around the verb. The subject, object, tense, and other information can be tacked onto a verb with different suffixes and infixes (EX: Munandithandize- You should have help me, the root verb being kuthandiza-to help). Another interesting, yet perplexing, linguistic phenomena is noun classes. Nouns are classified and the class of the noun will affect the conjugation of just about everything in the sentence. Noun classes don’t have a straight- forward organization, some are by sound, some are by parts of speech, and some are occupations. Most have a singular and plural form of the noun, but some only have one form that acts as both (EX: chala-finger, zala-fingers, mbuzi-goat, mbuzi-goats). The starting consonant of the verbs, adj, possessives and numerals all change to match the noun class they are discussing (Ex: chitenje changa chimodzi chokongola chili ku nyumba yanga –My one beautiful wrap-skirt is at my house, the nouns are chitenje - wrap-skirt and nyumba - house; or zitenje zanga ziwiri zokongola zili ku nyumba yanga –My two beautiful wrap-skirts are at my house). And even the class, whose nouns don’t distinguish plural and singular will identify the nouns as plural through changing the consonants of the other parts of the sentence. It is difficult for me to understand, but I’m learning. Chichewa is a common language in Malawi, but it is only one of many.
Malawi is a country of many different tribes, the main ones are the Chewa, Tumbuka, Yao and Ngoni. The Chewa are the largest tribe in the country and were the earliest Bantu tribe to move to this part of Africa. They wipeout the pigmy people who lived here before, but the pigmies influence can still be seen in the short height of the people and the Chewa’s symbol of bow and arrow which they learned from the pigmies. The Tumbuka are a tribe concentrated in the North of the country and are a close relative of the Chewa. The Yao are a Muslim tribe that came from Mozambique with the slave trade. The Ngoni are related to the Zulu’s of South Africa and left their homeland around the time of King Shaka and conquered territory going north. It is common for the Chiefs of villages to be Ngoni, though most the inhabitants are not. Interestingly enough, very few can speak the Ngoni language and yet they retain a tribal identity with certain cultural practices, such as dances. Despite the retention of tribal identity and culture, foreign religions are more prevalent than indigenous ones.
The majority of Malawians are religious Christians. Every Sunday the churches are filled with people praying. I went to services a couple times and I found it fairly interesting. Worship was conducted in Chichewa, but the general format seemed to be similar to that of protestant churches in the states. One of the major differences was the soulful choral prayer. With no accompaniment these guys belted out harmonies that resonate with the soul. My family also prayed before every meal and all public meetings begin and end with prayer. People are definitely very religious in Malawi.
In addition to Christianity, Islam also has a strong following in Malawi. Arab slave traders introduced the Yao, who are a Bantu African tribe, to Islam. As the slave trade pushed into the interior of the African continent the Yao moved from Mozambique and settled around Lake Malawi. After becoming a British Protectorate, many Muslims from the Indian Subcontinent started to immigrate to Malawi, now there are many Pakistani’s here. When driving along the paved roads there are many madrassas, Islamic parochial schools. Both Christianity and Islam are very visible in Malawi, but there are other beliefs in the unknown that are subtler.
Malawians are really superstitious and believe in witchcraft. They talk about witchcraft planes, stealing money with magic, influencing people with spells, stealing bones from people, criminals changing into animals to escape being caught and just about anything they can’t explain is attributed to witchcraft. The targets of these outlandish accusations are generally widows and social outcasts, similar circumstances to those of Europe in times gone by. Occasionally mobs will do physical harm to the accused, it is crazy. It seems so obviously ridiculous when I see these outlandish statements in the newspaper or hear them on the radio, but it is something people really believe in. Witchcraft is probably the most widespread local belief, but it certainly isn’t the only surviving one.
The Chewa tribe has a native religion called Gule Wamkulu. It is more of a secret society mixed with witchcraft where members dress up in costumes, wear masks, and do dances. The dances are done in graveyards (a place that no one goes) for the members only and sometimes in public for displays. Each dance and costume has a special meaning and they tell different kinds of stories. Sometimes the local Gule Wamkulu elders tell people to wear their costumes and run around their village for a day. They are said to be plentiful in the months of June, July, and August. I am told that I will be living in an area where the Gule Wamkulu are particularly active, so maybe I’ll learn more. In general, I’m learning a lot about the different beliefs and customs of the people here in Malawi.
I’ll quickly relate some of the more interesting cultural habits I’ve picked up on. There is a Chichewa phrase that goes “love is in the hands”, so people always want to shake hands. People insist on stopping and greeting each other on the way to wherever they are going. They also put the left hand on the right elbow when they shake hands to make it visible. The Ngoni used to hide knives behind their backs and stab the locals when falsely making treatises. Malawians and Americans have a different standard of what is erogenous and what is not. Women breast feed their babies in public all the time and don’t even attempt to conceal their breasts. They where very loose shirts and sometimes forget to put their breasts away after feeding. But women must cover their legs. And the last thing I’d like to relate is how bizarre the Malawian concept of homosexuality is. It is illegal to be a homosexual in Malawi but the funny thing is that Malawians don’t bat an eye to many things that set off the Gay-dar’s of Americans. Men holding hands, walking together is a sign of closeness, but doesn’t have a sexual connotation. And when dancing, the sexes dance separately, and the men do some very exotic movements up close and personal. Lots of hips thrusting, movements that seemed very suggestive, and other movements that would make most American men feel very uncomfortable.
Ok I have a ton more to say, but not enough time to say it in! So you’re gonna have to settle for this preliminary post and wait for more. I’ll be swearing in as an official volunteer and reading a speech in Chichewa in front of the ambassador on Wednesday. And I’m going to be moving to my site on the border of Dowa, Salima, and Lilongwe districts, next to the Thuma forest reserve on Thursday. I’ll have plenty of stuff to talk about. Take Care all!
Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? I left home on a red-eye flight on the evening of March 25, 2010 heading to Philadelphia to begin my odyssey into the unknown. The brief orientation held on the east coast was redundant and unnecessary. There was nothing said that hasn’t been repeated a million times since we arrived in Malawi. But it was the place I met my fellow trainees, ate an authentic Philly Cheese-Stake sandwich, and ate one last authentic Chinese meal in a Chinatown.
The bus from Philly to New York was far too early and the plane ride from New York was long and uneventful. But at the Johannesburg airport I bumped into a crew of Chinese people, and my suspicion about the creeping presence of the Chinese in Africa was confirmed. The flight from J-burg to Lilongwe was short and when we arrived there was a throng of Peace Corps volunteers yelling, “Peace Corps!” They were extremely enthusiastic, perhaps a little bit too much so. All of us trainees were tired and disoriented; to hit this mass of people was a bit shocking. My friend and comrade in arms, Ben Nebo, was there to greet me and it made my day. After brief introductions, we were whisked away to the Malawi College of Forestry and Wildlife.
The college was our home base for training. The first week in country we spent at the college getting vaccinations and introductions to the schedule for training. The dorm style living arrangement set the summer camp tone that would carry through till the end of training. Everyone was having a great time getting to know each other and trying to figure out what brought them to be in Malawi as Peace Corps trainees. Our new group of environment volunteers has young, energetic, positive agents of change from all over the US. It is extremely novel for me to meet people from all over the states and hear their stories. We are fairly diverse in almost all aspects except ethnicity, and it makes for a stimulating environment. But it was our similarities that brought us here. Together we hiked the hill behind the college and enjoyed the beautiful greenery of the landscape that is characteristic of the rainy season. Flora and fauna were a common point of interest, all of it new and fascinating as if we’d landed on an alien planet. The diversity on this Earth never ceases to amaze me.
After that initial week we began our home stay adventure, returning to the college every Thursday to have group sessions. The twenty-one of us were divided ten and eleven to two villages - I was amongst the ten in Mzengereza. I stayed at the home of the Chingualu family. Their compound was home to an extended family of eleven people: Grandpa, Grandma, my host Mom-Emily (26), my host Dad-Paul (30), Emily’s sister-Loveness (20), Emily and Paul’s kids- Masautso (boy, age 12), Gibson (10), Priscilla (8), Gloria (2), and Loveness’ kids Ellen (3), and Kevin (1). They have a compound with two parts, the family of the Emily and Paul in one part and then Grandma and Grandpa with Loveness and her kids in another. All the buildings were fired bricks with mud mortar, except for the kitchen that was a separate dried grass hut. Some roofs were made of tin sheets and others had straw with a layer of plastic. The floors were all smeared clay. The roof beams were raw, stripped tree branches or tree trunks. None of the houses in the village had electricity or running water. To get drinking water we had to walk about 800m to a borehole. They lived a pretty austere life, with a thin margin between them and the edge of survival.
Despite their lack of material wealth they were very nice and respectful. Emily barred with my inability to accurately communicate. The boys helped me out with my various projects around the house. The whole family was very helpful in showing me what life is like for Malawians. My only complaint was the constant screaming at the house. Since there were three little kids they could take turns to cover all my waking hours. I woke up to the sound of roosters and screaming kids, ate lunch to the ambient wailing, and drifted off to sleep with a baby wailing away. I was fairly burnt out by the end of my five weeks at their house. But as rough as I’d like to pretend it was staying at there home, the life they lived was infinitely more arduous.
Everyday the women woke up early to sweep the yards, fetch water, and start preparing breakfast. Soon after the men would rise to work in their fields all day. The children would infrequently go to an elementary school that was located 8 or 9 kilometers away. During the day the women did all different kinds of domestic work along with the children. They peeled beans, pried kernels of corn from the cob, and took the corn to the mill to make flour. This labor was all done by hand, all the physical labor makes Malawians tough. Feet that had rarely known the comfort of shoes were thick as leather and hands without gloves became as calloused as their feet. Our most basic of comforts and necessities were out of reach for them.
Education, healthcare, transportation, and nutrition are all on levels that Americans can’t even comprehend. Only primary school is free and mandatory, but the reality is that few even complete that. Schools might not be near rural communities and there is no way to enforce attendance policies. Harvest time pulls all the children to the fields and schooling is neglected even more. Clinics are free in Malawi, but they are staffed by individuals with a high school diploma and eight-weeks of medical training. There is a constant shortage of medication and they are often far away. Dirt roads, that can be seasonally impassable, will prevent all vehicles from taking passengers to where they’d like to go. This also limits the exchange of goods; people eat what is grown locally and are at the mercy of the seasons. In America, we can eat anything anytime. I never realized what a luxury having a choice in what I eat is. A common Malawian meal consists of corn flour paddies, Nsima, and a small amount of some vegetable side dish. Meat is eaten infrequently and most of it will go to the men in the household. I’m glossing over a lot of details, but basically the point is we got it pretty good in America. It gives me a stronger desire to help these people and work hard during training to learn as much as I can.
The instruction we’ve received can be divided into two parts, technical and language with culture. The technical trainers are forestry extension officers who’ve taught us about all sorts of things: gardening, composting, tree planting, bee keeping, candle making, HIV/AIDS in Malawi, mud stove making, income generating activities, and even how to slaughter a chicken. My Chichewa language teachers were Chrissy and Agatha. I spent most my time studying with Agatha and think she is an excellent educator. Class was organic and grew from our questions, interests, and problems. Because one of my classmates had serious bowel issues we thus ended up learning all sorts of potty vocabulary. He would fart, we’d evacuate the classroom, and we’d learn how to say, “Don’t fart in class!” Whenever we’d come across some kind of slightly embarrassing subject Agatha would hide her face behind the chalkboard. She was also very open-minded and we had some good discussions about Judaism and homosexuality in this conservative Christian nation. And now, for the edification of my friends who love languages, a note on Chichewa.
There are a countless number of different Bantu languages in Malawi alone, not to mention in Africa. The one I have been learning is called Chichewa, language of the Chewa people. It is completely different than any language I am familiar with. Verbs are the crux of each sentence and everything is built with them or off them. The language only has seven true adjectives, the rest are derived from conjugating verbs (EX: kukongola- to be beautiful, kokongola-beautiful). Adverbs are also either made by conjugating verbs or nouns (EX: kuchedwa- to be slow, mochedwa-slowly; Chisoni-sadness, mwachisoni-sadly). Many nouns are derived from verbs as well (EX: kuvala-to wear, zovala-clothes). Verbs are the glue that holds sentences together and all other information is structured around the verb. The subject, object, tense, and other information can be tacked onto a verb with different suffixes and infixes (EX: Munandithandize- You should have help me, the root verb being kuthandiza-to help). Another interesting, yet perplexing, linguistic phenomena is noun classes. Nouns are classified and the class of the noun will affect the conjugation of just about everything in the sentence. Noun classes don’t have a straight- forward organization, some are by sound, some are by parts of speech, and some are occupations. Most have a singular and plural form of the noun, but some only have one form that acts as both (EX: chala-finger, zala-fingers, mbuzi-goat, mbuzi-goats). The starting consonant of the verbs, adj, possessives and numerals all change to match the noun class they are discussing (Ex: chitenje changa chimodzi chokongola chili ku nyumba yanga –My one beautiful wrap-skirt is at my house, the nouns are chitenje - wrap-skirt and nyumba - house; or zitenje zanga ziwiri zokongola zili ku nyumba yanga –My two beautiful wrap-skirts are at my house). And even the class, whose nouns don’t distinguish plural and singular will identify the nouns as plural through changing the consonants of the other parts of the sentence. It is difficult for me to understand, but I’m learning. Chichewa is a common language in Malawi, but it is only one of many.
Malawi is a country of many different tribes, the main ones are the Chewa, Tumbuka, Yao and Ngoni. The Chewa are the largest tribe in the country and were the earliest Bantu tribe to move to this part of Africa. They wipeout the pigmy people who lived here before, but the pigmies influence can still be seen in the short height of the people and the Chewa’s symbol of bow and arrow which they learned from the pigmies. The Tumbuka are a tribe concentrated in the North of the country and are a close relative of the Chewa. The Yao are a Muslim tribe that came from Mozambique with the slave trade. The Ngoni are related to the Zulu’s of South Africa and left their homeland around the time of King Shaka and conquered territory going north. It is common for the Chiefs of villages to be Ngoni, though most the inhabitants are not. Interestingly enough, very few can speak the Ngoni language and yet they retain a tribal identity with certain cultural practices, such as dances. Despite the retention of tribal identity and culture, foreign religions are more prevalent than indigenous ones.
The majority of Malawians are religious Christians. Every Sunday the churches are filled with people praying. I went to services a couple times and I found it fairly interesting. Worship was conducted in Chichewa, but the general format seemed to be similar to that of protestant churches in the states. One of the major differences was the soulful choral prayer. With no accompaniment these guys belted out harmonies that resonate with the soul. My family also prayed before every meal and all public meetings begin and end with prayer. People are definitely very religious in Malawi.
In addition to Christianity, Islam also has a strong following in Malawi. Arab slave traders introduced the Yao, who are a Bantu African tribe, to Islam. As the slave trade pushed into the interior of the African continent the Yao moved from Mozambique and settled around Lake Malawi. After becoming a British Protectorate, many Muslims from the Indian Subcontinent started to immigrate to Malawi, now there are many Pakistani’s here. When driving along the paved roads there are many madrassas, Islamic parochial schools. Both Christianity and Islam are very visible in Malawi, but there are other beliefs in the unknown that are subtler.
Malawians are really superstitious and believe in witchcraft. They talk about witchcraft planes, stealing money with magic, influencing people with spells, stealing bones from people, criminals changing into animals to escape being caught and just about anything they can’t explain is attributed to witchcraft. The targets of these outlandish accusations are generally widows and social outcasts, similar circumstances to those of Europe in times gone by. Occasionally mobs will do physical harm to the accused, it is crazy. It seems so obviously ridiculous when I see these outlandish statements in the newspaper or hear them on the radio, but it is something people really believe in. Witchcraft is probably the most widespread local belief, but it certainly isn’t the only surviving one.
The Chewa tribe has a native religion called Gule Wamkulu. It is more of a secret society mixed with witchcraft where members dress up in costumes, wear masks, and do dances. The dances are done in graveyards (a place that no one goes) for the members only and sometimes in public for displays. Each dance and costume has a special meaning and they tell different kinds of stories. Sometimes the local Gule Wamkulu elders tell people to wear their costumes and run around their village for a day. They are said to be plentiful in the months of June, July, and August. I am told that I will be living in an area where the Gule Wamkulu are particularly active, so maybe I’ll learn more. In general, I’m learning a lot about the different beliefs and customs of the people here in Malawi.
I’ll quickly relate some of the more interesting cultural habits I’ve picked up on. There is a Chichewa phrase that goes “love is in the hands”, so people always want to shake hands. People insist on stopping and greeting each other on the way to wherever they are going. They also put the left hand on the right elbow when they shake hands to make it visible. The Ngoni used to hide knives behind their backs and stab the locals when falsely making treatises. Malawians and Americans have a different standard of what is erogenous and what is not. Women breast feed their babies in public all the time and don’t even attempt to conceal their breasts. They where very loose shirts and sometimes forget to put their breasts away after feeding. But women must cover their legs. And the last thing I’d like to relate is how bizarre the Malawian concept of homosexuality is. It is illegal to be a homosexual in Malawi but the funny thing is that Malawians don’t bat an eye to many things that set off the Gay-dar’s of Americans. Men holding hands, walking together is a sign of closeness, but doesn’t have a sexual connotation. And when dancing, the sexes dance separately, and the men do some very exotic movements up close and personal. Lots of hips thrusting, movements that seemed very suggestive, and other movements that would make most American men feel very uncomfortable.
Ok I have a ton more to say, but not enough time to say it in! So you’re gonna have to settle for this preliminary post and wait for more. I’ll be swearing in as an official volunteer and reading a speech in Chichewa in front of the ambassador on Wednesday. And I’m going to be moving to my site on the border of Dowa, Salima, and Lilongwe districts, next to the Thuma forest reserve on Thursday. I’ll have plenty of stuff to talk about. Take Care all!
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
I am alive and well in Malawi! Things are awesome and I have a ton to say, but no time to saty it! I am going to my site today in the district of Salima, in Chilombo village on the north side of the Thuma/Tuma Forest Reserve. I have a new cell phone tower near me and thus good cell phone reception. My phone number is 0991950404. Call mE!!!!!!!! I love you all and now I'm going back out into the world of madness! I will try to post stuff soon!
Friday, February 26, 2010
Philadelphia with Phil
I am in Philadelphia, with a fellow peace corp trainee, Phil. Phil has just helped me come up with this ridiculous title for my blog and then proceeded to ask my advice about washing his socks in the shower and drying them with a blow drier. I don't think it is worth it. We are too tired and have too little time. Good Night Philadelphia!
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