The Usual

Another week in the village gone by. Can’t believe it’s already the end of October and I have been at site for2 months and in country for 4, the better part of a half year! I have been very good about living in the present and so the days go by quickly. I wake In the mornings at 6:30, often to a neighbor coming into my backyard. Half asleep, I rise and after realizing I cannot make conversation in English, let alone Chichewa 2 minutes after getting up, my neighbor leaves and I begin to make a fire. I sit at the breakfast table and read my book until around 9 and then cycle to the health center. Afternoons are spent eating lunch with friends and walking around the village chatting. I begin making dinner at 6pm, which is when the sun sets every day, eat and bathe by candlelight and then retire to my bed after doing a thorough search of my bed for insects.

Last week I acquired a small, orange boy kitten who I have named Spider. He enjoys climbing up my eucalyptus tree and fence, much like a spider, and I am very pleased since he is eating all the huge insects in my house. Besides bugs, I feed him small fish, rice, and whatever is left over from dinner. He likes to hang out around my yard, meowing and playing and when he is not at my house, he is found next door at the Kambale’s. Amayi Kambale is always saying, Pussy pussy pussy pussy when she calls for him. It’s hard not to laugh. He is nice company and finally! I have a cat who enjoys sitting in my lap. And won’t run away when there is a loud noise.

Other than that, I must say I have not much else to report. As I settle into a routine, the villagers are becoming more accustomed to me and I, them. Children no longer yell “Give me money,” as I ride by every day, though they still run after my bike. Sometimes, when an older boy yells to me for money, I pretend like I have lost control of my bike and will run into him. It works every time. Mean, I know, but I get so annoyed hearing them begging in broken English. The parents think it is funny and it seems there is no sense of humility.

Thinking of all of you as I eat mangoes instead of apples and as it heats up instead of cools down. Next weekend I will be spending Halloween by the lake. Haven’t decided my costume yet so I think I will just stick with a swim suit; tugs as my Australian friend would call my suit. Happy Halloween!

Xoxo C

Heatin’ Up

October in the west is the month where everything descends into hibernation for the next seven months, but in Malawi it marks the beginning of the hot season. All day long I am sweating, guzzling water that is never cool enough, and proclaiming, along with everyone else, how hot it is. Days are spent sitting in the shade of porches or the countless mango trees that populate the village. Mid October also marks mango season. Children run around eating mangoes, skin and all, and offering me mangoes wherever I go. This week they are just turning ripe, but for the past three weeks I have been offered unripe mangoes that I lay on the window sill to bask in the sun until sweet.

These past two weeks have been spent socializing in the village and truly understanding what life is like for the millions of people in this world who live closer to the natural elements than Americans ever have to; without running water, electricity, and regular access to the outside world. Every night I kill at least one oversized bug; scorpions, Siamese twin (or mating) cockroaches, or these enormous crickets that are so juicy when squished. However, the mosquitoes continue to stay away, which I am thankful for.

Gradually, I am coming to understand the social structure of the village. I have been befriended by a couple of woman who invite me for lunch and stop by to chat (in broken chewa). These women, along with Amayi Kambale, are perhaps what one would call the middle class wives of the village. A few of them have little businesses selling baked goods so they have a little “disposable income,” and they are known and respected by the village. I am grateful to them because unlike many of the other villagers who come to me asking for soap or food or medicine, these women haven’t asked me for anything other than friendship. It is my hope that it will be through these woman that I will be able to send out my message.

On that note, last week I met with the chiefs of the three villages I will be working in. With the help of my “colleague,” Gayson (pronounced GYson), I asked them questions while he interpreted. It seems that the big concerns in the area are not enough food, elephants destroying crops, and lack of transportation for the sick to the health center. This week I will conduct interviews around the village, with the help of Nelly Kambale whose English is very good, talking with adults and young adults. I am excited to explore the village with Nelly’s help and to hear what these people have to say.

This past week, Patuma, a young woman in her first year of secondary school, began coming over to help me. I am paying her school fees and in return she is carrying water and sweeping me for me. She is very slim, shaves her head and quiet and I am so happy not to have to carry water anymore. I wonder what she thinks of me and my azungu house; sitting at a table to eat with a fork, standing while I am cooking, rather than sitting down, and sleeping in a bed opposed to on a mat on the floor. This is the first time I have ever been a boss to anyone and so I am very cognizant of using my powers for good. I want to be a benevolent boss, which could be harder, or easier, due to the language barrier, than normal.

Overall, I am well. Sometimes it is hard for me to get out of bed in the morning or to the leave my house. Every interaction I have takes twice the amount of work I am used to and because I can’t use words; instead I must be smiling and upbeat all the time. This is especially hard when someone is telling me, for the 20^th time that day, that I must learn to speak Chiyao. Sitting on the matt with ants crawling on me, repeating sentences in Yao I do not understand with villagers hooting in laughter at my botched attempts, I do not feel gracious and peace oriented; only like screaming and stomping off. However, once I am through these incidences, I tell myself that anything worth doing during this time in my life, whether it be in Africa or the States, would be challenging. And, as crazy as it may sound, I may as well be in a remote, hot, and dusty place speaking an arguably obsolete language rather than working 9-5 with a bunch of white liberals somewhere in Montana. No offense.

XOXO to all you white liberals. I really do love you.

C

Nyumba Yanga

In my house there are Ants. Everywhere. Oh my god, I woke to them crawling on me at 4am last night. They are small but they are numerous. And, big cockroaches and big crickets in the chimbutzi, plus one huge purple centipede. No mosquitoes though. Which means the question is; what’s worse: mosquitoes or ants in the house, mosquitoes or roaches in the chim. At first I thought anything was better than god damn mosquitoes but now I don’t know. Especially since roaches are so quick and will run over your foot with no problem. And, I know there is no way I will ever get rid of all the ants. Even as I write this I feel as if there are ants crawling on me. I have sprinkled my house with ant poison, called mankwala (medicine), but I think I am fighting a losing battle.And, my kitchen and bafa smell like bat urine since before I moved in, my house was a bat cave. Guaranteed the smell will never go away.

However, despite these relatively minor inconviences, I am so glad to FINALLY be living in my house. After three months in country, I have officially arrived. Each day I wake to the sounds of goats bleeting, babies crying and my neighbor, Amayi Kambale, laughing. After waking, I attempt to make fire, usually unsuccessfully the first two attempts, and then take my first trip to the borehole. Carrying water is officially a pain and I am currently working on finding a young woman to help me. I will pay her school fees and she will carry water for me.

I have been unofficially adopted by my neighbors, the Kambales (meaning small plate in Chichewa), and I am so grateful to have a host family that is so happy and welcoming. The father, Tedman, is the principal of the school that sits in front of my house, and so I call him Tedman the Headman. His wife, Flora, and their oldest daughter Nelly, who is 16, have a small business making mandazi, the African equivalent of a donut, and they are always checking in with me and sharing their baked goods. Richard and Vincent, 12 and 9 are darling and very nice and Danwell, who is four, is always hanging around looking as if he has just smoked a huge joint. His eyes are really squinty, he always has this goofy grin on his face, and he sort of waddles around, but with purpose.

Our houses are right next door and when I am in my backyard, I can hear Flora laughing. She is always so happy and says the funniest things in English. Like when I come over she is always commanding me; please get in; meaning she wants me to come into the house. And also, when she is at my house and is leaving, she says, I am out. She wears this black gangster beanie which makes me think that she is putting all the thugs in America to shame with her true gangster expressions and hat. But the funniest thing is when she is describing something or giving me directions. Instead of just saying it all the way through, she will sprinkle in Whats throughout. She will say “The things you want to keep, put them what? in your house. Because people will what? take them when you are not here.”

The Kambales are so different than the family I lived with during homestay, and I am very grateful for their positive energy and their loving presence. Just this evening, Tedman told me he loves his wife so he does not do naughty things to her. I cant even tell you how hard it was for me not to laugh when he said that.

Even though I am so lucky to be welcomed by the Kambales and glad to finally be living in the village, it is truly the ultimate reality check. This is actually where I am going to spending the next two years and these are actually the people I need to build relationships with. In the mornings, I enjoy my little routine of making fire, getting water, and having breakfast but often it is hard for me to leave the house. Once I do I usually enjoy myself, but my presence attracts so much attention and demands so much energy that I always have to be on point. My Chewa is fine and people are always impressed that I know what I do, but really I dont know what they are talking about much of time so after meeting someone and going through the initial greetings I dont really know where to take the conversation. Plus, it’s so hard for me to remember everyone’s name but of course they know me. I am meeting so many people everyday; people with names I have never heard before and can barely pronounce once, let alone remember them even ten minutes later. However, one thing that does make it a little easier is the fact that it seems Africans don’t have a huge repertoire when it comes to names. Margret (yes that’s how they spell it), Yesnati (or any equivalent), Shamila, Shamimu, Ayisha, and Patoma and of course Omar, Hussein, and Mohammad since the area is predominately Muslim. However, yesterday I did meet a boy named Whiskey…

That’s all for now, I suppose. Time for bed. Since I am in my new house I have been waking up and listening to the new sounds in the middle of the night. Hyenas, children crying, women making noises to scare away the elephants that are known to come through and literally trample houses down (people actually come to the health center with broken bones from elephants coming to their houses at night). Sometimes I get scared thinking about witchcraft, which people take very seriously here. Many people have asked me if there is witchcraft in America and the Peace Corps actually had a training on it, basically telling us to stay away from people associated with it because it is a serious matter. During the day its never something I think about but of course, in the middle of the night when I am all alone in an African village listening to women hooting and whistling, I can assure you its not far from my mind. Its okay though, Amayi Kambale has assured me its not witchcraft.

Sending you all my love, as usual. I have been dreaming of fall evenings in Montana and missing the back-to-school feeling that always comes along with it. Even though I am enjoying the hot African sun, I will never be able to get the West out of my mind. XOXO