Elephant Fear

Wow, I guess I should be a little embarrassed about my lack of blogging for the last four months. One month sans blog turned into two and then somehow I unconsciously let myself off the hook until just this week when I realized I need to get back into it. For good reason, too, since its safe to say the last months have flown by in a blur of visits to the beach, run ins with elephants, chilly nights, and slow progress on the borehole project.

The weather has cooled significantly and we are currently mid-winter. The colors are much more muted since the sun is farther away and a constant breeze shifts through the trees making me feel like it is late summer in the high mountains. It has also put me in a fall-like mind state, yearning for Friday night house parties after morning classes, delicious thick soups, clogs, and fall foliage. Instead, butterflies and bees flit and flutter around my blooming eucalyptus, drinking water stays cool all day long, laundry is not guaranteed to dry in one day (so annoying) and heating bath water has become a must. In keeping with Malawian fashion, I have been rocking a chitenge like a shawl which is a surprisingly fabulous (and warm) look. Life has definitely changed with the weather.

The beginning of the cooler weather instigated daily games of what Amayi Kambale calls “net ball” but what is actually a fierce game of keep away; Amayis (including me) versus Achimales (sisters). The court is the dirt area in front of the Kambale’s house and though the object is to keep the ball in your teams possession for as long as possible, there are no rules or a scoring system. And these ladies are hardcore! Grabbing and pushing are apparently allowed, trash talking is enjoyed, and no shoes are allowed; a rule which caused the blackening of my toenail that has since fallen off.

In addition to my introduction to the world of Malawian womens sports, the cool weather has signified the return of the herds of elephants in Liwonde National Park. Silent nights are punctuated by beating drums and yelling intended to scare the elephants from homes and gardens and in the day you can see them roaming the shores of the Shire. Because the elephants move freely around the park, there is always a chance you will meet one (or many) between the fence to the boat dock, a route I take every time I go to Mvuu Camp. Malawians move up and down this road daily, choosing not to worry about encounters with elephants unless they actually encounter one. I, on the other hand, race through the 1.5K, my heart quickening with every falling tree branch, monkey movement, or screeching bird, calling out to all passing Malawians “njobvu alipo? (are the elephants around?)”

Malawians are quick to assure me not to worry, advice I used to gladly take until one day, after being resolutely assured the elephants were away, I came across one on the road. I was lucky, since I had just clarified with one of the guides about what to do if you run into an elephant on your bike; stop, slowly drop your bike, and hide. Which is exactly what I did, moving deliberately behind a nearby tree, waiting a couple minutes, and then proceeding back to the dock to wait for someone to escort me. it wasn’t until I began my retreat that the adrenaline rushed through my body, making my arms and legs feel like noodles, and since then I have been unable to relax as long as I am in transit between the two points, regardless if I have been told the elephants are not around.

The fear that I feel about this wild animal is uncharacteristic of me, a person who is generally sure that good luck and chance are on my side, which is why I can say I really like elephants. They are magnificent and intelligent creatures, surely one of the most ingeniously evolved animals to walk the earth and though I am pretty sure it is not my destiny to be killed by an animal I respect so much, life can be heartbreakingly random and I am not interested in tempting fate. And so, these not so irrational feelings I have about elephants have urged me to contemplate what is worthy of fear and what is not. Fear is a natural response to certain stimuli, a response one would often do well to listen to; so how do you know when something (or someone for that matter) is legitimately threatening or if your brain and your adrenal glands are getting the best of you? Also, how to explain the worry that thinking about it too much will make it happen?

I guess the only legitimate reply I have to that question is that I cant ever really know. Fear is a physical response to a threatening stimuli that can be real or imagined. Because of that, the trick is to control your fear through acknowledgement of the risk as well as the chance that you will still be alive or in good health tomorrow afternoon. It is a feat of balance to navigate the thin line between simply ensuring your health now and making sure you are well enough for tomorrow. Especially considering that simple fact is scary enough. And so, as I cycle through elephant infested bush, risk drinking untreated water in Africa, and sometimes hitch rides in private vehicles alone, I am always aware of the risk I am taking while remaining convinced that it is my lot in life to live to be an old woman. Seems I am not old enough to appreciate my own mortality yet.

Which kind of a crazy connection to a visitor I had to my house in June. While I was in Lilongwe for a weekend, I received a phone call from Mr. Kambale who told me a Chilos Souzande from Dedza had come to visit me. Of course I hurried home, amazed that my homestay father I stayed with a year ago in the village of Chipazi decided this was the week to visit. Upon my return, I found he had been sleeping in the spare room of my house and eating with the Kambale’s. During the day I was traveling back, he swept and burned all the leaves around my house and rode bikes with mr Kambale to check out the fence of the national park. Mr Sauzande (I have only recently began to wonder if his is name isnt actually the Chewa version of “thousand”) was so nice and happy to see me, smiling all the time and being so helpful; definitely the best guest who has come to see me, by far! The night we ate together, he told me he heard from the Chipatzi rumor mill I had died and there was a funeral for me. So, he uncovered the crude map I once drew him for directions to my house, and he set off to make sure the rumor was untrue.

It is unbelievable to me that someone would have said I died, which is why I think Mr Sauzande could be pulling my leg. However, since this seemingly grim claim has been made about my health, I have heard from a few different people it is actually a sign that I will live a long life. Meaning, I suppose, the mortality I am facing at this moment is that of longevity, not sudden death by elephants. Which sounds like a pretty positive way to wrap up this bloviation on fear.

It seems, that there comes a certain point when even though you are aware of the chance you are taking doing such and such thing at any given time, ultimately you must give up the chance and your fear to the unseen power of the world. You must trust that you will land on your feet, that your energy combined with all of the other living energies around you are at least compatible enough to protect you in some way against harm. Only in that way can you continue to move through this life as naturally as possible, allowing the world to present some dangers, opportunities, and adventures while taking the advantage of first refusal. Freak accidents are still applicable to this logic; life shows us we don’t always have a choice in the matter, but we must allow ourselves to face this fact while refusing to alter your course until more immediate facts convince us otherwise.

And speaking of immediate facts convincing enough of a change in course; let me update you on the latest news on the Masalema Borehole Committee.

After four long months of “fundraising,” Masalema has only come up with 14,000Kwacha; a clear sign that the original aim of a 98,000K cash contribution is not going to happen. Even with the 98,000K cash, it was going to be stretch to make the 25% community contribution and so there is no way it can happen with a mere 40,000k, let alone 14,000K. Way back in November, the Afumu and committee members assured me the community was ready to give but when it came down to it, the people in the village believed the borehole would come without their help. Ultimately, it comes down to the simple fact that access to water in Masalema isn’t a big enough problem to warrant a new borehole. Which is actually awesome! In a country where clean, reliable, and nearby water isnt a right, the people in this community should feel grateful they are not facing that problem.

In the meantime, another village, about 7K away from Masalema, has approached Mr Juma and myself, claiming they have 300,000K in cash and are suffering greatly from using an open well that is far away from their village. I am eager to meet with the new village to learn more details but we must wait until we have backed out of Masalema in an appropriate way. I was worried that the ending of the project in Masalema would make Mr Juma look bad but he was the one who told me no one would be talking badly of him because it is the failure of the village, not ours. Phew, because I was a little worried. I am beating myself up a little wondering if I could have communicated better, been more motivating, or better at setting smaller goals within the larger one so I do sort of feel like I is my failure, certainly not Mr Juma’s though. But, its true the project was of a large scope for a village with only a smaller need for water so I am trying to give myself a break on this one.

In an attempt at conclusion, I would like to say, despite the roller coaster of daily, weekly, and monthly ups and downs, how content I am with my African life. Despite the borehole saga, my fear of elephants, and the temporary possibility I was dead, my life feels pretty regular for the most part. Or maybe not as much regular as pleasantly predictable.

The other day I was sitting with Mr juma at his house as he carved a hoe handle out of a tree branch with his machete. He paused to roll a cigarette from notebook paper(!) and tobacco grown in the surrounding fields and I grabbed a burning stick from the fire to assist him with his vice. Two days prior, there had been a funeral for his young granddaughter and Inez had been pretty sick, sleeping and resting all day for two days on the mat. We sat in silence for a while as Juma smoked and carved. Feeling free, I attempted conversation but then realized quiet was better. I wondered if he was sad about his granddaughter, contemplating his life.

The next day, I again sat with Mr Juma. Inez was feeling better, the hoe handle was looking extremely beautiful, and we wondered about the new project. As we ate, mr juma told me he used to spend the night at Inez’s house when they were teenagers. He also told me there are some kinds of medicine you can get from the witchdoctor to attract men to you and also to prevent your man from going to another woman. I asked Inez if she was using that on Juma and she said quote “there is only one god (pointing up) and that is not medicine. Medicine is to help your body.” Which is very true. Juma then informed he was not going to any other woman so its not like she really needs to use it anyway. Juma continued on, telling me he is becoming very fat living with Inez. She was his first girlfriend and the one he wanted to marry when he was young so he is content now that is finally with her. Wow. As the risk of sounding too gushy, my heart truly feels bigger when he tells me these things.

How comforting it is to think that someone like Mr Juma, a poor 50 something Malawian man living in a thatched roof house on less than $250 a year, can be truly content with his life. How many people in America, living on more than $50,000 a year can say they are as happy as he is? I think Juma is a very fortunate man, a combination of his own making and compassionate nature. I also think hanging with him makes me fortunate by extension since he respects me, teaches me, and treats me as an equal. How lucky I am that part of my life journey involves Mr Juma.

Which I guess sums up the state of my life at the moment; contentedness. I have been here a year, enough time to adjust to my village life but not enough to be stressed about an impending departure. The future seems a comfortable (sometimes) way off and though it is constant practice to stay present, I feel there has been no easier time in my life to do so. Though I am certainly not claiming to be some ‘living in the present master’ as I do spend some part of every day and night dreaming about frosted baked goods, chilled white wine with dinner, wall to wall carpeting, and guaranteed hot showers. In the meantime, where I am is the perfect place to be, though I do know I will desire to return to the land of plenty someday sooner than later.

Sending my love to America, a rather belated Independence Day greeting but no less sincere, and also to all those people who love both America and me.