Archive for June, 2009

Mini-buses

Tuesday, June 30th, 2009

Mini-buses must be a harrowing and unimaginable contraption to people from organized and functioning places of the world, but are the ubiquitous and official form of transport not just in Malawi, but most de-veloping countries across Africa. Small vans, stripped and imported from Japan and China when they no longer pass safety and emissions requirements, seats bolted (or sometimes not) in, and filled with at least 4 people past max-capacity. They transport, in addition to standard human cargo, chickens, produce, luggage, livestock and infants, swaddled to their mothers and smashed into sweat encrusted seats. They run on no schedule, stop and/or break down frequently, drive hideously fast and erratically. They hustle “uzungu” whites, always charging them more because they think they don’t know any better. The conductors yell strong arm you into getting in and going with them, even if it’s not where you’re going. If you are fortunate enough to be going somewhere that requires you board at a mini-bus park, you may sit and wait on the bus, which you will be assured by the conductor is departing “right now” for up to three hours, waiting for it to fill up. Time is assuredly not money here, only money has the distinction.

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Friday June 5, Providence Girl’s School, Mulanje (night)

Tuesday, June 30th, 2009

A long day of travel from Lilongwe by bus. We caught a cab with our driver from Senga Bay, who ran out of gas almost immediately picking us up. We were dropped at the AXA bus pickup, loaded onto a squeaky-clean, air-conditioned anachronism, from either a hopeful future, or a promising past that has yet to deliver. Rolling out of Lilongwe I realized that there have been a lot of things, starling at first, but so quickly ubiquitous, that I have failed to report them: bicycles with bunches live chickens dangling from the handle bars, lettuce and sweet potatoes the size of children, men selling puppies from the side of the road, strings of cooked field mice for snacks, miserable, muzzled, and panting german shepards on perpetual patrol, everyone selling sim cards and air time for the big phone company Zain, which I theorize has it’s name printed on more things in Malawi than “Malawi”. There is a whole atmosphere here, mostly dust and smog. It seemed alien for only the briefest of moments, but is so self-assured that now I can only see it for what it is; the daily operations of the people of Malawi.

We exited our air conditioning in Blantyre and then caught a mini-bus to Limbe, which is actually just a different area of Blantyre, a short hop there, and onto a mini-bus bound for Mulanje. For those of you with no knowledge of mini-buses, they are the ubiquitous, unserviced vans, failing the emissions requirements of all developed nations, carrying upwards of 20 people with max-capacities of 14. They break down or run out of gas constantly, their drivers are completely incompetent, and they are the most dangerous things on the road besides the goats. We had to exit our bus halfway to Mulanje and pile into a different one which sat idling for about 15 minutes, and then drove a forth of a mile up the road and stopped for petrol, then turned around to go back to where we had just been to stuff two more people in. We are now, finally, at the feet of Mt. Mulanje, at Providence Girl’s School, a hybrid (government and Catholic) secondary boarding school for nearly 600 girls. The Catholic sisters who run the school hosted us for dinner: chambo, nsima, chicken, greens, pasta, and bananas. They asked everyone’s denomination. I told sister January that I was unaffiliated. She say that will change when I take a woman. I told her those were two very unlikely scenarios.

PICASA PHOTOS

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Thursday June 4, Mabuya, Lilongwe (night)

Monday, June 29th, 2009

Had my first taste of real local cuisine today, the Silver Spoon right in the market. Chicken, beans, chinese (like bitter spinach), and rice, heaped on to a mammoth plate for a mere 200 MK. I must concede that the chicken was below my current threshold, luke-warm and tough as a combat boot. I stuck close to the rice and beans. However, I still lack an experience with nsima, so I am still unqualified as a Malawian gourmand. Afterwards we met up with Idah and her nine year old companion, Prosperina, the daughter of Ben’s Chichewa teacher from Peace Corps. The four of us went to the US Embassy to pick up Idah’s passport and visa. I finally got my first mini-bus experience. A bit anti-climactic, but everything I had been expecting shy of a breakdown. Prosperina and I sat in the waiting area of the Embassy, and, well, waited. To pass time, I convinced her to sing me some of her favorite songs. I cracked myself up asking a very familiar face at THE US EMBASSY if he had been our driver from the airport! Getting back from the Embassy got a little tense. Trying to catch a mini-bus to send a 15 year old and a 9 year old home before the sun went down, and then getting Katie and myself home under the same benchmark. It is winter here, so the days are short, the sun sets at 5:30, and just plunges straight out of the sky, abruptly cleaving the head of day from the body of night. Everything worked out, but I was in no mood to embrace the total anarchy of transportation here with two kids at risk. But all is well. Tomorrow Katie, Idah, and I head South to Mulanje.

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Thursday June 4, Mabuya, Lilongwe (noon)

Sunday, June 28th, 2009

The team took off in a hired land cruiser headed for Zomba and on to Mulanje only two hours behind schedule this morning. Two and a half counting the half-hour of “last minute” scrambling once everyone finally got into the vehicle. Katie and I are staying on another night so that we can go with Idah to the US Embassy and pick up her passport and visa this afternoon. There is no keeping to schedule here. Schedules and timetables are simply quaint ideas from a make-believe magic land of luxury and leisure. They are reference points at best. The rest is burnt up in the African sun. Travel to almost anywhere must be factored as a day. As trying as these delays may be, and to be sure, they are something for the modernized mind to reel at, what I have found the most difficult is the people that come here expecting anything different than what it is. People that complain of food taking too long or being cold, orders coming out wrong, dirty utensils, long or confusing cues. I have heard all of these complaints and groaned every time. I haven’t the foggiest notion where the nearest Chili’s or Olive Garden may be, but I’m willing to wager it’s far more than a day’s travel. Being here is both an exercise in humility and self-advocation. You realize that it doesn’t matter maybe that your food isn’t hot, you are eating. You have a place to sleep. You are healthy and happy. An aversion to onions is an embarrassment here. Self-advocation because there are many people who will try and take advantage of you. American politeness is a poor deterrent. Everything rest squarely on the way you handle yourself. An ironic lesson in a place where no one’s problem seems to be their own. Generally the government is blamed, or bad seed, poor economy, lack of resources, or opportunity. It is almost never the fault of the individual. It is not an exotic affliction.

Last night Ben had one of his friends from Peace Corps come out and speak to the group about the cultural quirks of living and working here, specifically as a woman. Afterwards I sat and chatted with her over some rich cups of Muzuzu coffee. The team had shifted to business and we were both unable to maintain an interest. She had been stationed in a small rural village in the Northernmost area of the Central District. She was upbeat and brimming with hope. I said that it was commendable to keep such high spirits in such a dispirited place. She nodded but said that the life you have out here is very raw, you’ll experience the highest highs and the lowest lows. For a white girl born and raised in Kalamazoo Michigan it seems a miraculous transformation. People like her and Ben obliterate the simplicities of classification. Americans more at home in Africa than they probably ever again will be in America, but not Africans. Not half-lives but full-lives. Distinct, unique identities inhabiting specific places in time. Life is all.

When there is no more life, there is death. Is death the absence or the termination of life? Carrie told me that another Peace Corps volunteer, a close friend of hers in a neighbouring village had only recently been murdered; biking home one night was jumped by two desperate men wielding conga knives. Murdered for his bicycle. The entire village came out to the funeral to mourn the senseless end of someone kind, giving, and well-liked. Even with so much death, life is still valued here; the only chance we’ll ever get to struggle.

PICASA PHOTOS

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Wednesday June 3, Mabuya, Lilongwe (morning)

Saturday, June 27th, 2009

The more I see and the more I read, it seems that everyone has an opinion and a laundry list of solutions to Africa’s many problems. Everyone thinks they know what they are and how to fix them. No one, or few, however, have the pomposity to think they have any authority on the matter(s). Everyone parries, “but oh, what do I know, it must be much more complex than that.” But what if it isn’t? What if Africa has the very plain problems of extreme corruption, not enough (or no) education, and the problems associated with addressing these problems: too much aid. The troubles here appear plain. You cannot avoid them. Everyone always covers their ass at this point in the conversation and shifts to the spirit, the beauty, and the tenacity of the people, but so much of Africa is its problems. Its beautiful people needn’t stand for them.

(afternoon)

Idah got her US visa this morning! She will be joining Katie and I on a very long journey to totally new experiences. As mind blowing as this trip has been for me, my first trip to Africa, it cannot compare at all to the culture shock this young girl is about to experience. She has had numerous firsts this week and hasn’t even left Malawi.

This afternoon I walked to the market by myself (there’s a big boy!). It is certainly a different world than I am used to, but no longer uncomfortable now that I’ve adjusted. I can walk around relatively hassle free, or at least only slightly more hassled than any local. The ones that put the most effort into seeming like your friend are the worst. They are unshakable. You have to cross a main street, and not even that is surefire. They’ll be your uninvited friend for five minutes for 500 Kwatcha at the end. “No no. Zikomo.” I can greet people in the local language, Chichewa now. “Muni bwanji” (Hello. How are you?) “Ndili bwino. Kaya inu?” (I’m fine. And you?) “Zikomo” (Thank you.) This magic has amazing effects. Stone faced people passing by literally explode into smiles at the mere mumbling of a hello. There is laughter here.

PICASA PHOTOS because Flickr is filled up.

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Tuesday June 2, Mabuya, Lilongwe (night)

Friday, June 26th, 2009

Went out with the full research team to eat at a “restaurant”. Despite and extensive menu, and a large variety in the dishes that were actually ordered by our group, only three distinct items were delivered to the table: chicken with rice, veggies with rice, and a bright yellow pizza. Some people were fussy, asking about the dishes, asking to leave out ingredients, I knew enough already to just order something, and be happy to eat whatever they end up bringing out. There is little that would actually pass as service here. I note this not with indignant pomposity, but an amused observation. At this point, I am just happy to have food. Meanwhile I am pleased to be the outlier on this trip. It is my role to observe. I have been privy to many business meetings already and am happy to be privy as opposed to party. I am afforded more freedom, and get quite a different perspective remaining outside and aloof to the operations. The last three of the team to arrive today were: Anna, Hannah, and Rebecca, making us 8.

FLICKR Photos

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Malawian Markets

Friday, June 26th, 2009

The first of a series of elaborations I will be inserting to expand upon the travel notes.

Dirty, loud, and bustling, the markets are the backbone of the local economy. In the bigger cities you can find… some variety, in smaller towns and trading centres, everyone sells the same thing. You will go through town after town that sells nothing but tomatoes and potatoes, or cabbage and carrots, or sweets, crisps, and coke. In the bigger markets you can find endless amounts of clothes, most of which were donated by you and your neighbours to places like Goodwill and the Salvation Army years ago. Men will try and convince you that you need green courdory pants, 9 sizes too large, or sell you snowshoes in a place where it hasn’t snowed since… maybe ever. More quizzical are them men who will try and to convince you to trade your trousers for whatever it is they’re selling. If there’s one thing they don’t seem to need here it’s more clothes, but everyone wants you to trade from some reason. Everyone does the same thing as their neighbours in the markets. There will be an alley with nothing but people selling fried chips, and cabbage, tied into plastic bags, and allowed to do the last of their cooking in oily cancer. A whole wing for everyone selling the same patterns of tetenge, or everyone selling cheap tools and broken electronics. There will be dozens of booths selling tapes, but only 5 different albums available between them. There is also, always, a whole section of dried fish, similar to sardines, stacked, and sun-dried. This part of the market supports an entire population of flies, and is generally one of the quietest parts to go, most likely because the merchants know they have actually zero chance of convincing you to buy their product. The markets seem intimidating at first, but are mostly harmless, good places to pick up produce on the cheap, and grab a bite that has only a fair chance of making you ill for the night.

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Tuesday June 2, Mabuya Camp, Lilongwe (morning)

Thursday, June 25th, 2009

All this dysfunction and I keep thinking that Europe, Western Society was once very similar to this: overcrowded, dirty, dangerous, loud, surviving. Everyone studies the Renaissance in school, but what changed? What happened that pulled us out of 400 + years of stagnation and slop? Could that flip occur here? It was a long road from the Dark Ages to the present, but so many of the leaps have already been made, certainly they can be shared. What occurred? Back at Mabuya Camp yesterday we met Ben Chambers, AGE’s man in Malawi, a six foot five Chichewa speaking American from North Carolina, with long white-blonde hair, tied back in a pony-tail. Accompanying Ben (or visa versa) was Idah Savala, on of AGE’s star scholars who will be coming back to the United States with Katie and myself to attend summer school at Exeter Academy in New Hampshire. She was initially very shy and soft spoken, but Katie clarified, very outgoing for a Malawian school girl. She’s fifteen years old, in form 3 at Providence Secondary School for girls in Mulanje. This is Idah’s first time to her capital city, she has never seen an airport, a supermarket, Lake Malawi… She is going to have countless firsts in the weeks to come. We all hope that she will not be too overwhelmed. Ben is fearful that she is going to come back, hating Malawi, spending the rest of her life trying to get out again. We also met two other members of the team last night: Christin, from the Fletcher School in Boston, who did Peace Corps in Bulgaria, and Christine from Chicago, who previously did education research and development in Mali. Both of them are interesting and spirited. Everyone is more traveled than myself. Ben has lived in Malawi for the last three years since coming here to teach for Peace Corps.

FLICKR Photos

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Monday June 1, Mabuya Camp, Lilongwe (night)

Wednesday, June 24th, 2009

Back in Lilongwe at Mabuya Camp. We managed to get the hell out of paradise, hitching a ride from the grumbling Madam of the Wheel House. We met her and her… husband or son… the jury is still out the night before. Two craggy old white toads from Blantyre. He captained a boat for the World Food Program and wheezed cigarette smoke. She spilled over into her squeaky yellow chair and mumbled complaints about “the people” here. Chatting, however was pleasant enough and dotted with stories of the seemingly ordinary trouble you encounter doing anything here. They both had some animosity towards the people of Malawi. Their opinions have been formed over years of feelings of superiority over an uneducated and destitute population, still I couldn’t help thinking that their may be some credence to their criticisms, and perhaps not just of Malawi. I keep hearing the same things over and over again. Africa, seeming more and more like an upturned hand, demanding money, compensation for a pitiable state. Of course there is no biological deficiency keeping Africa down. Africa’s problems are much more complex and much more human than bad breeding. Still, how can a whole continent be so troubled for so long? And it seems to be getting worse. A spike after independence, a ray of hope, some swelling of pride. Everyone believes they know Africa’s problems, and everyone believes that they have figured out how to solve them, precisely why there are so many NGO’s and so much aid here. Africa is a great frontier for charity. Forgive an off-base analogy from an absolutely ignorant and naive kid from middle America after less than a week in a small part of a small country in a very large continent, but the Madam gave us a ride to the next town over, Salima, where we caught an AXA bus, a real live bus, not a mini, to Lilongwe. The AXA bus, the clean and professional looking bus was an hilarious disaster; people stuffed past absolute max-capacity, Katie and I perched precariously on the engine box, clutching our bags, and holding on for dear life. At one stop some people squeezed their way through and exited the bus, opening up a sizeable hole for people to shift around in. Two guys who had been packed in next to me, absolutely smashed together. One’s legs contorted and mashed into a seat corner. The other off-balance and visibly uncomfortable. They both stood there, planted, irritated, and awkward, staring ahead, looking more and more frustrated, each obviously hating the other. Meanwhile this space exists behind them that easily fit two people comfortable standing… There is no problem solving here. No abstract thinking. Only the struggle that is happening right in front of them. The present struggle. Through the whole two hour bus ride, I was the only one concerned or committed to holding up the huge pile of bags that had been thrown haphazardly into a heap at the front of the bus. I re-stacked the heap a number of times, and simply held it in place the rest of the way. I am certain no one cared. There is no fixing of things. Preventative care is not a concept that has taken hold here. It was disheartening to return to Lilongwe after such serenity. Lilongwe is everything I hate about American cities and then some. It’s filthy, crowded, dangerous, loud, polluted, smelly, rude, exploitative, uncaring. It’s a miserable and desperate place. It does not make me homesick or unhappy to be here; I can stand discomfort, I can stand trouble and hassle, It’s just bad. Only bad. It is such a desperate place, and it is dispiriting to return.

FLICKR Photos

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Sunday May 31, Senga Bay (afternoon)

Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009

Another day by the beach. We’ve been relaxing enough now at this point for it to have become habit. That probably means that we’ve been relaxing enough. Vacation is a sort of purgatory; no worries, no concerns, nothing to do, nowhere to be. It’s good to reset yourself, but drawn on too long can turn into a sort of perpetual hell; not to suggest that this or any of the past few days here at Senga Bay have been anything of the sort, we have both been healthy, happy, and well fed. The tranquility of this place seems to permeate everything. There is no urgency here whatsoever. Half a dozen lazy dogs loll about and plop down in the sun, dragging themselves along apathetically (almost begrudgingly) if called, not wanting to put in the effort to walk. Lizards flatten themselves against sunny rocks, and large white-headed eagles swoop easily to their roosts in the hot mid-day sun. The only things around here exhibiting any quickness are the king fishers which come out at dusk and angle around swiftly, performing mid-air acrobatics, skimming the water, chirping, chasing each other, and diving occasionally for fish. We leave this place early tomorrow morning to head back to Lilongwe and meet the first of the intern team. There is much to be done after all, and no earthly paradise or purgatory can last forever. For my part, I feel I’ve made good use of this one.

FLICKR Photos

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