Alright, I lied. This is going to be my last post, and it will be short. I am at the airport, delayed (shocking) and just wanted to share what was the topic of conversation while standing in line today:
Tim Tebow.
No lie. The QB of the Denver Broncos in the American National Football league was a name I must have head uttered a dozen times over the past hour. As you may not know, last night Tebow's Broncos played the New York Jets on Thursday Night Football. The game aired here in Malawi at 3:00AM and, as it turns out, I was not the only one who stayed up to watch it. The much-maligned (due to his a combination of his outward displays of religion, terrible passing motion, and crazy, unprecedented popularity) quarterback was typically awful again last night with five minutes to go in the fourth quarter. He had passed for a mere 75 yards and rushed (his speciality) for only 11 yards. He had contributed no scores, either in the air or on the ground, and completed only 6 passes all game. His team was only down 3, 13-10, but with five minutes left, he was backed up on his own five-yard line and facing the number 1 (statistically speaking) defense in the entire NFL. Game over?
Not hardly. Tebow engineered a final 95-yard drive, and was involved in every single yard. He completed three passes for 30+ yards and added the rest on the ground, including a final 20-yard dash that was half-skill, half-pure will. It's "The Drive 2.0" and it was led by a plucky resilient, never-say-never Denver quarterback, while the original plucky, never-say-never Denver quarterback and engineer of the original 'Drive' cheered from the General Manager booth.
And here I am, the next morning, listening to a group of missionaries from San Diego retell the heroic tale of Tebow, complete with a middle-of-the-terminal reenactment of Tebow's victory scream. As the group laughed and shook their heads a Malawian gentleman who was had been ushering bags to and from the curb noticed the American's strange pose, set down a bag and walked up to the group.
"Tebow?" He said pointing to man channeling his inner Tebow "He is amazing."
Tim Tebow. Worldwide phenomenon.
Talk to you again when I am on the other side of the Atlantic.
Cheers.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
A Final Thank You
This will be my last post from Malawi and in many ways, it is quite worthless.
When I began this adventure, and subsequently this blog, I sent the address to friends and family members back home as a way to follow along with the sights, sounds, and experiences of my time in Malawi. What I didn't do, for a number of reasons, is share the blog's address with anyone here in-country. It was a conscious decision, to be sure, and one I do not regret, as it has given me the freedom to comment on everything that is occurring without fear of upsetting anyone, leaving anyone out, etc.
After my return to the states, I plan on still posting a few features here on Nthano - other stories, pictures, reactions to gifts, but I thought a fitting end to my time here would be to acknowledge the amount of people that have helped make this journey a success. I call the post worthless due to the fact that the people I am about to thank won't actually see this, but for my own sake, I need to showcase the people that have made this entire trip possible.
Julius - A driver, friend, confidante, and tour guide rolled into one. As invaluable as anyone I have ever known.
Misheck - The lone friendly face I counted on coming back to this country, Misheck did not disappoint. His assistance with Domasi College alone made the project feasible.
Francis - My big boss in Blantyre and the head of the Save the Children Basic Education team. From initial planning meetings to a final dinner at his residence, Francis was a great host and a great boss.
Chris - My big boss in Lilongwe. Much like Francis, our meetings were bookended by fantastic dinners and tied together with support and encouragement throughout.
Emmanual - One of the first people I met from Save the Children, and one of the few men who loves beer and sports more than I do.
Lawson - My good friend and driver from Mangochi whom I bonded with over bottles of Orange Fanta.
Nelson - Another driver, who was ready at a moment's notice to take me where I needed to go.
McPhearson - Save the Children media relations specialist and hopeful collaborator on future ad campaigns (with the use of my photos from the field).
Amy Jo - The big boss back in the US, Amy Jo was on constant 'emergency' call should anything go wrong/additional plans needed.
Godfrey - The youngest of the SC Basic Education staff. Quiet, but a steady, calming influence on me.
Pheobe - My first driver and co-witness to the great bike train that seemingly spread for miles.
Blessings - Yet another driver. Our time spent together was short, but as reliable as they come.
Jenipher - SC secretary and overall 'chaos' handler. From changing my ticket to having me take over the reception desk one day (that was nerve-racking) she always made me laugh and greeted me with a smile.
Samson - SC transportation coordinator. Has the unenviable job of managing an entire organization's worth of vehicles during a fuel shortage crisis. Amazing resolve and ingenuity.
Matthew and Ajeeba - SC Country Directors. I only met them in the last few days, but their support and encouragement of the project was exactly the gold stamp of approval I needed after a long two months.
Jeanette, McDonald, Hollyce, Esther C., Mercy, Greyson, Cosmas, Isabella, Marvellous, Chanthengo, Joseph, Esther M., Steven, Judith, & Talson - My team of research assistants/data collectors in the field assembled from Domasi College of Education. There is no project without them. Period.
Makay & The Madame - The most gracious hotel proprietors in the world (Blantyre edition).
Alexander - The most gracious hotel proprietor in the world (Zomba edition).
Innocent - The most memorable hotel employee in Lilongwe (and not for all the right reasons).
Dace - My West Texas friend with whom I shared the least pleasant alcohol ever invented, Chibuku (or as the locals call it 'Shake, Shake') and introduced me to the horrors of his 'Larium' dreams.
Marco Sadik - The gravel-voiced lead singer of my now favorite Malawian band.
Smart J - The sweet-voiced lead singer of my now 2nd favorite Malawian 'band'.
Florence & Arthur - One of the strangest couples I've ever met.
Dalitso & The Mistress - A painter with a silver tongue who couldn't be trusted with a three-dollar bill. Also, one of the strangest couples I've ever met.
Jonas - A scholar from Denmark with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Angelika - A scholar from Germany with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Catherine - A scholar from Holland with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Lora - A scholar from England (via Canada) with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Toshiakira - A scholar from Japan with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Stephen - An area sales manager for a steel corporation in Belgium with whom I shared beers and a long plane delay with.
The Lizard - A lizard from Malawi with whom I shared my bed with.
And to all those I either haven't mentioned or have no name for (looking at you Burly airport guy and Lilongwe bathroom repairman) I thank you for all the moments that made this trip exceed any expectations I could have had. I know none of you will see this, but hopefully my gratitude was able to come through over the past two months and I assure you none of you will be forgotten.
Here's to a safe return stateside and much-needed family time.
Cheers.
When I began this adventure, and subsequently this blog, I sent the address to friends and family members back home as a way to follow along with the sights, sounds, and experiences of my time in Malawi. What I didn't do, for a number of reasons, is share the blog's address with anyone here in-country. It was a conscious decision, to be sure, and one I do not regret, as it has given me the freedom to comment on everything that is occurring without fear of upsetting anyone, leaving anyone out, etc.
After my return to the states, I plan on still posting a few features here on Nthano - other stories, pictures, reactions to gifts, but I thought a fitting end to my time here would be to acknowledge the amount of people that have helped make this journey a success. I call the post worthless due to the fact that the people I am about to thank won't actually see this, but for my own sake, I need to showcase the people that have made this entire trip possible.
Julius - A driver, friend, confidante, and tour guide rolled into one. As invaluable as anyone I have ever known.
Misheck - The lone friendly face I counted on coming back to this country, Misheck did not disappoint. His assistance with Domasi College alone made the project feasible.
Francis - My big boss in Blantyre and the head of the Save the Children Basic Education team. From initial planning meetings to a final dinner at his residence, Francis was a great host and a great boss.
Chris - My big boss in Lilongwe. Much like Francis, our meetings were bookended by fantastic dinners and tied together with support and encouragement throughout.
Emmanual - One of the first people I met from Save the Children, and one of the few men who loves beer and sports more than I do.
Lawson - My good friend and driver from Mangochi whom I bonded with over bottles of Orange Fanta.
Nelson - Another driver, who was ready at a moment's notice to take me where I needed to go.
McPhearson - Save the Children media relations specialist and hopeful collaborator on future ad campaigns (with the use of my photos from the field).
Amy Jo - The big boss back in the US, Amy Jo was on constant 'emergency' call should anything go wrong/additional plans needed.
Godfrey - The youngest of the SC Basic Education staff. Quiet, but a steady, calming influence on me.
Pheobe - My first driver and co-witness to the great bike train that seemingly spread for miles.
Blessings - Yet another driver. Our time spent together was short, but as reliable as they come.
Jenipher - SC secretary and overall 'chaos' handler. From changing my ticket to having me take over the reception desk one day (that was nerve-racking) she always made me laugh and greeted me with a smile.
Samson - SC transportation coordinator. Has the unenviable job of managing an entire organization's worth of vehicles during a fuel shortage crisis. Amazing resolve and ingenuity.
Matthew and Ajeeba - SC Country Directors. I only met them in the last few days, but their support and encouragement of the project was exactly the gold stamp of approval I needed after a long two months.
Jeanette, McDonald, Hollyce, Esther C., Mercy, Greyson, Cosmas, Isabella, Marvellous, Chanthengo, Joseph, Esther M., Steven, Judith, & Talson - My team of research assistants/data collectors in the field assembled from Domasi College of Education. There is no project without them. Period.
Makay & The Madame - The most gracious hotel proprietors in the world (Blantyre edition).
Alexander - The most gracious hotel proprietor in the world (Zomba edition).
Innocent - The most memorable hotel employee in Lilongwe (and not for all the right reasons).
Dace - My West Texas friend with whom I shared the least pleasant alcohol ever invented, Chibuku (or as the locals call it 'Shake, Shake') and introduced me to the horrors of his 'Larium' dreams.
Marco Sadik - The gravel-voiced lead singer of my now favorite Malawian band.
Smart J - The sweet-voiced lead singer of my now 2nd favorite Malawian 'band'.
Florence & Arthur - One of the strangest couples I've ever met.
Dalitso & The Mistress - A painter with a silver tongue who couldn't be trusted with a three-dollar bill. Also, one of the strangest couples I've ever met.
Jonas - A scholar from Denmark with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Angelika - A scholar from Germany with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Catherine - A scholar from Holland with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Lora - A scholar from England (via Canada) with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Toshiakira - A scholar from Japan with whom I shared beers and academic gobbledygook with.
Stephen - An area sales manager for a steel corporation in Belgium with whom I shared beers and a long plane delay with.
The Lizard - A lizard from Malawi with whom I shared my bed with.
And to all those I either haven't mentioned or have no name for (looking at you Burly airport guy and Lilongwe bathroom repairman) I thank you for all the moments that made this trip exceed any expectations I could have had. I know none of you will see this, but hopefully my gratitude was able to come through over the past two months and I assure you none of you will be forgotten.
Here's to a safe return stateside and much-needed family time.
Cheers.
Rounding Third
It's been 59 days, 5 hotels and 3 cities since I began this blog. It's incredible to me to think of what I have encountered, experienced, researched, and tasted in this time and even more incredible that it is coming to an end. I won't go so far as to say it has been life-changing, because frankly, what can or cannot be considered life-changing is too difficult to pinpoint. Rather, I will simply say it has been an experience, and one I will never forget.
As you can imagine, the final push over the last week has been an up-and-down roller coaster of emotions and work. This past weekend I: went to a football match with Julius; met a controversial painter and his mistress; played congas with a live band; shared multiple dinners with my various bosses and their families; prepared and presented a full data collection summary report to the Save the Children Country Directors; met a German doctor, a Belgian steel contractor, and a Mauritanian singer (all at separate times); and slept in the guest house of a rich British heiress. Every time I go to write about one of these moments, something else happens that demands my attention, and prevents me from sharing anything too detailed here in Nthano. But I assure you, all is being recorded in some fashion and will be (fingers crossed) materials for a forthcoming book.
What I will share today is a quick story about my travels to Lilongwe, good and bad, and perhaps one of the most shocking newspaper headlines I have ever read.
Air Malawi Grounded
It is Wednesday morning in Blantyre. Rain has soaked the countryside all night and the dreariness has spilled over into the early hours. I am sitting on the Chez Makay porch alone, waiting for the lone chef to bring me my coffee as I stare blankly at the front page of the Malawian Newspaper - The Nation. "Air Malawi Grounded" it reads, describing the sudden shutdown of the one domestic airline that operates within the country. On a normal day, such news would be important to read; both to be aware of what is happening in country and to give myself the opportunity to be conversant on the topic with my colleagues. Today however, is not a normal day. Today, I am flying on Air Malawi.
To be frank, the headline wasn't a total shock. The reason for this was due to what had happened just 12 hours prior to my first sip of coffee on that dreary morning. Originally, my flight was due to leave Blantyre from Lilongwe on Thursday, with my international flight through Ethiopia taking off Friday afternoon. While this gave plenty of time to make the connecting flights, it eliminated any possibility of meeting with Save the Children officials in Lilongwe and thus, sharing any update on what I had been working on over the past few months. Seeing this as an unacceptable consequence, SC officials quickly worked to move up my departure date from Blantyre to Tuesday, which would provide ample time to get settled in the capital, meet with the necessary officials, and comfortably make the flight home.
I never made that flight.
When Tuesday rolled around, after a final glorious weekend in Blantyre and one final workday in the Blantyre office, I was frantic. I hadn't really done a good job of packing (how is it nothing fits on the return trip? It's like the anti-Mrs. Poppins Suitcase effect) and I was racing against time and last minute errands. I had called my driver, Nelson, to pick me up earlier than one would usually need to get to the airport, just to ensure I had all the loose ends in town tied up and the proverbial ducks in a row. I said my goodbyes to Makay and The Madame, left a generous tip to share among the staff, and set off into town, four bags packed and with constant anxious glances at the dashboard clock.
I needn't have worried about the time, as Nelson (Julius was busy) navigated the back roads around Blantyre perfectly, avoiding all the usual traffic that had a tendency to make even the shortest of trips excruciatingly long. As we pulled up to the airport unloading zone, I sighed, thinking of how few hours I had left in the Warm Heart of Africa and what an amazing experience it had been. I immediately flashed back to my arrival at this very airport some five weeks ago, the drive into town, and the first impressions of one of the three cities I would be calling home. It all seemed like a blur, and I found myself wishing that somehow I had seen more, done more, experience more than I had in the short time available to me, but then quickly dismissed such notions as foolish. I wouldn't take back anything I did while here in Malawi and knew I was leaving with no regrets. A good feeling, needless to say.
I was snapped out of my mini-daze by Nelson's slamming of the trunk and quickly hopped out of the car to assist him in lifting my behemoth sets of luggage. The airport seemed empty and dark. The only people milling about were a few guards and airport workers, standing just inches from the front door, peering at both Nelson and I struggling with what could easily be the luggage equivalent of the Griswald's African Vacation. We nodded as we passed by them and they returned in kind, not moving out of their respective chairs or uttering a sound.
Once inside the airport doors, we were immediately greeted by Airport staff who directed me to put my bags on the x-ray conveyer belt to my right. Nelson went first, grunting under the combined weight of my largest bag and the force of gravity, surely silently cursing Julius for being busy at that moment. After all four bags were loaded into the x-ray machine, I was prompted to move to the other side to collect my bags and commit to further inspection. As I did, I looked around the airport and once again, noticed how few people there were. Clearly I was early, but was I the only one on the flight today? Odd.
"What's in the red bag?" I was suddenly asked by the gentleman behind the glowing computer monitor.
"Uh, a number of things - curios (the term for small purchased handmade gifts/souvenirs), some clothes, a pair of shoes." I responded quickly, trying to remember what was in each of my massive suitcases.
"There seem to be some bottles?" said the glowing gentleman quzzically.
"Oh, right. And bottles of Nali. Five of them" I said, speaking of the painfully hot sauce I had purchased earlier that day.
"Ok, no problem" said the glow.
The first guard who had directed us was now standing next to Nelson and I, and turned to both of us. "Which of you are flying today?" He asked sternly.
I raised my hand and told him it was just me.
"You are not flying today?" The burly guard asked Nelson.
"No sir, I am just his driver" said Nelson, gesturing his thumb towards me.
"Well then you cannot be in here. This is for passengers only."
Nelson nodded, and turned to me extending his hand. He wished me a safe flight and a safe return to the US and asked me to promise to contact him if/when I ever returned to Malawi. I assured him I would, shook his hand and watched him exit the airport, get back into his car and drive away.
I looked at the bags in front of me, wishing that somehow I could find a way to dump one of them and not miss the contents inside. I took a deep breath, muttered something to myself that was both incoherent and most likely unprintable in a family-rated blog, and reached down to grab the first of the bags. As I was slinging it over my shoulder I began to look around and see where I needed to proceed to next.
"Where do I go now?" I asked the burly guard.
"For what?" he replied in his standard monotone.
"For the flight?" I responded, picking up the second bag and adding it to my already aching shoulder.
"What flight?" he responded, again with the inflection of an Apple Tandy computer.
Feeling as though I was standing at the precipice of an Abbot and Costello routine, I cut to the chase and explained I was flying to Lilongwe today on Air Malawi, taking off in just over an hour, and was looking to see where I go next to check my baggage.
"There are no flights today, sir" said Burly, remaining completely emotionless.
In retrospect, I cannot recall how long I stood there, bags slung over my shoulder staring in the face of a man a foot taller and what seemed like a foot wider than me. Realistically, it had to be no more than a few seconds, but, in flashback movie-time, it seems like it was a dozen or so minutes. The preceding events leading up to the statement "There are no flights today, sir" ran through my mind, complete with a dramatic orchestral soundtrack. Driving through dusty shortcuts, pulling up to the airport and reminiscing, jumping out to lift the luggage, the guards' nods, the x-ray machine, the Nali question, the sending away of my driver. It replayed in my head quickly, and confusingly.
"What do you mean there are no flights today?" I finally responded, never leaving the eyes of Burly.
"Air Malawi is grounded," he replied, deadpanned "we have no planes here today."
"Then why did we just do all this?!?" I replied, with a tone boarding on the hysterical as I made sweeping gestures indicating the x-ray machine. "And why did you send my driver away?!"
He shrugged his shoulders.
I continued: "And you, you, you asked me if I was flying today?!? WHY?!?"
He shrugged again, looked over my shoulder to the darkened counters behind me, and then asked, "Are you flying today?"
My actual response: "HUH?"
"Are you flying today?" he repeated, as though my confusion was auditory in nature.
"Am I flying today? Are you serious? On what? You said you have no planes?!" I responded emphatically, my arm motions causing one of the bags to slip off my shoulder and land on the ground in a thud.
"I thought maybe you brought your own plane" he responded matter-of-factly, with what was now becoming a trademark shoulder shrug.
(And now, I have to give myself credit for the next response. While this whole event was maddening, frustrating, confounding, and left me generally dazed, confused, and most importantly, stranded, I, for the first time ever, gave a proper movie line response to a new situation. In all my conversations, in all my encounters, I have never said anything that I felt was a proper movie-moment line, until this response. Typically my responses border on the dull and occasionally sneak up to the mildly entertaining, but this one had just the right mix of actual, Chandler Bing-style humor.)
"My own plane??" I responded incredulously "Well that's just....that's just....actually, that's pretty cool you thought that, but NO, I guess I ran out of room to pack a plane."
The rest of the story, I am afraid, will have to wait until you either see me in person, or I get around to writing more. Essentially, I returned to Chez Makay, whereupon I stayed in the guest house of the British heiress (long story short - Makay's place was now fully booked and the heiress lives next door), and awoke the next morning to coffee, a dreary sky and a slightly unsurprising headline. As a result of Air Malawi being shut down, a charter plane had been brought to Blantyre and was shuttling displaced travelers such as myself to and from Lilongwe, honoring the original Air Malawi ticket. Once at the airport, the lone plane was, of course, delayed multiple times for 'unknown' reasons (hint - a fuel tanker pulled up to the plane minutes before we finally boarded two hours after the flight was to originally take off), but I eventually made it to Lilongwe and am now writing this whole story from the porch of yet another beautiful hotel. Friday's flight home is on Ethiopian Air, so the grounding of Air Malawi should not affect my schedule, but let's keep our fingers crossed anyways.
Unless, of course, I find a way to bring my own plane before then.
Cheers.
As you can imagine, the final push over the last week has been an up-and-down roller coaster of emotions and work. This past weekend I: went to a football match with Julius; met a controversial painter and his mistress; played congas with a live band; shared multiple dinners with my various bosses and their families; prepared and presented a full data collection summary report to the Save the Children Country Directors; met a German doctor, a Belgian steel contractor, and a Mauritanian singer (all at separate times); and slept in the guest house of a rich British heiress. Every time I go to write about one of these moments, something else happens that demands my attention, and prevents me from sharing anything too detailed here in Nthano. But I assure you, all is being recorded in some fashion and will be (fingers crossed) materials for a forthcoming book.
What I will share today is a quick story about my travels to Lilongwe, good and bad, and perhaps one of the most shocking newspaper headlines I have ever read.
Air Malawi Grounded
It is Wednesday morning in Blantyre. Rain has soaked the countryside all night and the dreariness has spilled over into the early hours. I am sitting on the Chez Makay porch alone, waiting for the lone chef to bring me my coffee as I stare blankly at the front page of the Malawian Newspaper - The Nation. "Air Malawi Grounded" it reads, describing the sudden shutdown of the one domestic airline that operates within the country. On a normal day, such news would be important to read; both to be aware of what is happening in country and to give myself the opportunity to be conversant on the topic with my colleagues. Today however, is not a normal day. Today, I am flying on Air Malawi.
To be frank, the headline wasn't a total shock. The reason for this was due to what had happened just 12 hours prior to my first sip of coffee on that dreary morning. Originally, my flight was due to leave Blantyre from Lilongwe on Thursday, with my international flight through Ethiopia taking off Friday afternoon. While this gave plenty of time to make the connecting flights, it eliminated any possibility of meeting with Save the Children officials in Lilongwe and thus, sharing any update on what I had been working on over the past few months. Seeing this as an unacceptable consequence, SC officials quickly worked to move up my departure date from Blantyre to Tuesday, which would provide ample time to get settled in the capital, meet with the necessary officials, and comfortably make the flight home.
I never made that flight.
When Tuesday rolled around, after a final glorious weekend in Blantyre and one final workday in the Blantyre office, I was frantic. I hadn't really done a good job of packing (how is it nothing fits on the return trip? It's like the anti-Mrs. Poppins Suitcase effect) and I was racing against time and last minute errands. I had called my driver, Nelson, to pick me up earlier than one would usually need to get to the airport, just to ensure I had all the loose ends in town tied up and the proverbial ducks in a row. I said my goodbyes to Makay and The Madame, left a generous tip to share among the staff, and set off into town, four bags packed and with constant anxious glances at the dashboard clock.
I needn't have worried about the time, as Nelson (Julius was busy) navigated the back roads around Blantyre perfectly, avoiding all the usual traffic that had a tendency to make even the shortest of trips excruciatingly long. As we pulled up to the airport unloading zone, I sighed, thinking of how few hours I had left in the Warm Heart of Africa and what an amazing experience it had been. I immediately flashed back to my arrival at this very airport some five weeks ago, the drive into town, and the first impressions of one of the three cities I would be calling home. It all seemed like a blur, and I found myself wishing that somehow I had seen more, done more, experience more than I had in the short time available to me, but then quickly dismissed such notions as foolish. I wouldn't take back anything I did while here in Malawi and knew I was leaving with no regrets. A good feeling, needless to say.
I was snapped out of my mini-daze by Nelson's slamming of the trunk and quickly hopped out of the car to assist him in lifting my behemoth sets of luggage. The airport seemed empty and dark. The only people milling about were a few guards and airport workers, standing just inches from the front door, peering at both Nelson and I struggling with what could easily be the luggage equivalent of the Griswald's African Vacation. We nodded as we passed by them and they returned in kind, not moving out of their respective chairs or uttering a sound.
Once inside the airport doors, we were immediately greeted by Airport staff who directed me to put my bags on the x-ray conveyer belt to my right. Nelson went first, grunting under the combined weight of my largest bag and the force of gravity, surely silently cursing Julius for being busy at that moment. After all four bags were loaded into the x-ray machine, I was prompted to move to the other side to collect my bags and commit to further inspection. As I did, I looked around the airport and once again, noticed how few people there were. Clearly I was early, but was I the only one on the flight today? Odd.
"What's in the red bag?" I was suddenly asked by the gentleman behind the glowing computer monitor.
"Uh, a number of things - curios (the term for small purchased handmade gifts/souvenirs), some clothes, a pair of shoes." I responded quickly, trying to remember what was in each of my massive suitcases.
"There seem to be some bottles?" said the glowing gentleman quzzically.
"Oh, right. And bottles of Nali. Five of them" I said, speaking of the painfully hot sauce I had purchased earlier that day.
"Ok, no problem" said the glow.
The first guard who had directed us was now standing next to Nelson and I, and turned to both of us. "Which of you are flying today?" He asked sternly.
I raised my hand and told him it was just me.
"You are not flying today?" The burly guard asked Nelson.
"No sir, I am just his driver" said Nelson, gesturing his thumb towards me.
"Well then you cannot be in here. This is for passengers only."
Nelson nodded, and turned to me extending his hand. He wished me a safe flight and a safe return to the US and asked me to promise to contact him if/when I ever returned to Malawi. I assured him I would, shook his hand and watched him exit the airport, get back into his car and drive away.
I looked at the bags in front of me, wishing that somehow I could find a way to dump one of them and not miss the contents inside. I took a deep breath, muttered something to myself that was both incoherent and most likely unprintable in a family-rated blog, and reached down to grab the first of the bags. As I was slinging it over my shoulder I began to look around and see where I needed to proceed to next.
"Where do I go now?" I asked the burly guard.
"For what?" he replied in his standard monotone.
"For the flight?" I responded, picking up the second bag and adding it to my already aching shoulder.
"What flight?" he responded, again with the inflection of an Apple Tandy computer.
Feeling as though I was standing at the precipice of an Abbot and Costello routine, I cut to the chase and explained I was flying to Lilongwe today on Air Malawi, taking off in just over an hour, and was looking to see where I go next to check my baggage.
"There are no flights today, sir" said Burly, remaining completely emotionless.
In retrospect, I cannot recall how long I stood there, bags slung over my shoulder staring in the face of a man a foot taller and what seemed like a foot wider than me. Realistically, it had to be no more than a few seconds, but, in flashback movie-time, it seems like it was a dozen or so minutes. The preceding events leading up to the statement "There are no flights today, sir" ran through my mind, complete with a dramatic orchestral soundtrack. Driving through dusty shortcuts, pulling up to the airport and reminiscing, jumping out to lift the luggage, the guards' nods, the x-ray machine, the Nali question, the sending away of my driver. It replayed in my head quickly, and confusingly.
"What do you mean there are no flights today?" I finally responded, never leaving the eyes of Burly.
"Air Malawi is grounded," he replied, deadpanned "we have no planes here today."
"Then why did we just do all this?!?" I replied, with a tone boarding on the hysterical as I made sweeping gestures indicating the x-ray machine. "And why did you send my driver away?!"
He shrugged his shoulders.
I continued: "And you, you, you asked me if I was flying today?!? WHY?!?"
He shrugged again, looked over my shoulder to the darkened counters behind me, and then asked, "Are you flying today?"
My actual response: "HUH?"
"Are you flying today?" he repeated, as though my confusion was auditory in nature.
"Am I flying today? Are you serious? On what? You said you have no planes?!" I responded emphatically, my arm motions causing one of the bags to slip off my shoulder and land on the ground in a thud.
"I thought maybe you brought your own plane" he responded matter-of-factly, with what was now becoming a trademark shoulder shrug.
(And now, I have to give myself credit for the next response. While this whole event was maddening, frustrating, confounding, and left me generally dazed, confused, and most importantly, stranded, I, for the first time ever, gave a proper movie line response to a new situation. In all my conversations, in all my encounters, I have never said anything that I felt was a proper movie-moment line, until this response. Typically my responses border on the dull and occasionally sneak up to the mildly entertaining, but this one had just the right mix of actual, Chandler Bing-style humor.)
"My own plane??" I responded incredulously "Well that's just....that's just....actually, that's pretty cool you thought that, but NO, I guess I ran out of room to pack a plane."
The rest of the story, I am afraid, will have to wait until you either see me in person, or I get around to writing more. Essentially, I returned to Chez Makay, whereupon I stayed in the guest house of the British heiress (long story short - Makay's place was now fully booked and the heiress lives next door), and awoke the next morning to coffee, a dreary sky and a slightly unsurprising headline. As a result of Air Malawi being shut down, a charter plane had been brought to Blantyre and was shuttling displaced travelers such as myself to and from Lilongwe, honoring the original Air Malawi ticket. Once at the airport, the lone plane was, of course, delayed multiple times for 'unknown' reasons (hint - a fuel tanker pulled up to the plane minutes before we finally boarded two hours after the flight was to originally take off), but I eventually made it to Lilongwe and am now writing this whole story from the porch of yet another beautiful hotel. Friday's flight home is on Ethiopian Air, so the grounding of Air Malawi should not affect my schedule, but let's keep our fingers crossed anyways.
Unless, of course, I find a way to bring my own plane before then.
Cheers.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
From The Vault
As my time here in Malawi draws to a close, it has provided a fantastic opportunity to not only enjoy the last drops of culture this country can provide, but also reminisce on what has been a journey I never could have quite expected. I am feeling much better (thank you to all who sent me get-well wishes) and have been completing the few tasks I have remaining on my checklist, including buying gifts and writing summarized reports of my work so far.
For today, I thought it would be an interesting tease to share with anyone who reads this, a section of the collected stories I have been writing in addition to the Nthano posts. These include the more minute details of my time here; the conversations, encounters, and moments that don't tell you a whole lot about my daily activity, but are worth sharing nonetheless. Today's entry was from a few weeks back, after a particular long, and arduous day in the field, and what happened when we went to grab a bite to eat.
Hope you enjoy.
For today, I thought it would be an interesting tease to share with anyone who reads this, a section of the collected stories I have been writing in addition to the Nthano posts. These include the more minute details of my time here; the conversations, encounters, and moments that don't tell you a whole lot about my daily activity, but are worth sharing nonetheless. Today's entry was from a few weeks back, after a particular long, and arduous day in the field, and what happened when we went to grab a bite to eat.
Hope you enjoy.
After the passport office, I decided I needed to treat Julius and my two data collectors to a little lunch. After all, they had not only performed their duties, both driving and collecting the necessary information at the schools, but had now come to Blantyre, well out of the way, in order to secure my continued legality with the Malawian border patrol. “Any suggestions on where to go?” I asked the two female data collectors in the back seat, knowing at least one of them is from Blantyre. “Let’s go to Ali Baba” she offered, pointing in a general direction that perhaps made sense only to Julius “they have the best ice cream.” Priorities were clearly on display.
We each ordered. I had my standard of chicken and chips, which Julius dutifully copied. Jeannette studied the menu intently before asking meekly what was allowed on our budget. Her face shined when I told her she could have anything she wanted, no matter the price. They had earned it. She thanked me profusely, smiling and nodding, looking back over the menu with a newfound sense of purpose, before proceeding to order the absolute cheapest item on the menu, a grilled cheese sandwich.
Esther was the last of our group to order and, since Ali Baba was her suggestion, I was curious as to what her favorite item was. She perused the menu for a long time, glancing at every page and flipping back and forth before settling on a cheeseburger and chips. She handed the menu to the waiter and looked at me, presumably for some response to her selection. “Sounds good,” I stammered, unsure of what else to say “very American.” “It is, isn’t it!” Esther said enthusiastically. “I want to come to America and try one. I suspect they are very good.” “You’d be surprised,” I offered back “they aren’t always very good, but we do have a lot of places that sell them, that’s for sure. Cheeseburgers and coffee. It’s the American marketing staples.”
All three gave confused glances at one another and in a low voice, Esther said something in Chichewa to Jeanette, all the while still looking at me. I leaned over and asked Julius if they were confused and if there was something I could answer to help clear up the misunderstanding. “They just were making sure you said coffee,” Julius said, clearing his throat “that surprised them both.” Sensing a teachable moment, I explained to the table how popular coffee was in the US, the prevalence of Starbucks, and its meteoric rise in price and as both a status symbol. “For the price of a cheap cup of coffee, you could buy several meals here in Malawi” muttered Esther, clearly disgusted at the thought. “For shame.
Our food arrived shortly after and, due to the much later hour we were taking lunch compared to our normal schedule, I was more than ready to dig in. I looked around the table and everyone having their food in front of them, and looking pleased, I told everyone to enjoy their meal, and began to eat. Not a moment later, Esther, having just taken the first bite of her cheeseburger, suddenly raised up out of her seat, crying out in shock and throwing the sandwich back down on the plate. She quickly spit out the bite that was in her mouth, and I forced back my own wretch as I watched her squirm, closing her eyes tightly and raising her hands to her mouth in a feeble attempt to rid herself of the taste.
As I dropped my fork, I imagined the horrors of the bite she just took. Was it uncooked? Spoiled? Riddled with unspeakable buggy horrors? I fought the urge to wretch again, and slowly walked around the table to comfort the still standing Esther. Food practices at any restaurant, everywhere in the world, can be a bit unnerving and often requires a turning of a blind eye. Ghastly stories of unclean kitchens and inedible food preparation ratchet up the shock value of nightly news stories and much like a passing car accident, our desire for ignorance is often outweighed by our curious sense of the macabre. All these thoughts were floating through my mind as I circled the edge of the table, afraid of what I was about to see peeking out from the bite of the scream-worthy cheeseburger.
Much to my surprise, it looked perfect. The bun was a golden yellow, the lettuce, tomato and onion all fresh and crisp and the burger itself was cooked to a perfect, brown, medium hue. I put my hand on Esther’s shoulder, which was slightly shaking, her hands still clasped firmly around her mouth. I was confused. “What’s wrong Esther? Did it taste bad?” offering what was my only remaining guess. She shook her head no, slowly. The waiter, sensing the commotion our table had caused, had now made his way back to our table, and was standing at attention, arms tucked behind his back, awaiting what was sure to be some form of verbal abuse. Esther, seeing the waiter, began to yell, in Chichewa, pointing quickly at the burger, her mouth, and the waiter, seemingly in a circular pattern, repeating both her words and gestures. The waiter nodded, and coolly asked a serious of questions, to which Esther responded to each with quick, one-word answers. He nodded once more, apologized to me in English and then snatched up the plate with the once-bitten cheeseburger, turned on his heels and walked away.
After comforting Esther a bit more, we all sat back down. Silence and chewing resumed, everyone seemingly unsure of what conversation could follow such a traumatic event. At first, I was content to let it go, chalking the whole moment up to simple displeasure with the food preparation, but it seemed like something more, so, against better judgment, I decided to ask.
“I don’t eat meat,” said Esther plainly, “and that was most assuredly beef in that cheeseburger.” I blinked and looked at Julius, and then back at Esther. “Were you not expecting beef?” I asked, slowly. “No! If I had wanted beef, I would have ordered a beef burger, not a cheeseburger!” Esther emphatically exclaimed, complete with circular, frantic hand gestures. “I see,” I responded, mostly un-sarcastically “so you just wanted cheese, and vegetables on a bun, yes?” “Yes” Said Esther, clearly exhausted by the whole process “that is what I ordered.”
Again, at this moment, I should have let it go, but not only was my curiosity heightened by the explanation, but my sense of comic righteousness as well. “So,” I began to ask, against my better judgment “what would you expect if you ordered a hamburger?”
“A sandwich with pork,” Esther said, matter-of-factly “of course.”
Of course.
And we never did get the ice cream.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Dr. Makay's Prescriptions
The lack of posts lately have been for a number of reasons. I have been fighting a whole new crop of illnesses that have left my body very weak and either a) unwilling; or b) unable to get much past the bed/seating area of my apartment. I have also had little reason to do much as the fuel crisis has extended to the point of almost complete business shutdown. As if these weren't enough to discourage me from writing/contributing to Nthano, I had a sudden and strange moment (my first I believe) of Apple product letdown. My charger for my computer, at the point where the charger connects to the computer, went kablooey. I am sure there is a more accurate term for what happened, but kablooey seems to cover it in my mind. It is thankfully "fixed" now do to a rather unsightly lump of packing tape. Any port in a storm.
After forcing myself out of bed this morning, throwing on my lions jersey and sweatpants, and taking an ill-advised look into the mirror, I slowly climbed the steps to the restaurant/porch. The weather was overcast (a sure sign we are in November) and while the breeze felt nice, it was no consolation to my gurgling, angry stomach.
When I got to the top, there were only a few tables taken (a sure sign that it was Sunday) and, as always, Makay was sitting in his favorite seat, holding an acoustic guitar. He said hello, and immediately seeing my labored response, asked what was wrong. I tried to say nothing but barely got the "n" sound out before he said bluntly "don't lie to me."
"I just don't feel well," I said, holding my hand to my stomach.
"You ate somewhere else yesterday didn't you?" he said, still gripping the guitar.
I nodded. I had eaten in town at a rather bustling restaurant.
"You had salad didn't you?" he asked, continuing the inquisition.
I nodded again. I had eaten a rather sketchy piece of chicken with wilted greens on the side.
"Ah, James. This is why you eat here. Go sit down, I will get you something."
He directed me over a seat and then left quickly, guitar still in hand.
After about ten minutes he reappeared, with a bottle of Coca-Cola and a large dinner plate filled with what looked like yellow porridge.
"Mashed potatoes and Coke," he said setting it down in front of me. "This is all you are eating today. Makay's orders."
I wasn't sure about the prospect of pop and a pile of potatoes for breakfast, but seeing little way around this as he stood in front of me, I begrudgingly dug in.
I was about halfway through the plate when he came back to check on me.
"You need to be careful here, all the time. Stomachs are funny things. Finish the whole plate, drink the coke and then rest. Later, I may allow you to eat chocolate cake."
He smiled and walked away before stopping as if suddenly realizing something, then quickly walked off towards his own room. He reemerged a few seconds later with his acoustic guitar and brought it over to where I was sitting, and then carefully placed it in the seat across from me, as if the guitar was suddenly my breakfast date.
Makay looked at my remaining potatoes, then up at me and said "When you are done eating, play. Music heals the body."
"Ah, I don't know how to play, Makay." I said apologetically.
"Sure you do. You just don't know it yet." He responded matter-of-factly.
"No, no I am quite sure. I have tried before. I was in a band, and I can play drums and piano, but the guitar...It just has never made sense to me and I can't play it at all."
"Have you ever played it in Malawi?" Makay asked, a slight smirk appearing on his face.
"Well, um, no."
"Then you don't know you don't know how to play the guitar in Malawi, do you?" Makay said as he turned and walked away, leaving me befuddled with my half-eaten plate of yellow potatoes, empty bottle of coca-cola, and a guitar.
I played that guitar for the next three hours.
After forcing myself out of bed this morning, throwing on my lions jersey and sweatpants, and taking an ill-advised look into the mirror, I slowly climbed the steps to the restaurant/porch. The weather was overcast (a sure sign we are in November) and while the breeze felt nice, it was no consolation to my gurgling, angry stomach.
When I got to the top, there were only a few tables taken (a sure sign that it was Sunday) and, as always, Makay was sitting in his favorite seat, holding an acoustic guitar. He said hello, and immediately seeing my labored response, asked what was wrong. I tried to say nothing but barely got the "n" sound out before he said bluntly "don't lie to me."
"I just don't feel well," I said, holding my hand to my stomach.
"You ate somewhere else yesterday didn't you?" he said, still gripping the guitar.
I nodded. I had eaten in town at a rather bustling restaurant.
"You had salad didn't you?" he asked, continuing the inquisition.
I nodded again. I had eaten a rather sketchy piece of chicken with wilted greens on the side.
"Ah, James. This is why you eat here. Go sit down, I will get you something."
He directed me over a seat and then left quickly, guitar still in hand.
After about ten minutes he reappeared, with a bottle of Coca-Cola and a large dinner plate filled with what looked like yellow porridge.
"Mashed potatoes and Coke," he said setting it down in front of me. "This is all you are eating today. Makay's orders."
I wasn't sure about the prospect of pop and a pile of potatoes for breakfast, but seeing little way around this as he stood in front of me, I begrudgingly dug in.
I was about halfway through the plate when he came back to check on me.
"You need to be careful here, all the time. Stomachs are funny things. Finish the whole plate, drink the coke and then rest. Later, I may allow you to eat chocolate cake."
He smiled and walked away before stopping as if suddenly realizing something, then quickly walked off towards his own room. He reemerged a few seconds later with his acoustic guitar and brought it over to where I was sitting, and then carefully placed it in the seat across from me, as if the guitar was suddenly my breakfast date.
Makay looked at my remaining potatoes, then up at me and said "When you are done eating, play. Music heals the body."
"Ah, I don't know how to play, Makay." I said apologetically.
"Sure you do. You just don't know it yet." He responded matter-of-factly.
"No, no I am quite sure. I have tried before. I was in a band, and I can play drums and piano, but the guitar...It just has never made sense to me and I can't play it at all."
"Have you ever played it in Malawi?" Makay asked, a slight smirk appearing on his face.
"Well, um, no."
"Then you don't know you don't know how to play the guitar in Malawi, do you?" Makay said as he turned and walked away, leaving me befuddled with my half-eaten plate of yellow potatoes, empty bottle of coca-cola, and a guitar.
I played that guitar for the next three hours.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Considering Chancellor
With the weekend came time for a bit of rest and relaxation, which my body had desperately needed. In the midst of the field work every day, changing cities and hotels, re-packing and un-packing, I had failed to notice the toll that the constant movement was exerting on my body and mind. By the time Friday and Saturday rolled around, and I was given time to slow down, I noticed how every muscle ached with exhaustion and how I had forgotten the last time my list of leisure activities dwarfed my list of responsibilities.
It was early Saturday morning, and I was sitting on the large porch of Chez Makay awaiting my breakfast when Julius arrived. His presence was a bit of a surprise, and though I had not expected him, it was nice to see a familiar, smiling face. He pulled the seat out across the table from me, plopped down and gave a big sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the palm of his hand.
"Morning James, how are you?" "I am well," I responded and extended my hand which he took and shook lightly, transferring his forehead sweat to my palm "what brings you here today?" "Just wanted to check on you," he responded, gesturing to the server and pointing to my coffee mug, sending the waiter scurrying off, "and maybe get you the chance to exercise a bit."
His idea of exercise turned out to be a trek into town, which wasn't an exceptionally long walk, but in my tired state, seemed almost endless. As we walked, he pointed out features of the area we were in; the planted, unnatural bamboo stalks which lined the road, the enclosed private houses with spiraling barbed wire atop ten-foot concrete walls, and even the local church, which at the time, was blaring "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men. "Whatever happened to them?" Julius asked, more to himself than me.
We ended up walking all around the city, Julius alternating between taking me into to local shops (he found a store which sold musical instruments because "I thought you'd like to be near some drums again"), a market which would rival a Moroccan souk/medina for second-hand imported junk ("What is a Def Leppard" he asked, pointing to an extremely faded black t-shirt in one booth), and even multiple grocery stores to "show me how Malawians buy their food...or what is left of food here."
At a moment's notice, Julius would switch from optimistic to realistic, alternating between discussing Malawi's past, present, and future. He is a relatively young man, mid-thirties I suspect, but often speaks with the slow, deliberate pattern of a man much older. "Malawi," he begins at one point as we cross a busy road, darting to avoid the minibuses which seem unable to see pedestrians at any time "is at a crossroads, no doubt. We are a country that is trying, trying so hard to be modern, but we are stuck at still only fighting ourselves. Take Chancellor College for example."
Chancellor College, located in Zomba, is one of the largest colleges in the country. Misheck, my friend and colleague from last year's civic education workshop, had attended there in the early nineties, along with many of the country's other respected professionals. It is, without exaggeration, the single most important academic institution the country has in its possession.
It has also been closed for 18 months.
What had happened, as far as I could understand, was a combination of faculty solidarity and outside pressure. Four lecturers, who reportedly used their classrooms as sounding boards for their radical opinions, were fired 18 months ago. While the reasons were not publicly given, it seems there was little doubt as to the cause of their dismissals. In response, the remaining faculty, showing their support for their colleagues and wishing to showcase their unwillingness to have their in-classroom speech restricted, decided to protest the firings by refusing to come to work. The college closed and remained closed for 18 months.
Late last week, as Julius and I readied to come back to Blantyre, it was announced that the four lecturers had been reinstated, and the school would reopen upon creation of a new academic calendar. It was a momentous turn of events, and the reinstatement had come from none other than the President himself, citing the importance of Higher Education in Malawi and the continued academic progress of its citizens.
"What happened at Chancellor" Julius continued, as we ducked into another shop "is a perfect example of the strengths and weaknesses in our country. The lecturers held together, and did what they knew was right, and they won. But they, and the country also lost - we have lost scholars, time, and money. And over what?" Julius let that question hang as he shook his head and ran his fingers over a forlorn soccer jersey hanging on a rack.
We exited the shop and continued walking, in silence.
It was early Saturday morning, and I was sitting on the large porch of Chez Makay awaiting my breakfast when Julius arrived. His presence was a bit of a surprise, and though I had not expected him, it was nice to see a familiar, smiling face. He pulled the seat out across the table from me, plopped down and gave a big sigh, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the palm of his hand.
"Morning James, how are you?" "I am well," I responded and extended my hand which he took and shook lightly, transferring his forehead sweat to my palm "what brings you here today?" "Just wanted to check on you," he responded, gesturing to the server and pointing to my coffee mug, sending the waiter scurrying off, "and maybe get you the chance to exercise a bit."
His idea of exercise turned out to be a trek into town, which wasn't an exceptionally long walk, but in my tired state, seemed almost endless. As we walked, he pointed out features of the area we were in; the planted, unnatural bamboo stalks which lined the road, the enclosed private houses with spiraling barbed wire atop ten-foot concrete walls, and even the local church, which at the time, was blaring "End of the Road" by Boyz II Men. "Whatever happened to them?" Julius asked, more to himself than me.
We ended up walking all around the city, Julius alternating between taking me into to local shops (he found a store which sold musical instruments because "I thought you'd like to be near some drums again"), a market which would rival a Moroccan souk/medina for second-hand imported junk ("What is a Def Leppard" he asked, pointing to an extremely faded black t-shirt in one booth), and even multiple grocery stores to "show me how Malawians buy their food...or what is left of food here."
At a moment's notice, Julius would switch from optimistic to realistic, alternating between discussing Malawi's past, present, and future. He is a relatively young man, mid-thirties I suspect, but often speaks with the slow, deliberate pattern of a man much older. "Malawi," he begins at one point as we cross a busy road, darting to avoid the minibuses which seem unable to see pedestrians at any time "is at a crossroads, no doubt. We are a country that is trying, trying so hard to be modern, but we are stuck at still only fighting ourselves. Take Chancellor College for example."
Chancellor College, located in Zomba, is one of the largest colleges in the country. Misheck, my friend and colleague from last year's civic education workshop, had attended there in the early nineties, along with many of the country's other respected professionals. It is, without exaggeration, the single most important academic institution the country has in its possession.
It has also been closed for 18 months.
What had happened, as far as I could understand, was a combination of faculty solidarity and outside pressure. Four lecturers, who reportedly used their classrooms as sounding boards for their radical opinions, were fired 18 months ago. While the reasons were not publicly given, it seems there was little doubt as to the cause of their dismissals. In response, the remaining faculty, showing their support for their colleagues and wishing to showcase their unwillingness to have their in-classroom speech restricted, decided to protest the firings by refusing to come to work. The college closed and remained closed for 18 months.
Late last week, as Julius and I readied to come back to Blantyre, it was announced that the four lecturers had been reinstated, and the school would reopen upon creation of a new academic calendar. It was a momentous turn of events, and the reinstatement had come from none other than the President himself, citing the importance of Higher Education in Malawi and the continued academic progress of its citizens.
"What happened at Chancellor" Julius continued, as we ducked into another shop "is a perfect example of the strengths and weaknesses in our country. The lecturers held together, and did what they knew was right, and they won. But they, and the country also lost - we have lost scholars, time, and money. And over what?" Julius let that question hang as he shook his head and ran his fingers over a forlorn soccer jersey hanging on a rack.
We exited the shop and continued walking, in silence.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Chez Makay: The Remix
I arrived in Blantyre early this morning and checked in at the Chez Makay, making this officially my fourth hotel in 40 days. For those of you who are new to the blog, or don't remember, I came here in late September for dinner, drinks, and a spectacular view of the mountainside. As I walked in through the front door (which, it should be noted, is more akin to walking into a house than a hotel/inn; it's like a wilderness bed & breakfast) there was Makay, dreadlocked and smiling. "Hello James," he said while extending his hand and either remembering me from before or looking at his reservation book and being a damn good host, "welcome back home." He then proceeded to shout through an open door to the in very fast Chichewa, prompting a smiling, hurried gentleman to rush in, grab my bags from me and quickly rush out of the lobby. As I began to follow, Makay, in his slow, laid-back tone urged me to stay. "No need to leave so quickly. He will make sure your bags are settled. We will put on some jazz and drink a Green." Keep in mind, it is somewhere around 8:00 am. And you know what? I didn't care one bit.
This is the allure of Chez Makay. If the first and second hotels (Sunbird Lilongwe/Sunbird Mount Soche) were all business, and the Annie's Lodge was a mountainside resort, then Chez Makay is like an island, floating in the Caribbean and unaware of the hustle and bustle all around its shoreline. Getting here is an adventure in itself, off the beaten path that veers off from the beaten path, and when you arrive, its exterior is as unassuming from the outside as it is magical on the inside. In fact, of all the hotels I have ever stayed in, I think its the first one I can ever describe as being cool. As we sipped our early morning beers, sun peeking over the top of the mountain clearly visible from the deck and a soft trumpet playing 30s style prohibition jazz, I couldn't help but wonder if this was all real. Makay and I sat and chatted through three bottles of Green (all on the house of course), talking about everything from his early life in Cameroon, to his purchase of the 'Chez' to what has brought me to Lilongwe, Blantyre, Zomba, and back again.
After we finished, I excused myself to go to my room, and Makay gave me directions. "Go through the lawn, and turn right until you see the staircase. Go down three flights of stairs and you will find your apartment on the left." "Alright," I said, and as I wondered if three Greens and no breakfast would inhibit my stair descending ability, Makay's words slowly made their way from my ears to a workable portion of my brain. "Wait, apartment?" I turned around and asked. "I told you, you were home, right?" Makay said with a grin, "Well home can't be a hotel room James. Enjoy" I nodded, supposing there was a certain sense of logic to that, and wondering where that sensibility had been the past couple weeks.
After making the trek down the stairs, I arrived to my one bedroom, one bath apartment. It's not fancy, don't get me wrong, but a full two rooms, a lounge area with a nice TV and refrigerator, and an ample sized bathroom, and fully stocked bookshelf, filled with everything from old classics (Chaucer and Hemingway), contemporary summer reads (Crichton and Thomas Harris), and old, leather bound, well worn books in French, Italian, and Spanish.
I took a moment to settle myself, and, due to precise combination of a late night packing, an early morning drive, and Makay-inspired morning brews, decided it was time to take a nap.
I awoke one hour later. I was staring at a lizard.
There I laid, for an hour-long sixty seconds. It blinked. I didn't. It was breathing. I am still not sure if I was or not.
There was about six inches of white, bare sheet between my nose and its nose. I remember thinking absolutely nothing. Actually, that's not entirely true. The transcript of the moment would have read something like this.
Me: Thats a lizard.
Me: Am I asleep?
Me: I feel pretty awake.
Me: Do lizards bite?
Me: Thats a lizard.
Me: Beer?
Lizard: *Blink*
Me: I'm sleeping with a f$#%# lizard.
Then, something weird happened. I heard music. It wasn't the jazz from earlier, and it wasn't a radio. Unless the lizard/beer/nap combination completely messed with my perception of reality (and at this very moment, such a conclusion seemed plausible, if not preferred) I could swear that it was a live band.
Spurred on equally by my desire to track down the source of the music and to end my overly-courteous bedside manner with a reptile, I lept out of bed and quickly rushed to do to things: put my shoes on, and grab both my camera and my lizard removal kit (ie. the back page of a magazine and empty glass). I quickly snapped a picture of my bedmate (so that you'd all believe me), carefully trapped him (her?) underneath a glass and moved him outside so that it could complete its lizardy walk-of-shame. I then, as corny as it sounds, I followed the music.
What I found, down by the pool, was a group of six musicians, all native Malawians, practicing for their gig tomorrow night here at Chez. The lead singer, a tall, lanky, dreadlocked guy with a raspy voice, penchant for animated arm movements and oversized aviator sunglasses was named Marco and the band name (I think) was the same. What happened next should come as no surprise to anyone who even remotely knows me (or my Father, from whom I learned to never leave 'a happening): I sat there for two hours, just on the periphery of their practice circle, listening to some of the coolest, funkiest, hippest reggae I have ever heard. (Fellow Bloomingtoners: THIS is an act for the Lotus Festival next year, for sure) I can't wait to see them here tomorrow and let you know what a full performance is like. In the meantime, I bought both albums, have been jamming to them all afternoon, and will share with anyone who wants to hear when I return.
So that's the first twelve hours at Chez Makay. Lord (and lizard) only knows what I will experience for the next twenty days.
Cheers.
This is the allure of Chez Makay. If the first and second hotels (Sunbird Lilongwe/Sunbird Mount Soche) were all business, and the Annie's Lodge was a mountainside resort, then Chez Makay is like an island, floating in the Caribbean and unaware of the hustle and bustle all around its shoreline. Getting here is an adventure in itself, off the beaten path that veers off from the beaten path, and when you arrive, its exterior is as unassuming from the outside as it is magical on the inside. In fact, of all the hotels I have ever stayed in, I think its the first one I can ever describe as being cool. As we sipped our early morning beers, sun peeking over the top of the mountain clearly visible from the deck and a soft trumpet playing 30s style prohibition jazz, I couldn't help but wonder if this was all real. Makay and I sat and chatted through three bottles of Green (all on the house of course), talking about everything from his early life in Cameroon, to his purchase of the 'Chez' to what has brought me to Lilongwe, Blantyre, Zomba, and back again.
After we finished, I excused myself to go to my room, and Makay gave me directions. "Go through the lawn, and turn right until you see the staircase. Go down three flights of stairs and you will find your apartment on the left." "Alright," I said, and as I wondered if three Greens and no breakfast would inhibit my stair descending ability, Makay's words slowly made their way from my ears to a workable portion of my brain. "Wait, apartment?" I turned around and asked. "I told you, you were home, right?" Makay said with a grin, "Well home can't be a hotel room James. Enjoy" I nodded, supposing there was a certain sense of logic to that, and wondering where that sensibility had been the past couple weeks.
After making the trek down the stairs, I arrived to my one bedroom, one bath apartment. It's not fancy, don't get me wrong, but a full two rooms, a lounge area with a nice TV and refrigerator, and an ample sized bathroom, and fully stocked bookshelf, filled with everything from old classics (Chaucer and Hemingway), contemporary summer reads (Crichton and Thomas Harris), and old, leather bound, well worn books in French, Italian, and Spanish.
I took a moment to settle myself, and, due to precise combination of a late night packing, an early morning drive, and Makay-inspired morning brews, decided it was time to take a nap.
I awoke one hour later. I was staring at a lizard.
There I laid, for an hour-long sixty seconds. It blinked. I didn't. It was breathing. I am still not sure if I was or not.
There was about six inches of white, bare sheet between my nose and its nose. I remember thinking absolutely nothing. Actually, that's not entirely true. The transcript of the moment would have read something like this.
Me: Thats a lizard.
Me: Am I asleep?
Me: I feel pretty awake.
Me: Do lizards bite?
Me: Thats a lizard.
Me: Beer?
Lizard: *Blink*
Me: I'm sleeping with a f$#%# lizard.
Then, something weird happened. I heard music. It wasn't the jazz from earlier, and it wasn't a radio. Unless the lizard/beer/nap combination completely messed with my perception of reality (and at this very moment, such a conclusion seemed plausible, if not preferred) I could swear that it was a live band.
Spurred on equally by my desire to track down the source of the music and to end my overly-courteous bedside manner with a reptile, I lept out of bed and quickly rushed to do to things: put my shoes on, and grab both my camera and my lizard removal kit (ie. the back page of a magazine and empty glass). I quickly snapped a picture of my bedmate (so that you'd all believe me), carefully trapped him (her?) underneath a glass and moved him outside so that it could complete its lizardy walk-of-shame. I then, as corny as it sounds, I followed the music.
What I found, down by the pool, was a group of six musicians, all native Malawians, practicing for their gig tomorrow night here at Chez. The lead singer, a tall, lanky, dreadlocked guy with a raspy voice, penchant for animated arm movements and oversized aviator sunglasses was named Marco and the band name (I think) was the same. What happened next should come as no surprise to anyone who even remotely knows me (or my Father, from whom I learned to never leave 'a happening): I sat there for two hours, just on the periphery of their practice circle, listening to some of the coolest, funkiest, hippest reggae I have ever heard. (Fellow Bloomingtoners: THIS is an act for the Lotus Festival next year, for sure) I can't wait to see them here tomorrow and let you know what a full performance is like. In the meantime, I bought both albums, have been jamming to them all afternoon, and will share with anyone who wants to hear when I return.
So that's the first twelve hours at Chez Makay. Lord (and lizard) only knows what I will experience for the next twenty days.
Cheers.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Last Day in the Field
Rejoice, rejoice, the data collection is finished. After a grueling day which started at 5:00 am and finished around 4:00 pm, we can now thankfully say the research has been fully collected. Just to recap, it spanned ten working days, visiting 21 schools and watching 42 teachers' Chichewa lessons. Now comes the next step, which involves sorting through the piles of research instruments and beginning to code and analyze the data. Fun stuff ahead.
Today however, I am switching gears a bit and have been invited to give a short (30 minute) lecture on Civic Education (specific focus on Rights and Responsibilities) at the Domasi College of Education. At the present time (7:43 am) I am not entirely sure what I will say, but hopefully by 2:00 pm I will.
As such, I am making this posting short and sweet, with only the basics. But lest I post a wholly unfulfilling blog entry, I want to share a couple pictures from a much larger series of portraits I shot on the final day in the field. These pictures essentially formed into a new game (Picture Pose?) where I would select individuals from a group, and make them the primary subject of a shot. What was fun about this was how excited the 'chosen' one always was, and how excited their peers were for them. I, of course, only selected the quiet ones (yelling at me does not get me to call on you no matter what the age, setting or lesson), who then would struggle their way through the mob to stand, front and center, awaiting for me to start clicking away. Once taken, I would then hit the playback button so they could see themselves, at which point (much like the other games), they would giggle, get shy, or run away in a combo laugh/scream.
Here are just a few of my favorites:
Today however, I am switching gears a bit and have been invited to give a short (30 minute) lecture on Civic Education (specific focus on Rights and Responsibilities) at the Domasi College of Education. At the present time (7:43 am) I am not entirely sure what I will say, but hopefully by 2:00 pm I will.
As such, I am making this posting short and sweet, with only the basics. But lest I post a wholly unfulfilling blog entry, I want to share a couple pictures from a much larger series of portraits I shot on the final day in the field. These pictures essentially formed into a new game (Picture Pose?) where I would select individuals from a group, and make them the primary subject of a shot. What was fun about this was how excited the 'chosen' one always was, and how excited their peers were for them. I, of course, only selected the quiet ones (yelling at me does not get me to call on you no matter what the age, setting or lesson), who then would struggle their way through the mob to stand, front and center, awaiting for me to start clicking away. Once taken, I would then hit the playback button so they could see themselves, at which point (much like the other games), they would giggle, get shy, or run away in a combo laugh/scream.
Here are just a few of my favorites:
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Visits in Part(s)
We've arrived at the end of another week, and (almost) the end of my data collection in the field. One more day, Monday, with a jam-packed slate of three (!) schools and we can call this part of the trip a wrap. Seems strange actually to think about that and it will be yet another transition to go back to Blantyre and back to office work. Being in the field each day is grueling, no doubt, but its thrilling as well, and it will be hard for anything on the rest of this trip to match. Of course, now that I have said that I will inevitably run into a wild gang of street monkeys and rue the day I ever wrote that sentence.
So, so, so much to share and I am guaranteed to screw some of it up/miss some important details. In order to get the academic, research angle of the work I am doing, you will have to read the final report (don't all ask for it at once, now), so instead, here is the general order of events experienced at each of the 18 schools over a nine day period.
Part I: The Arrival
As soon as we pull into a school, it is as if we set off a tiny explosive in the courtyard. The schools, as you may have seen in the pictures, largely consist of 3-5, one-story buildings, with a central courtyard/parking lot/lunch"room"/recreation area. As we pull in, students of all ages (we have only been visiting the free primary schools, which typically consist of standards/grades 1-6) peer out the windows or holes in the sides of the buildings and run out of the classroom to see the vehicle that has suddenly rumbled on to their campus. Once parked, and my team readied, we step out into what can only be described as the world's littlest big mob. Students excitedly yell "Muzungu!" (Chichewa for 'white person') and run full speed towards us, stopping just short of the two (sometimes three) of us and stare intently, not sure whether to be excited, confused, or scared. According to Julius, who has witnessed this now exactly 18 of 18 times, it is a healthy mixture of all three. "For some," he told me once as we drove away from a school, "it is their first time to ever see a vehicle up close, and for most, the first time they have seen a person who looks like you. Some are excited, but many are frightened because they aren't sure why you are here, and they are afraid you are there to get them in trouble."
One of the funniest instances of such excitement/unsure attitudes towards me was at a very small school called Mchenga. Our typical protocol is to meet the Headteacher (Principal), exchange pleasantries, tell him the focus of my research and what standards/lessons I wished to observe that day, and wait in the office while he readies the teachers for three newcomers to enter their class. I often take this time to reassure the Headteacher that we are only there to observe, not to evaluate, and to tell the teacher we will be very good, quiet students in the back of the classroom. Judging by the nervousness displayed by many of the teachers we watch, I am fairly confident this message gets lost in translation. Nonetheless, that is the general order of events, and the time spent in the Headteacher's office as he conveys the message is usually spent looking around and taking note of important details such as enrollment, staff numbers, etc. On this particular day however, students became the focus of our time-killing observations as the doorway to the Headteacher's office was filled with about 30 sets of eyes all peering intently at the strange person visiting their school.
"Uli Bwanji!" (How are you?) my co-researcher Jeanette asks the children. "Tiri bwino" (We are fine), the children respond, in unison, not taking their eyes off of me. Jeanette laughs, and then asks a question in Chichewa with a little girl up front, who, wide-eyed, excitedly responds. Jeanette guffaws loudly. "What did you just say?" I asked. "It's not what I said," she responded, still laughing, "it was what SHE said." "Well, what did she say then?" Jeanette's laugh slowed a bit, but didn't quite cease as she explained. "I asked her what she was going to tell her parents when she went home and she said, 'That I saw a Muzungu....and that they are hairy!!"
Hard to say she was wrong with that assessment.
Part II: The Waiting Games
Now, what happens next tends to vary with the school. Sometimes, they are extremely prepared for us, and the Headteacher leads us right into the classroom with no delays. Those are the good days. Unfortunately, they are also not the norm. In most cases, we encounter a lot of down time spent in one of three places: the car, the Headteachers office, or the courtyard. At the first school of the day, this period of waiting always causes a bit of anxiety; our timetable is tight and if we take too long at school #1, we may have difficulty seeing the classes I want us to see at school #2. As a result, I can be a bit tightly wound at the beginning of each day, and willing to see almost any Standard fitting within my schema as long as they are prepared and ready to go. By the time we get to the second school however, and knowing the only thing left to consume my day is food, bad TV, and fantasy football 'research', I am much more laid back and willing to accept the given time delays as they come. Thus, my time in the morning during this part of the research is spent almost exclusively in the Headteacher's office, gently applying pressure, and at the second visit, I am more apt to stand in the courtyard and play with the children.
What we "play" tends to depend on their level of English and my tenuous grasp of Chichewa. If they are Standard four or above, they typically have enough English to converse with me (if brave enough...there is always one), and our conversations typically stay right around the comfortable safety net of "what is your name","what grade are you in" and the ever-important question asked of me: "where are you from?" For those unable to talk in English yet, we forego any real chance of me talking in Chichewa (I can say 'how are you', 'I am fine', 'thank you' and 'I will have a beer'...three of these work in a school setting) and instead we create some sort of "game". These have included:
Fruit Football Rules: Stand in a circle around tallest player (ie. me). Find a piece of fruit on the ground. Kick it back and forth until it gets past somebody for a goal. As more players gather, the circle grows larger, and more fruits get added. Number of players: 40-100. Number of fruit footballs: Seemingly endless
ET Touch Rules: Players extend forefingers slowly until making contact with the tips of their fingers. One person runs away giggling, screaming, or jumping up and down. Not sure how a winner is decided.
Window Roll Down Rules: Players gather around a vehicle. Player one demonstrates how the window of a car is manually rolled down and encourages other players to try to do the same. Other players stay a safe distance away and slowly encourage someone else to play. Longest time spent rolling down a window? Approximately 1.5 seconds.
Stick Toss Rules: Players toss sticks.
Funny Face: Player one makes a funny face, prompting giggles, laughs, and shouts and encourages others to make faces back. Similar to ET Touch, once a funny face has been returned, the player is to run away and hide behind a friend. Also similar to ET Touch, it is unclear if there is a winner.
Needless to say, these games can be quite entertaining and make the time pass quickly and enjoyably. Language is overrated.
Part III: The Classroom
Finally we enter the classroom, and are often greeted by the students standing and, in English, saying the following in unison:
Them: "Hello sir! Welcome sir. How are you today?"
Me: "I am well! How are you?"
Them: "We are fine sir. Thank you sir."
Me: "Thank you. You may be seated."
Them: "We will sit sir. Thank you sir."
At this point they all sit back down and follow us with their eyes as we make our way to the chairs that have been arranged in the back for us. As we take our seats, I always find it just a bit uncomfortable to sit in chairs while in the classroom though, most notably because of the 18 classrooms we visited, 16 of them had students sitting on the floor. This was due to a combination of the large class sizes which would call for a prohibitive amount of desks and the scarcity of resources to afford the desks. So to say I feel a bit strange sitting up high while they sit on the floor is an understatement, but at the same time, the Headteacher and teacher would absolutely not allow me to sit on the floor, so the chair it is.
The lessons, on a whole, have been fantastic. As this is a study of reading and literacy practices, all 18 lessons which were observed for the purpose of data collection were Chichewa lessons, but occasionally, if we were either early or late, we would be able to see a lesson in another subject. You will be able to read all about the Chichewa lessons in the final report (Wow, so many of you want it! Fantastic!) so I won't bore you with those details, other than to say they have been remarkably child centered, and showcasing excellent language pedagogy. Very impressive.
My favorite moment in any classroom over the last two weeks has to be at Namakwena. The Headteacher, who taught multiple standards throughout the day, was extremely bright and experienced, and not surprisingly, his students were among the best we saw in all 18 schools. I am sure he would be embarrassed by the story I am about to tell, but I assure you, as I would him, that while I was very impressed with all his students, and the amount of knowledge and competency they showed, a student answering something correctly a funny story does not make. This however...I am still laughing.
It was science lesson (!) and the students were talking about water. Again, since the lessons are mostly in Chichewa, I was forced to lean over to my data collector to get what was going on, apart from the easily recognizable charts or diagrams. The following is the transcript of a moment in this class, loosely translated from Chichewa:
Teacher: Who can tell me what symbols make up water?
Student 1: H!
Teacher: Very good! Now everyone say it.
All students: H!!
Teacher: Very good. Now what other letter is in water?
Student 2: O!
Teacher: That is correct! O. Everyone?
All: O!!
Teacher: Very nice. Now, from last week's lesson, what goes in between those two?
Student 3: 2!
Teacher: Excellent! Everyone!
All: 2!!!!
Teacher: Ok now I need one student to come to the front and give us everything together that makes up water.
*All students raise hands excitedly, most clicking their fingers, yelling "sir! sir!"*
Teacher: [Points to student]
Student 4: [Stands silently at front of the class]
Teacher: [Says students name] What is the formula for water?
Student 4: [Stands silently at front of the class]
Teacher: [Says name again] Do you know it?
Student 4: [Deep breath] H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O!
Teacher: [Looks at us nervously] What? What was that?
Student 4: [Proudly] It was H to O!!
[Scene]
You just CANNOT make this kind of stuff up. Absolutely priceless.
Part IV: Leaving
The most bittersweet moment of any visit is leaving the school. On one hand, it is always a good feeling to drive away, knowing that more data was collected, you are one step closer to finishing the job, and one step away from potential pratfalls that have somehow, luckily, been avoided. On the other hand, every time I leave I feel as though I didn't do enough to help. It's a difficult position to be in. I have nothing tangible to give to these schools, and often, I feel as though all I did was take. Allowing me to witness Malawian teaching, observe and record specific details of the lesson, watch students processing words and sentences for the first time is equally fulfilling and difficult, simply because I want to be able to assist them more than I am. Oftentimes, I find myself sitting in the passenger seat of the car as we pull away drifting, wondering all things existential, including why I am there, what my purpose is, and realizing that I may very well never see any of those children again.
But, and I have to remain confident in this, the research we are collecting, and the work we are attempting to do, does impact the lives of the same children who "beat me" at ET Touch and set the record for Window Roll Down. What I/we/Save the Children is attempting to do is monitor, evaluate, and ultimately assess teaching practices that could have enormous benefit to these children, or their children's children, or even further down the line. I am not saying this to be boastful, but rather to express on here the same thing I have to tell myself every time we leave a school and every time I wonder why I am here, and every time a giant spider crawls across my wall, and every time I swallow another malaria pill. It's all for a purpose, and maybe it's a bit more tangible than even I realize.
Now go find a piece of fruit and practice your kicking skills.
Cheers.
So, so, so much to share and I am guaranteed to screw some of it up/miss some important details. In order to get the academic, research angle of the work I am doing, you will have to read the final report (don't all ask for it at once, now), so instead, here is the general order of events experienced at each of the 18 schools over a nine day period.
Part I: The Arrival
As soon as we pull into a school, it is as if we set off a tiny explosive in the courtyard. The schools, as you may have seen in the pictures, largely consist of 3-5, one-story buildings, with a central courtyard/parking lot/lunch"room"/recreation area. As we pull in, students of all ages (we have only been visiting the free primary schools, which typically consist of standards/grades 1-6) peer out the windows or holes in the sides of the buildings and run out of the classroom to see the vehicle that has suddenly rumbled on to their campus. Once parked, and my team readied, we step out into what can only be described as the world's littlest big mob. Students excitedly yell "Muzungu!" (Chichewa for 'white person') and run full speed towards us, stopping just short of the two (sometimes three) of us and stare intently, not sure whether to be excited, confused, or scared. According to Julius, who has witnessed this now exactly 18 of 18 times, it is a healthy mixture of all three. "For some," he told me once as we drove away from a school, "it is their first time to ever see a vehicle up close, and for most, the first time they have seen a person who looks like you. Some are excited, but many are frightened because they aren't sure why you are here, and they are afraid you are there to get them in trouble."
One of the funniest instances of such excitement/unsure attitudes towards me was at a very small school called Mchenga. Our typical protocol is to meet the Headteacher (Principal), exchange pleasantries, tell him the focus of my research and what standards/lessons I wished to observe that day, and wait in the office while he readies the teachers for three newcomers to enter their class. I often take this time to reassure the Headteacher that we are only there to observe, not to evaluate, and to tell the teacher we will be very good, quiet students in the back of the classroom. Judging by the nervousness displayed by many of the teachers we watch, I am fairly confident this message gets lost in translation. Nonetheless, that is the general order of events, and the time spent in the Headteacher's office as he conveys the message is usually spent looking around and taking note of important details such as enrollment, staff numbers, etc. On this particular day however, students became the focus of our time-killing observations as the doorway to the Headteacher's office was filled with about 30 sets of eyes all peering intently at the strange person visiting their school.
"Uli Bwanji!" (How are you?) my co-researcher Jeanette asks the children. "Tiri bwino" (We are fine), the children respond, in unison, not taking their eyes off of me. Jeanette laughs, and then asks a question in Chichewa with a little girl up front, who, wide-eyed, excitedly responds. Jeanette guffaws loudly. "What did you just say?" I asked. "It's not what I said," she responded, still laughing, "it was what SHE said." "Well, what did she say then?" Jeanette's laugh slowed a bit, but didn't quite cease as she explained. "I asked her what she was going to tell her parents when she went home and she said, 'That I saw a Muzungu....and that they are hairy!!"
Hard to say she was wrong with that assessment.
Part II: The Waiting Games
Now, what happens next tends to vary with the school. Sometimes, they are extremely prepared for us, and the Headteacher leads us right into the classroom with no delays. Those are the good days. Unfortunately, they are also not the norm. In most cases, we encounter a lot of down time spent in one of three places: the car, the Headteachers office, or the courtyard. At the first school of the day, this period of waiting always causes a bit of anxiety; our timetable is tight and if we take too long at school #1, we may have difficulty seeing the classes I want us to see at school #2. As a result, I can be a bit tightly wound at the beginning of each day, and willing to see almost any Standard fitting within my schema as long as they are prepared and ready to go. By the time we get to the second school however, and knowing the only thing left to consume my day is food, bad TV, and fantasy football 'research', I am much more laid back and willing to accept the given time delays as they come. Thus, my time in the morning during this part of the research is spent almost exclusively in the Headteacher's office, gently applying pressure, and at the second visit, I am more apt to stand in the courtyard and play with the children.
What we "play" tends to depend on their level of English and my tenuous grasp of Chichewa. If they are Standard four or above, they typically have enough English to converse with me (if brave enough...there is always one), and our conversations typically stay right around the comfortable safety net of "what is your name","what grade are you in" and the ever-important question asked of me: "where are you from?" For those unable to talk in English yet, we forego any real chance of me talking in Chichewa (I can say 'how are you', 'I am fine', 'thank you' and 'I will have a beer'...three of these work in a school setting) and instead we create some sort of "game". These have included:
Fruit Football Rules: Stand in a circle around tallest player (ie. me). Find a piece of fruit on the ground. Kick it back and forth until it gets past somebody for a goal. As more players gather, the circle grows larger, and more fruits get added. Number of players: 40-100. Number of fruit footballs: Seemingly endless
ET Touch Rules: Players extend forefingers slowly until making contact with the tips of their fingers. One person runs away giggling, screaming, or jumping up and down. Not sure how a winner is decided.
Window Roll Down Rules: Players gather around a vehicle. Player one demonstrates how the window of a car is manually rolled down and encourages other players to try to do the same. Other players stay a safe distance away and slowly encourage someone else to play. Longest time spent rolling down a window? Approximately 1.5 seconds.
Stick Toss Rules: Players toss sticks.
Funny Face: Player one makes a funny face, prompting giggles, laughs, and shouts and encourages others to make faces back. Similar to ET Touch, once a funny face has been returned, the player is to run away and hide behind a friend. Also similar to ET Touch, it is unclear if there is a winner.
Needless to say, these games can be quite entertaining and make the time pass quickly and enjoyably. Language is overrated.
Part III: The Classroom
Finally we enter the classroom, and are often greeted by the students standing and, in English, saying the following in unison:
Them: "Hello sir! Welcome sir. How are you today?"
Me: "I am well! How are you?"
Them: "We are fine sir. Thank you sir."
Me: "Thank you. You may be seated."
Them: "We will sit sir. Thank you sir."
At this point they all sit back down and follow us with their eyes as we make our way to the chairs that have been arranged in the back for us. As we take our seats, I always find it just a bit uncomfortable to sit in chairs while in the classroom though, most notably because of the 18 classrooms we visited, 16 of them had students sitting on the floor. This was due to a combination of the large class sizes which would call for a prohibitive amount of desks and the scarcity of resources to afford the desks. So to say I feel a bit strange sitting up high while they sit on the floor is an understatement, but at the same time, the Headteacher and teacher would absolutely not allow me to sit on the floor, so the chair it is.
The lessons, on a whole, have been fantastic. As this is a study of reading and literacy practices, all 18 lessons which were observed for the purpose of data collection were Chichewa lessons, but occasionally, if we were either early or late, we would be able to see a lesson in another subject. You will be able to read all about the Chichewa lessons in the final report (Wow, so many of you want it! Fantastic!) so I won't bore you with those details, other than to say they have been remarkably child centered, and showcasing excellent language pedagogy. Very impressive.
My favorite moment in any classroom over the last two weeks has to be at Namakwena. The Headteacher, who taught multiple standards throughout the day, was extremely bright and experienced, and not surprisingly, his students were among the best we saw in all 18 schools. I am sure he would be embarrassed by the story I am about to tell, but I assure you, as I would him, that while I was very impressed with all his students, and the amount of knowledge and competency they showed, a student answering something correctly a funny story does not make. This however...I am still laughing.
It was science lesson (!) and the students were talking about water. Again, since the lessons are mostly in Chichewa, I was forced to lean over to my data collector to get what was going on, apart from the easily recognizable charts or diagrams. The following is the transcript of a moment in this class, loosely translated from Chichewa:
Teacher: Who can tell me what symbols make up water?
Student 1: H!
Teacher: Very good! Now everyone say it.
All students: H!!
Teacher: Very good. Now what other letter is in water?
Student 2: O!
Teacher: That is correct! O. Everyone?
All: O!!
Teacher: Very nice. Now, from last week's lesson, what goes in between those two?
Student 3: 2!
Teacher: Excellent! Everyone!
All: 2!!!!
Teacher: Ok now I need one student to come to the front and give us everything together that makes up water.
*All students raise hands excitedly, most clicking their fingers, yelling "sir! sir!"*
Teacher: [Points to student]
Student 4: [Stands silently at front of the class]
Teacher: [Says students name] What is the formula for water?
Student 4: [Stands silently at front of the class]
Teacher: [Says name again] Do you know it?
Student 4: [Deep breath] H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O!
Teacher: [Looks at us nervously] What? What was that?
Student 4: [Proudly] It was H to O!!
[Scene]
You just CANNOT make this kind of stuff up. Absolutely priceless.
Part IV: Leaving
The most bittersweet moment of any visit is leaving the school. On one hand, it is always a good feeling to drive away, knowing that more data was collected, you are one step closer to finishing the job, and one step away from potential pratfalls that have somehow, luckily, been avoided. On the other hand, every time I leave I feel as though I didn't do enough to help. It's a difficult position to be in. I have nothing tangible to give to these schools, and often, I feel as though all I did was take. Allowing me to witness Malawian teaching, observe and record specific details of the lesson, watch students processing words and sentences for the first time is equally fulfilling and difficult, simply because I want to be able to assist them more than I am. Oftentimes, I find myself sitting in the passenger seat of the car as we pull away drifting, wondering all things existential, including why I am there, what my purpose is, and realizing that I may very well never see any of those children again.
But, and I have to remain confident in this, the research we are collecting, and the work we are attempting to do, does impact the lives of the same children who "beat me" at ET Touch and set the record for Window Roll Down. What I/we/Save the Children is attempting to do is monitor, evaluate, and ultimately assess teaching practices that could have enormous benefit to these children, or their children's children, or even further down the line. I am not saying this to be boastful, but rather to express on here the same thing I have to tell myself every time we leave a school and every time I wonder why I am here, and every time a giant spider crawls across my wall, and every time I swallow another malaria pill. It's all for a purpose, and maybe it's a bit more tangible than even I realize.
Now go find a piece of fruit and practice your kicking skills.
Cheers.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Hiking At The Top Of The World
Happy Malawian Mother's Day everyone! It is a national holiday here today, and as such, a perfect day to avoid work and make the trek to the top of the Zomba Plateau. Standing at 1800m it is the third highest peak in Malawi, and clearly the highest point in Zomba. Last year, when I came to Zomba with the Indiana crew, we stayed at the Sunbird Ku Chawe, a hotel perched at (what I thought) was the top of the mountain. It is a long, winding tarmac road to the Ku Chawe, and once there, you are struck by the awesome views stretching out for miles in every direction and the lush, tropical vegetation all around. Having taken this route before, I was impressed, if not very surprised at everything I was seeing. My impression was that Julius and I would hang out at the hotel, visit the curios for some kinck-knacks, and grab some lunch in the expansive, wood-paneled dining room. I was a bit off.
As soon as we got to the Ku Chawe, Julius rolled down his window and drove slowly past the twenty or so vendors selling their wares. My eyes moved up and down the rows of seemingly endless wooden-crafted statues, boxes, and bowls, already placing each in a hierarchy of purchase-worthy items. What I thought was that Julius, knowing I was interested in purchasing a few items, was driving slowly in order to allow me to peruse before we exited the car, thus beginning the onslaught of 'my friend, my friend, good deal for you' from every shop owner. Again, I was a bit off.
Julius drove for a few more yards before rolling to a stop next to a casually dressed gentleman standing alongside the road. He lowered his window and they began to speak, softly, in Chichewa, rarely making eye contact. After a few curt responses, Julius raised his hand, indicating that the gentleman stop talking, said 'ti como' (thank you), and drove on, slightly shaking his head. He briefly glanced at me before turning his eyes back to the road and stating, bluntly, 'not the one.'
What Julius, was looking for, as it turns out, was a tour guide. Apparently, the Ku Chawe was merely the starting point for what was to be a trek to the very top of the plateau, and doing so without a reliable guide is foolish at best. Later, as we were descending the mountain and headed to lunch, I asked Julius what exactly he was looking for when he asked the first gentleman and then decided to choose someone else. "I always look for earnest people. That man wasn't earnest. He was trying to be, but I could tell what he was, and he knew it too. That's why he didn't argue." Needless to say, the very next man Julius spoke with was a better fit to lead us to the peak, and off we went, the three of us, to the top of the mountain.
Remember a number of posts back, when I foolishly decided to comment on the nature of the roads out in the district where the schools are located? I (semi) complained and (mildly) whined about the bumpy, rock and crater filled dirt roads, remember? Well, that was when we were traveling on flat ground. Right at that cozy sea level. Take those roads, sprinkle in a few (copious) boulders, subtract any semblance of any other vehicle (we saw exactly zero on the entire trip up to the top or back down), and place the whole blessed thing along rock faces which extend straight down to the ground and you will get a sense of how ill-fitting my previous 'complaints' were. This was bloody scary. There were a few times when we would get to a point where a vehicle hadn't gone (ever?) in quite some time and simply had to park, get out, and follow the tour guide up and around stone paths and overgrown brush, just to get a better view of the sprawling vistas below.
But oh, what views they were. One of the few things I hate about cameras is they simply cannot measure the immense magnitude of views like these. Sure, you can capture a bit of it, but unless you are there (and anyone who has ever done any hiking/climbing on a mountain would agree), a picture can in no way capture the breathtaking gut-punch of an endless view in all directions. It was intense. At one point, Julius and I, still far far away from the edge, grabbed one another on the forearm, neither of us exchanging any words. It wasn't really a gesture of friendship, or even happiness, but rather a knee-jerk reaction to a pretty astonishing sight. Just having contact with someone meant, at least for that moment, that you were still standing on top of the mountain and not hurling off in some unknown direction, as your imagination would lead you to believe.
We also saw a 100-year site, whose story is so unbelievable, so gripping, that I am promising myself to write a book about it. No joke. Telling you about it now would both serve as a bit of a cheat to you the reader (you need to hear the story in its full), and also serve to rob me of a bit of the pleasure of telling the story for the first time in the best possible way I can. I have noticed in almost anything I write that the absolute best parts, in order, are (a) the initial idea; (b) hearing the reaction of others to the story; (c) researching said story; and (d) tediously writing the story itself. This may seem backwards, but the best way I have found to ensure that part (d) is completed is by denying myself the pleasures of (a) and (b). If you don't know the idea yet, let alone the 'punch line' (as it were) it will serve as motivation for me to get it written. But let me just say - it's a doozy.
Tomorrow I am back into the field for another week of field research. I have continued to make some adjustments (shocking) to the full data collection, and as a result, will most likely continue work well into next week collecting as much data as possible. While this will add to what has already been an exhausting process, it will not doubt make the final product stronger. All told, the new goal is 25 schools and 50 lessons/teachers/classrooms. Keep your fingers crossed I don't go insane first.
Ah! I just remembered another detail I promised myself to share here and nearly forgot. Clearly, if Julius and I made it to the top of the mountain and back, and I have stated we are headed back out into the field tomorrow, we have solved our fuel shortage crisis, correct? Well, the answer is yes, although it's more of a yes, sort of. Since last Monday, not a single diesel carrying truck has rolled into Zomba, leaving everyone in still pretty much the same predicament. While I was anxious about the prospect of not being able to get back out to the field, I was equally concerned with losing Julius, as a new vehicle would result in a new driver, which would equal a new set of instructions and planning, so on and so forth. It was not a situation I was anticipating being pleasant. Last time we had spoken though, Julius stated he had a plan, but did not divulge what exactly it entailed.
Well, the plan was a bit of ingenuity, mixed with a splash of negotiating, with a large helping of ballsiness. Essentially, what he did was go around town, with his little remaining fuel, and found trucks that (for whatever reason) had broken down. Once he found one, he would find the corresponding owner, ask if the truck was no longer in operation, and then (if the answer to his first question was a 'yes'), proceed to ask the owner if he could pay them to drain the fuel from the broken vehicle. He did this, in his estimation, about twenty times, with about a 75% failure rate. But every few owners were so desperate for money that they agreed, allowing Julius to slowly fill not only both tanks in our truck, but also a reserve tank that he now keeps in his hotel room.
You see why I didn't want to lose the guy?
Hope all of you are well. Uploading pictures is a huge drain on my paltry available internet so you will have to wait to see images from the mountaintop. Keep sending the encouraging emails though - it helps get me through the day to know there are those who are keeping up with my ramblings.
Cheers
As soon as we got to the Ku Chawe, Julius rolled down his window and drove slowly past the twenty or so vendors selling their wares. My eyes moved up and down the rows of seemingly endless wooden-crafted statues, boxes, and bowls, already placing each in a hierarchy of purchase-worthy items. What I thought was that Julius, knowing I was interested in purchasing a few items, was driving slowly in order to allow me to peruse before we exited the car, thus beginning the onslaught of 'my friend, my friend, good deal for you' from every shop owner. Again, I was a bit off.
Julius drove for a few more yards before rolling to a stop next to a casually dressed gentleman standing alongside the road. He lowered his window and they began to speak, softly, in Chichewa, rarely making eye contact. After a few curt responses, Julius raised his hand, indicating that the gentleman stop talking, said 'ti como' (thank you), and drove on, slightly shaking his head. He briefly glanced at me before turning his eyes back to the road and stating, bluntly, 'not the one.'
What Julius, was looking for, as it turns out, was a tour guide. Apparently, the Ku Chawe was merely the starting point for what was to be a trek to the very top of the plateau, and doing so without a reliable guide is foolish at best. Later, as we were descending the mountain and headed to lunch, I asked Julius what exactly he was looking for when he asked the first gentleman and then decided to choose someone else. "I always look for earnest people. That man wasn't earnest. He was trying to be, but I could tell what he was, and he knew it too. That's why he didn't argue." Needless to say, the very next man Julius spoke with was a better fit to lead us to the peak, and off we went, the three of us, to the top of the mountain.
Remember a number of posts back, when I foolishly decided to comment on the nature of the roads out in the district where the schools are located? I (semi) complained and (mildly) whined about the bumpy, rock and crater filled dirt roads, remember? Well, that was when we were traveling on flat ground. Right at that cozy sea level. Take those roads, sprinkle in a few (copious) boulders, subtract any semblance of any other vehicle (we saw exactly zero on the entire trip up to the top or back down), and place the whole blessed thing along rock faces which extend straight down to the ground and you will get a sense of how ill-fitting my previous 'complaints' were. This was bloody scary. There were a few times when we would get to a point where a vehicle hadn't gone (ever?) in quite some time and simply had to park, get out, and follow the tour guide up and around stone paths and overgrown brush, just to get a better view of the sprawling vistas below.
But oh, what views they were. One of the few things I hate about cameras is they simply cannot measure the immense magnitude of views like these. Sure, you can capture a bit of it, but unless you are there (and anyone who has ever done any hiking/climbing on a mountain would agree), a picture can in no way capture the breathtaking gut-punch of an endless view in all directions. It was intense. At one point, Julius and I, still far far away from the edge, grabbed one another on the forearm, neither of us exchanging any words. It wasn't really a gesture of friendship, or even happiness, but rather a knee-jerk reaction to a pretty astonishing sight. Just having contact with someone meant, at least for that moment, that you were still standing on top of the mountain and not hurling off in some unknown direction, as your imagination would lead you to believe.
We also saw a 100-year site, whose story is so unbelievable, so gripping, that I am promising myself to write a book about it. No joke. Telling you about it now would both serve as a bit of a cheat to you the reader (you need to hear the story in its full), and also serve to rob me of a bit of the pleasure of telling the story for the first time in the best possible way I can. I have noticed in almost anything I write that the absolute best parts, in order, are (a) the initial idea; (b) hearing the reaction of others to the story; (c) researching said story; and (d) tediously writing the story itself. This may seem backwards, but the best way I have found to ensure that part (d) is completed is by denying myself the pleasures of (a) and (b). If you don't know the idea yet, let alone the 'punch line' (as it were) it will serve as motivation for me to get it written. But let me just say - it's a doozy.
Tomorrow I am back into the field for another week of field research. I have continued to make some adjustments (shocking) to the full data collection, and as a result, will most likely continue work well into next week collecting as much data as possible. While this will add to what has already been an exhausting process, it will not doubt make the final product stronger. All told, the new goal is 25 schools and 50 lessons/teachers/classrooms. Keep your fingers crossed I don't go insane first.
Ah! I just remembered another detail I promised myself to share here and nearly forgot. Clearly, if Julius and I made it to the top of the mountain and back, and I have stated we are headed back out into the field tomorrow, we have solved our fuel shortage crisis, correct? Well, the answer is yes, although it's more of a yes, sort of. Since last Monday, not a single diesel carrying truck has rolled into Zomba, leaving everyone in still pretty much the same predicament. While I was anxious about the prospect of not being able to get back out to the field, I was equally concerned with losing Julius, as a new vehicle would result in a new driver, which would equal a new set of instructions and planning, so on and so forth. It was not a situation I was anticipating being pleasant. Last time we had spoken though, Julius stated he had a plan, but did not divulge what exactly it entailed.
Well, the plan was a bit of ingenuity, mixed with a splash of negotiating, with a large helping of ballsiness. Essentially, what he did was go around town, with his little remaining fuel, and found trucks that (for whatever reason) had broken down. Once he found one, he would find the corresponding owner, ask if the truck was no longer in operation, and then (if the answer to his first question was a 'yes'), proceed to ask the owner if he could pay them to drain the fuel from the broken vehicle. He did this, in his estimation, about twenty times, with about a 75% failure rate. But every few owners were so desperate for money that they agreed, allowing Julius to slowly fill not only both tanks in our truck, but also a reserve tank that he now keeps in his hotel room.
You see why I didn't want to lose the guy?
Hope all of you are well. Uploading pictures is a huge drain on my paltry available internet so you will have to wait to see images from the mountaintop. Keep sending the encouraging emails though - it helps get me through the day to know there are those who are keeping up with my ramblings.
Cheers
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Weekend Update
It has been one heck of a week here in Southern Malawi. 5 days, 10 schools, 20 teachers, and hundreds of adorable children. To say the week was an eye-opening would be a gigantic understatement. I can't really do justice to what I have seen and heard this week, and as much as I try to write down everything to share here and for my own memories, it never seems to cover the breadth of what the experience has been like. I have posted a small amount of the pictures taken over the past week on the photos page and I hope you enjoy looking at them as much as I liked taking them. Click on any of them to open up a slideshow where the pictures are a bit larger.
The data collection has moved along swimmingly. I am lucky to have assembled such a great team and have had the privilege of working alongside new research assistants each day. Every one of them seems more eager than the last, and the data simply could not have been collected without all of their wisdom and hard work. I am working on creating certificates for all of them and hosting a final meal/gathering to celebrate their hard work and dedication to the project.
As far as the schools go, there has been a tremendous range from one to another in terms of resources, building facilities, class sizes, and teaching pedagogy. I have seen everything from roofless, dirt floor classrooms to beautiful new school buildings built through Save the Children. I have watched a teacher effortlessly command a classroom with nary a resource, textbook, or writing materials, just her words. There were class sizes as small as 45 and as large as 240. Part of the experience, (an equally exhilarating and anxious part), was the moment we first stepped out of the truck each day and onto new school grounds. Never once could I have correctly guessed what I was about to see, because literally, every school felt different, let alone contained different materials, children and faculty. We often speak of places having an energy to them, a pulse, but I have never really had that feeling outside of a sports arena until I came to see these schools in Malawi. They breathe, they talk, and every one in their own, very distinct, fascinating way. It is something I will never forget.
Outside of the data collection, the week has been fairly quiet. Fuel shortages remain a very large problem all across the nation, and especially in Southern Malawi where there are fewer cars. That may seem a bit backwards, seeing as with fewer cars, there would be less demand for fuel, but it is for precisely that reason that this area is affected so much. Fuel is rationed across the country when it is shipped in, and the areas with the greatest concentration of cars, trucks, buses and planes (ie. Lilongwe, Blantrye) get the most fuel, leaving areas like Zomba in an increasingly perilous state. We have been running low for a few days now, but Julius assures me he has a plan. Exactly what said plan is, and if it will work, I have no idea. Will keep you informed.
In other, other news, the wildlife of Malawi has begun coming out in force. This week I have hung around with monkeys (pictures to come), eaten dinner with a stray cat (also, picture forthcoming), and killed the most incredibly massive spider I have ever seen close up. I am normally a very, anti-killing-animals-that-have-wandered-in-to-my-living-space person, but this thing HAD to go. It's body could have easily covered my palm. I just shivered again reliving it as I wrote the previous sentence.
Hope the week has gone well for everyone. I miss being home, having home-cooked meals, and watching football on the couch, but I have to say, this was the first week that I felt not only truly happy to be in Malawi, but proud as well.
Cheers
The data collection has moved along swimmingly. I am lucky to have assembled such a great team and have had the privilege of working alongside new research assistants each day. Every one of them seems more eager than the last, and the data simply could not have been collected without all of their wisdom and hard work. I am working on creating certificates for all of them and hosting a final meal/gathering to celebrate their hard work and dedication to the project.
As far as the schools go, there has been a tremendous range from one to another in terms of resources, building facilities, class sizes, and teaching pedagogy. I have seen everything from roofless, dirt floor classrooms to beautiful new school buildings built through Save the Children. I have watched a teacher effortlessly command a classroom with nary a resource, textbook, or writing materials, just her words. There were class sizes as small as 45 and as large as 240. Part of the experience, (an equally exhilarating and anxious part), was the moment we first stepped out of the truck each day and onto new school grounds. Never once could I have correctly guessed what I was about to see, because literally, every school felt different, let alone contained different materials, children and faculty. We often speak of places having an energy to them, a pulse, but I have never really had that feeling outside of a sports arena until I came to see these schools in Malawi. They breathe, they talk, and every one in their own, very distinct, fascinating way. It is something I will never forget.
Outside of the data collection, the week has been fairly quiet. Fuel shortages remain a very large problem all across the nation, and especially in Southern Malawi where there are fewer cars. That may seem a bit backwards, seeing as with fewer cars, there would be less demand for fuel, but it is for precisely that reason that this area is affected so much. Fuel is rationed across the country when it is shipped in, and the areas with the greatest concentration of cars, trucks, buses and planes (ie. Lilongwe, Blantrye) get the most fuel, leaving areas like Zomba in an increasingly perilous state. We have been running low for a few days now, but Julius assures me he has a plan. Exactly what said plan is, and if it will work, I have no idea. Will keep you informed.
In other, other news, the wildlife of Malawi has begun coming out in force. This week I have hung around with monkeys (pictures to come), eaten dinner with a stray cat (also, picture forthcoming), and killed the most incredibly massive spider I have ever seen close up. I am normally a very, anti-killing-animals-that-have-wandered-in-to-my-living-space person, but this thing HAD to go. It's body could have easily covered my palm. I just shivered again reliving it as I wrote the previous sentence.
Hope the week has gone well for everyone. I miss being home, having home-cooked meals, and watching football on the couch, but I have to say, this was the first week that I felt not only truly happy to be in Malawi, but proud as well.
Cheers
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Read the Signs
Wow, what a week it has been here. Over the last three days I (along with my latest assigned driver, Julius, and a host of Domasi College of Education research assistants) have visited six schools and observed 12 teachers teaching Chichewa to grades 2, 3, and 4. From the schools, to the students, to the lessons themselves, every moment has been exhilarating and eye-opening. I will write a post at the end of this week detailing some of the highlights from the particular lessons and classes, but I thought the blog (and perhaps you too) could use some mid-week levity.
In Malawi, almost every sign is handprinted and painted, which, by its own right, is quite fascinating to see. When is the last time you've seen a sign advertising a business or giving directions in the US that wasn't computer generated or printed? Ever? I know I can't think of any, which make the artistry of even the simplest sign quite interesting to see. For example (and I will take a picture of both of these), the sign for the lodge I am staying at is hand-drawn with the picture of a bed and the menu in the restaurant is literally made of beans glued onto the wall! Very cool.
It also lends itself to some funny errors and memorable slogans. In fact, I would say that I have seen more memorable slogans since I have been here than I can remember from any other visit overseas. Now, a small disclaimer; I am not attempting to make fun of these signs/slogans/businesses. Ok, yes I am, but not in a mean way. C'mon, some of these are just too unbelievable not to share...
Coffin Workshop and Haberdashery
Huh?!? Makes you wonder about other odd pairings, yes? Nail guns and scarves? Tacos and Zapatos?
Morning View Lodge: Self-Contained Rooms...
Nothing wrong with that right? Wait, ellipses? What are you trying to tell me....
Hair Care Saloon
Now THERE is a place for a man to get a hair cut!
Malawi School of Driving: Only a Short Walk Away!
From anywhere, apparently.
Peter's Lodge: For Your Decent Accommodations and Your Excellent Accommodations!
There has to be a price difference between the two of these, right?
Carlsberg: Probably the Best Beer in the World
Discovered this one last time I was here. But still a favorite. Seems so defeatist. We're good, we promise!
Kuche Kuche Beer: A Good Choice Until Dawn
You can read this two ways. One of those ways makes me laugh out loud.
MASM Health Clinic: No Jesus, No Life
Kind of selling their own jobs short aren't they?
[Some Dairy Product]: Creamierrrrr and Milkierrrrrr!
Sponsored by Nelly.
Hope at least one of these made you chuckle. Time for me to go have the best beer in the world (probably).
Cheers.
In Malawi, almost every sign is handprinted and painted, which, by its own right, is quite fascinating to see. When is the last time you've seen a sign advertising a business or giving directions in the US that wasn't computer generated or printed? Ever? I know I can't think of any, which make the artistry of even the simplest sign quite interesting to see. For example (and I will take a picture of both of these), the sign for the lodge I am staying at is hand-drawn with the picture of a bed and the menu in the restaurant is literally made of beans glued onto the wall! Very cool.
It also lends itself to some funny errors and memorable slogans. In fact, I would say that I have seen more memorable slogans since I have been here than I can remember from any other visit overseas. Now, a small disclaimer; I am not attempting to make fun of these signs/slogans/businesses. Ok, yes I am, but not in a mean way. C'mon, some of these are just too unbelievable not to share...
Coffin Workshop and Haberdashery
Huh?!? Makes you wonder about other odd pairings, yes? Nail guns and scarves? Tacos and Zapatos?
Morning View Lodge: Self-Contained Rooms...
Nothing wrong with that right? Wait, ellipses? What are you trying to tell me....
Hair Care Saloon
Now THERE is a place for a man to get a hair cut!
Malawi School of Driving: Only a Short Walk Away!
From anywhere, apparently.
Peter's Lodge: For Your Decent Accommodations and Your Excellent Accommodations!
There has to be a price difference between the two of these, right?
Disco Equipment and Theatre Group for Hire
Okay, there is nothing wrong with this one. I just find the idea funny. And I kind of want to hire them.
Carlsberg: Probably the Best Beer in the World
Discovered this one last time I was here. But still a favorite. Seems so defeatist. We're good, we promise!
Kuche Kuche Beer: A Good Choice Until Dawn
You can read this two ways. One of those ways makes me laugh out loud.
MASM Health Clinic: No Jesus, No Life
Kind of selling their own jobs short aren't they?
[Some Dairy Product]: Creamierrrrr and Milkierrrrrr!
Sponsored by Nelly.
The Whine and Dine Restaurant
Complacency not permitted.
Hope at least one of these made you chuckle. Time for me to go have the best beer in the world (probably).
Cheers.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The Embodiment of Fortitude
As a known lover and user of Apple products, I wanted to comment briefly on the passing of Steve Jobs. Jobs was a brilliant creator, a gutty innovator, and perhaps most importantly, the embodiment of fortitude for anyone who roots for the underdog. There were many times were Apple's cornering of the niche market should have failed miserably. The wide-spread global presence of PCs and the "fad" nature of Apple's products should have doomed the company to become nothing but a staple of the best Super Bowl commercial rerun show, not a player in the modern computing world. Yet here we stand today, with Apple products dominating everything from popular culture to completely shifting the way the music industry is run.
I urge you all to read Jobs' commencement speech from 2005 given to the graduating class at Stanford University. It is less a path to follow, but rather showcases the power of perseverance.
RIP Steve.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
I'm baaaaaack
Hello all and thank you to those of you who are still checking in on me. As you may have been able to guess, this week has been sans internet (and often sans electricity as well) leaving me fairly cut off from the world outside my lodge, driver, and work. Do not mistake my lack of commentary on here for inactivity here in Malawi however; it has been a week filled with highs and lows, surprises, and good-old-fashioned 19th century African fun.
*(Note: At the bottom of this post, I will post a blog I wrote after my arrival in Zomba, presuming there would internet. What I will attempt to cover here are the events that have occurred after that first night. It's about time I introduce a little Tarantino-esque storytelling to this blog, dontcha think?)*
I plan on weaving through the week by starting on the surprising, detouring onto friendship, and ending somewhere around academically satisfying. I am currently sitting at an internet cafe in downtown Zomba, a situation I will most likely find myself in often over the next couple weeks, so expect my posts to be both infrequent and lengthy. It's the way it has to be.
***
A TALE AS OLD AS TIME
I would be remiss if I did not mention a bit about my cousin Lisa. Thank you to every one of you who sent me warm, heartfelt, and sincere messages concerning the loss of our family. We are all still grieving and the hurt is immense, but we are comforted by the fact that she no longer has to struggle through unimaginable pain anymore. I also want to share that one of my dearest friends, Mandy, has truly been an angel to my family and most importantly, little Maddie and Ella. As fate would have it, Mandy is in the national Broadway touring production of Beauty and the Beast and is stationed these two weeks in, you guessed it, Cincinnati. The world works in mysterious ways. Upon reading my blog, and hearing of our loss, Mandy immediately set a plan in motion to do everything she could for Lisa's beautiful family. From her email to me:
"I got them tickets to see Beauty and the Beast next Saturday [today] at the matinee. I also have set up a backstage tour for them so Maddie and Ella can meet Belle and see backstage. The whole cast and crew signed a sympathy card and I'll give that to Eric. For the girls I got them little Belle tiaras and tote bags that they can take trick or treating."
Words cannot express the gratitude I have for Mandy and the entire cast of Beauty and the Beast. While I cannot be there in person to comfort my family, I sleep soundly knowing there are people like Mandy in the world who will pick up the pieces for me in my absence. To say that it will be an emotional day today is an understatement. Girls, enjoy the show, and know that your Mom is watching with you.
***
GET YER CANDLES READY
It's hard to describe the feeling of sitting in an unfamiliar place, without anyone around you that you know, little to do other than watch old movies, eat, or read, and then suddenly find yourself sitting in complete darkness. It's equally uneasy, shocking, and, call me crazy, fun. When is the last time you lost electricity, and I mean really lost electricity? For me, prior to this trip, a loss of electricity usually means nothing more than waking up and realizing I have to reset the time on the coffee maker. I know with some storms that have passed through Indiana over the past six months, that friends and colleagues have lost power for hours at a time, causing them to make preparations, attempt to save the food, dig out their flashlights, etc. But what about a power loss triggered by absolutely nothing? With a storm, one can anticipate a certain degree of damages, electricity loss, etc. but I'd argue it is a different feeling altogether when your power goes out suddenly on a perfectly clear evening.
That is what has happened here in Zomba the past few nights. At this point, it has become rather routine (To myself: "There it goes. Where did I put the matches?") but the first couple times it happened...woof. It was quite an experience. As you will read below, the lodge I am residing at is situated at the bottom of an enormous plateau, and I am surrounded by nothing but wildlife. Gone is the busy city centers of Lilongwe and Blantyre, instead replaced by invigorating mountain breezes and the most diverse and green set of trees you've ever seen. I have long said that one of the best parts of Malawi is the changing landscapes, and here in Zomba, I think you have the most majestic. The disadvantage to such a beautiful area? When the power goes out, it goes dark. And I mean dark. There are no lights from a nearby town illuminating the sky, no backup light posts along the streets or dotting the mountainside. When the power goes off, its hard to see your hand in front of your face.
Now why do I describe this as kind of fun? I suppose because it is an experience. Instantly, all the windows showcase a single candle, whose flame then bounces and casts shadows on all the surrounding buildings. There is a calmness too that is damn near palpable to feel throughout the area. Kitchen staff, hotel staff and patrons, including myself, all drop what they are doing and step outside, preferring the cool, dark air outside to the now pitch-black inside of rooms and offices. In many ways, the electricity going out becomes like an escape; an escape from work, from duties, from the computer, and well, from electricity. I have had some of the best conversations with staff and other patrons during these times, sitting at the bar, drinking a beer (I call it my duty to do so before they go warm), and enjoying the little things that perhaps we take a little too much for granted nowadays. I can honestly say that my least favorite part of these moments is when the TV in the bar suddenly flitters back to life, thus ending the conversations abruptly. Last night, the Patriot with Mel Gibson was on, and I swear, as soon as it came back, all eyes moved to it, like moths to a flame and the conversation became entirely muted as we listened to some impassioned speech given by Heath Ledger. If there was ever a 1984 moment in my life, this was it.
***
THE BEST ORANGE FANTA COMMERCIAL EVER
Since I have been in Zomba, I have been assigned a driver by the name of Lawson. As you have read here on previous posts, the Save the Children drivers are largely interchangeable, yet each with their own unique qualities. From Pheobe, to Ephram, I have had great conversations, cultivated good friendships, and, of course, admired the ways in which they navigate the none-too-easy to navigate roads of Malawi.
But Lawson has been altogether different. Lawson is the oldest of the Save the Children drivers I have had thus far. He is in his mid-sixties (he says he is unsure of his exact date of birth, but knows "I know I am sixty-somthing. My bones tell me so"), and walks with a bit of a bow-legged limp. His has a scar over his left eye, closely cropped hair, and speaks softly, often saying nothing until prompted. At our first meeting, earlier this week, I assumed he did not like me. I took his silence as I entered the car as a sign of displeasure, and as soon as I sat down in the truck, he nodded and did not move an inch. We sat in silence for a few beats until I finally asked, are we ready? He nodded and said yes, let us go, and turned the car on, and put it into gear.
Over the next couple trips, this was the way we proceeded; I would get in the truck, he would sit, hands clasped in his lap, waiting for me to give confirmation that we were ready to go before slowly moving to turn the key and get the car into gear. He was impossible to get a read on, and as a result, we never spoke much while driving to and from our destinations. Instead I stared out the window at the countryside as we drove, and he paid close attention to the road.
It was Wednesday evening, and Lawson and I were traveling back from Domasi College of Education and headed to the lodge, just as we had done the night before. The skies all around us were looking ominous, and as we headed up towards the plateau (rising in altitude) it became clear that we were going to get rained on. Sure enough, a soft drizzle soon turned into a downpour, and instantly Lawson lowered the speed of our vehicle to almost a crawl. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and leaned forward, trying to get a better view of the road which was becoming less and less visible with every second that passed. He downshifted the truck, dropping our speed once again, and then wiped his brow with the back of his left hand before clearing his throat and uttering, almost at an incomprehensible volume: "I apologize for the slow speed." I, shocked to hear him speak, immediately reassured him that he was doing the absolute right thing in being careful and cautious, as the slick roads can be very dangerous if traveling any faster. "Yes, and many drivers do not care, which can cause accidents. I care." I again agreed and thanked him for his caution.
We drove at this speed, through the rain for another ten minutes in silence. By my count, we were passed by four cars, ten minibuses, three bicycles, and almost one goat (he veered off in the other direction before he caught up, but could have easily had us I think). As we neared the road that would take me back up the mountain towards the lodge, I suddenly got the urge to get a bite to eat somewhere other than the hotel restaurant (having already had almost the entire menu in just a few meals) and asked Lawson if he knew anywhere to go, my treat. He took his eyes off the road for a brief moment, looking at me with both confused and startled eyes. "Uh, yes, there is a place up here. Close to your hotel, if you like." I assured him whatever he chose was fine and he nodded.
After a few more minutes in the deluge driving extravaganza, we pulled in to a small restaurant with a sign that read "Tasty Bites." He parked the truck and we jumped out, hopping across puddles and small rivers that had gathered in the parking lot in a futile attempt to not get completely soaked. Futile it was. By the time we collected ourselves underneath the canopy we were drenched. I started to laugh as I looked down at myself, but Lawson was finding the whole situation remarkably unfunny. He frowned as he looked down at his shoes, now covered in a good deal of mud, and shook his head disapprovingly. Suddenly, I wondered if perhaps grabbing a bit to eat was a bad idea and was not looking forward to a long meal with a grumpy, frustrated driver.
We sat down and before the menu arrived I smelled the sweet smell of barbecue chicken, a particular weakness of mine for those who are not aware. One of the most popular dishes here in Malawi is chicken and chips (french fries) with a soft drink to wash it down. Every part of this meal sounded pretty amazing to me, and no sooner did the waiter hand us menus did I know precisely want I wanted. Chicken and chips, please, with a Fanta, orange, I ordered. Lawson nodded, and quietly told the waiter he would have the same, before catching eyes with me and slightly nodding, saying either 'good choice' or 'I'll have what you have so that I don't ask for too much' - I couldn't tell.
We again sat in silence until our food arrived. Instantly, I knew I had made the right choice. The smell of the chicken wafted up to my nostrils, a delicious mix of sweetness and spices that could be bottled up and sprayed into a room. I looked across the table at Lawson, and he too was sitting, allowing the scent to enter his nose and work its way down to his stomach. He closed his eyes and spoke softly to himself for a moment, before saying 'amen', and reaching for his fork. I smiled slightly, and reached for mine, and for the next ten minutes, there was not a sound other than cutting, chewing and the lowering of the glass Fanta bottle onto the table. It was scrumptious.
We finished eating right around the same time, each of our plates as empty as they had begun in the kitchen, save the bare chicken bones resting in the center. Lawson and I mimicked one another, grabbing our orange Fantas and leaning back in our seats, looking around the restaurant. The rain, which had subsided a bit from when had entered, was still coming down at a good rate, and I began to think of how I had been told it wasn't supposed to rain in Malawi until November, but yet here we were, in October, with three straight days of rain. I was about to ask Lawson about this, yearning for some 'in' to begin conversation when suddenly, just outside the window, the storm unleashed a ferocious streak of lightning that seemingly landed directly in the middle of the road not twenty yards from when we sat. Seconds after (the shortest amount of time I had ever experienced passing when this occurred) thunder followed, its deafening clap rocking the entire foundation of 'Tasty Bites', knocking out the power in the whole building, and causing Lawson to jump so far out of his seat that the Fanta bottle flew out of his hand, spun in midair, and came crashing to the floor.
We sat, in the dark, breathless for a few seconds, trying to collect ourselves. Finally, I uttered "are you ok?" to which Lawson meekly responded, "Yes, yes I think so" and then, to my utter surprise, began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. He continued to laugh for almost a minute before wiping his eyes and saying, in a much more confident voice than I had ever heard, "I think God just tried to kill me" and laughed some more. I joined in, laughing and shaking my head as I wiped the floor with my foot, moving the shattered remains of the Fanta bottle to an area away from any customers' foot traffic. "Has that ever happened before?" I asked, attempting to start some kind of conversation while still recovering from the shock myself. "Not often," he responded, "but when it does...oooo boy. It is not good. Not good at all."
The waiter came over and asked if we were ok, which I reassured him we were and praised him for the delicious meal. He smiled and said thank you, you are welcome, before noticing the shattered bottle and small puddle of orange Fanta which had trickled to the center of the room. "Let me get you two more" he said and quickly spun away before I could say it was not necessary and to ask for the bill. I looked across the table at Lawson, who was still breathing heavily, hand over his heart, slowly shaking his head. He took a deep breath and then exhaled, part sigh, part exhaustion, and looked up at me. Then, buoyed by either newfound confidence, the darkened room, or perhaps just thankfulness of his survival from the storm, said "so tell me about yourself, James."
There we sat, for the next two hours, talking. Over the course of four additional Fantas, and in near-complete darkness, we talked at length about everything that had brought each of us to this moment in life. I told him all about my involvement with Save, the project I was undertaking, my previous work in Morocco, South Africa, and Ukraine. I told him about Bloomington, about Lake Erie, and about my parents. He then shared with me the experiences of his lifetime, including his previous employment working deep in the diamond mines of South Africa, harvesting diamonds "as big as your thigh" in order to provide for his family of fifteen. "I was the oldest" he would state matter-of-factly "and it did not matter that I was terrified to go into the mines, terrified that I would be killed, or crushed by rock, or attacked by others in the dark shafts. It was my duty. I called my Mother every night, crying, begging to come back. She said that if I did, the family starves, so what was I to do?"
He told me about his favorite hobby, fishing on Lake Malawi for Chambo, and how his brother, who now resides in Cape Town, flies back as much as he can just so they can go on their fishing trips together. He shared his love for working with Save the Children, and even though he is "just a driver" how he knows that in some small way, he is continuing to help his country and his country's future. He told me about the passing of his wife in 2007, how she battled illness after illness until "God asked her to come home", leaving Lawson to take care of his four little girls alone for the past four years. We sat, there, in Tasty Bites, at a table in the back, with the rain continuing to fall outside, drinking orange Fantas and sharing in the stories of one another until the darkness outside the restaurant matched the darkness inside. Finally, we decided it was time to go, and paid the bill and headed back.
Over the past two nights, Lawson and I, after my work at Domasi, have gone back to Tasty Bites, sat at the same table, ordered the same meal with orange Fantas and talked until the staff was ready for us to leave. We took turns talking about ourselves and asking questions to each other, alternating sad stories and funny stories, interesting stories and quizzical stories, weaving together conversations that could make for individual chapters in a book. As we arrived back at the lodge last night, we acknowledged that
as is the way with Save the Children, I would most likely have a different driver for the next few weeks as I head out into the field (to be explained more in the next section) but that the last few days have been very enjoyable. "You have my number James, and I will tell the next driver to take care of you, because that is what you do for others. You have taken care of me and I appreciate it. You are both friendly and bossly, and God looks brightly on those who treat me the way you have the past week." I thanked him humbly and shook my head, reminding him that it was him who made the week an enjoyable experience, and that sometime, we will have to have him come to the US so that I could become his driver. He laughed and immediately shook his head incredulously, "If it ever should happen, I will lean over and kiss the ground and thank God. My soul will be unhappy if I never see America before I die. But until then, I want you to remember Lawson, and I hope you work with Save the Children again. I want you to become the head of the regional Save the Children office in Ethiopia, and remember me, and ask me to come there and be your permanent driver. I will do so happily." I laughed, thanked him, and assured him that I would, before reminding him that he would no way he would leave Lake Malawi and his fishing experiences to move to Ethiopia just to be my driver.
"There have to be good lakes there to fish I think," he said, looking out the front window of the truck and into the sky, "and if not, I am sure I could talk God into moving this one for me."
***
TEAM DOMASI
While it certainly seems not to be the case, I have had the opportunity to get a lot of work done this week. As I had planned, yet wasn't entirely sure would work, I was able to assemble a team of Domasi students to become my all-important research team over the next few weeks. My good friend Misheck, who is now the Director of Distance Learning at Domasi College of Education (and still the in-country coordinator for CIVITAS Malawi, a now-unfunded international civic education program which partners with Indiana University) put up a note earlier this week inviting all who were interested to join me over the next few weeks to help me complete a research project looking in at schools in the Zomba region and collecting data on teacher quality. In meetings with Misheck early in the week, I had expressed concern that we would be unable to get student volunteers on such short notice. He assured me it would be no problem.
As is always the case, I needn't have worried. He capped (at my insistence) the sign-in sheet at 10 students. All the slots were filled, and when we had our first briefing on Wednesday, I was stunned to see the room was filled with far more than 10 students. It seems those who had signed up talked to their peers and found out when we were meeting and wanted to come to see what exactly was happening. I couldn't help but smile as I entered the room and began addressing the group, introducing myself, the project, and what would be required of them as research assistants to the data collection. I thought that the difficult schedule, demanding tasks, and paltry pay (I would buy them lunch and give transportation to and from the schools) would be enough to scare at least a few away, but it somehow only managed to grow over the next few days. Again, my underestimations were seemingly unwarranted.
After spending the last few days (crash course) discussing research methodology, explaining difficult vocabulary, reviewing the instruments, and carving out a workable schedule, I can honestly say that I am thrilled to go out in the field over the next two weeks. If everything goes to plan (which it never does), I will visit 20 schools (two schools a day), observe and interview two teachers per school (one qualified, one unqualified - equaling 40 total), with two research assistants from Domasi in tow per day. The assistants are fluent in both English and Chichewa, which will provide me with access to a translator, and are tasked with completing the observation protocol with me and conducting the one-on-one interviews with the teachers at the completion of each lesson. This will be invaluable to me in both data collection and analysis and will hopefully add to both the richness of the project as well as make it distinctly Malawian - a goal of mine from the very onset.
Now cross your fingers we can find fuel to get to the schools.
***
That's all for now. As always, there is more to share, but I think I have made this long enough for now. Hope all is well back home and I miss all of you.
And go Tigers.
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