Heavy Heart

It's been a busy week here in Malawi, but all is overshadowed by the loss of my cousin Lisa last night, ending her long and painful battle with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Lisa was not only a wonderful mother and wife, but a compassionate soul and one of the most caring individuals I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Through countless medical procedures, experimental drugs, painful treatments, and weeks spent in hosptial rooms across the country, Lisa never lost her unwavering strength and optimism. She leaves behind her husband Eric, who never faltered in both his duties as a husband and a father, tirelessly doing whatever was needed to all around him. I will forever look to Eric as the blueprint for how to respond to tragic and life-altering situations and I can only hope to become half the man he is today.

Lisa also leaves behind Maddie and Ella, two of the most beautiful little girls I have ever known. This past winter, I was privileged enough to travel to Walt Disney World and spend time with both girls and their sweetness, affection, intelligence, and personalities are an exact reflection of the type of person, and the type of Mother, that Lisa was to them. I know Maddie and Ella won't read this blog, but girls, I will be back soon, and I promise to be there for you whenever and wherever you need me. I was told that Maddie has wondered every day this week 'what Jimmy could be bringing me from Africa?' It won't take the pain away Maddie, but I promise to stuff every available inch of my suitcase with as much of Africa as I can for you.

Much love to my family who is together in Cincinnati. I wish I could be with you and I send my heart across the ocean to you.

Maddie and Me

Flies, Well-Traveled Roads, and Smart J: Future Superstar

You ready for this? (Cue the music)

Today's post is huge. I haven't had the opportunity to share much from the weekend, and everything that is contained here only scratches the surface of the many sights, sounds, and thoughts from the last three days. But I have tried my best to cover some of the most notable.

In order to expedite your reading, I have broken the post into five categories. This way, if you are only interested in a certain section, feel free to browse ahead and just read that. If not, read them all and hopefully it makes sense.

The sections are:
Education
Travel
Hotel
Music
Sports

Hope you enjoy.

Education

So I spent the weekend in Zomba (see the Travel section for notes on the journey there) conducting a series of teacher training workshops to those who be collecting data in the field for Save the Children over the coming year. I was warned of this prior to my coming, that there may be times in which I am asked to talk about research methodology (ugh), or data collection (double ugh), or data analysis (uggggggggh). This weekend primarily focused on the middle of those three, as the workshop was designed to tutor current practicing teachers on how to conduct classroom observations and teacher interviews. As the instruments used for Save's research are similar to the ones I created for my own study, it was natural for me to walk through the instruments, answer any questions that arose, and generally make sense of the whole process.

The trainings were held in a remote village in the Zomba region, and specifically, at St. Martin's secondary school. The classrooms were modest (see pictures of a Standard/Grade Eight classroom on the 'photos' page) and the teachers were enthusiastic about learning how to collect data and work for Save. One of the really nice things about this organization is there are no misconceptions about its mission, either here in the office amongst the staff or out in the field. Unlike other NGOs, grants, and organizations I have worked with (who may not have any untoward agenda but are often mistakingly perceived as having one), everyone seems to treat Save and its projects with nothing but respect and excitement. To me, this is reflective of the organization's transparency and quality of projects. It makes conducting research for them all the easier. Overall the trainings went very well, with only a few glitches here and there. I plan on conducting more of these in Zomba as well, so this was good practice and allows me to tweak my presentation to avoid the same complications later.

I also had a surprisingly important discussion with my driver Efram on the way back from Zomba which, coincidentally, meshed with a number of other moments I have had so far in Malawi. As we were driving, I was continually mesmerized by the majestic mountains on either side of the car. At one point, Efram, noticing my admiration, said "I can see you like the mountains. I am sorry they aren't as pretty as they once were." Remembering my initial conversation in Blantyre with Pheobe, I quickly responded. "They are still very pretty," I countered, "and very dramatic. I am not used to mountains where I am from so any time I see them I am amazed. Do you say they aren't pretty because of the lack of trees though?" "Yes," Efram said sadly "I am afraid they just don't look like they used to." "Well," I returned, "I still think they are very nice." I paused, and then began to wonder if his interpretation was the same as Pheobe's, and hoping he could give me more information on the huge line of bicycles I had witnessed a week earlier. So I asked him what cause the disappearance of the trees. And could not have been more shocked at the response.

"Democracy" he said plainly. "Democracy?" I asked, stunned. "Yes," he explained "the deforestation of our mountains came after our move to democracy. Before we had democracy, people of Malawi were very scared to do anything that could get them in trouble. No one wanted to break the rules, and even if they did not know what all the rules were, they knew there were certain things you didn't do. Removing trees for personal gain was one of those things. But when Malawi became a democracy, things changed. People misunderstood democracy. They thought it meant you could do whatever you wanted. So suddenly you had people rushing into the mountains, taking things that had stood there since long before they were born, just because they thought they could. It was no good." I asked if it had gotten any better, and if democracy was more understood now. "Yes, it has, and it will continue to improve, God willing. The problem at the beginning was we were suddenly a democracy, and the people of Malawi knew it was a good thing, but did not know what it meant. There is no word in Chichewa for 'democracy' so people made up their own definitions. But now, because of broadcasts on the radio, and CSOs (civil society organizations), it is understood that democracy means a government of the people, and for the people, and doing things like ripping trees off the hills only hurts us. It hurts all of us. Democracy is about freedom, but not that kind of freedom."

So there you have it. Democracy = Deforestation. An Inconvenient Truth if there ever was one.

Travel

Oh, the road we traveled. Remember Frost's road dilemma? Well, I am fairly certain he was nowhere near Malawi in the early 20th century, but if he had been, I am pretty sure he would have made the same decision. Oh, the road we traveled.

See, in my extreme naivete, I couldn't understand why all the vehicles Save the Children owned were giant, diesel-guzzling Land Rovers. They look awesome, no doubt, and can fit a small town inside them, but as I shuttled back and forth from the office to the hotel, I could see the gas gauge moving steadily towards E and all this, with a fuel shortage problem, just made me question the decision-making process that led to the purchase of these beasts.

Well, color me stupid. The dirt road we took from Blantyre to Zomba (appx 1.5 hours) was like a long-forgotten event at the X-Games. Rocks jutted out at all angles. Gaping holes that could have swallowed a Ford Focus had to be swerved around. Small lakes and rivers just ran right over top, caring not that it was a road they were resting on. And if all that wasn't enough, Efram had to avoid a litany of bicycles, children, chickens, goats, oncoming cars (what few there were) and even a village wedding. We made the drive a total of four times over two days and after the first time, after arriving at the school, I was quick to compliment Efram on his skill navigating the road and obstacles. He smiled and apologized for the bumpiness. "Bumps?" I quipped back "I didn't even notice."

All that said, take a look at some of the pictures. Breathtaking.

Hotel

Just call me Lord of the Freakin' Flies. While I have had a very pleasant stay so far in Blantyre, one recurring issue seems to have thrown both myself and the hotel staff for a bit of a loss. Every morning, and several times throughout the day, I walk into the bathroom to find about one dozen dead flies in my bathtub. Seriously. Now, fool me once flies, shame on me. Fool me again...well...what was it again George W?

After the first occurrence, I simply ran the shower, forcing them all down the drain, and didn't think a whole lot of it. Well, I thought 'ew' but that doesn't constitute 'a lot'. Yesterday morning though, upon seeing another half dozen in almost the same place, I wondered what was up. I removed them again, and then began to check everything in the room. I didn't see any anywhere else. The windows were shut tight, the door was closed. Hmmmm....mystery, yes? So, my solution this time was as deeply thought out as 'close the bathroom door + keep it closed = no flies'.

I woke up this morning, groggily stumbled to the bathroom and opened the door. They were back. Exactly ten flies, loitering in my bathtub ready to worship at the alter of the drainpipe. I looked around, trying to figure out how in the world they keep coming back, and seriously, I have no idea. Maybe the drain itself? Do flies come OUT of bathtub drains? It made/makes no sense. I have alerted the housekeeping staff, but their response of "We saw a lot too. Why are they there?" breeds no confidence in coming to a problem resolution. Until then, I am Lord.

In other hotel news, I am once again going to be on the move. This time, I am moving from Blantyre to Zomba to be closer to the data collection sites and the Domasi College of Education. I will be staying at Annie's Lodge, a small chain here in Malawi, in what looks like the foothills of the Zomba plateau. I will add their website to the links page later today.

Music

There is absolutely no shortage of interesting musical moments so far on this trip. I have heard many different styles on the radio to and from the office and on the road to Zomba, read about sold out hip-hop concerts, and, as previously mentioned, Malawi is host to an international music festival this weekend in Mangochi on Lake Malawi. I have also been subject to listening to a midi-version of Fur Elise every time I step into the elevator (It restarts at the same place at each door closing. I think riding it over and over again could be a form of torture) and, in what may be the funniest of all, the repeated (read: EVERY night) musical stylings of vocal-less Celine Dion songs on flute in the restaurant. I $#&@ you not.

But all pale in comparison to meeting Smart J. It was day two of our sessions in Zomba and we had just taken a break before moving on to the explanation of another one of the data collection tools. One of the teachers, Jonathan, walked up to me carrying a newspaper in his hand and asked if I had a minute.  I said of course, and asked him if he was enjoying the seminar thus far. "Very much so," he replied before asking "Do you like music James?" I of course told him I did, to which he responded "Very good. Well, I have something to show you then." He pulled out the newspaper and showed me an article. "Smart J realizes dream" the headline read and there was a nice picture of a gentleman and what seemed to be a write-up of a newly released album. I quickly scanned the article, picking up keywords as I went (reggae-inspired, first album, singer) before reading, towards the bottom "...is currently a teacher." I paused, and looked at the picture again.

"Wait" I said looking up "is this you?!" "Yes," he said with about the biggest smile possible on his face "this is me. I am Smart J." "That's incredible!" I said enthusiastically "How great that you have an article! And your music sounds very nice. Reggae, hmm?" "Ah thank you thank you. Glory to God." Smart J responded, clasping his hands together and looking up to the sky. "I have the album with me, do you want to listen? I said of course, and he quickly walked me to the Headteacher's (Principal's) office where he had already set up the DVD player to play the album through the speakers on the TV. He pressed play and quickly turned back around to watch my reaction as I listened. The midi-created beat immediately kicked in with the familiar 1 & 3 of reggae guitar and soon after, Smart J's vocals rose up, singing entirely in Chichewa. I was aware of my reactions (I had to be...he was watching intently), but with no forcing, I found myself smiling and nodding to the beat throughout the entire song.

At the conclusion, he looked my straight in the eyes, his mouth agape, half-smiling, half in anticipation, as if waiting for the right time to ask my opinion. "Fantastic" I responded, breaking into a smile that forced his half-one to turn whole. "Really?" He asked, wanting to hear me say it again. "Really! Smart J, it was very nice. You should be very, very proud." "Oh thank you, thank you" he said, more to himself than to me. He lowered his head to pick the CD out of the drive and then paused, holding it at his waist, pondering his next move. Then, in one swift motion, he put the CD back in the album case, snapped the case shut and thrust it forward. "It is yours then." he said confidently. "What? Really?" I responded, not yet taking the CD out of his hand. "Yes, if you like it, then it is yours." "Well thank you," I said as I put my hand on the edge of the album, "that's very generous of you." "You are welcome," he stated happily as he released the CD "it is K1500 ($9.00)."

Musicians all around the world are the same. Creative, praise-seeking, and above all, entrepreneurs.

Sports

Back home, both of my teams who are currently in their regular season, the Detroit Tigers and Detroit Lions, are enjoying the greatest beginnings/finishes either club has ever experienced. My fantasy team (Shut it all of you who don't play. It's a curse) has started 3-0 (best start ever) and has the looks of an actual contender for money this year. I have enjoyed updates (provided by the best sports play-by-play man ever, my Dad) on all of this and while I am not at home to enjoy it, I am proud of my Detroiters.

In place of NFL football, I have been watching the Rugby World Cup. To those of you unfamiliar with the game of Rugby (I had only mildly understood it prior to this trip) let me paint a picture of it for you. Imagine an NFL, American football game. Keep the defensive side as it is with the exception of removing all skinny guys and replacing them with big buff guys.  Now, from the offensive side remove the Quarterback, Wide Receivers, and Running Back, leaving just the offensive line (but no fat ones, just big buff ones) and one fullback (ie. dude bigger than a running back). Now add the punter/kicker and a few more big dudes to even out the sides. Then, on everyone, remove the helmet and pads, turn the jerseys into Abercrombie & Fitch tight t shirts and turn the pants into bicycle shorts. Then, play the game, following the rules of a kickoff at all times (ie. no forward passes) and remove all stoppages of play, including timeouts, with the exception of life-threatening injuries.

That's Rugby. And on the world stage, the US, much like soccer, sucks at it. Compared to the world-championship quality teams from South Africa, New Zealand, Australia, France, and Wales, we look like we have two less people and are attempting to run with a greased watermelon. To see the game played well (like the New Zealand/France match last weekend) is a stunning blend of brutal hits, pinpoint passes (laterals), and breathtaking free runs to the goal. To see the game played like the US plays it, is, frankly, painful. We are almost always out-strategized, out-muscled, out-passed, and certainly, out-scored by every opponent's A-team and probably their B-team as well and, what the hell, the A-team's kids too.

But, after watching four US matches over the course of the last week, I am proud of our players, and proud of our country. Our record is fair (1-2-1) and probably will not qualify us for the next stage. We were demolished by an Australian squad that very well could win the whole thing, and can only imagine the suffering playing a team like the All-Blacks from New Zealand could inflict upon us. Despite this, the announcers, players (from all sides), and commentators, all agree upon one positive aspect to the US rugby team.

They never are out-hustled.

Like the scrappy ballplayer that needs to work extra hard just to be cut by the varsity team, the US Rugby team has absolutely dominated the stat lines that don't matter. On every play, you can find a US player diving forward, hitting as hard as possible, running as fast as they can, and sometimes, even in the right direction. We just lost this morning to Italy, 27-10, and not only was the final result a forgone conclusion before the match, but so much so that the Italians were strategizing how to get four tries (touchdowns) because they needed that to break a potential tiebreaker to move forward. No need for drama: they got the four tries they wanted. But the US squad didn't give it away. The fact that the score was ONLY 27-10 is a result of US hustle and grit. They were mauled on the scrum (think offensive vs defensive line) every single time, to the point where the referee even had to step in and ask "are you sure?" when the US requested to scrum instead of have a line-out (a far easier play).

Why did they do that? It wasn't strategy. They lost the scrum (no surprise), which gave Italy the ball in a contest that was already far decided. What it was, was heart. They were no match for the Italian squad, but from their body language, you'd never know it. They fought, and clawed, and in the end, stood proud, knowing they failed just because they were an inferior side, not because they didn't work as hard as they could.

Well done Eagles.

Weekend Update, With More to Come

It's been a long, exhausting few days since I last posted. Highlights have included conducting teacher-researcher training sessions in a small village outside of Zomba (and the discovery of one teachers' true calling), enjoying my first taste of Seima (a thick consistency of corn flour and water), and have many realizations along what has to be the least accessible road I have ever traveled on. I plan on filling in all the details when time allows (I am at the office all day today) but in the meantime, I encourage you to take a look at some of the pictures I have posted from the weekend.

And lest I post without a quick shout out to my Lions and Tigers. Apparently I should have left the country long ago. 3-0 for the first time since before I was born for the Leos, and a playoff birth and possible home-field advantage for the Tiggers. Good time to be a Detroit fan (a sentence that is said far too infrequently).

Cheers

So That Happened...

Here's a good one. When I checked in to the hotel a few days ago and went to my room, I was immediately taken by the beautiful view out the window (check the photos), cozy decorations, and overall feel of the room. The only tiny problem was that I had no hot water out of either the tub or sink. Ok, not so tiny. Over the course of the last few days I had inquired about this often and last night, they finally suggested I move to a different room so they could fix my current one. While I wasn't thrilled at the idea, I agreed, but wanted to make sure I was satisfied with my new room first. I got a new key and went to take a look and before I even opened the door I was immediately let down. Gone was my view of the garden and mountains, replaced by the monolithic Malawi National Bank across a busy intersection full of honking cars and minibuses. But the hot water did work...hmmm....

As I pondered my choices I decided to walk back to my room to see how difficult of a task was before me to "un"settle out of my current room and as I got close I noticed my door was slightly ajar. I was certain I hadn't done this and I slowed my pace, approaching the door cautiously. While pushing the door open (and wondering how well I can run in boat shoes) I called out hello and immediately heard: "Yes?" followed by a thud followed by "ow!" It appears the repairman (or as his white surgical lab coat read "Specialist") was in my bathroom, on the floor, under the sink, attempting to repair my hot water situation and now also attend to the knot placed on the back of his head from my startling presence and the unforgiving underside of a sink. He quickly assured me that he was working on the problem and it would be an easy, if not quick fix. He told me wait one-half hour and all will be working again. I decided to park myself in the chair by the window, pull out a book, and keep an eye on the process.

While I know nothing of plumbing or home repair (who am I kidding...any repair) it was clear to me that the problem was both in my bathroom (evidenced by his presence in my bathroom) and outside in the hallway (evidenced by his 20+ trips to the hallway). I occasionally glanced up from my book (Hemmingway's "Green Hills of Africa" for the whole two of you who may be interested) to come up with such sleuth-y play by play of his progress, but that was about it. Then, after a number of trips, and the Specialist in the hallway, I heard what can only be described as a squeak, followed by a clang, followed by a bursting sound, followed by the sights and sounds of a geyser of water shooting through the bathroom door and into the room.

Now, one learns a great deal about themselves when something like this occurs. Do you stop and help the victims of a car crash? Do you you pick up the coin and hand it to the elderly man who unwittingly dropped it on the ground? Do you actually return the item you picked up in the store, (but then decided you no longer want it), to it's original place or do you stick it behind the deodorant because that happens to be the aisle you are in when you decide you have no need for a forty-pack of AAA batteries? In my case, I was faced with a tremendous amount of water surging into the hotel room, covering the walls, doors, and floor with no signs of slowing down or stopping. What should/could/did I do?

To those of you who know me well, it should come to absolutely no surprise that I did nothing (and yes, the Paul Simon "Greatest Hits" CD that you found laying on top of the gum in the checkout line was me). Instead I watched The Specialist run into the rapids that was now the front entrance to my room, dive into the bathroom, reemerge drenched a few seconds later and run into the hallway before finally the spewing bathtub stopped. A couple more seconds passed, in silence, before The Specialist slowly opened the door and came back into the room, clearly in some state of shock. We looked at each other, me dry in my chair, him very, very wet in my doorway. I wasn't sure what he was thinking and to be frank, I wasn't entirely sure what I was thinking either. Then, much to my surprise, he began to laugh, at first somewhat sheepishly. I began to laugh at his reaction, which only caused him to now laugh even hard, clearly realizing that I was not angry, but rather just as surprised as he was (albeit a much drier surprised). He shook his head back and forth as he surveyed the room and I walked towards him, stopping just at the edge of the newly created Lake in room 133 and asked if he was ok. "Yes," he said while scratching the top of his head, "well, at least you know everything is clean now, yes?" We both laughed even harder.

In the end, he fixed the problem, housekeeping came and dried off my doors, walls and floor, and I was able to take a long hot shower in my room with the good view. And for the record, I did give the unused key back to the front desk, so it seems I can be taught. Don't hold your breath for my ability to fix anything though.

Friday Morning Mailbag

Over the course of the last week, I have received a number of questions from all of you and while I want to answer you all individually, I noticed many of your questions overlap with one another. So, with that in mind, I have decided to make a weekly post answering those questions that are either asked most, or, frankly, I have an answer to. Feel free to send me questions throughout the week and check back each Friday morning for the answers.

What's the weather like over there?

Believe it or not, this is the question I have received the most. Short answer? It's hot. Long answer? It's really hot. The best way to describe it is to compare it to US weather out west (ie. Nevada, Arizona, etc.); very dry, very low humidity, very little wind. One interesting (it not obvious when thought about) realization came after I traveled from Lilongwe to Blantyre the other day though that is worth sharing. As soon as I touched down, I realized it felt slightly cooler than it had in Lilongwe, which I immediately attributed to the time of day, a weather front, etc. It wasn't until I thought about it that I realized it would always be a few degrees cooler here than Lilongwe because Blantyre was further south. It's a bit of a mindtrap to us Northern Hemisphere-ers, but yes, south = colder down here. Just thought that was worth noting.

You've mentioned food a number of times. What are you eating, and what was that "best dish you've had so far" you mentioned in your post?

The food has been pretty fantastic everywhere I have been thus far. The diet is pretty similar to ours back in the States actually: fish, chicken, beef, etc. The preparations are usually grilled or panfried, and as I had mentioned previously, very well seasoned. I have yet to have the Chambo this time (Arlene just shuddered, I guarantee it) which is a freshwater fish out of Lake Malawi that is without a doubt the most popular food item here. I will though and let you know how it is.

As far as the best dish, it may actually be somewhat funny to those of you who have heard about my travels here last year. It was prawns. During my last visit to Africa, I had both an incredible dish of prawns (in Johannesburg, South Africa) and a very-not-so-incredible dish of prawns (in Zomba, Malawi). For some reason, after seeing it on the menu a number of times over the last week, I decided to roll the dice and go for it. I am glad I did.

You ever going to post photos?

Second-most commonly asked question. And today. Promise.

What do you do for fun over there?

Fun? What's that? No, in all seriousness, I haven't been out much since I have been here so my list of fun activities has been a bit sparse. Most evenings consist of staying in and around the hotel, relaxing, reading, and occasionally watching a football/rugby match in the bar. That said, there are a few interesting upcoming events that I think might be neat to check out (including an international music festival on Lake Malawi - thank you Arlene (wow two shout-outs in one post!) that has acts including Foals (UK), Freshlyground (South Africa), and The Black Missionaries (Malawi)).

Any reason you gave us a list of music that we a) don't know and b) can't listen to?

I am updating that post today, with links to either music videos or at least youtube videos with the song streaming. I have also just posted just the songs with links and my comments immediately below this post. Let me know which is your favorite.

How is your fantasy football team doing?

The fact that I am here in Malawi, working for Save the Children, and have not only received this question multiple times, but had an immediate answer, shows that I need to make some changes in my life. That said, it is doing fantastic. 2-0 so far and very high scoring. I may very well make a post this week defending my involvement, or I may shamefully attempt to never talk about it again. We shall see.

What are you doing again?

Perhaps I should have made this question #1. Or perhaps I should have used the space in an earlier post to explain it instead of listing random songs. Either way, here is my *ahem* elevator explanation.

I am conducting a research study in the Zomba region in Malawi that hopes to compare the teaching pedagogy and practices of those teachers who have received a degree/certificate from a teacher training institution and those who have either received no training or only inservice training. This will be done through the use of two data collection instruments (a teacher observation protocol and a teacher/leader interview protocol) with the assistance of a locally trained (by me) team of students/researchers from the Domasi College of Education and the Save the Children country office.

What are your accommodations like?

Very nice. The largest hotel chain in Malawi is Sunbird Hotels, and now, between last year's trip and this one, I have stayed at four of them. I am currently at the Sunbird Mount Soche in Blantyre, which is described as an executive hotel, and other than the extremely loud restaurant renovations on the ground floor, it has been a pleasant stay. If you are interested though, read the next blog I post about a funny moment from yesterday. It was pretty epic.

Is there anything you need?

No, not at the moment but special thanks to all those who asked. I may call you into action eventually, but for now, I am fine.

I also want to thank all of you who have sent me messages telling me how much they are enjoying reading Nthano. I never intended to create a blog, let alone have anyone care to read it, but it seems as though many of you are enjoying hearing about what I am thinking, doing, and experiencing. In fact, as of this morning, there were 584 views (not including my own) of www.nthanomalawi.com! It feels great to know you are still reading and I hope to continue to make it an interesting, informative, and hopefully, entertaining read.

Keep sending questions and I will add them to my list for next week.

Cheers.

Travelin' Blues - Song Links

The following is a reposting of the song titles from one of the first entries of Nthano, with links to either its music video, a youtube copy of the song, or, in one case, a reverbnation site (just hit play).

The full, updated post can be found at the bottom of the page.

From November 15, 2011:

Burn Up The Road by Operator - While I don't plan on putting this list in any order, this would be number one no doubt. It was a favorite of my band's during a long road trip and it translates nicely into air travel as well. Assuming you ignore that whole 'road' part.

'Til You're Gone by The Gabe Dixon Band - Piano driven trio's best song. A little reminder that when played properly, piano is still the most dynamic and funky instrument ever created.

Can't Keep No Good Boy Down by The Parlor Mob - I swear this song was created in the wrong era. Mix of bluegrass, rock, and wicked vocals with a constant background of conversations and random hand clapping. Plus, the lyrics are about the most joyful middle finger I have ever heard.

Short Change Hero by The Heavy - This is my soundtrack song. If ever I am in a movie, no matter what my character is, I want a scene of me walking with this in the background. In fact, if someone could just follow me and have this playing whenever I enter a room, that would be great. Oh and add doves too. Thanks. Sincerely, The Mgmt.

(I just realized I described every scene in John Woo's movies)

Bright Lights by Gary Clark, Jr - Keep your eye on this guy. He is going to be huge. Can sing anything.

Perfect Day by The Constellations - Another soundtrack song. Can't you just see someone walking down the street to this? You simply can't be upset when you listen to this.

Savitri by Roderigo Y Gabriela - Sometimes you just don't need lyrics. For when the 10A to your 10B just won't shut the hell up.

Bodysnatchers by Radiohead - Rob Helfenbein and I had a conversation about this song when we were in Malawi last summer. The opening riff is just perfect. Dynamic and complex and just when you think you've wrapped your head around it, they shift the beat to keep it fresh.

Soul Company by Hogni - A new favorite. But how do you pronounce his name? Hawg-nee? Hodge-nigh? Can I like an artist whose name I can't pronounce?

Letters From the Sky by Civil Twilight - Favorite song by my favorite band out of Africa (South Africa)

A Million Miles by The Thieves - Had to include one song from my favorite band of all time. The build up and harmonies from 3:30 until the end are just epic. Doesn't hurt that the exact distance from Bloomington to Malawi is a million miles too (give or take).

Life On The Outside by Gov't Mule - Not totally sure what Warren is singing about (does anyone ever?) but it doesn't matter. One of the best blues-rock riffs of the past decade.

Odd Soul by Mutemath - This was originally "Blood Pressure" by the same band, but I've found myself listening to this one more so I changed it. Plus, cool video. 

Nobody Moves (Til We Say Go) by Street Sweeper Social Club - The requisite way-too repetitive rock song on the list (and strangely, the second song with "'Til" in the title). Tom Morello and Boots Riley had to write this song after their plane was delayed a fourth time.

A Watched Pot...

Nothing profound to share. Entering the third hour of a planned six hour meeting at the Save the Children office. There are sixteen agenda items. My interests were covered in item two. We are midway through item four now. 

Yikes. 

Chez Makay

For all the buildup and tension, last night was very quiet and uneventful. I had an hour long Skype call with the Save directors in DC, after which I went out with Chris (Malawian) and Marcus (South African), two of the Save staff from the Lilongwe office who were staying in Blantyre for a few days for meetings (one of which I have in a just a few hours with them this morning). I hesitated to go out at first, given the circumstances of the day, but felt confident that Chris knew what he was doing and wasn't going to put any of us in harm's way. My thinking was correct - it was the opposite of what I had expected based on all the previous articles and threats. The streets were eerily silent, with few cars or people moving about.

We grabbed a taxi just outside the hotel doors and proceeded to drive a couple miles away, up a mountain, to a small hideaway called 'Chez Makay'. It was an inn, and its handwritten sign and paucity of lights would cause many to drive right past without ever seeing it or wondering what it looked like inside. I feel sorry for those who do; it was breathtaking. After a quick walk through "the lobby" (essentially just a room with a folding table and chair for the front desk) we arrived on an outdoor patio overlooking the valley below and an adjacent mountainside about a mile away. Lights from cars, houses, and streets twinkled in the distance, and as we sat, I almost tripped on my chair attempting to crane my neck so as to take it all in.

Not long after we sat down, the owner, Makay himself, came over to greet us. He was a tall man, with long thick dreadlocks down to his waist and dressed as though he was headed to the beach. He welcomed us and I immediately countered with how beautiful his establishment was. "No no, it is not mine," he quickly responded "it is not mine. It is yours.This is your place now. Enjoy it to the fullest." I have no doubt that was not the first time he said that in response to someone, but it was very cool nonetheless. I ended up eating the Chambo (a Malawian fish) at the suggestion of Chris, and I was not disappointed. Every bit of it was delicious.

About a half-hour into our dinner, another Save employee, who was here in Blantyre assessing a program and staying at the Chez Makay, came and sat down to join us. Her name was Eleanor and she she had been in Malawi for two weeks, and was leaving the next morning to head back to Italy. The four of us ordered a round of drinks and starting swapping stories from topics including alcohol (Chris: "What IS Whiskey, James?"), driving (Elanor: "Beirut - Worst drivers in the world, hands down"), and of course, the lack of demonstrations at any point throughout the day (Marcus - "Look at us - we are clearly not fighting much of anything right now"). We laughed, got serious, shared stories, and learned from one another. A Malawian, an Italian, a South African, and an American.

Very cool indeed.

Opinion Article from "The Nation"

I am probably about to violate about 100 copyright laws, but I really wanted to share this article with you. It was printed in today's edition of "The Nation" and was written by Muthi Nhlema, an author based here in Blantyre. With apologies to "The Nation" and Mr. Nhlema, I am going to reproduce the entire article here for you to read. Enjoy.

21 Sept: A call to citizenship


On the surface, Norman seemed an ordinary man; father of three, loving husband, and devout Christian. On the surface, Norman's name raised no eyebrows of recognition nor did his views spark controversy. Norman was your everyday man - one of the common people. 


However history will remember Norman Morrison differently. It's what was lurking under the surface that his name is embossed on the world's consciousness. It was a November day in 1965 when Norman's name graduated from the rate race of mediocrity to the annals or notoriety. 


On November 2 1965, Norman Morrison stood in the garden of the Pentagon, America's military hub, armed with only a matchbox and a jerry can of petrol. In full view of the Defence Minister, Robert McNamara, Norman drenched himself in petrol, lit a match and did the unthinkable. He burned himself as an act of protest in the hope that he could help stop the Vietnam War. 


Years later, McNamara would write, quite candidly, of the profound impact Norman's sacrificial act had on his belief that America could win the Vietnam War. Shortly after Norman's protest, McNamara reversed his war policy and proposed that troop levels in Vietnam be frozen for coordinated withdrawal. 


Norman never got to see this. He died from his burns at the age of 31. He was my age. 


There were many who did protest, defiantly facing the fervency of police brutality that seemed to bay for blood, but it took one man to get the message across to a government that had stopped listening. Sadly, it sometimes takes that much to get the attention of the social-elite in the corridors of power. Sometimes, that is the price, we, as citizens, must pay to be heard. 


Come to think of it, that's citizenship, isn't it? It isn't just by having been born into the wonderfully strange country of ours then you're a citizen. It is less about nationality and more about being vigilant at responsibly questioning one's government. When people become indifferent to that responsibility, then they are no longer citizens - they are merely subjects and the government is their God, King, and Master. 


Slowly, I am realising that we, as people, are more subjects than citizens. 


More and more, when I listen to the whispers of my countrymen, all I hear is paranoid fear - a fear of speaking one's mind. 


Fear has enveloped our once-colorful flow of conversation in an air of suspicion of a seemingly omnipresent government that is becoming our Big Brother with eyes and ears everywhere. Where we once had the right to object freely, think freely and speak freely about our government, we now only have a blanket of fear coercing us into a silence that is often mistaken for respect towards and omniscient government. We have become a scared bunch afraid of the very thing that is supposed to protect us - our government! 


Well, truth be told, if you are looking to blame someone, you need only look into a mirror!


Instead of vigilance in speaking of the wrongs of our government, we chose the tranquility of ignorance with the rationale of "playing it safe." Instead of constructively advocating for government accountability, we were passive - enjoying our cosy lives while activists were being ridiculed and we used to say "that's just not my problem."


Under the surface, we knew something was going wrong with this country and yet, on the surface, we joined the bandwagon of parroting subjects and we comforted ourselves with that truly Malawian thought 'Bola moyo.' How did we allow ourselves to be governed by fear?


It is we who made this government more powerful by not being active citizens. It is we that made ourselves subjects of the state. It is we who manufactured our own fear by not taking action. But we can change that today. 


On the surface, we are no different from Norman Morrison. We are simple people living simple lives. But, at times, we must stand for something greater than simplicity's pursuit. In this case, that greater something is freedom - freedom from fear. People shouldn't fear their government; government must fear its people!


Our government used to listen to us - today I hope we can again. However, I hope we don't have to lose more lives, like on July 20, to make that happen. 

Guilty

From the 'truth is stranger than fiction' file:

Due to hotel renovations and my landlocked state, I decided to take my lunch by the pool this afternoon. There is a small grill serving kebobs (chicken and vegetables) which I had with a side of fries and rice. As I waited for it to cook, I walked over to the bar area to get a bottle of water. The gentleman behind the bar took my order, got me an ice cold bottle, and told me the price, which was K380 (about $2.00). I gave him the smallest increment of bills I had, K500. He nodded, reached down and handed me a K20 bill and asked if there was anything else. I looked down at the wrinkled bill and back up at him and reminded him that he still owed me K100. He said he already gave it to me. I looked back down at my hand (keep in mind, my hand never moved from the time he placed the K20 bill into it) and back up at him and said, no, I don't think he did. We went back and forth for a few rounds before I finally relented (it was less than $1.00, but still, it was the principle of the matter) and walked away.

The gentleman's nametag read "Innocent"

Breakfast Chat

Seeing as how I am on a bit of a lockdown in my hotel today, you may get a few posts from me updating you on the situation here in Malawi. Other than that, today’s schedule includes a Skype conference call later with some of the SC (Save the Children) staff back in the US, continued fine-tuning of the survey instruments, and a steady stream of the Rugby World Cup (far more my style of sport than Cricket).

But I want to begin today with an exchange I just had over breakfast with another hotel guest regarding the significance of today’s possible demonstrations. I had just finished my standard breakfast of an egg-white omelet with green peppers, cheese, and onions, a single sausage link, toast, baked beans, and a glass of guava juice when I looked across the table and saw a single bowl of cereal sitting across from me. I had been reading the morning’s paper and was clearly engrossed in the article (I plan on providing snippets of it in a later post today) and somehow had not noticed anyone setting it down. For a moment I wondered if it had been there all along and I had carelessly sat at someone else’s table (completely within the realm of possibilities) but the bowl of cereal was then joined by it’s owner, Eayam. Eayam was a young man, no more than twenty-five, dressed casually with a pleasant and quiet demeanor. He smiled and said hello as he grabbed the back of the seat, and then hesitated, asking if the seat was taken. I quickly said no, and urged him to sit and eat. I continued to read my paper and take sips of my coffee as I looked across the table and watched him organize the place settings, say a quick prayer, and then proceed to pour what can only be described as a small truck’s worth of sugar over his cereal.

We sat silently for a while, him eating, me reading, before I finally set the paper down and introduced myself. “Eayam” he said in response “of the central region.” “Ah,” I said while nodding “which city, if you don’t mind me asking?” “Lilongwe James, here in Blantyre for three days on business.” I smiled and replied, “I was just there. What is it you do?” We spoke for a while about his work, and while I didn’t understand many of the particulars, I got the gist. He works in agricultural rural development, both through the education of farmers and close workings with the government to provide basic needs to those outside of the city centers. After informing him of what I am doing, we quickly moved into the topic of the day, the demonstrations.

“They will not happen,” Eayam said assuredly as he took the last slurp of his cereal. “You sound so sure” I retorted, “but the paper today says the injunction against the demonstrations has been lifted?” “Ah yes,” he said, moving onto the guava juice “but we Malawians are not ready. We are not prepared. So nothing will happen. Not today.” He stopped and stared out the window and I held off saying anything for what seemed like eons (teacher wait time to all those back at the SoE). Finally, he took the silence and continued: “But it must happen soon. It cannot continue like this. Our country needs us, and demands from us that we do something, but it cannot be done in a rush.” He paused and wrung his hands, looking straight up at the ceiling for a moment. “Do you know James why violence occurred in July?” I nodded, and then quickly thought better of it, realizing that what I knew would only pale in comparison to Eayam’s take. I almost continued my silence, but thought it would be foolish for me to not respond, so I offered my meager understanding. “I know there was looting, and crime. And that the police stepped in to stop it from continuing.” “Ah yes, there was crime,” Eayam said, smiling and leaning forward “and that was just the thing. ALL demonstrations are peaceful. Until they are not. It was not the Malawian people that turned violent, it was instead Malawian individuals. And from that, violence and bloodshed escalated. That is the problem with today’s vigils. We as a people know what needs to happen, but we as individuals are not unified. Some are angry, some are peaceful, some are confused. If we are not together, opening dialogue with the government, then we are powerless, and a few individuals can cause much damage.”

Our conversation continued for quite some time, long after the restaurant staff had taken away our dishes and new clientele had taken the seats all around us. As I left, we shook hands with a handshake typically reserved for close friends in Malawi. “Be well James,” he concluded “and be safe. Stay inside today, just in case. And remember, all we are asking for is what we deserve. Nothing more.” I thanked him, nodded in agreement and left the restaurant, my mind and stomach both attempting to digest all that I had just consumed.  

A Long Journey

"Absolutely beautiful mountains" I remarked to my driver Pheobe, as we exited the Blantyre airport parking lot. Pheobe smiled and nodded. "Yes, they are quite beautiful," she uttered, in a hushed tone and paused, before continuing "it is just too bad what has happened to them." I nodded, quizzically, before giving in to curiosity and asking what she meant. "You'll see" she replied.

We drove in silence for a few miles; me looking all around at the surrounding countryside, her navigating the narrow road in our oversized stick shift 4x4. As I looked at the mountains, I couldn't figure out what she meant. What had happened to them? Did they shrink? Erode, perhaps? From here, even though they were miles away, they seemed utterly majestic. High, sharp peaks rose up into the sky and each seemed to have its own topography, some with lush trees, others with barren rock. I continued to look out the side window until I felt Pheobe downshift and apply the brake slowly, which forced my gaze back towards the road. The road itself was pockmarked with holes and its ability to fit two cars passing side-by-side seemed as miraculous as an umbrella appearing out of Mary Poppins' suitcase. Then, about a mile of head of me, on the left hand side of the road (which was the side I was sitting on - cars travel in the left lane ala UK) I began to spot a rather odd sight. It took me a moment to understand what I was looking at, as there were not only strange shapes in the distance, but a huge quantity of them as well. I was looking at a line of about two-hundred bicycles.

They were all in single file line, hugging the precious remaining inches of asphalt. From a distance, their relative closeness to one another gave off a serpentine look, and as we approached, I saw that the space between one back wheel and another front wheel was barely enough to slide a piece of paper between.  But that wasn't the odd part. What was strange was that not a single person was riding the bikes. Instead, each operator walked alongside their bicycle, feet off the asphalt on the bare ground which sat a few inches below the lip of the road. Each walked slowly, laboriously, head down and hands positioned either on the handlebars or on the back of the seat pushing the bicycle up the hills on the pockmarked road. This wasn't by choice. They couldn't sit on the bicycles had they wanted to. Perched on each seat sat two to three large conical bundles, raising anywhere from three to six feet above the bicycle. Each bundle was dark brown, and was easily five times the width of the bicycle itself, which, combined with the height of each pile, formed the strange sight that I had spotted a mile earlier.

Pheobe, sensing my impending questions, began: "That James, is what is happening to the mountains. These are merchants who go up into the mountains in order to cut down our trees and create the bundles of firewood you see on each of the bikes. They are leading to the deforestation of our beautiful mountains and using it to make a profit. They will take these and sell them in the market place for people to build fires, makes goods. It's quite sad because our mountains used to be covered in beautiful trees. Now only a few such mountains remain." I nodded and agreed with her that it was quite sad to see, but it still wasn't making sense to me. "I don't understand though...maybe I am wrong, but the mountains, they are very far away, yes?" Pheobe nodded, "Oh yes James, very far. They are maybe 10 km or so from here, and they still have a ways to go before they get to the market to sell them." "Wow," I responded, dumbfounded at the prospect of pushing such a heavy bundle perched perilously on a bicycle seat for such a long distance. "And they all go at the same time, yes?" I asked. "Yes, of course" stated Pheobe confidently, "and they must get up very early in the morning to do this as well. Most of these men left for the mountains at three in the morning and are just returning now [at 8:00 AM]." I shook my head incredulously. "I can assume they do not look very forward to this day very much, right?" I said somewhat jokingly, smiling at Pheobe. Pheobe did not smile as her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed quizzically for a moment before responding: "It is their job. They do this every day."

"Oh" I responded. And went back to looking out the window.

The Importance of Being Heard

Meetings went well today (have more work/fine-tuning to do) and the Ministry officials were all very receptive to the work I am planning on doing. I just finished dinner (best I have had so far in Malawi) and have settled in to the room for an evening of (re)packing to prep for my 6:00AM ride to the airport tomorrow morning.

But before I do, I want to actually follow through on one of the many things I keep teasing that I want to use this forum to discuss. While clearly the blog is an opportunity to be atrociously pithy and serve up my best Seinfeld-ian observations, it is also a way for me to communicate some of the more important, and difficult, aspects of my trip thus far. Mom and Dad, now would be a good time to avert your eyes.

Rarely do we get an opportunity to see a country on the verge of a historic precipice. Sometimes symbolic, sometimes revolutionary, sometimes tragic, countries, and speaking more agency-correctly (thank you Keith), a country’s citizenry can often become drastically impacted by a single event. We saw it this past year in Egypt, we’ve witnessed it in Japan and Haiti, and 10 years ago this month, we in the States felt it as well. Malawi, in my opinion, is at the verge of one of those moments. 

In 1994, Malawi made the leap to single-party democracy, ending the one-party “Presidency for Life” rule of Dr. Hastings Kamuzu Banda. The process to get there wasn’t easy; protests and demonstrations had begun two years prior and Banda, unwilling to give up his life appointment, refused to move from office. It was only after donor countries began to cut their funding for Malawi that the people of Malawi were asked to vote for what kind of government they wanted; 80% of the voters chose plural politics.

Since then, the status of the Malawian government has been relatively benign. Multiparty elections have occurred regularly. A judicial system has been put into place, refined, and is working as it should. Last year, when I came to Malawi with a group of civic-minded colleagues from parts of the US and Africa, it became apparent that the democratic political system was continuing to grow, and efforts being made to incorporate civic education into the curriculum. Democracy was not only embraced, but becoming defined and redefined in the Malawian context itself. One year later, those definitions were put to the test.  

Angered by the current regime’s perceived political and governance grievances, along with severe economic issues facing the country (including acute and growing petrol/diesel shortages, electricity problems, and the lack of foreign exchange), Malawians took to the street on July 20, 2011 across the country in a series of demonstrations and protests. The results were not good. 20 lost their lives, many more were injured, and dialogue between civil society organizations and government collapsed entirely. My good friend and colleague Misheck Munthali, in an email correspondence to me following the events stated: “The fact that people took to streets is good enough because it reminds those in authority that as Malawians we are not interested in being taken back to the days of oppression and intimidations. It is unfortunate that blood was shed and life was lost. I gues [sic] any meaningful struggle, has a sacrifice [sic].”

Misheck’s sentiments were seemingly shared when in August, candlelight vigils around the country were planned as both a remembrance of those who lost their lives and continued protest to their unanswered appeals to their government. But in the eleventh hour, the vigils were cancelled, most likely due to the sudden involvement of United Nations mediation and the hopes of actual constructive dialogue. This mediation too has failed however; it seems one cannot have a dialogue when the other speaks only in soliloquy.

Now, echoes and rumblings of “Wednesday” are heard in hallways, dining rooms, and offices. Civil society organizations have named September 21, 2011 a day of candlelight vigils across the country in “strategic locations” as a means to remind the government that is has to be accountable to the people of Malawi. By doing so, these organizations are operating under a basic democratic tenet: that the rules of engagement in a democracy entail that citizens demand accountability and transparency from elected officials without equivocation. The fact that the situation escalated to tragic proportions in July bears no matter. The drive to create a better Malawi, for current and future citizens is too important, and too vital, to abandon hope of good and fair governance.

All that said, this post was not meant to strike fear into any of your hearts concerning my safety (ahem, Mom and Dad). Optimism is high that these vigils will be peaceful and no animosity seems apparent in the city. Currently, injunctions are in place stopping the demonstrations, and there is doubt from many that they will even occur. Nonetheless, by Wednesday I will be safely in Blantyre, away from the capital, and hunkered down in my hotel watching the news. But I want everyone who is reading this to think both of what Malawi is facing, and what we have every day in our country. Perspective is as fragile as a glance in the other direction. Don’t forget to take a look every once in a while.

I will keep you posted.