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.
