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.
