My Last, Final Post From Malawi

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.