Monday, May 11, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
I love quotes, especially good ones; ones that make you get goosebumps. In Tolkien's epic film there's a point in the second installment that is particularly good. The two main characters are sitting in a city that's been destroyed and they want to give up their quest. One complains that the task is too big, the journey too far, and they are too small to continue on. And Samwise turns to his friend saying "it's like in the great strories, the ones that really matter. Full of darkness and danger they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened to it? But in the end it is only a passing thing this shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come... those are the stories that stayed with you, that meant something, even if you were too small to understand why....Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't; they kept going cause they were holding onto sometihng. (What were they holding onto?) That there is some good in this world and it is worth fighting for. "
Today was our final day in Malawi. And I could tell you about the meeting with its minutiae and who said what but that will come in time. I would rather tell you, with the little time I have left me, what has especially struck me about this place in this time: there are two types of people in the world. Those with hope and those without.
Men sitting on porches because there is nothing to do, no job prospects, no reasonable expectations that anything will change because nothing has changed in the past. These people hedge their bets by not reaching out for new ideas, for new relationships, for new hopes that have yet to be realised. They're content with the status quo. (I could be saying this about our city, people we know and see. ) There are elections coming soon to Malawi. The ruling party, DPP, is an urban party. The opposition parties (MCP, UDF) are rural. When we drive to Kamenzi you see the flags for the rural parties everywhere. There are election headquarters and the supporters know which way they will vote, MCP/UDF; they also, however, wear DPP shirts. I assume it's because it's a free shirt. Hedging their bets.
Then there are those who are willing to try something new for the chance of a good reward. They try new techniques; they learn new things; they share. There are bicyclists who go along the roads and sides of highways with huge stacks of charcoal bound for the capital, Lilongwe. There is a problem, however. The police put up checkpoints to check for incoming goods which aren't allowed to be shipped. Charcoal, for some reason, is one of them. They fetch a much higher price in the city. So these bicyclists will bike for kilometres until the appointed time, when they turn off the road and circumvent the police, trying to arrive at the destination. They are doing something to improve their lot. I even saw one wearing a Toronto maple leafs jersey; if that's not hope, I'm not sure what is.
On the way back from the Lake, i could see small fires in the huts sporadically spread out against the mountains. It reminded me of a Bob Goudzwaart speech I heard a couple of years ago and about Tolkien again. Goudzwaard was talking about hope in troubled times had said that even the smallest of lights cuts through the deepest of darkness.
He told a story of an encounter with Archbishop Desmond Tutu during Apartheid. And Desmond Tutu was convinced that he had seen the end of apartheid because the times were so dark for his countrymen. His explanation was that in the darkest point of night, each night, every night, the first star to come out shining is the morningstar; a herald of good things to come. Signifying that the darkness cannot be there forever, that morning and light and warmth are coming very soon.
This is what we have seen, hope in troubled times, lights in the deepest darkness: the women's groups, the literacy groups, the farming groups, the sanitation groups, the orhpanage people, all small fires of hope along the mountainsides.
It may seem like a huge task ahead of us, one that is too big for us to handle, too difficult to complete, too painful to see through, but many have felt the same before us. "It is up to us to decide what to do with the time given us" in this relationship, and with others. As I leave, I would like to leave you with a quote from the Shawshank Redemption:
"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And a good thing never dies."
Today was our final day in Malawi. And I could tell you about the meeting with its minutiae and who said what but that will come in time. I would rather tell you, with the little time I have left me, what has especially struck me about this place in this time: there are two types of people in the world. Those with hope and those without.
Men sitting on porches because there is nothing to do, no job prospects, no reasonable expectations that anything will change because nothing has changed in the past. These people hedge their bets by not reaching out for new ideas, for new relationships, for new hopes that have yet to be realised. They're content with the status quo. (I could be saying this about our city, people we know and see. ) There are elections coming soon to Malawi. The ruling party, DPP, is an urban party. The opposition parties (MCP, UDF) are rural. When we drive to Kamenzi you see the flags for the rural parties everywhere. There are election headquarters and the supporters know which way they will vote, MCP/UDF; they also, however, wear DPP shirts. I assume it's because it's a free shirt. Hedging their bets.
Then there are those who are willing to try something new for the chance of a good reward. They try new techniques; they learn new things; they share. There are bicyclists who go along the roads and sides of highways with huge stacks of charcoal bound for the capital, Lilongwe. There is a problem, however. The police put up checkpoints to check for incoming goods which aren't allowed to be shipped. Charcoal, for some reason, is one of them. They fetch a much higher price in the city. So these bicyclists will bike for kilometres until the appointed time, when they turn off the road and circumvent the police, trying to arrive at the destination. They are doing something to improve their lot. I even saw one wearing a Toronto maple leafs jersey; if that's not hope, I'm not sure what is.
On the way back from the Lake, i could see small fires in the huts sporadically spread out against the mountains. It reminded me of a Bob Goudzwaart speech I heard a couple of years ago and about Tolkien again. Goudzwaard was talking about hope in troubled times had said that even the smallest of lights cuts through the deepest of darkness.
He told a story of an encounter with Archbishop Desmond Tutu during Apartheid. And Desmond Tutu was convinced that he had seen the end of apartheid because the times were so dark for his countrymen. His explanation was that in the darkest point of night, each night, every night, the first star to come out shining is the morningstar; a herald of good things to come. Signifying that the darkness cannot be there forever, that morning and light and warmth are coming very soon.
This is what we have seen, hope in troubled times, lights in the deepest darkness: the women's groups, the literacy groups, the farming groups, the sanitation groups, the orhpanage people, all small fires of hope along the mountainsides.
It may seem like a huge task ahead of us, one that is too big for us to handle, too difficult to complete, too painful to see through, but many have felt the same before us. "It is up to us to decide what to do with the time given us" in this relationship, and with others. As I leave, I would like to leave you with a quote from the Shawshank Redemption:
"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And a good thing never dies."
Monday, May 4, 2009
My dad told me how to pay off cops. The old licenses used to have two parts; the first was the plastic photo, the second a piece of pink paper that would be folded so that it and the photo would slide into a case of some kind. He would say that one would slip a $50 bill inside in case the police pulled one over for speeding. When that person inevitably was, he or she would simply pass the the license to the cop and wait for him to return a few minutes later without a ticket and a 'watch your speed. i won't be so nice next time. have a nice day'. Now, the first thing I'm thinking of now is that $50 was a lot of money back then, and if speeding tickets are expensive today, then how fast must one have been going that a $50 would smooth everything over. It could be the equivalent of paying someone $100, maybe more, for a speeding transaction today. That is, in my experience almost 27 m.p.h. over the speed limit.
The first time I paid off a cop was after a Bob Dylan concert on spring break in 2000. We were in Montana and it was roughly 2 am. There was absolutely no one on the road. So certain am I of this, that I am still convinced that the state trooper was laying in wait in some field and came flying off an embankment of some sort to catch us. I was riding shotgun and my roommate Mike was driving. I woke up my two other roommates who were sitting in the back seat. The cop came to the window told us that we were going 25 mph over, asked for the id and went back to his car for a long time. Finally, my roommate got sick of waiting and went to the cop car. He returned promptly with a question. "Does anyone have $40 or we're going to jail?" Providentially, we did. And that was the end of that.
"Can you buy me some groundnuts?" That was how the cop asked for the 'contribution' today. Macson, the driver was caught off-guard by it so much he laughed; then he opened the change drawer and gave him the 15 kwatcha that Jeff had given him yesterday. It wasn't subtle in the least. At least the woman cop had tried to beat around the bush, and even confiscated Macson's license and made him go to the police station, find her number, call her at home, get new permits, and then asked him again how much money he had. But the wheels had already been greased.
Tradition is more important than education (thanks Hans and Hennie). This is what we've seen. The staple food here is Nsima, which is maize--basically corn-- that has pretty much all of its nutritional value sucked out of it, and made into a bland, thick, sticky blob resembling stiff cream of wheat. They do this because their mothers did this. They have been taught about rotating crops and other foods, but that's not tradition. They have rows in the fields a foot deep so that the soil is piled up into tall spines. Their fathers farmed this way. They use large pots for cooking after the harvest despite going without food for 1/3 of the year. Small or even medium sized pots don't cross their minds; it is not tradition.
There have, however, been positive steps. We saw some today. We went to Gamenzi village, the same village as the Malaria Control village. There they had an orphan's nursery school, staffed by volunteers, from 8-11 am, which had offered free meals to whomever came. The food has been provided for by USAID. They bring other children in as well, so as to not alienate the orphans for being orphans. We were treated to some of the things that they have been taught. They would bring these kids who were maybe 3 or 4 up in front of everyone to show that they were able to say their prayers, or count to 10, or the names of the months in English. All were quite cute doing it. We got some information from the volunteer teacher about what size of class they have (this one was 70 orphans/kids), and how many (4), and where they were located (there's 3 other ones in 3 other villages--no idea which ones, nor where they are). But the non-traditional thing about this was that it started 12 months ago because they saw the need.
The need was that there is (and i've counted) a bazillion kids who would be playing hookey if there was a school; who would be at home if they had (a) parent(s); who would be eating breakfast if they had any food.
This village, I think, is a bit different than the other villages. The mfumu (chief) seems to be very interested in improving the lot of the community; the most proactive. So much so that the men, when we returned to the shade tree and bore hole (water well), were working on bamboo mats and wicker baskets so that they could sell to raise money for some food and for the volunteers that do so much. Jeff and I tried to do some mats and he did fairly well, he says. I would have preferred to know that it is better to slide the bamboo slats onto the knife/needle than to try and push the needle/knife through the slats; that does not work well. Jae and Heather fared better than us, but they were making baskets; that hardly counts. We were sweating after we were finished.
There are some concerns for tomorrow's meeting but nothing that should deter us from the final outcome, the reason why we came. The main one being that we are very persistent in that we want it to be community based in Kamenzi district and not church based. It is a fine line to walk but, as our Ubuntu group has discussed, one which we feel is essential. Specific people on their side want it to be church based, and if not, then to stack the committee and the meeting tomorrow with people who "happen to also be part of the church" here. It's just another form of greasing the wheels.
In other news, Heather tried to carry a bucket on her head with some help from some of the ladies here. If there's a photo of her by herself in front of the church, I want you all to know that I saw someone holding it up for her. Sorry, Heather. You probably thought you did it yourself.
Jae was blessed with many abilities; biking in Malawi is not really one of them.
The first time I paid off a cop was after a Bob Dylan concert on spring break in 2000. We were in Montana and it was roughly 2 am. There was absolutely no one on the road. So certain am I of this, that I am still convinced that the state trooper was laying in wait in some field and came flying off an embankment of some sort to catch us. I was riding shotgun and my roommate Mike was driving. I woke up my two other roommates who were sitting in the back seat. The cop came to the window told us that we were going 25 mph over, asked for the id and went back to his car for a long time. Finally, my roommate got sick of waiting and went to the cop car. He returned promptly with a question. "Does anyone have $40 or we're going to jail?" Providentially, we did. And that was the end of that.
"Can you buy me some groundnuts?" That was how the cop asked for the 'contribution' today. Macson, the driver was caught off-guard by it so much he laughed; then he opened the change drawer and gave him the 15 kwatcha that Jeff had given him yesterday. It wasn't subtle in the least. At least the woman cop had tried to beat around the bush, and even confiscated Macson's license and made him go to the police station, find her number, call her at home, get new permits, and then asked him again how much money he had. But the wheels had already been greased.
Tradition is more important than education (thanks Hans and Hennie). This is what we've seen. The staple food here is Nsima, which is maize--basically corn-- that has pretty much all of its nutritional value sucked out of it, and made into a bland, thick, sticky blob resembling stiff cream of wheat. They do this because their mothers did this. They have been taught about rotating crops and other foods, but that's not tradition. They have rows in the fields a foot deep so that the soil is piled up into tall spines. Their fathers farmed this way. They use large pots for cooking after the harvest despite going without food for 1/3 of the year. Small or even medium sized pots don't cross their minds; it is not tradition.
There have, however, been positive steps. We saw some today. We went to Gamenzi village, the same village as the Malaria Control village. There they had an orphan's nursery school, staffed by volunteers, from 8-11 am, which had offered free meals to whomever came. The food has been provided for by USAID. They bring other children in as well, so as to not alienate the orphans for being orphans. We were treated to some of the things that they have been taught. They would bring these kids who were maybe 3 or 4 up in front of everyone to show that they were able to say their prayers, or count to 10, or the names of the months in English. All were quite cute doing it. We got some information from the volunteer teacher about what size of class they have (this one was 70 orphans/kids), and how many (4), and where they were located (there's 3 other ones in 3 other villages--no idea which ones, nor where they are). But the non-traditional thing about this was that it started 12 months ago because they saw the need.
The need was that there is (and i've counted) a bazillion kids who would be playing hookey if there was a school; who would be at home if they had (a) parent(s); who would be eating breakfast if they had any food.
This village, I think, is a bit different than the other villages. The mfumu (chief) seems to be very interested in improving the lot of the community; the most proactive. So much so that the men, when we returned to the shade tree and bore hole (water well), were working on bamboo mats and wicker baskets so that they could sell to raise money for some food and for the volunteers that do so much. Jeff and I tried to do some mats and he did fairly well, he says. I would have preferred to know that it is better to slide the bamboo slats onto the knife/needle than to try and push the needle/knife through the slats; that does not work well. Jae and Heather fared better than us, but they were making baskets; that hardly counts. We were sweating after we were finished.
There are some concerns for tomorrow's meeting but nothing that should deter us from the final outcome, the reason why we came. The main one being that we are very persistent in that we want it to be community based in Kamenzi district and not church based. It is a fine line to walk but, as our Ubuntu group has discussed, one which we feel is essential. Specific people on their side want it to be church based, and if not, then to stack the committee and the meeting tomorrow with people who "happen to also be part of the church" here. It's just another form of greasing the wheels.
In other news, Heather tried to carry a bucket on her head with some help from some of the ladies here. If there's a photo of her by herself in front of the church, I want you all to know that I saw someone holding it up for her. Sorry, Heather. You probably thought you did it yourself.
Jae was blessed with many abilities; biking in Malawi is not really one of them.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
When I was in my intro to Philosophy class my professor would always put up on the blackboard the scores for each exam. I remember one especially vividly. The highest mark was 94 and the lowest was a 32; there were a bunch of numbers in between. Anyway, I knew that the 94 wasn't mine. And so I hoped for the 32. I figured that if I got 32 and I had been hoping for the 32, then all would be square in my mind. If I thought I made get a 71, and ended up getting a 53, then i might be a little upset. So, when I did receive a 64 I was pretty happy. Not only had I exceeded my expectations, I had doubled them. It was a bit like that at Kamenzi church today.
Service was supposed to start at 10, which means 10:10 or 10:20; a bit like New Hope that way. We were also told that the intercessary (sp?) prayer meeting would be at 2, and that we would have lunch. I figured then that the longest we would be in church would be 6 hours for the service; i had heard stories. 6 hours because we would have to leave by 4pm to make it home before dark. And if one were to include lunch, well then we could knock off at least one more hour. 5 hour service, is what I had prepared myself. Since I didn't have a watch, and thought that I might be off in a corner I loaded up my shirt pocket with anything and everything I could or might want to snack on; peanuts; halls; fisherman friends; another halls; pepto bismal; I had debated on putting a melted cheese stick in its packaging but thought it might be too obvious; the ipod i took out in case someone got offended.
We had been told that there were 1200 people who attended the church. The church is not big enough to house that many and so I thought we would be packed in like sardines with a tin roof over our heads. But first, the drama. After morning drinks the hammer came down. Rev. K said that after lunch we were to participate in the intercessary prayer meeting. My eyebrow shot up. I turned my head slowly to He-tho (the first three times they try to pronounce Heather's name, it comes out Hello). She, I swear, gave me the same look that I was giving her: #$&@! You've got to be kidding. She didn't expect it; we didn't expect it. Personally, I didn't want to stay and that was later confirmed by her. We had to find our way out and we did, Macson, the driver. He was promised the afternoon off. But onto the service.
Before the service we met in the vestry where there was the usual meet and greet. Rev K asked if anyone wanted to pray, and since Jeff was already doing a greeting, and Jae's voice conveniently gave out, it was up to me to refuse straight out and make it awkward for a couple of moments before it was suggested that Heather pray; it was dutifully accepted to be so.
They sounded a million times better than New Hope, sorry. First the children would sing some songs accompanied by drums and three of them dancing in front of the others. Then the youths behind us, using their feet marching/scrapping the mat beneath them for the background rhythm, and then the women singing songs. I hope you have the opportunity to check them out. Jae took some good videos of it. Their songs were all in Chichewa, which was great, all extremely unique and while, according to my translation were at times somewhat surprising that their lyrics would be such, on the whole absolutely great. And as with everything here there was something that just didn't quite fit. And that was the organist.
First, Jeff pointed out that he was the first person with glasses he had seen in the villages. Second, they have no organ...or electricity. What they do have is a battery and a synthesizer. So the man with the glass was rocking out on a synthesizer, complete with drum beat in the background, to translated English hymns. Something is definately lost in the translation, and in the story telling.
After the women were singing, I leaned over to my translator and asked him if the men would be singing next. He laughed at me. "Men don't sing". Oh.
It is an odd thing to be sitting in church and see a dog walk through and force the children to lean/run/move towards their mothers out of fear. It's also another thing to hear the sounds of chickens being chased by children who seem to do whatever they want during the service. But I hope never to be scared again by a goat bleating while sticking his head in the door on the nave.
Lunch again was served in Rev K's house, and was quite good. Chicken, goat, nsima, pumpkin leaves (which are quite tasty). And then it was time for the prayer meeting.
We negotiated our exit to 2:45. And since the meeting started late it was going to be interesting to see how things would end. There were benches spread out in a half circle, some chairs, and a mat. Basically, they took down prayer requests, sang some of the Anglican priest songs (not sure of their title) that are beck and call, read a Bible verse and divided us up into groups to take a certain amount of the prayer requests. It was quite evident from what the Rev was saying that he shortened up the meeting quite a bit. For example, the chichewa translation of 1 Thessalonians 5:17 has two words in it. And the grouping of the prayer requests, we thought would normally be taken one at a time.
I will say that the service was the shortest 3 hr service I've been to; I ate one peanut and one fisherman's friend. The prayer meeting wasn't as bad as I had anticipated; I do think that had we not said we needed to leave at such and such a time, that it would have lasted a very long time. Everyone was in agreement about that.
I felt good about saying no to the prayer because I didn't have to be put on the spot in front of people I didn't really know and because when I walked into the church nave there were men sitting on chairs and benches to the left, children on the floor beside them, the longer part of the nave floor was reserved for women and young children, which brings me to what I wanted this post to be about: a Winston Churchill quote (or in so far as I read it in a biography of his)
"What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object?"
This is the african riddle. The women here do so much. More than what we could ever see in our short time here. They cook. They clean. They get the water. They farm. They do the shoppping and the cooking. They walk long distances with ladened baskets, porting babies, and carrying bags. They get AIDS from cheating husbands. They are the ones taking the literacy classes, the nutrition classes, the farming classes. They are the support networks. They have kids and more kids and more kids. They sell wares. they greet visitors with songs and dance. This and so much more. And they sit on the floor.
The men sit in the shade.
Perhaps a generalisation, but I don't think it's too far removed from the truth and one of the issues that will shape this country, maybe this continent. At what point will the women take a look around, see things, and decide on a different course of action. We've already heard it in the songs, "we don't need our husbands anymore, we've learned enough from the women's group". At some point, it will be they who will be the catalyst for change; it will become more than words in a song set to a dance. The inequalities that are present in their personal relationship are also the inequalities that one can see in the society at large.
Service was supposed to start at 10, which means 10:10 or 10:20; a bit like New Hope that way. We were also told that the intercessary (sp?) prayer meeting would be at 2, and that we would have lunch. I figured then that the longest we would be in church would be 6 hours for the service; i had heard stories. 6 hours because we would have to leave by 4pm to make it home before dark. And if one were to include lunch, well then we could knock off at least one more hour. 5 hour service, is what I had prepared myself. Since I didn't have a watch, and thought that I might be off in a corner I loaded up my shirt pocket with anything and everything I could or might want to snack on; peanuts; halls; fisherman friends; another halls; pepto bismal; I had debated on putting a melted cheese stick in its packaging but thought it might be too obvious; the ipod i took out in case someone got offended.
We had been told that there were 1200 people who attended the church. The church is not big enough to house that many and so I thought we would be packed in like sardines with a tin roof over our heads. But first, the drama. After morning drinks the hammer came down. Rev. K said that after lunch we were to participate in the intercessary prayer meeting. My eyebrow shot up. I turned my head slowly to He-tho (the first three times they try to pronounce Heather's name, it comes out Hello). She, I swear, gave me the same look that I was giving her: #$&@! You've got to be kidding. She didn't expect it; we didn't expect it. Personally, I didn't want to stay and that was later confirmed by her. We had to find our way out and we did, Macson, the driver. He was promised the afternoon off. But onto the service.
Before the service we met in the vestry where there was the usual meet and greet. Rev K asked if anyone wanted to pray, and since Jeff was already doing a greeting, and Jae's voice conveniently gave out, it was up to me to refuse straight out and make it awkward for a couple of moments before it was suggested that Heather pray; it was dutifully accepted to be so.
They sounded a million times better than New Hope, sorry. First the children would sing some songs accompanied by drums and three of them dancing in front of the others. Then the youths behind us, using their feet marching/scrapping the mat beneath them for the background rhythm, and then the women singing songs. I hope you have the opportunity to check them out. Jae took some good videos of it. Their songs were all in Chichewa, which was great, all extremely unique and while, according to my translation were at times somewhat surprising that their lyrics would be such, on the whole absolutely great. And as with everything here there was something that just didn't quite fit. And that was the organist.
First, Jeff pointed out that he was the first person with glasses he had seen in the villages. Second, they have no organ...or electricity. What they do have is a battery and a synthesizer. So the man with the glass was rocking out on a synthesizer, complete with drum beat in the background, to translated English hymns. Something is definately lost in the translation, and in the story telling.
After the women were singing, I leaned over to my translator and asked him if the men would be singing next. He laughed at me. "Men don't sing". Oh.
It is an odd thing to be sitting in church and see a dog walk through and force the children to lean/run/move towards their mothers out of fear. It's also another thing to hear the sounds of chickens being chased by children who seem to do whatever they want during the service. But I hope never to be scared again by a goat bleating while sticking his head in the door on the nave.
Lunch again was served in Rev K's house, and was quite good. Chicken, goat, nsima, pumpkin leaves (which are quite tasty). And then it was time for the prayer meeting.
We negotiated our exit to 2:45. And since the meeting started late it was going to be interesting to see how things would end. There were benches spread out in a half circle, some chairs, and a mat. Basically, they took down prayer requests, sang some of the Anglican priest songs (not sure of their title) that are beck and call, read a Bible verse and divided us up into groups to take a certain amount of the prayer requests. It was quite evident from what the Rev was saying that he shortened up the meeting quite a bit. For example, the chichewa translation of 1 Thessalonians 5:17 has two words in it. And the grouping of the prayer requests, we thought would normally be taken one at a time.
I will say that the service was the shortest 3 hr service I've been to; I ate one peanut and one fisherman's friend. The prayer meeting wasn't as bad as I had anticipated; I do think that had we not said we needed to leave at such and such a time, that it would have lasted a very long time. Everyone was in agreement about that.
I felt good about saying no to the prayer because I didn't have to be put on the spot in front of people I didn't really know and because when I walked into the church nave there were men sitting on chairs and benches to the left, children on the floor beside them, the longer part of the nave floor was reserved for women and young children, which brings me to what I wanted this post to be about: a Winston Churchill quote (or in so far as I read it in a biography of his)
"What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immoveable object?"
This is the african riddle. The women here do so much. More than what we could ever see in our short time here. They cook. They clean. They get the water. They farm. They do the shoppping and the cooking. They walk long distances with ladened baskets, porting babies, and carrying bags. They get AIDS from cheating husbands. They are the ones taking the literacy classes, the nutrition classes, the farming classes. They are the support networks. They have kids and more kids and more kids. They sell wares. they greet visitors with songs and dance. This and so much more. And they sit on the floor.
The men sit in the shade.
Perhaps a generalisation, but I don't think it's too far removed from the truth and one of the issues that will shape this country, maybe this continent. At what point will the women take a look around, see things, and decide on a different course of action. We've already heard it in the songs, "we don't need our husbands anymore, we've learned enough from the women's group". At some point, it will be they who will be the catalyst for change; it will become more than words in a song set to a dance. The inequalities that are present in their personal relationship are also the inequalities that one can see in the society at large.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
No matter how well I thought I was prepared for Africa, I find that there is always something that surprises me. Granted, I have only been here for a week.
I think the one thing that makes me think of home the most often is the housing in the villages in the bush and along the sides of the highway. It is not that far of a stretch to say that they may have easily come from the Wild West, 100 years ago. There are the dusty main streets, uniformed only in there randomness; the store walls are painted, some bright blue, others white; posts hold up an overhang against which one could imagine some sort of wannabe cowboy leaning against it. One could take the Man without a Name from the Sergio Leone movies and place him in these streets and it would not seem out of place. That is one thing that surprised me.
Another thing would be flying all the way to Malawi to stay in the Korea Garden Lodge. I know what you're thinking, and we have already discussed it. We figure that since there was a relationship between the North Korea and Tanzania and Angola, and part of the quid pro quo was an infiltration into free market economies.
The power going out during dinner. Not a surprise. Being told 20 minutes later that our meal couldn't be cooked because of the power wasn't much of a surprise. Watching Jae ordering multiple entrees, being denied each time until he asked 'what can i have?'...'No. 15 or 16.' was the reply. That, I wasn't expecting.
Driving to the beachside resort today, we stopped in Salima, a market town about 2/3s of the way to the lake. While looking for a picture frame, I came across about the only place I would go to get my haircut: "Jesus is the answer Barbershop". You can't make these things up.
The wood market right before the lake wasn't a surprise, however. Rows of thatched 'huts' with goods inside, sellers on the outside saying anything to get you inside. "my friend....", "come and see...", "i give you good price....", "I'm broke, I need money." Not surprising.
I went into one and was looking at a wooden statue. The man came up to me, telling me that it was ebony, which he got and carved himself. Now. I was a little hesitant on a couple of things. One, that he carved it himself since all the statues look alike; two, that he went to get the wood himself (only because his story changed two or three times in the 30 seconds he was telling me it). What I wasn't sure of was the ebony. First off, the only thing I know about ebony is that it used to be the black on pianos and it was Michael's half of the duet. It didn't look like ebony. So, I bought the gifts, not because I wanted ivory. What I didn't expect was that when I turned around there was a man rubbing black shoe polish onto the carvings with a toothbrush. Ebony, eh.
At the resort on the beach, we were watching the boats go by, with the fishermen selling their wares; paddleboats going by; swimmers in the lake. Jae noticed one particular boat, which had escaped my attention. 3 strokes then bail. 3 strokes then bail. I wasn't sure what he was talking about until i saw a group of 5 fishermen coming in. Two were manning the oars, one had the task of bailing out the water from within the boat. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere.
Our impressions of Africa aren't always the way things actually are. It's easy to see things from our side, saying that this is how things happen or that it's ebony. Sometimes you need to be up close to notice that while the ship still seems to be working properly that there are some major structural issues that need to be addressed.
I think the one thing that makes me think of home the most often is the housing in the villages in the bush and along the sides of the highway. It is not that far of a stretch to say that they may have easily come from the Wild West, 100 years ago. There are the dusty main streets, uniformed only in there randomness; the store walls are painted, some bright blue, others white; posts hold up an overhang against which one could imagine some sort of wannabe cowboy leaning against it. One could take the Man without a Name from the Sergio Leone movies and place him in these streets and it would not seem out of place. That is one thing that surprised me.
Another thing would be flying all the way to Malawi to stay in the Korea Garden Lodge. I know what you're thinking, and we have already discussed it. We figure that since there was a relationship between the North Korea and Tanzania and Angola, and part of the quid pro quo was an infiltration into free market economies.
The power going out during dinner. Not a surprise. Being told 20 minutes later that our meal couldn't be cooked because of the power wasn't much of a surprise. Watching Jae ordering multiple entrees, being denied each time until he asked 'what can i have?'...'No. 15 or 16.' was the reply. That, I wasn't expecting.
Driving to the beachside resort today, we stopped in Salima, a market town about 2/3s of the way to the lake. While looking for a picture frame, I came across about the only place I would go to get my haircut: "Jesus is the answer Barbershop". You can't make these things up.
The wood market right before the lake wasn't a surprise, however. Rows of thatched 'huts' with goods inside, sellers on the outside saying anything to get you inside. "my friend....", "come and see...", "i give you good price....", "I'm broke, I need money." Not surprising.
I went into one and was looking at a wooden statue. The man came up to me, telling me that it was ebony, which he got and carved himself. Now. I was a little hesitant on a couple of things. One, that he carved it himself since all the statues look alike; two, that he went to get the wood himself (only because his story changed two or three times in the 30 seconds he was telling me it). What I wasn't sure of was the ebony. First off, the only thing I know about ebony is that it used to be the black on pianos and it was Michael's half of the duet. It didn't look like ebony. So, I bought the gifts, not because I wanted ivory. What I didn't expect was that when I turned around there was a man rubbing black shoe polish onto the carvings with a toothbrush. Ebony, eh.
At the resort on the beach, we were watching the boats go by, with the fishermen selling their wares; paddleboats going by; swimmers in the lake. Jae noticed one particular boat, which had escaped my attention. 3 strokes then bail. 3 strokes then bail. I wasn't sure what he was talking about until i saw a group of 5 fishermen coming in. Two were manning the oars, one had the task of bailing out the water from within the boat. I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere.
Our impressions of Africa aren't always the way things actually are. It's easy to see things from our side, saying that this is how things happen or that it's ebony. Sometimes you need to be up close to notice that while the ship still seems to be working properly that there are some major structural issues that need to be addressed.
Friday, May 1, 2009
limited time left ladies!!
i received my first marriage proposal, or quasi-proposal today. I started thinking that maybe it wouldn't come, but it did. Sure as the sun rises. It was at the very end of the day; after the dancing and the celebration as the van pulled onto the soccer pitch, we slowly made our way to the van. An elder of the community grabbed my hand and said, 'so, you are not married. You should have a wife. You should choose a wife from the community and bring her to Canada.' My mind was racing for something to say. And what I mustered was "I don't think my mom will be happy if I do that; she will need to approve." Thinking that would stop the questions, I relaxed. It didn't do as designed. "Oh! Is that how you do things in Canada?" he said, not really pejoratively, but with enough paternal gumph that I knew what he meant. I said, "No, not really. But I have to live with my mom, and if she doesn't approve of my wife it is going to be a very, very long life." That effectively stopped the Spanish Inquisition.
This is a country of contrasts, of paradox. The green of the bushes and trees spotting the landscape; the red dirt lining the roads. Bright yellow flowers blooming along the highways, while diesel trucks spew their fumes. Beside the highway there are more pedestrians than cars on the highway, more oxen and goats than cyclists. At one glance, one would be forgiven to see a wasteland, void of hope; and yet, hope survives in the smallest of places, in the unlikeliest of ways.
The morning started out with a mix up of sorts. Instead of seeing the modern family, the village changed plans and asked if we could see the patients first and the 'modern' (their words) family last. I had been in a lowered anxious state, not having met anyone with AIDS before. I didn't know what to expect, honestly. I'm glad that the plans changed before allowing me anytime to think through it and over it.
Her name is Joyce Chimbecrezo; she cannot be more than 20 years old. Her eyes are swollen in a way I haven't seen before; her family is around her; her mother; her grandmother; her children who don't have AIDS, but who are very malnurished even for village standards. She tells us her story.
She was married to a man for a bit. A man who had a first wife two villages over. After a while she suspected that she was sick (the euphemism they use for AIDS/HIV in the village). She asked him about it and he denied it. After a while, she no longer believed him and went to the hospital herself where it was confirmed that she tested postive. Needless to say, the husband skipped town. He returns every so often, but realistically he has been gone for a while. The family is poor. She isn't sick enough to get the free Anti-retroviral drugs from the government, so she needs to buy another drug to deal with the pain. One lady from the NRD Women in Development group helps out as much as she can but it isn't enough. Joyce needs to walk to the hospital anytime she has to go there.
We ask a lot of questions, each with their own interpreter but the reality of the situation is that about half of the people treat her differently because of her AIDS. She farms when she can, she relies on her family; she can't hire a taxi for the ride to the clinic so sometimes she doesn't go. It was sad. It is sad.
The second lady was Mrs. Gideon (I do not have her first name at the moment). She got sick about 2 years ago. After feeling ill for a couple of weeks she went to the clinic to get tested. She was the fourth wife. All married at the same time. She is 'fortunate' enough to be on ARV, mostly because she was anemic when she fell ill. I don't remember much of the questions for her. Her two daughters are helping, as much as they can, whether that is by walking/taking her to the hospital, cooking, cleaning, etc. There was, or rather, there is always the issue of the distance to the clinic, of the mobile clinics not giving out ARVs, or many other things. But what I can't quite shake is that this woman was almost devoid of any hope. There was almost nothing but pain. One could see it in the wrinkles on her forehead, in the way that her mouth never once even intimated that it would like to smile, in the utter sadness of her eyes. there was/is a vacuousness in them that ought to haunt people. it may be the closest thing that I have ever seen to despair, something of which I could go my entire life without seeing more. sadness in the way that she would slowly move her head to whomever was talking. I remember how her eyes had almost entirely lost that 'life' quality that eyes have, that reflective 'being' that shines; babies have it in abundance. Mrs. Gideon's left eye had none of it. I want to believe that I saw a tiny bit of it in her right eye, at about my two o'clock on her iris. There was something there, but I do not know what. And at the point when you think that this is as dark as it gets, some hope; some very, very small morcel of hope. In our piecemeal way, we offered gifts that seemed insignificant but necessary; absolutely quixotic. White bread. sugar. powdered milk. very basic stuff for us. and from her, a half joke: please come again.
And there it is, contrasts. Where there is despair, may there be humour. Where there is the air of death, moments of life.
At the modern house, the women were singing, "Now, I'm going to show you a clean woman". Our translators emphasized, 'this is a clean woman's house'. She was (and I quote) " a model wife" because she kept the house clean. Heather let Jae and I know that this should be on the top of our lists for women. I forgot to ask the elder about it later. Harold and Josephine lived there. She was one of the women in the Women in Development group, learning knowledgeable techniques; keeping clothes off the ground, using bed nets, learning about good cooking. and he, he was a lucky man everyone acknowledged.
at the goodbye ceremony some of the best lines were found in songs from the Women's group: "Get your own goat. I'm not going to give you one of mine. You need to join the women's group to get one." and another: "if your baby's unhealthy don't complain to me. In our group we have healthy babies, we teach our women well." In the elders' speech they made it known, that since we have come, a return is wanted, almost needed. A second part to the equation. And to not forget them. It will be impossible to forget this place.
There is a mountain that rises out of the plains to the south of Kamenzi. it is a beautiful mountain, if for no other reason that it is unique. It is as if God mistakenly put a volcano that would easily fit in Hawaii or Indonesia in the middle of Malawi. The horizon is mostly flat, except for a couple of smaller bumps towards the west, making it seem like there are rumple strips along the western plateau. But this mountain stands by itself, not more than 20 or 30 kms from Kamenzi. I stare often at it. On the way to lunch at the modern couple's house, I asked one of the interpreters the name of this mountian. Kamphambe. It translates as God's Hill.
Looking at the mountain that is actually a hill, which I will still call a mountain made me think of seeing things from two sides. How often do we think we know what the answers are without knowing the landscape, the people, the issues. There are so many layers here to what we are seeing, it is hard to know where to begin. or where to end for that matter. I think though, that it is of upmost importance to see things for what they actually are, whether that is specific problems, or mountains; perspective is important. This trip has done and continues to do that.
i received my first marriage proposal, or quasi-proposal today. I started thinking that maybe it wouldn't come, but it did. Sure as the sun rises. It was at the very end of the day; after the dancing and the celebration as the van pulled onto the soccer pitch, we slowly made our way to the van. An elder of the community grabbed my hand and said, 'so, you are not married. You should have a wife. You should choose a wife from the community and bring her to Canada.' My mind was racing for something to say. And what I mustered was "I don't think my mom will be happy if I do that; she will need to approve." Thinking that would stop the questions, I relaxed. It didn't do as designed. "Oh! Is that how you do things in Canada?" he said, not really pejoratively, but with enough paternal gumph that I knew what he meant. I said, "No, not really. But I have to live with my mom, and if she doesn't approve of my wife it is going to be a very, very long life." That effectively stopped the Spanish Inquisition.
This is a country of contrasts, of paradox. The green of the bushes and trees spotting the landscape; the red dirt lining the roads. Bright yellow flowers blooming along the highways, while diesel trucks spew their fumes. Beside the highway there are more pedestrians than cars on the highway, more oxen and goats than cyclists. At one glance, one would be forgiven to see a wasteland, void of hope; and yet, hope survives in the smallest of places, in the unlikeliest of ways.
The morning started out with a mix up of sorts. Instead of seeing the modern family, the village changed plans and asked if we could see the patients first and the 'modern' (their words) family last. I had been in a lowered anxious state, not having met anyone with AIDS before. I didn't know what to expect, honestly. I'm glad that the plans changed before allowing me anytime to think through it and over it.
Her name is Joyce Chimbecrezo; she cannot be more than 20 years old. Her eyes are swollen in a way I haven't seen before; her family is around her; her mother; her grandmother; her children who don't have AIDS, but who are very malnurished even for village standards. She tells us her story.
She was married to a man for a bit. A man who had a first wife two villages over. After a while she suspected that she was sick (the euphemism they use for AIDS/HIV in the village). She asked him about it and he denied it. After a while, she no longer believed him and went to the hospital herself where it was confirmed that she tested postive. Needless to say, the husband skipped town. He returns every so often, but realistically he has been gone for a while. The family is poor. She isn't sick enough to get the free Anti-retroviral drugs from the government, so she needs to buy another drug to deal with the pain. One lady from the NRD Women in Development group helps out as much as she can but it isn't enough. Joyce needs to walk to the hospital anytime she has to go there.
We ask a lot of questions, each with their own interpreter but the reality of the situation is that about half of the people treat her differently because of her AIDS. She farms when she can, she relies on her family; she can't hire a taxi for the ride to the clinic so sometimes she doesn't go. It was sad. It is sad.
The second lady was Mrs. Gideon (I do not have her first name at the moment). She got sick about 2 years ago. After feeling ill for a couple of weeks she went to the clinic to get tested. She was the fourth wife. All married at the same time. She is 'fortunate' enough to be on ARV, mostly because she was anemic when she fell ill. I don't remember much of the questions for her. Her two daughters are helping, as much as they can, whether that is by walking/taking her to the hospital, cooking, cleaning, etc. There was, or rather, there is always the issue of the distance to the clinic, of the mobile clinics not giving out ARVs, or many other things. But what I can't quite shake is that this woman was almost devoid of any hope. There was almost nothing but pain. One could see it in the wrinkles on her forehead, in the way that her mouth never once even intimated that it would like to smile, in the utter sadness of her eyes. there was/is a vacuousness in them that ought to haunt people. it may be the closest thing that I have ever seen to despair, something of which I could go my entire life without seeing more. sadness in the way that she would slowly move her head to whomever was talking. I remember how her eyes had almost entirely lost that 'life' quality that eyes have, that reflective 'being' that shines; babies have it in abundance. Mrs. Gideon's left eye had none of it. I want to believe that I saw a tiny bit of it in her right eye, at about my two o'clock on her iris. There was something there, but I do not know what. And at the point when you think that this is as dark as it gets, some hope; some very, very small morcel of hope. In our piecemeal way, we offered gifts that seemed insignificant but necessary; absolutely quixotic. White bread. sugar. powdered milk. very basic stuff for us. and from her, a half joke: please come again.
And there it is, contrasts. Where there is despair, may there be humour. Where there is the air of death, moments of life.
At the modern house, the women were singing, "Now, I'm going to show you a clean woman". Our translators emphasized, 'this is a clean woman's house'. She was (and I quote) " a model wife" because she kept the house clean. Heather let Jae and I know that this should be on the top of our lists for women. I forgot to ask the elder about it later. Harold and Josephine lived there. She was one of the women in the Women in Development group, learning knowledgeable techniques; keeping clothes off the ground, using bed nets, learning about good cooking. and he, he was a lucky man everyone acknowledged.
at the goodbye ceremony some of the best lines were found in songs from the Women's group: "Get your own goat. I'm not going to give you one of mine. You need to join the women's group to get one." and another: "if your baby's unhealthy don't complain to me. In our group we have healthy babies, we teach our women well." In the elders' speech they made it known, that since we have come, a return is wanted, almost needed. A second part to the equation. And to not forget them. It will be impossible to forget this place.
There is a mountain that rises out of the plains to the south of Kamenzi. it is a beautiful mountain, if for no other reason that it is unique. It is as if God mistakenly put a volcano that would easily fit in Hawaii or Indonesia in the middle of Malawi. The horizon is mostly flat, except for a couple of smaller bumps towards the west, making it seem like there are rumple strips along the western plateau. But this mountain stands by itself, not more than 20 or 30 kms from Kamenzi. I stare often at it. On the way to lunch at the modern couple's house, I asked one of the interpreters the name of this mountian. Kamphambe. It translates as God's Hill.
Looking at the mountain that is actually a hill, which I will still call a mountain made me think of seeing things from two sides. How often do we think we know what the answers are without knowing the landscape, the people, the issues. There are so many layers here to what we are seeing, it is hard to know where to begin. or where to end for that matter. I think though, that it is of upmost importance to see things for what they actually are, whether that is specific problems, or mountains; perspective is important. This trip has done and continues to do that.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
you wanted contrast, john. Kapow! Zam! Crash! how's that for contrast.
( It was so hot today, I think I got burned. a bit. on my toes. because i was wearing sandals. it was that hot. enjoy calgary spring weather.)
Good news is that since I last wrote, our followers have exponentially increased. I'm not a math wizard but that's what I call it when it goes from 1 to 3 to 6 in a matter of 2 days! By this rate, the whole church should be following the blog right in time for us to give the final overall conclusion of the trip on tuesday, and send us wishes for the 10 hr layover we have in the Netherlands! now, don't let me down! Finally, on to the blog....
I have a secret to tell.
Not only do I have hidden talents, such as, oh i don't know, .... masonry!
I am also a dancing machine.
In fact,
We, we are dancing machines.
This is my conclusion after being called up to the ring of dancing, an african baptism of fire if you will, this morning on our way to Mbutu village. (I was able to glean some possible reasons why the names of villages are so hard to get a hold of, as well as areas. It seems, according to the church clerk/elder/deacon guy that villages are named after mfumus, or chiefs. When a new chief comes along, so does a new name. Maps must be difficult to make; that, or the chiefs are in collusion with Rand McNally, getting a cut from all the new editions.
The entrance to the village was unique. It was a footpath that temporarily become a road. We slalomed our way through the village to the shade tree, passing houses, tobacco drying huts, small children. At the village we were able to check out some toilets. (I hope Warren takes the time to think of our African loos each time his beloved fans cheer for Luongo tonight. Looo. Looo. Canucks fans must be die hard sustainable development-ists. )
I never knew that latrines could be so interesting and sustainable. well, i hope no one is overly sensitive because here's what we learned today. The EcoSans as they call these environmentally friendly loos have been around for about 3 years. What the villagers do is dig a pit, 230 cms x 120 cm x 1 metre deep. Then they lay out the brickword, making the "deposit" hole (think of it as your local sustainable bank) 60 cms in diameter, mixing some dirt and water they, or I should say we served up some mortar, trowelling it between the bricks. We did a couple of rows complete with the mortar and the back filling. I was quite proud, actually. Well, until I turned around and saw that the woman doing her side of the toilets was done before us. But, in hindsight, i did scrape some dirt in the corner for her---so it's our victory either way. So after building up the two holes, some of the villagers pulled out a thin metal strip, tied it together with string and filled it almost all the way with sand, creating a dome like shape. Then with the measurements of 7 shovels of sand/dirt, 8 shovels of rocks, and 2 shovels of cement they began to mix up the concrete by adding water. After a few minutes they had placed it in the mould and started the trowelling and floating. As a former concrete worker I played the loyal municipal worker and oversaw the concrete creationg; i approved of the work they did. They placed a subtle piece of wood at the top (think of it as the deposit door at the ATM/ABMs). Once they dome with the drophole was complete they made just a little bit more concrete and placed a wood form over top with two feet markers and once the footpads were in place, they removed the subtle wooden piece and they sprinkled some sand on top of the dome...for decoration, i'd like to think.
Now, comes the interesting part. After each use, one drops a cup full of ash and sand. 1) it helps to start the compost process and 2) it cuts down the smell quite substantially. Then, "depending on how many visitors you have and how big your family is" it could take three weeks to fill, or it could take a couple of months. The real secret is that once filled, they put the ashen mix on top, pick up the dome shaped concrete cover with the subtle hole, roll it over to the other side, throw down plaster over the old hole and wait....for four to six months. When the waiting time is up, they bag the compost and use it on their fields. One ATM makes 3 bags of compost, which in turn can fertilise 1 acre of land. Not only does the village not have to dig holes all the time to go to the bathroom, but they save a lot of money not having to buy fertilizer from stores, which in turn damages the soil by over use.
On the way back we were shown some goats which were purchased by the loan program in the village. They were about a metre off the ground. I naturally thought it was strange that they were living not on the ground. So I asked. and the response I got wasn't anything close to what I was expecting. They eat too much? Zap! no. They make less noise in the air?? Kaboom! nope. (I'm running out of batman noises...) It's so the hyenas don't eat them. . . . gulp.
Apparently, hyenas are about a metre high. Oh, and the frequent the village enough so that the villagers are forced to build pens above ground. The idea of sleeping in the village no longer appeals to me.
As we were leaving yesterday, driving through some village on the red dirt road, I noticed a group of small children, three of the four mouthing uzungu, the fourth no older than 3 years old, in what I can only take as a sign of welcome, got up, picked up a rock and tried to hit the van with it. He was also yelling something. I bet it was nice.
We did get back early today, and Jeff and I were able to take a walk around for a bit. We walked to the two mosques in the city, over the river, by the stores in rushhour. I was relieved when no one yelled uzungu at us; I wasn't however overly joyed by the 'hey.....hey friend.....hey.....hey friend.... (at this point I honestly thought he was trying to sell us hashish) hey....hey....look at me (that one threw me for a loop)....hey....buy....mumble mumble inaudible.... " out of the corner of my eye i saw him trying to sell us a pair of sunglasses. It would seem that once you stop becoming a novelty people easily get tired of you, if they know nothing is going to come of it or if you're not in it for the long haul, something I'm sure the people in the city see all the time, and something the little boy picked up along with knowing how to throw rocks. This could be what this trip is, to these villagers, to the Nkhoma Relief and Development, to us; an opportunity for relationship, for it to mean something lasting.
Tomorrow we are off to see a more developed family house, I'm not sure what that all entails. Also, in the afternoon it's off to see some HIV/AIDS patients. I suspect that this will be the most difficult day of the trip.
( It was so hot today, I think I got burned. a bit. on my toes. because i was wearing sandals. it was that hot. enjoy calgary spring weather.)
Good news is that since I last wrote, our followers have exponentially increased. I'm not a math wizard but that's what I call it when it goes from 1 to 3 to 6 in a matter of 2 days! By this rate, the whole church should be following the blog right in time for us to give the final overall conclusion of the trip on tuesday, and send us wishes for the 10 hr layover we have in the Netherlands! now, don't let me down! Finally, on to the blog....
I have a secret to tell.
Not only do I have hidden talents, such as, oh i don't know, .... masonry!
I am also a dancing machine.
In fact,
We, we are dancing machines.
This is my conclusion after being called up to the ring of dancing, an african baptism of fire if you will, this morning on our way to Mbutu village. (I was able to glean some possible reasons why the names of villages are so hard to get a hold of, as well as areas. It seems, according to the church clerk/elder/deacon guy that villages are named after mfumus, or chiefs. When a new chief comes along, so does a new name. Maps must be difficult to make; that, or the chiefs are in collusion with Rand McNally, getting a cut from all the new editions.
The entrance to the village was unique. It was a footpath that temporarily become a road. We slalomed our way through the village to the shade tree, passing houses, tobacco drying huts, small children. At the village we were able to check out some toilets. (I hope Warren takes the time to think of our African loos each time his beloved fans cheer for Luongo tonight. Looo. Looo. Canucks fans must be die hard sustainable development-ists. )
I never knew that latrines could be so interesting and sustainable. well, i hope no one is overly sensitive because here's what we learned today. The EcoSans as they call these environmentally friendly loos have been around for about 3 years. What the villagers do is dig a pit, 230 cms x 120 cm x 1 metre deep. Then they lay out the brickword, making the "deposit" hole (think of it as your local sustainable bank) 60 cms in diameter, mixing some dirt and water they, or I should say we served up some mortar, trowelling it between the bricks. We did a couple of rows complete with the mortar and the back filling. I was quite proud, actually. Well, until I turned around and saw that the woman doing her side of the toilets was done before us. But, in hindsight, i did scrape some dirt in the corner for her---so it's our victory either way. So after building up the two holes, some of the villagers pulled out a thin metal strip, tied it together with string and filled it almost all the way with sand, creating a dome like shape. Then with the measurements of 7 shovels of sand/dirt, 8 shovels of rocks, and 2 shovels of cement they began to mix up the concrete by adding water. After a few minutes they had placed it in the mould and started the trowelling and floating. As a former concrete worker I played the loyal municipal worker and oversaw the concrete creationg; i approved of the work they did. They placed a subtle piece of wood at the top (think of it as the deposit door at the ATM/ABMs). Once they dome with the drophole was complete they made just a little bit more concrete and placed a wood form over top with two feet markers and once the footpads were in place, they removed the subtle wooden piece and they sprinkled some sand on top of the dome...for decoration, i'd like to think.
Now, comes the interesting part. After each use, one drops a cup full of ash and sand. 1) it helps to start the compost process and 2) it cuts down the smell quite substantially. Then, "depending on how many visitors you have and how big your family is" it could take three weeks to fill, or it could take a couple of months. The real secret is that once filled, they put the ashen mix on top, pick up the dome shaped concrete cover with the subtle hole, roll it over to the other side, throw down plaster over the old hole and wait....for four to six months. When the waiting time is up, they bag the compost and use it on their fields. One ATM makes 3 bags of compost, which in turn can fertilise 1 acre of land. Not only does the village not have to dig holes all the time to go to the bathroom, but they save a lot of money not having to buy fertilizer from stores, which in turn damages the soil by over use.
On the way back we were shown some goats which were purchased by the loan program in the village. They were about a metre off the ground. I naturally thought it was strange that they were living not on the ground. So I asked. and the response I got wasn't anything close to what I was expecting. They eat too much? Zap! no. They make less noise in the air?? Kaboom! nope. (I'm running out of batman noises...) It's so the hyenas don't eat them. . . . gulp.
Apparently, hyenas are about a metre high. Oh, and the frequent the village enough so that the villagers are forced to build pens above ground. The idea of sleeping in the village no longer appeals to me.
As we were leaving yesterday, driving through some village on the red dirt road, I noticed a group of small children, three of the four mouthing uzungu, the fourth no older than 3 years old, in what I can only take as a sign of welcome, got up, picked up a rock and tried to hit the van with it. He was also yelling something. I bet it was nice.
We did get back early today, and Jeff and I were able to take a walk around for a bit. We walked to the two mosques in the city, over the river, by the stores in rushhour. I was relieved when no one yelled uzungu at us; I wasn't however overly joyed by the 'hey.....hey friend.....hey.....hey friend.... (at this point I honestly thought he was trying to sell us hashish) hey....hey....look at me (that one threw me for a loop)....hey....buy....mumble mumble inaudible.... " out of the corner of my eye i saw him trying to sell us a pair of sunglasses. It would seem that once you stop becoming a novelty people easily get tired of you, if they know nothing is going to come of it or if you're not in it for the long haul, something I'm sure the people in the city see all the time, and something the little boy picked up along with knowing how to throw rocks. This could be what this trip is, to these villagers, to the Nkhoma Relief and Development, to us; an opportunity for relationship, for it to mean something lasting.
Tomorrow we are off to see a more developed family house, I'm not sure what that all entails. Also, in the afternoon it's off to see some HIV/AIDS patients. I suspect that this will be the most difficult day of the trip.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
This morning, we made an unexpected stop..... and left without one important document. but that goodun's for another time.
After arriving this morning to great fanfare again... (there is this really great, really catchy Welcoming song that they sing,....and yes, the translation is coming tomorrow. Jane didn't have her glasses to write it down. you'll have to wait for the lyrics) we settled down under a large tree nearby by Kamenzi village, which is the Rev K's village. --the village/district/station/area name is kind of confusing for us. It seems to be intertwined. We did ask for a rough estimate of the people in Kamenzi and we are still waiting for an answer!
After barely escaping the van we shook hands with the singing and dancing women, singing and dancing to that great song, we met the village elders and sat down on some chairs while the adult literacy group sat down and the school children played hookey to watch the azungas. The teacher, Boniface, presented a typical lesson to the students (of all ages, including ourselves). The were breaking down words into syllables and then into letters; practising the sounds and the writing of the letters. Alimi gulani mbewa ku adimaki. Farmers sell seeds at the gov't market. They received gifts from Linda's church backhome, mostly school supplies for the teachers; some of the teaching material was Bible stories, which the people requested; some sustainable development stories; others were just about average village life. The one astounding fact was that in this past year, the 10th in its operation there were a total of 1,000+ women attending literacy classes. Only 80 men decided it was in their interest to do so. The reasons vary, but one conclusion is that the men don't like to be shown up, or since they think they know everything, they don't need to learn. I say "think!? we know everything!----yes. osakutiwila" (i'm not married). Again, another promising step in what we've set out to witness.
And off to Rev. K's house where we dined on Nsima, rice, chicken, and what Jeff and Jae agreed was goat, which was delicious again. After lunch, we headed out to the Malaria Control session where once more, we were greeted with singing and dancing. Jane, our connection with NRD, told us that the women were much less shy and were more forthcoming in their singing and dancing, which could have surprised me yesterday. One of the women volunteers who teaches other women about Malaria Control got up infront and explained what they have done and what they do. It is basically a four step approach: an analogy for new hope. kristen, 4 months pregnant, goes to the clinic to get her SP (i believe it's called that) shot. Then in July, 7 months preggers at that time, goes to get another one. Meanwhile, on the first visit to the clinic she has been given a bed net that has been treated, making it good for 6 months. and Kristen dutifully checks Ava (since she's under 5 years) for any symptoms. If she sees some, she goes to the clinic within 24 hrs.
I think that the best part of it was the song that accompanied the information. Their songs tell each other the information that they've learned, and what they can do. I imagined that when they put their finger up in the air to point out something, that it was actually a mosquito they were pointing at and that they were warning everyone; I was wrong.
We then went to a couple of houses with one of them being pregnant and the other having delivered recently. They went on to discuss how they got the nets, the shots, the information and that they also spread the information to their and with their neighbours. It seems to be a fairly common pattern to disseminate the information. They gather a few people from different areas, teach them, and let them go back home to teach others around them. And it seems to be working well....if the government had enough nets.
After saying our goodbyes we left for Rev K's house for a kuppa. There was Jeff showing photos of Solly to the children and Jae taking photos of Shayleen (sp?), the Rev's daughter who is supercute, after playing pickaboo with her.
And as we were set to head home, we looked around and could not find Jeff. I thought he had been eaten by a lion. Why not? It's possible. He was, however, playing football with kids who, by the sounds of it were more talented than him in that a) they didn't kick off their sandals when kicking the ball and b) almost pulled off a bicycle kick.
Driving through the villages on the way out, you can see in people's eyes the 'white' look. Of course, it's hard to keep inconspicuous when you've a handful of kids screaming whitey and running after the van. Malawi, or Kamenzi would not head my list for safehouses in case I needed to go into witness protection.
Two side notes: There were almost (and i counted) a gazillion kids at each of our meetings. It's hard to fathom what that will do to the country in a few years, what cost that will take, etc.
the last is that it is hard to escape the notion/idea/fact of death here. Since going to the villages, I believe (so, in the past two days) I think that I have counted three funerals that people have attended. One, unfortunately, will be tomorrow for Hanna's nephew; the human cost of suffering.
Tselani bwino. Stay well.
After arriving this morning to great fanfare again... (there is this really great, really catchy Welcoming song that they sing,....and yes, the translation is coming tomorrow. Jane didn't have her glasses to write it down. you'll have to wait for the lyrics) we settled down under a large tree nearby by Kamenzi village, which is the Rev K's village. --the village/district/station/area name is kind of confusing for us. It seems to be intertwined. We did ask for a rough estimate of the people in Kamenzi and we are still waiting for an answer!
After barely escaping the van we shook hands with the singing and dancing women, singing and dancing to that great song, we met the village elders and sat down on some chairs while the adult literacy group sat down and the school children played hookey to watch the azungas. The teacher, Boniface, presented a typical lesson to the students (of all ages, including ourselves). The were breaking down words into syllables and then into letters; practising the sounds and the writing of the letters. Alimi gulani mbewa ku adimaki. Farmers sell seeds at the gov't market. They received gifts from Linda's church backhome, mostly school supplies for the teachers; some of the teaching material was Bible stories, which the people requested; some sustainable development stories; others were just about average village life. The one astounding fact was that in this past year, the 10th in its operation there were a total of 1,000+ women attending literacy classes. Only 80 men decided it was in their interest to do so. The reasons vary, but one conclusion is that the men don't like to be shown up, or since they think they know everything, they don't need to learn. I say "think!? we know everything!----yes. osakutiwila" (i'm not married). Again, another promising step in what we've set out to witness.
And off to Rev. K's house where we dined on Nsima, rice, chicken, and what Jeff and Jae agreed was goat, which was delicious again. After lunch, we headed out to the Malaria Control session where once more, we were greeted with singing and dancing. Jane, our connection with NRD, told us that the women were much less shy and were more forthcoming in their singing and dancing, which could have surprised me yesterday. One of the women volunteers who teaches other women about Malaria Control got up infront and explained what they have done and what they do. It is basically a four step approach: an analogy for new hope. kristen, 4 months pregnant, goes to the clinic to get her SP (i believe it's called that) shot. Then in July, 7 months preggers at that time, goes to get another one. Meanwhile, on the first visit to the clinic she has been given a bed net that has been treated, making it good for 6 months. and Kristen dutifully checks Ava (since she's under 5 years) for any symptoms. If she sees some, she goes to the clinic within 24 hrs.
I think that the best part of it was the song that accompanied the information. Their songs tell each other the information that they've learned, and what they can do. I imagined that when they put their finger up in the air to point out something, that it was actually a mosquito they were pointing at and that they were warning everyone; I was wrong.
We then went to a couple of houses with one of them being pregnant and the other having delivered recently. They went on to discuss how they got the nets, the shots, the information and that they also spread the information to their and with their neighbours. It seems to be a fairly common pattern to disseminate the information. They gather a few people from different areas, teach them, and let them go back home to teach others around them. And it seems to be working well....if the government had enough nets.
After saying our goodbyes we left for Rev K's house for a kuppa. There was Jeff showing photos of Solly to the children and Jae taking photos of Shayleen (sp?), the Rev's daughter who is supercute, after playing pickaboo with her.
And as we were set to head home, we looked around and could not find Jeff. I thought he had been eaten by a lion. Why not? It's possible. He was, however, playing football with kids who, by the sounds of it were more talented than him in that a) they didn't kick off their sandals when kicking the ball and b) almost pulled off a bicycle kick.
Driving through the villages on the way out, you can see in people's eyes the 'white' look. Of course, it's hard to keep inconspicuous when you've a handful of kids screaming whitey and running after the van. Malawi, or Kamenzi would not head my list for safehouses in case I needed to go into witness protection.
Two side notes: There were almost (and i counted) a gazillion kids at each of our meetings. It's hard to fathom what that will do to the country in a few years, what cost that will take, etc.
the last is that it is hard to escape the notion/idea/fact of death here. Since going to the villages, I believe (so, in the past two days) I think that I have counted three funerals that people have attended. One, unfortunately, will be tomorrow for Hanna's nephew; the human cost of suffering.
Tselani bwino. Stay well.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Hi Anna, I'm guessing the one follower is you since Jeff is beside me talking about the ginormous gecko in his email. And if it's not you, hello one follower! If you've come across the blog, stay and read about our times here in Malawi.
Today was a very good day. One of those days that makes you put your faith back in humanity, rather than writing out the withdrawl slip. I would like to put a shout out for the most under-rated (unintentional) by-product out there....shade.
Our nights usually involve hitting the sack at about 9 -10 pm. No lie. and for the past couple of nights it's a toss-up when we get up. We either dzuka (get up) at the first or second crow of the rooster, wherever he is. Or when the muzzain (call to prayer) kicks off at 4 or 5am. we don't quite know when. after breakfast we booked it to the Kamanzi district to the village for the day.
As soon as we turned into the village, there was fantastic singing, dancing, and lots of little kids chasing after the van. I'm not sure if it was muzunga, or uzungu, but it was definitely 'whitey' they were saying. We sat thankfully under a giant tree while the introductions of the chiefs, and community groups and leaders went on, being very much the honoured guests.
The first item on the list for the day was showing us what work the NRD (Nkoma Relief and Development--the group we'll be partnering with) has taught them, which was how to differentiate the crops, and use the crops--specifically soya-- to better nurish their children. They were also taught to rotate their crops and not to rely constantly upon the omni-revered maize with which they make Sima, their meat and potatoes.
We saw a play that they put on that described what they had learned from the classes and even without translation, one could get a good laugh out of it.
They then prepared soya in all the different ways, which is more than i could have thought. (one could think of bubba from forest gump here) there's soya sima, soya beans, soya garnish, soya meat, soya cake, soya porridge, soya coffee.......
They are waiting for me for supper. I shall return...which I have. And I see in the meantime that we have two more followers! If only my complaining anywhere else produced such results!!
Anyway, after that we had some lunch. We dined on the famous nsima, chicken, and rice. Nsima could best be described as stickier, thicker cream of wheat. it wasn't bad. Like many things, lunch ran a bit late and after we were finished we were able to check out some of the fields used in NRD's new projects. The two specifically we saw were a bean field and a cassava field. They would briefly describe how the got the seed--which programmes, etc., when and how often they planted. I suppose on the way to the fields we broke rule #1 in africa. no more than 17 people plus babies in a van. I was convinced that we left half of the undercarriage on the plains somewhere, but our faithful driver Macson guided us safely, with all parts intact home.
If today, is any indication, I think that this programme is almost exactly like the one we had set out to find from the beginning. The farming, nutrition, and income generating aspects of Ubuntu looks to be off to a good start. Hanna Banda, the community development facilitator has done an exceptional job with the task she has been given.
Today was a very good day. One of those days that makes you put your faith back in humanity, rather than writing out the withdrawl slip. I would like to put a shout out for the most under-rated (unintentional) by-product out there....shade.
Our nights usually involve hitting the sack at about 9 -10 pm. No lie. and for the past couple of nights it's a toss-up when we get up. We either dzuka (get up) at the first or second crow of the rooster, wherever he is. Or when the muzzain (call to prayer) kicks off at 4 or 5am. we don't quite know when. after breakfast we booked it to the Kamanzi district to the village for the day.
As soon as we turned into the village, there was fantastic singing, dancing, and lots of little kids chasing after the van. I'm not sure if it was muzunga, or uzungu, but it was definitely 'whitey' they were saying. We sat thankfully under a giant tree while the introductions of the chiefs, and community groups and leaders went on, being very much the honoured guests.
The first item on the list for the day was showing us what work the NRD (Nkoma Relief and Development--the group we'll be partnering with) has taught them, which was how to differentiate the crops, and use the crops--specifically soya-- to better nurish their children. They were also taught to rotate their crops and not to rely constantly upon the omni-revered maize with which they make Sima, their meat and potatoes.
We saw a play that they put on that described what they had learned from the classes and even without translation, one could get a good laugh out of it.
They then prepared soya in all the different ways, which is more than i could have thought. (one could think of bubba from forest gump here) there's soya sima, soya beans, soya garnish, soya meat, soya cake, soya porridge, soya coffee.......
They are waiting for me for supper. I shall return...which I have. And I see in the meantime that we have two more followers! If only my complaining anywhere else produced such results!!
Anyway, after that we had some lunch. We dined on the famous nsima, chicken, and rice. Nsima could best be described as stickier, thicker cream of wheat. it wasn't bad. Like many things, lunch ran a bit late and after we were finished we were able to check out some of the fields used in NRD's new projects. The two specifically we saw were a bean field and a cassava field. They would briefly describe how the got the seed--which programmes, etc., when and how often they planted. I suppose on the way to the fields we broke rule #1 in africa. no more than 17 people plus babies in a van. I was convinced that we left half of the undercarriage on the plains somewhere, but our faithful driver Macson guided us safely, with all parts intact home.
If today, is any indication, I think that this programme is almost exactly like the one we had set out to find from the beginning. The farming, nutrition, and income generating aspects of Ubuntu looks to be off to a good start. Hanna Banda, the community development facilitator has done an exceptional job with the task she has been given.
Monday, April 27, 2009
hello again. today has been quite the day for us, trying to cram in some basic Chichewa language study before going out to the districts tomorrow morning. We met up with Harrison, one of the reverends in Lilongwe who was kind enough to dedicate his morning to helping us try and get some basic basic phrases down. I guess we will see how we, as students, fare tomorrow. The afternoon was engaged in discussing what our possible partnership will look like, or could look like. It will be, to say the least, quite challenging getting our two backgrounds together since we come from vastly different places. Nothing that a few attempts couldn't hash out.
Highlights from today would have to be Steers, a Zambian fast food restaurant in the mall here, and the swimming pool, which is a perfect temperature when it's in the mid to high 20s all day; speaking of which....i hear it snowed yesterday. Also, I saw, perhaps, the world's largest gecko hiding right beside my headrest. It must have been laying in wait for some poor soul to be disengaged enough so that he might try and devour them. Lucky enough, I scared him away with a deft combination of moving the bed so that it would squeak and looking menacingly in his direction.
Tomorrow morning will be coming bright and early. At about 8am we will be trekking out into the bush to meet with the people at Kimanzi village. I hope we are prepared.
Highlights from today would have to be Steers, a Zambian fast food restaurant in the mall here, and the swimming pool, which is a perfect temperature when it's in the mid to high 20s all day; speaking of which....i hear it snowed yesterday. Also, I saw, perhaps, the world's largest gecko hiding right beside my headrest. It must have been laying in wait for some poor soul to be disengaged enough so that he might try and devour them. Lucky enough, I scared him away with a deft combination of moving the bed so that it would squeak and looking menacingly in his direction.
Tomorrow morning will be coming bright and early. At about 8am we will be trekking out into the bush to meet with the people at Kimanzi village. I hope we are prepared.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
moni! (greetings) we have arrived safely. if only i couldn't say the same for the 2 year old red headed kid who screamed the whole way from minnesota to amsterdam. or his sister, who would take over for him when he needed a breath of air. lilongwe is green this time of year. and hot. it must be high 20s. we met a few people we'll be working with for the next week and a half and i think it's a promising start. we've some language training tomorrow and we are also meeting someone from the village we will be working in.
the plane ride from amsterdam to nairobi had an inauspicious start, seeing how the metal detector broke down before they loaded anyone. it was a person by person search before we could leave. that was the nadir of the trip; how bags were waiting for us when we came out despite a plane change for technical reasons. jeff, unused to british vehicle made a circumnavigation around a vehicle before finding the fron passenger seat; his weak excuse for shotgun is that he has long legs.
oh, and heather and jae enjoyed the church service this morning.
more to come....
the plane ride from amsterdam to nairobi had an inauspicious start, seeing how the metal detector broke down before they loaded anyone. it was a person by person search before we could leave. that was the nadir of the trip; how bags were waiting for us when we came out despite a plane change for technical reasons. jeff, unused to british vehicle made a circumnavigation around a vehicle before finding the fron passenger seat; his weak excuse for shotgun is that he has long legs.
oh, and heather and jae enjoyed the church service this morning.
more to come....
Sunday, April 19, 2009
I have heard that when some people go to the Sahara, or when they go to Africa in general, there is something that is so powerful in the being there that it is somewhat like a siren, always calling you nearer, over and over; like the Trevi fountain beckoning for coins, promising a return to the eternal city for pocket change; like Samuel, hearing a voice, returning to Eli. I am unsure if that is true. I suppose I will find out soon enough.
I wanted to find a poem or a short story that would, without ever having been there, encapsulate Africa. Naive, I know, but that didn't stop me from looking. Perhaps, there will be something on the return trips. Or maybe i'll drop a little Leonard Cohen for you. Something positive for what we think isn't so:
Ring the bells that still can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack, a crack in everything
that's how the light gets in.
I wanted to find a poem or a short story that would, without ever having been there, encapsulate Africa. Naive, I know, but that didn't stop me from looking. Perhaps, there will be something on the return trips. Or maybe i'll drop a little Leonard Cohen for you. Something positive for what we think isn't so:
Ring the bells that still can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack, a crack in everything
that's how the light gets in.
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