July 9, 2011
I feel like I’m losing momentum. I’ve barely left my house the past few days, except to feed the babies in NRU every 3 hours. I’ve been sleeping in-between feedings, setting my alarm to be sure I don’t miss them. Do I have mono? I always wonder this when I sleep more than 15 hours a day. Makes sense, but I think my lethargy has more to do with minor depression due to boredom. It’s too early to lose momentum.
(angry scribbles all over half a page in my journal)
Pens in Malawi suck. Wish I brought more Bics. Also, speaking of pens, I LOVE to loan out pens to people and then NEVER SEE THE PEN AGAIN! Too busy to return my pen?! My biggest pet peeve.
July 11, 2011
I set up my hammock behind my house. What’s the best way to beat my fake mono? Hang up a hammock so I can sleep all day…outside. It’s hanging from beams that seem to be holding my roof. That should be sturdy enough, right?
I sat in my hammock only to find that the beams are too close together so my body is folded in half while all the blood rushes to my butt. My feet are numb , so getting out of this thing may prove to be a bit of a challenge.
I have been avoiding my village a lot lately. I’m not proud of it. I just need some time. I’ve consumed my hours reading, which has been peaceful, but there is still a great deal of integrating that needs to be done and peace corps paperwork that needs to be filled out. Hoping for some inspirado this week after GAD Camp.
July 18, 2011
GAD Camp was a success. The kids enjoyed it, the counselors enjoyed it. I felt good about this week, although I have no money left. Traveling to Mzuzu twice in one month is quite expensive.
As this amazing camp was going on, rumors started circulating about the fuel crisis and the economy falling apart and riots forming in major cities. I looked at these smart, talented kids playing soccer on their last day of camp and felt a sharp sadness that I couldn’t shake. They might be Malawi’s future – Malawi’s brightest – but they have so few opportunities. And with the downfall of the economy and fuel shortages everywhere, it’s hard to see what will happen long-term.
As I was leaving Mzuzu, I noticed a great number of Malawians in uniform – both military and police. Usually I don’t see many during my travels, but they were on every street corner. I hope the riots don’t get out of hand.
July 20, 2011
Something smelled awful when I returned home from camp. I immediately started super-cleaning my house. The odor was strongest in my bedroom. I moved my bed so I could sweep and mop beneath it, and there was Maverick, my house mouse, dead against the wall. I was sad for a second and relieved for longer. But that smell – it was putrid.
Nauseated, I grabbed my hoe and dust pan, but as soon as I got close to picking it up, I skeeved out and had to step out of the room. I paced for several minutes and tried again. This continued for almost an hour. Finally I went to my neighbor’s house to see if they could help, but they only laughed and basically said “Man up, do it yourself.”
Okay.
I could not fathom touching this creature’s body, even with a plastic bag between us. I psyched myself up (literally, speaking to myself, using encouraging words at first and throwing a few insults to rile myself up), held the hoe in one hand, the dustpan in the other and carried the lifeless body to my fire pit where I had a quiet cremation ceremony for the little guy.
Blantyre was on BBC yesterday. Apparently supporters of the DPP (the political party currently in power in Malawi) went out in the streets with panga knives (basically machetes) and threatened to kill anyone who protests today. I’m hoping it doesn’t get to violent. Malawi is such a peaceful country, I can’t imagine it getting too out of hand. But then again, people aren’t happy with the current situation and it’s been going on for a while.
This just in (via text message from another volunteer): Demonstrators are throwing rocks at the police in Mzuzu. Not good.
I have finally started my garden. Barefooted in the sun, I hoed my new compost – far from the toxic mango tree.
For lunch, Ama Chimbutu taught me how to make condoli nsima. She told me to come over at 11 and wear shorts under my chitenge so I don’t show everyone my boom-boom. I followed her instructions. Condoli nsima is thicker and stickier than maize nsima and you have to take the pot from the fire, hold it between your feet (wearing shoes, if you’re a mzungu) and mash the mixture against the walls of the pot. Condoli nsima is the north’s trademark. They are so proud of their condoli and so impressed that a foreigner would like it – let alone, know how to cook it).
My Tonga sucks. I really have not improved much since I have been here. I’m sure my neighbors are frustrated. I need to get a tutor – or at least study every day. That’s my new goal.
July 21, 2011
At 6am, my neighbor knocks on my door. Still cuddled beneath the covers and sick with a cold, I decide to ignore the knock. If it’s important, they will come back later. Another knock, this time more insistent. I choose to ignore it again. She then proceeds to yell through my bedroom window.
I got up.
I opened the door to find her smiling sweetly and asking for my magic pot that cooks beans in 20 minutes (my pressure cooker – best device ever invented). I hand her the pot. Then she asks for spices. She takes her time tasting every spice before settling on seasoned salt.
What I don’t understand is why she would need to cook beans at 6am with my magic pot that cooks beans in 20 minutes.
Too angry to address the situation properly, I go back to my bed to stew. I realize I loan things out too easily. Currently I have one pot to cook in, as I loaned the other two out. All my movies are gone (I will probably never see them again) and some items are just plain missing. I am too nice. I just let people in my house too often, mostly because I know I have things and they don’t and I don’t mind being kind, but things never get returned. Every time something leaves my house, I calculate how much it costs to replace it because I half expect to never see it again.
This is no way to live.
My radio only picks up bits and pieces of chewa-speaking stations, so my only source of information is from text messages from PCVs. Currently, my friends in Blantyre can hear gun shots. In Lilongwe, major grocery stores have been looted. Tear gas and panga knives are used to deter further looting. Major roads to and from Lilongwe are shut down. Military are everywhere and houses are being raided. In Mzuzu, nine people have been killed, riots have flipped cars, started fires and are now heading to Nkhata Bay.
Peace Corps has told us to stay out of the cities (obviously) and the presidential address merely said “Stop protesting”. I am completely safe in my Dwambazi bubble. Right now, ignorance is bliss.
Still – what’s going to happen?
Someone just came over to borrow my bike. I told him it was broken.
After a negative day, I finally smiled. It took all day for this, but I’m feeling better. High hopes and big plans to make this weekend super productive.
July 23, 2011
It took me 3 hours to get a fire started. I have to remember to start cooking BEFORE I get hungry. I allowed myself a good cry, talked myself down from the ledge of self-pity, and gave it one more try.
I ended up eating six pieces of bread for lunch. I’m not sure what will make me happy – I’m slipping. It’s a combination of low blood sugar and frustration – both of which I can control.
July 24, 2011
I couldn’t start a fire again this morning and of course, mid-frustration, all my neighbors seemed to want to come over to chat. I was criticized about the cleanliness of my house (which is a mess due to me rearranging furniture and having no water to do dishes) and for not serving tea to unannounced visitors. Listen, guys. I have yet to make my own breakfast. Tea for you is the last thing on my mind.
Five months ago today I was sitting on a plane on my way to Philadelphia. I’m not even the same person I was back then.
The secondary school teacher asked me to teach life skills to two classes next year (starting September 5th). I also have plans to start working on my community assessment this week. Things are starting to get organized, starting to fall into place – slowly.
July 27, 2011
Oh it’s bad. The water has been out for nearly a week. I’m the dirtiest I have ever been. I spent the past two days working in my yard in the hot sun. I am so disgusting. I need to get water from the borehole, but there’s a line and I’m mostly lazy after hoeing all day. Plus, I’m not that good at carrying water on my head, I prefer if there wasn’t a crowd.
As I write this, the cutest Malawian boy came to my door. At first I was afraid he was going to ask for balloons. Most iwe stop over to ask for balloons, I think Megan must have handed them out while she was here. He introduced himself as Peter and one of Megan’s helpers. He has the longest eyelashes and big dimples. He asked if he could help me, so I said sure. Oh, if only he had been here this morning. I worked my ass off until lunchtime and then continued until 5. I handed him a broom, he swept outside, put the broom away and then started washing my dirty dishes. Then he mimed carrying water for me, so I agreed and he is on his way to fetch me more water for the rest of the day. He is four foot nothin’ and is currently carrying a 20-liter bucket on his head.
Damn, it’s kinda lame when a 14-year old can carry water better than you.
July 28, 2011
While I was laying in bed last night around 8pm, wishing for a shower, I heard the beautiful sounds of trinkling into a bucket. I deliberately left my faucets turned on the tap in hopes that the water would start up again. I figured, no matter what time it was, I would be grateful to walk my sleepy ass to fill up my large buckets.
My shower tap filled one large bucket while I filled the rest from a smaller one that I placed in my sink. It was like Fantasia – I filled all my buckets Mickey Mouse-style, bucket after small bucket.
When I finished, I lit some candles in the doorway of my shower, grabbed a towel and eagerly took of myclothes for a much-needed shower. Just as I was stepping beneath the cool water coming from the shower tap, the water dripped its last drop and I stood there dry and dirty. Of course.
I grabbed one of the buckets I had just filled and bathed by candlelight. Sounds hot, but not. Very un-glamorous. The cold water made me shiver and it’s very unsexy to be focusing that much attention on the dirt build-up between your toes.
But I was finally clean. I lotioned up, changed my sheets, flipped my mattress (so I didn’t sink into the middle anymore) and fell asleep with a big smile on my face.
This morning, at 5:30 am, Peter came over to help me out at my house.
Oh no, what did I get myself into? Was I blinded by those beautiful eyelashes and big dimples?
He swept and mopped and went to the market and then he stopped working altogether, popped a squat on my reed mat and proceeded to look at some pictures books. Then he got into some bubbles. Then he asked me to borrow my bike, no less than 4 times.
Angelic Peter has got to go.
Meanwhile I am waiting anxiously for my phone to charge at the neighbors so I can talk to Peace Corps about a few issues that I have been putting off. Not having electricity is truly inconvenient when you have things that need to be powered on to work.
July 29, 2011
Congrats on being a big girl, Kathi. I finally got the courage to tell Freddy what I expect from him. Recently, the helper boy that I acquired from the last two volunteers has been getting on my nerves. He needs micromanagement and I’m not willing to sit around keeping an eye on him. Too often he asked for money for certain things that I don’t need (like manure – Freddy, I do not want to pay for animal feces, thanks) so finally I told him the few things that I do need help with (just yard work) and told him what I don’t need help with (my garden, my patio) and we came to an agreement. I told him I would pay for his school fees if he would just do the few jobs that I asked and then disappear. I need my privacy. I need my sanity. I’m not sure what took me so long to address this issue (maybe because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings? Maybe I didn’t know how Megan or Alex dealt with Freddy), but it’s finally addressed and there should be very little stress with Freddy.
Yesterday Ama Chimbutu told me to come to her house at 2 – something about staff and netball, but honestly my Tonga wasn’t strong enough to put it all together. So I showed up at her house at 2:45 (still early by Malawian standards) ready to play netball. She promptly told me to put on a chitenge – apparently my guachos and sneaks were too sexy for netball?
When I returned, my other neighbors were waiting. There were 5 bowls filled with nsima flour and wrapped in chitenges. Each of us carried a bowl on our heads (I, of course, had to use my hands to balance a bowl on my head, so I did not look very suave, as usual) across the street to meet the new staff. So that’s what she was trying to tell me. We stayed at the first woman’s house for an hour, eating rice and chatting and then we all moved on to the next house, taking the new staff member with us.
This went on for a while, although we did not eat at every house, thank goodness. I had already filled up on rice from house number one. I secretly wanted to escape. I was being teased by my lack of Tonga skills and my American ways. I typically don’t mind being the weirdo, but after a while you just want to curl up and become anonymous.
But it was truly nice to be a part of the welcoming committee – each of us wrapped in a chitenge, babies on our backs, bowls of flour on our heads… After greeting all of the new staff members, we went to play netball, but netball was almost finished, so my debut on the team will have to be tomorrow.
July 30, 2011
I have never been good at team sports, especially those involving a ball. Let’s just throw that out there. Now, you can imagine my netball skills. That’s just it – you have to imagine them because they aren’t there.
The women in my village meet everyday at 3pm at the netball field behind the hospital. They play barefooted, in chitenges and they whoop and holler until 5pm (when they must go home to finish dinner). The energy on that field is ferocious and fun and even though I am the worst netball player on this continent, but the laughter and joy transcends our language barrier and my lack of coordination.
My neighbors have been trying to teach me how to play, but the rules can be somewhat tricky (although very similar to Ultimate Frisbee) and I cannot make a basket for the life of me (must I relive my dorky, awkward middle school days?)
At any rate, it’s just fun to see these women escape their chores for a few hours to do something fun and competitive. They never stop laughing – when someone misses a ball, when another trips and falls backwards, when one makes a basket, when another passes the ball to another teammate, when the ball goes out of bounds and into the cassava fields…
The happiness is contagious and I truly enjoy being with these women, but I’m pretty sure I am going to be benched for a few games until I get the rules down.
Long phone conversations to home only leave me feeling sad. I cried when I hung up the phone with my dad today. We talked for two hours and it made me miss home so bad. I talked to Dusty, too – who always knows how to make everything good in my life. I hung up wondering how I could stand being so far from this wonderful, good people in my life. It’s hard. The hardest.
Drumroll, please…my brick patio is complete.
And I am awesome.
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