No School, No Holiday

Where has the time gone? It still feels like I just got here, even though I am now approaching the nine month mark. Thoughts about my departure have also started creeping into my head although I still have over a year to go (although I could stay longer…). Nevertheless, as the past races away and the future’s uncertainty puts a lump in my throat, I am trying to make good use of every day and moment.

This past week we didn’t have any school so I did a lot of traveling around on my bike. The highlight of the week was when I visited the mother of Fredric (it is more appropriate for me to say that she is OUR mother), one of the boys that is living with me. She lives in a village that is about 45 km away from my site, and Fred doesn’t see her very often because she lives so far away (I won’t explain why she lives so far away because it depresses me to think about it and it’s a long story). We left at the crack of dawn. Along the way we stopped to visit the mother of one of my Form 3 students. This boy lives with his grandparents in a village close to the school. Therefore, his mother, who is constantly struggling to pay his school fees, had no idea that her boy hasn’t been coming to school more than once or twice a week. She was very grateful that I told her about all of this, and I was happy to tell her. I don’t have a problem if my students are lazy and don’t come to school (I try to focus my energy on the students that want to learn), but I do get pissed off when their parents or guardians, who are poor and have a great burden to pay the school fees, don’t know about the situation. To fix this problem, I have taken it as my responsibility to visit the homes of each of the students in my Form 3 class to let them know if and how their child is learning at school.

We continued our journey east, towards the mountains where our mother resides. We arrived in the late morning. I was introduced to everyone in Fred’s large family, and then the chief invited me over to his house to eat some mashed sweet potatoes (called futali). The chief was drunk, but we still had a good conversation about a variety of topics including agriculture, the problems of Malawi, the differences between America and Malawi, and the local cultural practices (this actually summarizes most of the conversations that I have with people in the village). After that I took a look at the nearby primary school. It was a nice school, tucked in a mountain valley. However, there are problems there. I’ll tell you about two of them. First, as the headmaster told me, “Here we have over 1,000 students versus only eight teachers.” They had more teachers in the past, but two of them were recently fired, which leads me to the second problem. The teachers were fired because they each impregnated Standard 7 students (equivalent to seventh grade). I should tell you that this isn’t an isolated incident, but this is common even in the primary schools-teachers sleeping with, and often impregnating, their female students. I try not to think about this too much.

After getting back from the school, we had a nice lunch waiting for us. The women, including Fred’s mom; sister; two aunts; and grandmother, had the intention of cooking a chicken for us (a gift which is saved for only the most special occasions), but the chicken got word of this and was hiding somewhere in the fields until the visitors left and she would be allowed to live another day. Instead we had boiled peanuts (my favorite), nsima (THE staple food of Malawi), eggs, and boiled greens, a truly local meal that I have become accustomed to and salivate over. After eating and chatting for a while it was time for us to go. It would have been more appropriate for us to spend the night (which I would have been comfortable with, and preferred, to do), especially since it was a long journey back home (three hours on bike one way). Unfortunately, we couldn’t stay because I had an important PTA meeting the next morning. We said our long goodbyes. Our mother informed me of how thankful she was that her boy is with me, and I told her of how proud I am to be a part of their family. She also made a point of telling me that she was a little upset that we were leaving so fast. I placated her worries a little by telling her that we will return latter this year, a promise that I am eager to fulfill. A sad wind blew down from the mountains as we received our accustomed gifts of peanuts and sorghum (which is specifically grown in that area and can’t be found in my area). Our sisters escorted us to the “main” road, and I will admit that I had tears in my eyes as we left, as I do now- writing about this. The strenuous ride back home allowed me to work off the gloom. By the end of our trip I was in better spirits as we chased the sunset over the African hills.

What else did I do during my week off from school? I visited the homes of a few other students. By doing this I am coming to realize that most of my students don’t have a father at home. Often times a couple will get married or start living together at a young age, the girl is usually in her mid-teens (no typo) while the father is a bit older. They immediately start having as many kids as possible. The father quickly realizes that there isn’t enough money at home to raise a family so he goes into the city looking for work. Maybe he finds work, maybe he doesn’t, but he is in town for a long time while the teenage mother waits worriedly for him back in the village. Often times he finds that all of his problems will disappear if he simply stays in the city or finds a different rural area to reside in, a different area where he can find a different girl to marry and start a different family that he will eventually destroy. This is the narrative for the families of many of my students.

Some other activities that kept me occupied last week: I visited another volunteer a school about two hours to the north of me. We had a huge PTA meeting at the school with about 180 parents/guardians in which I revealed my plans to assist them in constructing a girl’s dormitory (I will have much more to stay about this in future entries). On two separate occasions, I had dinner with two different elderly couples. They are happy for this because they get to chat with a white man and I bring some healthier foods (such as chicken, meat, or fish) to be cooked that they wouldn’t usually have. Also, I am happy to do this because the older women are excellent cooks, I get a chance to improve my Chichewa, and I learn many things about the local history. During this week, I also spent a lot of time chatting with people and organizing different projects involving the marketing of peanut butter, honey, and wine (local products that can help generate income in the village). All in all, it was a productive week. I learned a lot, although many of the things that I have learned are troubling.

Perhaps this entry has a bit of a depressed tone. If so, I must admit this does indeed reflect my mood the past few weeks. I am not exactly depressed; I think solemn would be a better way to describe things. But I must tell you, Reader, don’t worry about me. My concern for humanity catalyzes my life, and I awake every day with the opportunity to make small but meaningful changes. I have good people here to support me as we make our way along this beautiful struggle.

“I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wondering awed about on a splintered wreck I've come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty bats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them...”
Annie Dillard