Munthu Wamkulu

Hello everyone, it’s been awhile. It would be nice to be able to write on this thing more often, but it has been difficult these past few months. First of all, I don’t have internet access that often (yesterday was the first time that I have looked at a computer in over a month). Secondly, when I do finally have access to a computer and internet, I am so overwhelmed by other distractions, such as emails; research on graduate schools; espn.com; amazon.com; etc., that it is difficult to find time and motivation for writing a blog. Those are my excuses-you can take ‘em or leave ‘em. Now let’s get to the content, what this is all about.

We’re about two months into the third and last term of the school year. I can sum up Term Three at my school with this metaphor: We have very little wind left in our sails. Half of the students are preparing for or writing for their national exams; the other half has very little motivation to do anything. The hot season has started. It is no fun teaching an afternoon class in this Texas-like heat while sweating in front of group hungry, tired, hot, dehydrated students. Also, there are very few teachers at the school right now. Our full roster of teachers, which is seven, is sparse enough, but these past few weeks there have only been about two to four teachers at the school every day. The teachers that do come to school are busy with (or at least pretend to be busy with) other things most of the time. All of these factors put together have left my students and me with an exhausted feeling. In the past, I would let these different problems at school bother me to the point where I was raising my voice to the staff and students from time to time (I still fell feel like I was correct when I criticized them for these things, but I have come to learn that direct, put-your-foot-down confrontations don’t get very far in this culture). Nowadays I am trying to tackle these problems individually rather than trying to fix everything at once. Someone told me that as PCVs we spend the beginning of our service banging our heads into a big wall that we are trying to break through. Eventually, we find that that doesn’t work and it is a lot easier and practical to just walk around the wall.

My life hasn’t been all bad news lately (wait- I forgot to tell you that the goats entered my garden again to destroy almost everything-including the papaya tree and sunflowers); I am doing some fun stuff. Two weeks ago I was initiated into the secret Chewa society called Nyau. Do a google search on it-it’s interesting. I am definitely oversimplifying things here, but I can quickly explain it like this: Before the missionaries came along a couple hundred years ago, this was the spirituality of the Chewa tribe. Although Christianity has flourished in Malawi, this traditional practice is still alive and well. It is centered on a dance called Gule Wamkulu, which is a big event that attracts lots of people, money, and hootin’ and hollerin’. The dancers are considered to be spirits, and they wear exotic costumes with carved masks while performing quick, dust-stirring dances. All of this has several layers of meaning that I won’t get into right now, but it is important to know that one can’t fully participate in all of this (even as an observer) until they are initiated.

Well, I have been initiated. This was a pretty big deal for everyone involved-a white man joining their secret club, and the joke around the village is that Bryan is now munthu wamkulu (a big man). The initiation ceremony consisted of being bind-folded while being led into the graveyard, killing and eating a young chicken, learning some top-secret words, and a few other things that I’m not at liberty to talk about. Killing the chicken was especially interesting, although it wasn’t anything that PETA will ever approve of. To show that I was brave enough to be in their club, I had to impale the chicken with a wooden stake up the rear end and all the way through to the mouth (I was told that if I released any of the secrets of Nyau, the same thing would happen to me). The chicken was then roasted directly over the coals of a fire, and I then ate it while dipping the meat into ashes that had been prepared as “medicine.” This was all very strange and interesting, kind of like the last year of my life.

This upcoming Sunday something exciting will happen. A new group of education volunteers will fly into Lilongwe airport. I have vivid memories of how all of this happened last year, especially how we were greeted as rock stars by the old volunteers yelling and waving big signs at the airport. We plan to do the same this year, and it should be a good time. Hopefully, I’ll be able to spend some time back in Dedza helping out with their training.

All in all, things are fine here. I have found a handful of good people that inspire me daily as we struggle with these problems that have no solutions. I can’t lie-I do have bad days. But I can always go home at the end of these days, talk things over with the two friends that I am living with, cook a good dinner over the fire, and get a good night’s rest. So far, things have always been better in the morning.

"So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten.
Sons are like birds flying upward over the mountain."
Iron and Wine