Compared to America, this place is a real mess, but that's why I like it so much. If I'm hungry, I have to start a fire (first finding chopped, dry firewood) and spend at least half an hour cooking meal with smoke all over the place. Most of the conversations that I have with people are pretty shallow. It's hard to talk about anything of meaning when one of us only speaks a little bit of the conversation's language (I am satisfied with my progress-slow and steady-learning Chichewa, but I still can't hear/say anything of real substance.). For this reason, I cherish meeting up with my friends. For, if anything, it is a chance to have a real conversation with someone. The conversations with my fellow Americans are pretty redundant by now; we've been talking about the same things over and over again since we got here. Nevertheless, I always enjoy meeting up with these Yanks and repeating our previous conversation.
America is amazing-it has social security, freeways, online banking, and hospitals with real doctors inside (I remember all of these things, but they don't seem real anymore.). If you drive on a highway in America you don't have to think about which street-with-no-name that you want to turn on to (even in cities, I rarely see street signs) or how much money you'll be willing to bribe the officer at the next road block (road blocks are a real pain in the @#$%, thank God these never became popular back home). In America, even the worst public transport allows for some elbow room. Here, any transport that I'm willing to pay for makes me wish that I didn't have any elbows to drag along with me. In America, people get paid when they don't have a job. Here, you have to pay (bribe) someone just to get a job.
This country's both heartbreaking and hysterical. Heartbreaking due to the excessive suffering that I see every day, and hysterical due to the apathy, ignorance, and humor that is used to deal with this suffering. I still don't think Americans are any happier than Malawians, in spite of all the aforementioned differences. It all depends on your expectations, and here people's expectations are very low- so we are satisfied with the bottom of the barrel. Attitude matters as well, if you want to change something. This attitude for change is something that's lacking here, either it's non-existent or misdirected. I can't imagine living here for a lifetime, but the time that I've spent hear-watching things fall apart before my own eyes- has been fascinating and surreal.
A few weeks ago some low life on the street called me "China" (a derogatory name given to anyone looking at least a little Asian (not necessarily Chinese)-which certainly isn't me). I took my time chewing him out, giving him a brief geography lesson, and scolding him for never going to school to learn these things. that made me feel better, especially when all of his friends started laughing at him. Embarrassment and shame are powerful emotions in this culture, and I try to use them to my advantage when keeping discipline in my classroom as well.
It's kind of sad, but I smile as I watch my house slowly fall apart. I feel bad for whoever will be living here next year. The house was built just before I got here, but it was so poorly made that the cement started crumbling apart a year ago. I should be thankful that it's a lot nicer than most of my friends' houses. This one girl has so many termites in her house that the noise of them munching through the walls woke me up several times in one night.
Most people here are OK with there lives, simply because they aren't truly aware of how much better things could be. Perhaps it is best this way. Unfortunately (or fortunately?) I'm not blissfully ignorant. I'm much too aware of how much better life could be here if fundamental changes were made. However, the steps leading to these fundamental changes (things such as birth control, gender equality, and a legitimate democracy) have too many convoluted strings attached. I don't see things changing much during this generation's lifetime.
About a two months ago, I received a big AAA map of the USA that I put up on a wall in my house. I enjoy gazing at it, dreaming where I'll be living a year from now. My Plan A is to go to graduate school, studying molecular biology. I'm grateful that I had the chance to come to Malawi and figure all this stuff out.
"Convinced myself, I seek not to convince." Edgar Allen Poe
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Man Camp 2
FYI: A bunch of new pics are up, including many pertaining to the topic of this post.
I got back yesterday from this year's version of Man Camp (see April 2009). Me and three other guys (Greg, Enrique, and Terrence)
went to a place called Nyika Plateau. It’s a National Park with basic African animals like zebras, kudu, leopards, warthogs, etc. It doesn’t have the big stuff like elephants or hippos, but the main attraction is the landscape. The plateau is a part of the Great Rift Valley, and it sits up at about 3000 meters with rolling hills that reminded me of the Palouse of eastern Washington. We took our bikes on this trip, and it was certainly an adventure.
On the first day, three of us had to take our bikes on a minibus (“Be careful slamming that door over my bike!”) and then a big flatbed truck to a dusty town reminiscent of the wild west called Bolero. We reached Bolero around noon where we meet up with the forth stooge of our foursome, had a quick lunch, and hit the dusty trail with our overloaded bikes.
Then it was a six hour ride up through the mountains. It actually wasn’t much of a “ride” since we spent most of the time pushing the bikes and gear up the steep terrain. It wasn’t easy, but we were all in good spirits and the landscape was absolutely beautiful. We wanted to get to the park gate that day, but we weren’t really sure about the actual location of it. We asked a few people along the way how much further it was, but we couldn’t get a straight answer (I hate to sound prejudiced, but Malawains (or Africans) don’t have a very good sense of time and space). The sun sets pretty fast in the mountains, but we managed to make it to the gate right at sun down-DEAD tired. We didn’t have enough energy to start a fire and cook our rice and beans so instead we just bought some warm Fantas and cookies from a small store near the gate. The Fantas went down well with the booze as we sat in the grass under the stars chatting about the days exhaustion and the uncertainty ahead.
It was a cold night, as most nights are at 3000 meters. We woke up late, found some water, started a fire, cooked up some rice and beans, and ate with our hands on borrowed plates (oops! We only brought one set of plates and silverware.). After the previous day’s struggle, we weren’t exactly looking forward to the 60 km bike ride through the hills that we had planned for the day. This was a trip of great luck and fortune (there were many things that could have gone wrong, or gone much worse, but turned out OK), and the luck and fortune started out that morning. As we finished tearing down camp, grumbling about the trip ahead of us, a truck pulled up to the gate. They were passing through the park on a road that gets very little traffic, the same road we were about to set out on. We quickly befriended them, asked them for a ride, and crammed the bikes and our bodies into the truck. They managed to take us 40 km down the dusty road, and then we went our separate ways.
By this point, covered in dust and squinting in the mountain sun, we were in much better spirits, and the 20 km bike ride was a breeze. We rolled into our destination in the early afternoon. The destination was a little forest/village in the middle of the park called Chelinda.
We stayed at Chelinda for four nights. It made a good base camp that we could come back to at the end of our day trips. We were fortunate enough to stay with a guy from the UK that is working there as something like a forest conservationist. From the beginning, we planned to camp, and thankfully, that didn't happen. It was very cold with rain every night, and we (especially me) didn't bring warm clothes. But it all worked out because our host allowed us to sleep inside his rustic log cabin by the fireplace. During our day trips we trekked around the park either on our bikes, on foot, or in the back of the truck. We climbed mountains, walked through rain forests
, watched some guys repair a bridge
, and chased around zebras-among other things. We had a lot of fun...except one afternoon.
One day we biked about 30 km from Chelinda to climb a mountain in the northeast section of the park. We arrived around mid-day and climbed to the top where we had a lunch of raw sweet potatoes.
From the top was a gorgeous view down the escarpment of the Rift Valley, and it was just clear enough that we could see Lake Malawi. We didn't stay up there too long because we wanted to leave ourselves with enough time to get home before dark. It was an easy ride going back. It was mostly downhill, as we were coming from one of the highest points in the entire country. The four of us got a little spread out so that I could only see the two in front of me when at the top of a hill. After riding for about a half hour, I was consistently looking back for Terrence behind me-I consistently didn't see him. At the same time, the other two were getting ahead of me so (in a bit of a hurry) I didn't wait up for the last guy. Eventually, I caught up to the two in front at a bridge crossing a little stream that was running full through a steep valley. We relaxed while drinking cold mountain water and waiting for the slow poke to get down there. He didn't arrive.
By that time, we had only covered about 10 km, with 20 km more to go to reach Chelinda. After waiting for Terrence for a half hour, we decided that one of us should go back to look for the straggler. We were thinking that he either hurt himself so that he couldn't ride his bike or he was having problems with his bike (hopefully just a flat tire, which we could've easily fixed). Greg rode his bike back up out of the valley with the tool kit and some water. We were becoming even more spread out as it was getting colder and later in the day and no way to communicate with each other.
Enrique and I waited in the valley for another half hour, with no sign of the two of them. By this time it was 4:30 (sun sets around 6), and we still had 20 km to cover. Any heat in the mountain air was quickly fading away as the sun got lower in the sky. The other guys at least had long sleeve shirts, but I only had on a tee-shirt and shorts. For this reason, Enrique and I decided that it made most sense for me to head back to camp and look for help (for all we knew, Terrence could have broken his neck or been abducted by poachers-but we had no way of knowing, and the sun wasn't going to wait for us to figure it all out). I sped to Chelinda, trying not to crash my own bike going down the rugged trail. I rolled into camp with just enough light to avoid the potholes and crevasses on the poorly maintained trail. Luckily (again), I found our limey (a new term that I learned that means British person) host right away, and I explained the situation. It was obvious that the only thing we were going to do was take his Land Rover out to try and find the guys.
About 5 km out of camp, we saw a set of bike reflectors in the distance. As we pulled up, I was excited to see Terrence pushing his bike down the road in the dark, but one thing wasn't right-he was alone. With a big smile on his face, he was happy to see us as well. I asked him where the other two were, and he responded, "What other guys?" I quickly realized that he was completely fine, and the problem was that he took a wrong turn somewhere. He explained that he hadn't seen anyone else all afternoon, and that he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere early on. He figured that we would just continue back to camp without him so he didn't try to backtrack once he realized he had taken a wrong turn. However, we did make an effort to try and find him, and two of us were still out in the middle of nowhere looking for him. He jumped in the back of the truck with his bike, and we continued on, looking for the other two.
I figured they would be together by that time somewhere near the bridge. We went in that direction and eventually found them together, pushing their bikes through the darkness. Understandably, they weren't in a good mood, and it was funny (to me) to watch them drill Terrence with questions about the hell he had been up to and Terrence answering bashfully. By the time we got back to the cabin, everyone was happy again because there was a fire, hot dinner, and wine waiting for us. Plus, we had a great story to tell.
Eventually we had to leave, and leaving Nyika turned out to be just as difficult as getting there, although this time we were going down the plateau instead of up it. The limely helped us out again by offering to bring our bikes back to Mzuzu, a small city (big town?) in northern Malawi that we pass through a lot, and where it would be easy to pick up the bikes. It made sense for us to ditch the bikes, assuming we had the opportunity, because there are two ways to get off the plateau. We could have gone out the way we came in on our bikes. This would have taken two days to get back to Mzuzu. The other option, which we chose, was to hike down the escarpment and somehow find a ride back to Mzuzu. The advantage to this second option was that there was a chance (not a good one) that we could get back to Mzuzu in one day. Wanting to see something new and always in a hurry, we chose to hike out.
The limey's generosity didn't stop. He gave us a ride to the end of the trail early in the morning. This shaved about three hours off our hike. We were now on our own, the three of us hiking down the mountain, in the cold fog, on a lightly used trail that was difficult to navigate. As we descended, it got hot fast. The trail was rugged and slippery, and sarcastic jokes were made about why we didn't bring our bikes along. It was exciting later in the morning when we saw a sign of civilization, terracing on the mountain. It was even more exciting when we saw a road in the distance. But the road was still a long ways off. We didn't reach the road until the early afternoon, and we had to walk a ways before we had any chance of finding some kind of vehicle. Eventually, we made it to a small village where it was market day where there were a few trucks waiting to take the vendors home, but none of them were going in a direction that was convenient for us so we had a few warm Fantas and discussed the situation. Someone spotted a big truck filled with coal (this village is near a big mining operation) and we went over to ask if they could help us at all. Fortunately (again), they were going straight to Mzuzu that evening, and they agreed to let us ride with them (two in the back on top of all the coal and two in the cab).
Driving with a load of over 30 tons (on two trailers) up over a mountain range on a poorly maintained road at the end of the rainy season isn't easy. The glassy eyed driver managed to get us all out alive, and by dusk we were on the main paved road. This was a relief until I realized that the truck didn't have any headlights (or maybe it did, but I have heard that Malawian drivers have a belief that it saves gas to leave the lights off). On coming cars could see our running lights, but we couldn't see ten feet in front of us. I was sure that this was the point that our luck was going to run dry, but we somehow managed to get to Mzuzu alive. We spent the rest of the night drinking cold beer and retelling our adventures to anyone that was willing to listen.
"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts." Rachel Carson
I got back yesterday from this year's version of Man Camp (see April 2009). Me and three other guys (Greg, Enrique, and Terrence)
went to a place called Nyika Plateau. It’s a National Park with basic African animals like zebras, kudu, leopards, warthogs, etc. It doesn’t have the big stuff like elephants or hippos, but the main attraction is the landscape. The plateau is a part of the Great Rift Valley, and it sits up at about 3000 meters with rolling hills that reminded me of the Palouse of eastern Washington. We took our bikes on this trip, and it was certainly an adventure.On the first day, three of us had to take our bikes on a minibus (“Be careful slamming that door over my bike!”) and then a big flatbed truck to a dusty town reminiscent of the wild west called Bolero. We reached Bolero around noon where we meet up with the forth stooge of our foursome, had a quick lunch, and hit the dusty trail with our overloaded bikes.
Then it was a six hour ride up through the mountains. It actually wasn’t much of a “ride” since we spent most of the time pushing the bikes and gear up the steep terrain. It wasn’t easy, but we were all in good spirits and the landscape was absolutely beautiful. We wanted to get to the park gate that day, but we weren’t really sure about the actual location of it. We asked a few people along the way how much further it was, but we couldn’t get a straight answer (I hate to sound prejudiced, but Malawains (or Africans) don’t have a very good sense of time and space). The sun sets pretty fast in the mountains, but we managed to make it to the gate right at sun down-DEAD tired. We didn’t have enough energy to start a fire and cook our rice and beans so instead we just bought some warm Fantas and cookies from a small store near the gate. The Fantas went down well with the booze as we sat in the grass under the stars chatting about the days exhaustion and the uncertainty ahead.
It was a cold night, as most nights are at 3000 meters. We woke up late, found some water, started a fire, cooked up some rice and beans, and ate with our hands on borrowed plates (oops! We only brought one set of plates and silverware.). After the previous day’s struggle, we weren’t exactly looking forward to the 60 km bike ride through the hills that we had planned for the day. This was a trip of great luck and fortune (there were many things that could have gone wrong, or gone much worse, but turned out OK), and the luck and fortune started out that morning. As we finished tearing down camp, grumbling about the trip ahead of us, a truck pulled up to the gate. They were passing through the park on a road that gets very little traffic, the same road we were about to set out on. We quickly befriended them, asked them for a ride, and crammed the bikes and our bodies into the truck. They managed to take us 40 km down the dusty road, and then we went our separate ways.
By this point, covered in dust and squinting in the mountain sun, we were in much better spirits, and the 20 km bike ride was a breeze. We rolled into our destination in the early afternoon. The destination was a little forest/village in the middle of the park called Chelinda.
We stayed at Chelinda for four nights. It made a good base camp that we could come back to at the end of our day trips. We were fortunate enough to stay with a guy from the UK that is working there as something like a forest conservationist. From the beginning, we planned to camp, and thankfully, that didn't happen. It was very cold with rain every night, and we (especially me) didn't bring warm clothes. But it all worked out because our host allowed us to sleep inside his rustic log cabin by the fireplace. During our day trips we trekked around the park either on our bikes, on foot, or in the back of the truck. We climbed mountains, walked through rain forests
, watched some guys repair a bridge
, and chased around zebras-among other things. We had a lot of fun...except one afternoon.
One day we biked about 30 km from Chelinda to climb a mountain in the northeast section of the park. We arrived around mid-day and climbed to the top where we had a lunch of raw sweet potatoes.
From the top was a gorgeous view down the escarpment of the Rift Valley, and it was just clear enough that we could see Lake Malawi. We didn't stay up there too long because we wanted to leave ourselves with enough time to get home before dark. It was an easy ride going back. It was mostly downhill, as we were coming from one of the highest points in the entire country. The four of us got a little spread out so that I could only see the two in front of me when at the top of a hill. After riding for about a half hour, I was consistently looking back for Terrence behind me-I consistently didn't see him. At the same time, the other two were getting ahead of me so (in a bit of a hurry) I didn't wait up for the last guy. Eventually, I caught up to the two in front at a bridge crossing a little stream that was running full through a steep valley. We relaxed while drinking cold mountain water and waiting for the slow poke to get down there. He didn't arrive.
By that time, we had only covered about 10 km, with 20 km more to go to reach Chelinda. After waiting for Terrence for a half hour, we decided that one of us should go back to look for the straggler. We were thinking that he either hurt himself so that he couldn't ride his bike or he was having problems with his bike (hopefully just a flat tire, which we could've easily fixed). Greg rode his bike back up out of the valley with the tool kit and some water. We were becoming even more spread out as it was getting colder and later in the day and no way to communicate with each other.
Enrique and I waited in the valley for another half hour, with no sign of the two of them. By this time it was 4:30 (sun sets around 6), and we still had 20 km to cover. Any heat in the mountain air was quickly fading away as the sun got lower in the sky. The other guys at least had long sleeve shirts, but I only had on a tee-shirt and shorts. For this reason, Enrique and I decided that it made most sense for me to head back to camp and look for help (for all we knew, Terrence could have broken his neck or been abducted by poachers-but we had no way of knowing, and the sun wasn't going to wait for us to figure it all out). I sped to Chelinda, trying not to crash my own bike going down the rugged trail. I rolled into camp with just enough light to avoid the potholes and crevasses on the poorly maintained trail. Luckily (again), I found our limey (a new term that I learned that means British person) host right away, and I explained the situation. It was obvious that the only thing we were going to do was take his Land Rover out to try and find the guys.
About 5 km out of camp, we saw a set of bike reflectors in the distance. As we pulled up, I was excited to see Terrence pushing his bike down the road in the dark, but one thing wasn't right-he was alone. With a big smile on his face, he was happy to see us as well. I asked him where the other two were, and he responded, "What other guys?" I quickly realized that he was completely fine, and the problem was that he took a wrong turn somewhere. He explained that he hadn't seen anyone else all afternoon, and that he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere early on. He figured that we would just continue back to camp without him so he didn't try to backtrack once he realized he had taken a wrong turn. However, we did make an effort to try and find him, and two of us were still out in the middle of nowhere looking for him. He jumped in the back of the truck with his bike, and we continued on, looking for the other two.
I figured they would be together by that time somewhere near the bridge. We went in that direction and eventually found them together, pushing their bikes through the darkness. Understandably, they weren't in a good mood, and it was funny (to me) to watch them drill Terrence with questions about the hell he had been up to and Terrence answering bashfully. By the time we got back to the cabin, everyone was happy again because there was a fire, hot dinner, and wine waiting for us. Plus, we had a great story to tell.
Eventually we had to leave, and leaving Nyika turned out to be just as difficult as getting there, although this time we were going down the plateau instead of up it. The limely helped us out again by offering to bring our bikes back to Mzuzu, a small city (big town?) in northern Malawi that we pass through a lot, and where it would be easy to pick up the bikes. It made sense for us to ditch the bikes, assuming we had the opportunity, because there are two ways to get off the plateau. We could have gone out the way we came in on our bikes. This would have taken two days to get back to Mzuzu. The other option, which we chose, was to hike down the escarpment and somehow find a ride back to Mzuzu. The advantage to this second option was that there was a chance (not a good one) that we could get back to Mzuzu in one day. Wanting to see something new and always in a hurry, we chose to hike out.
The limey's generosity didn't stop. He gave us a ride to the end of the trail early in the morning. This shaved about three hours off our hike. We were now on our own, the three of us hiking down the mountain, in the cold fog, on a lightly used trail that was difficult to navigate. As we descended, it got hot fast. The trail was rugged and slippery, and sarcastic jokes were made about why we didn't bring our bikes along. It was exciting later in the morning when we saw a sign of civilization, terracing on the mountain. It was even more exciting when we saw a road in the distance. But the road was still a long ways off. We didn't reach the road until the early afternoon, and we had to walk a ways before we had any chance of finding some kind of vehicle. Eventually, we made it to a small village where it was market day where there were a few trucks waiting to take the vendors home, but none of them were going in a direction that was convenient for us so we had a few warm Fantas and discussed the situation. Someone spotted a big truck filled with coal (this village is near a big mining operation) and we went over to ask if they could help us at all. Fortunately (again), they were going straight to Mzuzu that evening, and they agreed to let us ride with them (two in the back on top of all the coal and two in the cab).
Driving with a load of over 30 tons (on two trailers) up over a mountain range on a poorly maintained road at the end of the rainy season isn't easy. The glassy eyed driver managed to get us all out alive, and by dusk we were on the main paved road. This was a relief until I realized that the truck didn't have any headlights (or maybe it did, but I have heard that Malawian drivers have a belief that it saves gas to leave the lights off). On coming cars could see our running lights, but we couldn't see ten feet in front of us. I was sure that this was the point that our luck was going to run dry, but we somehow managed to get to Mzuzu alive. We spent the rest of the night drinking cold beer and retelling our adventures to anyone that was willing to listen.
"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts." Rachel Carson
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Pictures
I can't think of anything interesting to write about, but I do have some halfway interesting pictures to share. Check 'em out
This is what it looked like behind our house at the beginning of January. As you can see, we planted maize (that's "corn" to us Americans-in case you didn't know), beans, pumpkins, and sunflowers. With the plentiful rains that we are having this time of year, these crops are growing fast. This is what it looked like by mid-February.
But this little garden is tiny compared to the half acre field that we have.
Here you can see most of the soy beans and groundnuts (peanuts) that we planted together. To the left, you can see the side of the section with maize and beans planted together. Ya'll know that I don't like to brag, but there is much more to it than you can see. I couldn't fit all of our crops into one pic, as there are a few ridges of sweet potatoes off to the right. We've already started harvesting some of the beans. We should start harvesting the groundnuts, sweet potatoes, and soybeans next month, but the maize will have to wait until April. It was a lot of work to do all of this, although I had a lot of help from the boys that live with me (the one that isn't going to school right now did at least 50% of the work). However, it looks like all of our work will be worthwhile as we should have a good harvest. We will have more than the three of us can eat by ourselves so we will be giving lot's of gifts to our friends (the most common type of gift to receive in the village is fresh produce since that's all most people have to offer). I contemplated selling some of the perishable stuff, especially the sweet potatoes, which should fill an entire oxcart, but we'll be better off just trading/sharing it with everyone else. Plus, as a PCV, I not really allowed to sell stuff.
The took the new pic at the top of this web page from the top of a little mountain that is about 3km to the south of my house. Nowadays, in the second half of the rainy season, things are very green and beautiful. This little mountain provides a nice view of things, and I'm pretty sure that I can see all the way into Mozambique. The mountains in the backgroud are in Malawi, off to the southeast.
This is Crispin. Crispin is the son of the deputy headmaster (aka assistant principle) at my school. They live next door, and Crispin comes over to my house daily to discuss deep issues such as the meaning of life, strategies for development in Malawi, and the future of the United States as the global leader. His favorite question is "Ichi ndi chiyani?" ("What is this?"), and I respond for the fifth time, "Ndakuwuzani khale, icho ndi ndowa" ("I already told you, it's a bucket"). In this way he is no different than any other todler, asking lot's of questions. Last year he had a habit of throwing a big hissy fit in his house next door at around 8 when I would be trying to go to bed. Thankfully, he has mellowed out a bit this year, and he is turning into a fine young man (it must be the influence of the big white man next door).
That's all I got for today. A two week term break has just started, and tomorrow I'm headed up north to some seedy resthouse where a buddy of mine is having a birthday party-it should be interesting.
This is what it looked like behind our house at the beginning of January. As you can see, we planted maize (that's "corn" to us Americans-in case you didn't know), beans, pumpkins, and sunflowers. With the plentiful rains that we are having this time of year, these crops are growing fast. This is what it looked like by mid-February.
But this little garden is tiny compared to the half acre field that we have.
Here you can see most of the soy beans and groundnuts (peanuts) that we planted together. To the left, you can see the side of the section with maize and beans planted together. Ya'll know that I don't like to brag, but there is much more to it than you can see. I couldn't fit all of our crops into one pic, as there are a few ridges of sweet potatoes off to the right. We've already started harvesting some of the beans. We should start harvesting the groundnuts, sweet potatoes, and soybeans next month, but the maize will have to wait until April. It was a lot of work to do all of this, although I had a lot of help from the boys that live with me (the one that isn't going to school right now did at least 50% of the work). However, it looks like all of our work will be worthwhile as we should have a good harvest. We will have more than the three of us can eat by ourselves so we will be giving lot's of gifts to our friends (the most common type of gift to receive in the village is fresh produce since that's all most people have to offer). I contemplated selling some of the perishable stuff, especially the sweet potatoes, which should fill an entire oxcart, but we'll be better off just trading/sharing it with everyone else. Plus, as a PCV, I not really allowed to sell stuff.
The took the new pic at the top of this web page from the top of a little mountain that is about 3km to the south of my house. Nowadays, in the second half of the rainy season, things are very green and beautiful. This little mountain provides a nice view of things, and I'm pretty sure that I can see all the way into Mozambique. The mountains in the backgroud are in Malawi, off to the southeast.
This is Crispin. Crispin is the son of the deputy headmaster (aka assistant principle) at my school. They live next door, and Crispin comes over to my house daily to discuss deep issues such as the meaning of life, strategies for development in Malawi, and the future of the United States as the global leader. His favorite question is "Ichi ndi chiyani?" ("What is this?"), and I respond for the fifth time, "Ndakuwuzani khale, icho ndi ndowa" ("I already told you, it's a bucket"). In this way he is no different than any other todler, asking lot's of questions. Last year he had a habit of throwing a big hissy fit in his house next door at around 8 when I would be trying to go to bed. Thankfully, he has mellowed out a bit this year, and he is turning into a fine young man (it must be the influence of the big white man next door).
That's all I got for today. A two week term break has just started, and tomorrow I'm headed up north to some seedy resthouse where a buddy of mine is having a birthday party-it should be interesting.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
The Second Time Around
In the same way that an adult perceives the world differently than a child, I now perceive Malawi as a completely different place compared to a year ago. In general, things haven’t really changed since last January. We have gone through a full cycle of seasons, the same problems of hunger; poverty; and disease are still obvious (will they always be?); and most people still appear fairly content with the way things are. Although this place hasn’t changed much, I certainly have.
A year ago I was ignorant, concerned, and overwhelmed. Now I am aware, jaded, and bored. I have a better understanding of how things work (or fail to work) here, but this hasn’t helped me to fix any of the problems that I set out to fix in the beginning. Or maybe this has helped me tackle these problems more skillfully, but from the start, the problems were insurmountable. I shouldn’t be completely negative; there have been small successes. It is these small steps forward that I need to learn to appreciate-the big steps forward don’t seem to come around too often.
One thing I am slightly ashamed of is my lack of enthusiasm these days. I recall writing on this blog last year that I was waking up excited for the beginning of each day-for a chance to make some kind of a difference. I can’t say that I wake up with this excitement any longer. Lately, I seem to be simply going through the motions. This isn’t such a bad thing-going through the motions of life-lots of decent people float through their entire lives in this manner. But I can’t ignore the daily hollowness that I feel. I don’t think this is a result of the circumstances that I am living under. Rather, I think it is a personal issue that needs to be fixed by me personally. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to change all this, but I’ll think of something. I always have in the past.
I now think of myself less as a Peace Corps Volunteer and more as just a regular dude living in a foreign country. A year ago, I was very aware of my duties as a PCV and the advice I had been given to fulfill these duties. At the time, this mindset was essential to “getting my feet wet” here in Malawi and allowing me to be where I am at now without any major hiccups. I have found that now, especially when I’m at home in Chadabwa, I can go full days without even thinking about the Peace Corps and other things related to it. I’m now able to think about things from an independent view, and for better or for worse, this has given me a better understanding of the way this world turns (although I still feel that this understanding has only scratched the surface of things). Certainly, I have grown up quickly here. This is something that I haven’t really thought about until recently. I have never had so much freedom and responsibility (or maybe it is instead a complete lack of responsibility because there are no consequences to failure when I am in a setting where failure is commonplace) in my entire life. This has forced me to define myself as an adult and set standards that I will want to live up to for the rest of my life.
When I get together with the friends that I came here with back in September ’08, a common topic of conversation is “Which of us has changed the most? How have we changed?” I have felt, and been made aware of by others, my own personal change, but what amazes me is how my perception of the world is completely different. I look out the window and notice finer points that I hadn’t been aware of before. I hear things that I couldn’t understand or weren’t as meaningful before. I now know things which have removed the glare of life’s silver lining (There’s a handicap woman in the village across the street. She often gets raped in the fields nearby her home. She has multiple children with unknown fathers. As you can imagine, it is difficult for her to feed and clothe them.).
Do not let all this whining and moaning let you down. Bryan is doing just fine. I think that 2010 will be just as good as 2009, if not better. Although I don’t think I will go through as much “personal growth” this year, I’m sure that I will have an entirely new perception of things a year from now. I am still seeing and doing a lot of interesting things. Here I have met many fascinating people that I will never forget.
"'Always in life an idea starts small, it is only a sapling idea, but the vines will come and they will try to choke your idea so it cannot grow and it will die and you will never know you had a big idea, an idea so big it could have grown thirty meters through the dark canopy of leaves and touched the face of the sky.[]The vines are people who are afraid of originality, of new thinking. Most people you encounter will be vines; when you are a young plant they are very dangerous.[] Always listen to yourself…” Bryce Courtenay
A year ago I was ignorant, concerned, and overwhelmed. Now I am aware, jaded, and bored. I have a better understanding of how things work (or fail to work) here, but this hasn’t helped me to fix any of the problems that I set out to fix in the beginning. Or maybe this has helped me tackle these problems more skillfully, but from the start, the problems were insurmountable. I shouldn’t be completely negative; there have been small successes. It is these small steps forward that I need to learn to appreciate-the big steps forward don’t seem to come around too often.
One thing I am slightly ashamed of is my lack of enthusiasm these days. I recall writing on this blog last year that I was waking up excited for the beginning of each day-for a chance to make some kind of a difference. I can’t say that I wake up with this excitement any longer. Lately, I seem to be simply going through the motions. This isn’t such a bad thing-going through the motions of life-lots of decent people float through their entire lives in this manner. But I can’t ignore the daily hollowness that I feel. I don’t think this is a result of the circumstances that I am living under. Rather, I think it is a personal issue that needs to be fixed by me personally. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to change all this, but I’ll think of something. I always have in the past.
I now think of myself less as a Peace Corps Volunteer and more as just a regular dude living in a foreign country. A year ago, I was very aware of my duties as a PCV and the advice I had been given to fulfill these duties. At the time, this mindset was essential to “getting my feet wet” here in Malawi and allowing me to be where I am at now without any major hiccups. I have found that now, especially when I’m at home in Chadabwa, I can go full days without even thinking about the Peace Corps and other things related to it. I’m now able to think about things from an independent view, and for better or for worse, this has given me a better understanding of the way this world turns (although I still feel that this understanding has only scratched the surface of things). Certainly, I have grown up quickly here. This is something that I haven’t really thought about until recently. I have never had so much freedom and responsibility (or maybe it is instead a complete lack of responsibility because there are no consequences to failure when I am in a setting where failure is commonplace) in my entire life. This has forced me to define myself as an adult and set standards that I will want to live up to for the rest of my life.
When I get together with the friends that I came here with back in September ’08, a common topic of conversation is “Which of us has changed the most? How have we changed?” I have felt, and been made aware of by others, my own personal change, but what amazes me is how my perception of the world is completely different. I look out the window and notice finer points that I hadn’t been aware of before. I hear things that I couldn’t understand or weren’t as meaningful before. I now know things which have removed the glare of life’s silver lining (There’s a handicap woman in the village across the street. She often gets raped in the fields nearby her home. She has multiple children with unknown fathers. As you can imagine, it is difficult for her to feed and clothe them.).
Do not let all this whining and moaning let you down. Bryan is doing just fine. I think that 2010 will be just as good as 2009, if not better. Although I don’t think I will go through as much “personal growth” this year, I’m sure that I will have an entirely new perception of things a year from now. I am still seeing and doing a lot of interesting things. Here I have met many fascinating people that I will never forget.
"'Always in life an idea starts small, it is only a sapling idea, but the vines will come and they will try to choke your idea so it cannot grow and it will die and you will never know you had a big idea, an idea so big it could have grown thirty meters through the dark canopy of leaves and touched the face of the sky.[]The vines are people who are afraid of originality, of new thinking. Most people you encounter will be vines; when you are a young plant they are very dangerous.[] Always listen to yourself…” Bryce Courtenay
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
A Day in the Life of Bryan
So my life has settled into a bit of a routine, not anything I want to hold on to (I mean the routine, not my life), and I thought that it may, or may not, be interesting for you to hear about this.
These days I wake at about 4:30. Although during the winter months (May-August) it's usually past five, I awake when it is light enough to see the road so that I can go for a run. My runs aren't as intense, varied, or long as they used to be; I run between 35-45 minutes, and there are exactly four different paths that I have been using. Back home, I didn't run first thing in the morning very often, but here it makes a lot of sense for a variety of reasons: it gets hot in the middle of the day this close to the equator, I have plenty of other things to do the rest of the day, and most importantly-there are less hecklers and gawkers early in the morning (although this doesn't hold true these days when everyone is in the fields taking advantage of the breif rainy season). I found that this is an excellent way to start my day, and I always feel slugish for the rest of the day if I can't summon the inspiration to get out the door and run at the crack of dawn.
Here in the village we don't have any fancy technology to provide running and hot water. Instead, we take cold bucket baths. By now, I am used to this, but during the cold season, especially July and August, this was a fridged esperience. I always took advantage of my elevated body temperature after running by quickly jumping into the bafa (room where bucket bathing takes place). Then, I scurry back into the house and quickly throw on my school clothes-scuffed Timberland boots, khaki pants, and a short sleeve plaid shirt (typical)- to quell the shivering. In the meantime, one of the boys is cooking breakfast. I study Chichewa, correct homework, or just listen to the radio while I wait for the food. The three of us then eat a simple breakfast-usually maize flour porrige (phala). I make the short walk to school by 7, in plenty of time for the first period at 7:30.
I will be honest. School has become a bit monotonous as of late. However, the monotony really only gets to me on days when I'm not teaching very much, just sitting in the office planning lessons with heavy eyelids. So I try to spend a lot of time in the classroom when there are free periods available. This way the day goes by faster and I'm doing what I'm here to do-teach. I certainly don't dislike my day job (although I don't see myself making a career of teaching in high schools); I'm proud of what I am doing here, and there are plenty of moments that make it all worth while.
For the first half of last school year, classes ended at 3:30. In the middle of these never-ending school days was a 90-minute lunch break. 90 minutes was necessary for preparing, cooking, and eating lunch. The problem was that most people didn't eat lunch either because they lived too far away or they didn't have any food to cook. Also, many students did go home for lunch, and they just wouldn't return for afternoon classes. In the middle of the year, I started a campaign to do away with this lunch break altogether because it mostly entailed about 25% of the people actually eating lunch while the other 75% just waited around the school or wandered home. It was easy to convince the staff for us to make the change. Most of them already felt this way, and none of the other schools in the area have a true lunch break. I brought it up during one of the staff meetings, we quickly changed the timetable, and nowadays (thank God) the last period ends at 2:15. At this time, I tie up any loose ends at the office-manning the library, answering students questions, doing any urgent lesson planning or homework correcting, or supervising any estracirricular activities. I’m usually out the door well before 3.
As most of you know, I like to eat. I’m usually starving by the time I get home, but it doesn’t make much sense for us to have a big lunch this late in the day since, in this culture, a big dinner is mandatory. So we just whip together something quick-roasted maize or peanuts-and then get on with the rest of the afternoon.
On weekdays, the late afternoon is easily my favorite time of day because I get to do whatever the heck I want. These past two months, I have been going to the field a lot, taking care of the crops with the boys. Other typical afternoon activities include: reading (for fun), grading homework, lesson planning, chopping firewood, napping, drinking homemade wine and chatting with locals, or washing clothes.
The range in sunset times is much less dramatic than it is in Minnesota since we are so close to the equator. In the winter months, it gets dark a little before six, and these days it’s about 6:30. Since I was a little kid I always have enjoyed staying up late. But here, in the village without any electricity, my body shuts down pretty fast. As with breakfast, we usually eat together around the table. Dinner usually consists of a big carbohydrate dish and something else on the side. About 80% of the time the carb is nsima (the staple of most East African diets which is make from maize flour, tastes very simple and bland, and looks similar to mashed potatoes (but certainly doesn’t taste like them)). The other 20% of the time the main dish is either rice or spaghetti (the latter is the boys’ new favorite food, which they had never eaten before I entered their lives). Our common side dishes, from most common on down, are as follows: some type of boiled greens, beans, soupy fish, soupy meat, and a popular dish make from processed soya that is supposed to (and kind of does) taste like meat. This food certainly isn’t as good and varied as the stuff in the States, but I have grown to like it. We like to listen to the radio while eating dinner in order to catch the evening news. We chat for a little while afterwards, and I read a few pages of whatever book I am reading at the time. I’m in bed pretty fast, usually between 8 and 9. It’s nice to have a natural rythym of going to sleep and waking with the sun. However, I couldn’t sleep like this in America-with all the electricity around.
Well, I’m not sure if that was worth your time to read or not, but that’s my life in Peace Corps. It will be intense to come back to the rat-race we call America about a year from now. Tomorrow, I’m headed to the lake to relax with some friends over Christmas. Happy Holidays everyone. Be safe-Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do (that should give you plenty of leeway).
"If America taught me anything, it's that quitting is right up there with pissing in the Girl Scouts' lemonade jar." Khaled Hosseini
These days I wake at about 4:30. Although during the winter months (May-August) it's usually past five, I awake when it is light enough to see the road so that I can go for a run. My runs aren't as intense, varied, or long as they used to be; I run between 35-45 minutes, and there are exactly four different paths that I have been using. Back home, I didn't run first thing in the morning very often, but here it makes a lot of sense for a variety of reasons: it gets hot in the middle of the day this close to the equator, I have plenty of other things to do the rest of the day, and most importantly-there are less hecklers and gawkers early in the morning (although this doesn't hold true these days when everyone is in the fields taking advantage of the breif rainy season). I found that this is an excellent way to start my day, and I always feel slugish for the rest of the day if I can't summon the inspiration to get out the door and run at the crack of dawn.
Here in the village we don't have any fancy technology to provide running and hot water. Instead, we take cold bucket baths. By now, I am used to this, but during the cold season, especially July and August, this was a fridged esperience. I always took advantage of my elevated body temperature after running by quickly jumping into the bafa (room where bucket bathing takes place). Then, I scurry back into the house and quickly throw on my school clothes-scuffed Timberland boots, khaki pants, and a short sleeve plaid shirt (typical)- to quell the shivering. In the meantime, one of the boys is cooking breakfast. I study Chichewa, correct homework, or just listen to the radio while I wait for the food. The three of us then eat a simple breakfast-usually maize flour porrige (phala). I make the short walk to school by 7, in plenty of time for the first period at 7:30.
I will be honest. School has become a bit monotonous as of late. However, the monotony really only gets to me on days when I'm not teaching very much, just sitting in the office planning lessons with heavy eyelids. So I try to spend a lot of time in the classroom when there are free periods available. This way the day goes by faster and I'm doing what I'm here to do-teach. I certainly don't dislike my day job (although I don't see myself making a career of teaching in high schools); I'm proud of what I am doing here, and there are plenty of moments that make it all worth while.
For the first half of last school year, classes ended at 3:30. In the middle of these never-ending school days was a 90-minute lunch break. 90 minutes was necessary for preparing, cooking, and eating lunch. The problem was that most people didn't eat lunch either because they lived too far away or they didn't have any food to cook. Also, many students did go home for lunch, and they just wouldn't return for afternoon classes. In the middle of the year, I started a campaign to do away with this lunch break altogether because it mostly entailed about 25% of the people actually eating lunch while the other 75% just waited around the school or wandered home. It was easy to convince the staff for us to make the change. Most of them already felt this way, and none of the other schools in the area have a true lunch break. I brought it up during one of the staff meetings, we quickly changed the timetable, and nowadays (thank God) the last period ends at 2:15. At this time, I tie up any loose ends at the office-manning the library, answering students questions, doing any urgent lesson planning or homework correcting, or supervising any estracirricular activities. I’m usually out the door well before 3.
As most of you know, I like to eat. I’m usually starving by the time I get home, but it doesn’t make much sense for us to have a big lunch this late in the day since, in this culture, a big dinner is mandatory. So we just whip together something quick-roasted maize or peanuts-and then get on with the rest of the afternoon.
On weekdays, the late afternoon is easily my favorite time of day because I get to do whatever the heck I want. These past two months, I have been going to the field a lot, taking care of the crops with the boys. Other typical afternoon activities include: reading (for fun), grading homework, lesson planning, chopping firewood, napping, drinking homemade wine and chatting with locals, or washing clothes.
The range in sunset times is much less dramatic than it is in Minnesota since we are so close to the equator. In the winter months, it gets dark a little before six, and these days it’s about 6:30. Since I was a little kid I always have enjoyed staying up late. But here, in the village without any electricity, my body shuts down pretty fast. As with breakfast, we usually eat together around the table. Dinner usually consists of a big carbohydrate dish and something else on the side. About 80% of the time the carb is nsima (the staple of most East African diets which is make from maize flour, tastes very simple and bland, and looks similar to mashed potatoes (but certainly doesn’t taste like them)). The other 20% of the time the main dish is either rice or spaghetti (the latter is the boys’ new favorite food, which they had never eaten before I entered their lives). Our common side dishes, from most common on down, are as follows: some type of boiled greens, beans, soupy fish, soupy meat, and a popular dish make from processed soya that is supposed to (and kind of does) taste like meat. This food certainly isn’t as good and varied as the stuff in the States, but I have grown to like it. We like to listen to the radio while eating dinner in order to catch the evening news. We chat for a little while afterwards, and I read a few pages of whatever book I am reading at the time. I’m in bed pretty fast, usually between 8 and 9. It’s nice to have a natural rythym of going to sleep and waking with the sun. However, I couldn’t sleep like this in America-with all the electricity around.
Well, I’m not sure if that was worth your time to read or not, but that’s my life in Peace Corps. It will be intense to come back to the rat-race we call America about a year from now. Tomorrow, I’m headed to the lake to relax with some friends over Christmas. Happy Holidays everyone. Be safe-Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do (that should give you plenty of leeway).
"If America taught me anything, it's that quitting is right up there with pissing in the Girl Scouts' lemonade jar." Khaled Hosseini
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
CampSky Reflections
(If you don't understand what I mean by "CampSky," please refer back to previous entries.)
All in all, I felt the camp was a huge success. It was one of the more meaningful things I have done in my life, and there were multiple times where the whole scene gave me goose bumps. One of the boys that lives with me was there, and every time one of his friends asks him how the camp was, he starts giggling for about five seconds before he can compose himself enough to explain how much he enjoyed it.
In years past, the camp was about two weeks long. However, this year-due to school calendar changes and other BS that we had to deal with- we were forced to shorten it to six days. When starting to plan for the camp, we expected to have 12 days to work with. Later on, the number of days was cut in half, and instead of also cutting the activities in half, we just crammed them into those six days. This meant that we were constantly busy running around doing different things from 5:30am to 10pm every day. At first the students grumbled about the fast pace, but then they agreed with me when I told them that we have to take advantage of the fact that we have electricity at the camp. I told them we can sleep when we return home to the village, with total darkness at night.
So what did the students do at the camp? Every morning was spent in the classroom until lunch time. The topics learned about were similar to what they learn about at their respective schools, but here they had access to better resources and teachers that actually knew what they were talking about. The afternoons consisted of a wide range of activities ranging from Peace Corpish skills training (jam, peanut butter, and soap making; composting; planting tree nurseries, etc.) to Karate to elective classes on unfamiliar topics such as human rights, budgeting, and natural medicines. One afternoon we also went to two places near Lilongwe city. First, we went to the Lilongwe International Airport. Of coarse, the two (no typo) flights that were coming in that afternoon were late, but it was well worth the 90 minute wait to see the amazement on the students faces when the hundred ton hunk of metal gracefully fell from the sky. Immediately after the plane landed, we spotted another flying in, getting ready to land. At an airport that only has about five international flights coming or going on any given day, we were lucky enough to see two land at about the same time. Soon after the second plane landed, we had to rush off to our next destination. When we first arrived at the airport I started a rumor that we were going to America. The students were a bit let down when they realized this was a lie. Our next destination was the Hastings Kamuzu Banda mausoleum. For those of you who aren't Malawian history buffs, Banda was the first president (dictator) of Malawi. He is a national hero to most Malawians that I know, and the students were very interested to look at the monument. We didn't spend a lot of time there, but it was a decent evening activity before dinner.
The only regret I have is that I wasn't able to teach at all. I was always busy taking care of logistical issues such as food, security, and transportation. All this was good experience for me since I had never been in this kind of leadership role before. Still, if I'm a part of the camp next year, I will just be a teacher. Someone else can be the bad guy-yelling at everyone and taking responsibility for all the problems.
Lastly, I certainly shouldn't forget to thank all of you that donated money to make this camp possible. One thing that I have learned over this past year is that lots of donor money is wasted/mishandled in developing countries. However, I can confidently say that your money was well spent-empowering the future leaders of Malawi.
"It is when we try to grapple with another man's intimate need that we perceive how incomprehensible, wavering, and misty are the beings that share with us the sight of the stars and the warmth of the sun." Joseph Conrad
All in all, I felt the camp was a huge success. It was one of the more meaningful things I have done in my life, and there were multiple times where the whole scene gave me goose bumps. One of the boys that lives with me was there, and every time one of his friends asks him how the camp was, he starts giggling for about five seconds before he can compose himself enough to explain how much he enjoyed it.
In years past, the camp was about two weeks long. However, this year-due to school calendar changes and other BS that we had to deal with- we were forced to shorten it to six days. When starting to plan for the camp, we expected to have 12 days to work with. Later on, the number of days was cut in half, and instead of also cutting the activities in half, we just crammed them into those six days. This meant that we were constantly busy running around doing different things from 5:30am to 10pm every day. At first the students grumbled about the fast pace, but then they agreed with me when I told them that we have to take advantage of the fact that we have electricity at the camp. I told them we can sleep when we return home to the village, with total darkness at night.
So what did the students do at the camp? Every morning was spent in the classroom until lunch time. The topics learned about were similar to what they learn about at their respective schools, but here they had access to better resources and teachers that actually knew what they were talking about. The afternoons consisted of a wide range of activities ranging from Peace Corpish skills training (jam, peanut butter, and soap making; composting; planting tree nurseries, etc.) to Karate to elective classes on unfamiliar topics such as human rights, budgeting, and natural medicines. One afternoon we also went to two places near Lilongwe city. First, we went to the Lilongwe International Airport. Of coarse, the two (no typo) flights that were coming in that afternoon were late, but it was well worth the 90 minute wait to see the amazement on the students faces when the hundred ton hunk of metal gracefully fell from the sky. Immediately after the plane landed, we spotted another flying in, getting ready to land. At an airport that only has about five international flights coming or going on any given day, we were lucky enough to see two land at about the same time. Soon after the second plane landed, we had to rush off to our next destination. When we first arrived at the airport I started a rumor that we were going to America. The students were a bit let down when they realized this was a lie. Our next destination was the Hastings Kamuzu Banda mausoleum. For those of you who aren't Malawian history buffs, Banda was the first president (dictator) of Malawi. He is a national hero to most Malawians that I know, and the students were very interested to look at the monument. We didn't spend a lot of time there, but it was a decent evening activity before dinner.
The only regret I have is that I wasn't able to teach at all. I was always busy taking care of logistical issues such as food, security, and transportation. All this was good experience for me since I had never been in this kind of leadership role before. Still, if I'm a part of the camp next year, I will just be a teacher. Someone else can be the bad guy-yelling at everyone and taking responsibility for all the problems.
Lastly, I certainly shouldn't forget to thank all of you that donated money to make this camp possible. One thing that I have learned over this past year is that lots of donor money is wasted/mishandled in developing countries. However, I can confidently say that your money was well spent-empowering the future leaders of Malawi.
"It is when we try to grapple with another man's intimate need that we perceive how incomprehensible, wavering, and misty are the beings that share with us the sight of the stars and the warmth of the sun." Joseph Conrad
Monday, November 9, 2009
Nsanje
I have been wanting to write about this for a while, and now I have collected my thoughts and found time to write something coherent about this cultural blemish.
A few months ago I visited a village called Nyamazani, and I was amazed by what I saw. This village is strikingly different compared to most of the other rural settlements in this area. Most of the houses have roofs made of iron sheets, it appeared that almost every family has their own oxcart, there are a variety of fruit trees throughout the area, and the place is crowded with goats; pigs; and cattle. On the other hand, in my village (as with most of the villages in this area) most of the houses have roofs thatched with grass, the entire village shares two oxcarts, we enjoy cutting down trees before they can reach ten feet, and only one family is raising cattle; two are raising pigs; and a handful keep goats. Clearly the standard of living is mush higher in Nyamazani, and I wanted to figure out why.
To begin with, there are tribal differences. The largest tribe in Malawi, concentrated in the central and southern regions, is the Chewa. In my area, most of the people belong to this tribe, we speak this language (Chichewa), and the leadership-village headmen/women, chiefs, and members of parliament-belong to the Chewa tribe. However, the village of Nyamazani is a small pocket of a different tribe of people, the Ngoni. The Ngoni are descendents of the great Zulu tribe in the area of what is now the Republic of South Africa. The tree pillars of Ngoni culture, as any Ngoni is happy to tell you, are meat; women; and beer. In spite of this, they do seem to have their act together, especially when compared to the impoverished Chewa.
There is a controlled experiment set up here. We have an independent variable-the Ngoni tribe in Nyamazani and the Chewa tribe in the rest of the area. We have a dependent variable-the Ngoni village has much greater material wealth than the surrounding Chewa villages. All the other variables are more or less constant/equal-these people have farmland of the same fertility, they deal with the same weather patterns, they have the exact same government leadership, etc. What is left is the fun part-to interpret the data. (Please excuse me for turning this into a science experiment-I am a nerd, and I just finished teaching the Scientific Method to my students.)
To do this, I went straight to the source-the people themselves. I asked a variety of different people from both sides the provocative question, “Why are the Ngoni so much better off?” To this question the typical response was: “Because they have more money.” I had to press further: “Why do they have more money?” To this second question there were two different, but not entirely exclusive, ideas. The first idea was that the Ngoni are simply harder workers than the Chewa. I feel the second idea explains the divide in wealth more deeply: The Chewa people tend to have more jealousy towards one another.
I have observed this jealousy firsthand, and I feel that it is one of the biggest problems this country (or more specifically-the central region of the country) is facing. I have to be aware of this because the people I interact with, or become friends with, are victims of jealousy. For example, I have a good friend who helps me with lots of different things such as maintenance around the house, development projects at the school and in the village, and learning various things about Chewa culture. People see him hanging around with the white man a lot, and perhaps they think I am giving him lots of different things. Therefore, he has felt a huge difference in the way the people in the community treat him. A few months ago, two of his goats were stolen, his old friends no longer talk with him, and he cannot rely upon other people for help as he did in the past. It is to the point where I feel uncomfortable talking to him in public because I know people are watching us with hatred in their eyes. All this is due to jealousy.
A handful of knowledgeable people have told me that this abundance of jealousy leads to laziness, theft, and a fear of spending money if you do have it. The first consequence, laziness, is certainly present here. I’m not sure whether or not laziness is a consequence of jealousy, but it certainly is a problem. I have been told by older people that this is something new. In the past, people were working very hard farming (which is the main source of income here), and then after the harvest in March and April they received the fruits of their labor. Apparently, nowadays things are different. The work ethic has faded away, and people are content with just barely surviving. Perhaps this is due to jealousy. There is no need to work hard and gain wealth if people will just hate you for it.
People also tell me that there is lot’s of theft due to jealousy. Another friend of mine, who typically spends all day-from 5AM to 6PM-in his enormous garden, and has plenty of produce and income to show for his hard work, had ten chickens stolen from him last month. It is not uncommon for well-to-do people in the village to be robbed on a regular basis. When I arrived here last December, I was surprised to see that very few people grow cassava (a crop that grows very will here, requires very few inputs, and gives a good profit) and raise pigs (another good source of income). I asked why, and I was always told that people are afraid to have these things because they are frequently stolen. Obviously, the theft here cannot be entirely contributed to jealousy, but it certainly is a contributing factor.
The last point is most interesting to me: People here are afraid to spend their money, or even to work hard to make money, because they know people will be jealous of them. This is less of a problem for me because, as a white man, I am expected to have lots of money (If only these people knew about the debt I have with my college loans). But for everyone else, you have four options if you do find yourself with a full wallet. One, you can find a new place to live, such as a city where wealth isn’t something that attracts as much attention. Two, you can keep the money without spending it. Three, you can spend the money on silly things or give it all away to your lazy relatives. Four, you can set up an alliance with you friends and family so that anyone that threatens to steal your things or show their jealousy towards you will be punished severely. I suppose there is a fifth option: you can work hard, buy nice things, be a good person, and then in the end feel the effects of everyone’s envy.
For the most part, Chichewa is a simple language to learn. In English, we have many synonyms, while in Chichewa there is the inverse of this-one word that means many different things. However, the English word “jealousy” can be translated into at least three different words in Chichewa: kaduka, nsanje, and njiru. To me, this isolated abundance of synonyms illustrates just how important (or prevalent) the idea of jealousy is in Chewa culture. These people have a hard enough time just to get by on a day-to-day basis. Having to be conscious, or fearful, of success certainly doesn’t help the situation. It doesn’t really encourage development either, which makes my job difficult.
“We’re one, but we’re not the same. We get to carry each other.” U2
A few months ago I visited a village called Nyamazani, and I was amazed by what I saw. This village is strikingly different compared to most of the other rural settlements in this area. Most of the houses have roofs made of iron sheets, it appeared that almost every family has their own oxcart, there are a variety of fruit trees throughout the area, and the place is crowded with goats; pigs; and cattle. On the other hand, in my village (as with most of the villages in this area) most of the houses have roofs thatched with grass, the entire village shares two oxcarts, we enjoy cutting down trees before they can reach ten feet, and only one family is raising cattle; two are raising pigs; and a handful keep goats. Clearly the standard of living is mush higher in Nyamazani, and I wanted to figure out why.
To begin with, there are tribal differences. The largest tribe in Malawi, concentrated in the central and southern regions, is the Chewa. In my area, most of the people belong to this tribe, we speak this language (Chichewa), and the leadership-village headmen/women, chiefs, and members of parliament-belong to the Chewa tribe. However, the village of Nyamazani is a small pocket of a different tribe of people, the Ngoni. The Ngoni are descendents of the great Zulu tribe in the area of what is now the Republic of South Africa. The tree pillars of Ngoni culture, as any Ngoni is happy to tell you, are meat; women; and beer. In spite of this, they do seem to have their act together, especially when compared to the impoverished Chewa.
There is a controlled experiment set up here. We have an independent variable-the Ngoni tribe in Nyamazani and the Chewa tribe in the rest of the area. We have a dependent variable-the Ngoni village has much greater material wealth than the surrounding Chewa villages. All the other variables are more or less constant/equal-these people have farmland of the same fertility, they deal with the same weather patterns, they have the exact same government leadership, etc. What is left is the fun part-to interpret the data. (Please excuse me for turning this into a science experiment-I am a nerd, and I just finished teaching the Scientific Method to my students.)
To do this, I went straight to the source-the people themselves. I asked a variety of different people from both sides the provocative question, “Why are the Ngoni so much better off?” To this question the typical response was: “Because they have more money.” I had to press further: “Why do they have more money?” To this second question there were two different, but not entirely exclusive, ideas. The first idea was that the Ngoni are simply harder workers than the Chewa. I feel the second idea explains the divide in wealth more deeply: The Chewa people tend to have more jealousy towards one another.
I have observed this jealousy firsthand, and I feel that it is one of the biggest problems this country (or more specifically-the central region of the country) is facing. I have to be aware of this because the people I interact with, or become friends with, are victims of jealousy. For example, I have a good friend who helps me with lots of different things such as maintenance around the house, development projects at the school and in the village, and learning various things about Chewa culture. People see him hanging around with the white man a lot, and perhaps they think I am giving him lots of different things. Therefore, he has felt a huge difference in the way the people in the community treat him. A few months ago, two of his goats were stolen, his old friends no longer talk with him, and he cannot rely upon other people for help as he did in the past. It is to the point where I feel uncomfortable talking to him in public because I know people are watching us with hatred in their eyes. All this is due to jealousy.
A handful of knowledgeable people have told me that this abundance of jealousy leads to laziness, theft, and a fear of spending money if you do have it. The first consequence, laziness, is certainly present here. I’m not sure whether or not laziness is a consequence of jealousy, but it certainly is a problem. I have been told by older people that this is something new. In the past, people were working very hard farming (which is the main source of income here), and then after the harvest in March and April they received the fruits of their labor. Apparently, nowadays things are different. The work ethic has faded away, and people are content with just barely surviving. Perhaps this is due to jealousy. There is no need to work hard and gain wealth if people will just hate you for it.
People also tell me that there is lot’s of theft due to jealousy. Another friend of mine, who typically spends all day-from 5AM to 6PM-in his enormous garden, and has plenty of produce and income to show for his hard work, had ten chickens stolen from him last month. It is not uncommon for well-to-do people in the village to be robbed on a regular basis. When I arrived here last December, I was surprised to see that very few people grow cassava (a crop that grows very will here, requires very few inputs, and gives a good profit) and raise pigs (another good source of income). I asked why, and I was always told that people are afraid to have these things because they are frequently stolen. Obviously, the theft here cannot be entirely contributed to jealousy, but it certainly is a contributing factor.
The last point is most interesting to me: People here are afraid to spend their money, or even to work hard to make money, because they know people will be jealous of them. This is less of a problem for me because, as a white man, I am expected to have lots of money (If only these people knew about the debt I have with my college loans). But for everyone else, you have four options if you do find yourself with a full wallet. One, you can find a new place to live, such as a city where wealth isn’t something that attracts as much attention. Two, you can keep the money without spending it. Three, you can spend the money on silly things or give it all away to your lazy relatives. Four, you can set up an alliance with you friends and family so that anyone that threatens to steal your things or show their jealousy towards you will be punished severely. I suppose there is a fifth option: you can work hard, buy nice things, be a good person, and then in the end feel the effects of everyone’s envy.
For the most part, Chichewa is a simple language to learn. In English, we have many synonyms, while in Chichewa there is the inverse of this-one word that means many different things. However, the English word “jealousy” can be translated into at least three different words in Chichewa: kaduka, nsanje, and njiru. To me, this isolated abundance of synonyms illustrates just how important (or prevalent) the idea of jealousy is in Chewa culture. These people have a hard enough time just to get by on a day-to-day basis. Having to be conscious, or fearful, of success certainly doesn’t help the situation. It doesn’t really encourage development either, which makes my job difficult.
“We’re one, but we’re not the same. We get to carry each other.” U2
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