Making the arduous bicycle journey back from Kawaza, after a lovely brunch at Wellesley’s, I noticed water drop marks all over the road. The sky was overcast as it had been for the past two days due to rains in the plateau. Lo and behold, four hours after I descended into the valley to melodious voices of church choirs, the first rains of my service pattered on this barren, parched landscape.
I am unsure as to why I’m so elated by the first rains. I’m no farmer, nor do I gain in any way from the rains. If anything, it makes my transport out of Mwazisi all the more difficult. Perhaps, I too have grown weary of the heat, the dryness that plagues both the body and soul, infected my psyche. One is constantly tired in the heat, unable and unwilling to undertake daily functions, taking up permanent residence on the bed.
No matter the reason, first rains have quenched my body, hydrated my soul, and in this moment I am happy. The sweet smell of rained earth, the overcast skies, the gentle breeze cooled by water, and the varying patter of raindrops on the tin roof.
Once the rains fall there is a sense of calm that blankets the village. In my joy I slipped on my wellies, grabbed an umbrella and explored my backyard. Stepping up on an old beehive to peek into the makeshift water tank, watching water course through the gutters into the tank. Observing the animals; some scurrying for shelter while others remaining indifferent, unmoved.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Quit Malawi!
I began reading Gandhi’s biography by his grandson about three weeks ago. Gandhi, by Rajmohan Gandhi. Since the first business training I conducted at Camp Sky two months ago, I have been preaching the importance of small business. Looking around Malawi one sees vast stretches of beautiful, fertile land where practically anything can grow bountifully. Yet perusing shop shelves one sees only import goods. Malawi is crowded with products from predominantly South Africa, India and China. In addition, all major businesses in Malawi are owned by Indians, and increasingly the Chinese.
The first part of my lectures always highlight this fact: when you buy something, look at the label and understand that money is leaving Malawi. Each time you buy a t-shirt or even a soda, that money goes to make a foreign country richer instead of Malawi.
Malawians have two misconceptions. First that goods made elsewhere are of higher quality than anything made in Malawi. Secondly, they have grown to believe that the Indians and Chinese are inherently smarter or better at business. Both tragic falsehoods that I pursue to eradicate in the course of lecture by example. The most straight forward example being the community income scenario by tracking a loaf of bread and having students explain the flow of money.
Beyond the simple issue of misconceptions, it goes beyond to a matter of national pride, and personal pride. This beautiful, bountiful country; virtually anything can be produced here. Yet the major outputs are maize, tobacco, and minor staples like cassava, sugar, and cotton. The maize is eaten, but produced using harmful fertilizers and hybrid seeds, all from Monsanto and other foreign corporations. Tobacco is bought at an astonishingly low price by major foreign tobacco companies, robbing the rural farmers, exported, processed into cigarettes, imported back and sold in Malawi. There is no reason these products can’t be manufactured in Malawi and no reason all businesses can’t be run by Malawians. The Indians and Chinese spotted opportunities that Malawians weren’t taking advantage of and profited. Unattended treasure will be taken.
Perhaps it was decades of colonial submission, generations of stifled growth with a British boot at the throat, and being told you are inferior, dumber because of what you believe and the color of your skin. Between the missionaries, traders and government officials Malawi didn’t stand a chance.
The nail in the coffin is the geographic placement of Malawi as a land locked country, with virtually no port access to goods. Today it still struggles under the duties and demands of Tanzania, Mozambique and Zambia. Plagued by constant fuel shortages and expensive goods, coupled with inflation, donor funding, and the snowball effect of the aforementioned matters, it’s akin to digging your own grave. A slow, torturous, fatal labor.
So how to unravel this situation? First fold is trying to inject national pride, and cultural pride, into students. Stop being passive, accepting what people say, stop accepting circumstances and believe in your own abilities. Reading Gandhi I was elated by the parallels between the Malawian struggle and Gandhi’s. Be it his fight in South Africa or India, the ideas of non-cooperation, Quit India, and especially the ideas of rejecting foreign cloth, strikes at the heart of the problem.
What the British Empire had accomplished almost a century ago has been emulated by a more subtle and silver-tongued capitalistic empire, under the auspices of globalization. British Reds replaced by the pinstriped uniforms of capital troops. Corporations are the new Empire and the fight for Malawi’s freedom, for personal freedom, is rooted in the ideals of non-cooperation. Quit India is in many ways the ideal template for a Quit Malawi movement. Between Monsanto, Coca Cola and Unilever, these three corporations control virtually every good in Malawi, from maize to water. A David versus Goliath battle, Malawi would have to non-violently cast a stone to be released from the clutches of these giants.
Gandhi adhered passionately with his life to the principle of the chakra. Many ridiculed such a simple idea. How can one fight the Empire with the simple task of spinning their own cloth? And later, how can one fight the Empire with salt? Yet he did. Gandhi was ahead of his time, he developed the art of non-violent warfare, developed the foundations of fighting empires, be it the British or Monsanto. Gandhi understood that the heart of the beast was fueled by money. Without money empires and corporations alike would shrivel and fade away. Ceasing cloth imports not only made Indian citizens more independent, but also reinvigorated an ancient part of the culture and economically withheld the wealth of the nation, at least parts pertaining to cloth, in India.
This is the same principle I try to instill in students, kids and adults alike. Malawi has grown accustomed and dependent on foreign goods, coupled with the effects of foreign aid. There is absolutely no reason these goods cannot be made in Malawi. Malawians are the most resourceful people I have met in my life, able to make the most out of the little they have. In my short time here, I too am learning this art form from the masters. Malawians are also smart, hard-working and incredibly skilled at not only agriculture but also understanding what is available locally and finding practical applications. Nothing goes to waste.
However, change is slow. It took Gandhi an entire lifetime to free the Indian mind, which still hasn’t been wholly achieved. Africa has had a much worse colonial experience than India, and the psyche in Malawi could take decades more to change, but it is happening. While the adults are too old to entertain new ideas, one sees it in students. Ideas of national pride, of taking back their country, experimenting new ideas, making goods locally, making their nation wealthier. Youthful exuberance is in their eyes, with a twinkling of fiery rebellion and fighting for a cause. Students understand these principles and, like the chakra, there is a basic solution to Malawi’s dilemma. One that not only liberates its economy, but also empowers the people and reignites a beautiful culture that is rapidly deteriorating under Western and corporate influence.
Clay pots were an essential part of life in Malawi. The process of making earthen pots was taught by parents to children and the craft was then passed down through generations. Some pots that remain are still beautiful and functioning. These pots when filled with water act as a sort of refrigerator. Today, you no longer find these pots with rare exceptions in the market. Upon further investigation you learn that very few people still know how to make them anymore. In the course of a few generations the craft practically vanished in my region and new generations opted to fully invest in tobacco and learn the ways of Western culture rather than learn “useless” pot making. Most of the earthen pots now in Malawi often come from Tanzania. An unfortunate shift in culture considering these pots sell for a premium in souvenir shops and even home decoration chains in the U.S. An art form lost to foreign tobacco, which has by now almost robbed the farmers barren. Most people finally understand this and regret not learning the skills of their forefathers, the knowledge of eras of survival, like earthen pots.
In light of this, there is hope on many fronts. I have poured all of my hopes not in students but the women’s group we formed with ten women in the community. I taught them basic business concepts and then discussed their ideas for small industries. We settled on two initial projects: oil pressing and jam making. Both were slow to gain momentum, but during the past two weeks were in full swing. I loaned the group money to purchase six tins of ground nuts, with the condition that they pay for two additional tins, and also purchased sugar, 200 ml bottles and fruit for jam. Concurrently, I taught basic accounting concepts to track their cash flow. So far I have been impressed with the initiative of the group, considering that women do so much here that for them to sacrifice time and money for these experimental projects is a major contribution. While I was away, the women shelled and prepped the nuts, which we so far only pressed a liter. This will be divided in to 30 ml sachets after processing and sold at Mkw. 20 each.
More interesting than oil is the jam project. The first day we made tomato jam for taste trials it was enormously popular among all tasters. The second jam day we sold out all seven bottles of tomato jam within the hour. The third jam day we made mango jam, our most delicious product yet, which sold at a premium to tomato, was again very successful. The women were excited and I am ecstatic for them. Jam, unlike oil, sells at a much higher margin because it is marketable in the boma, thus reaching a much larger audience of demand. Simple acts of adding value have produced numerous positive outcomes. Next week I will carry a few bottles to sell in Lilongwe and Mzuzu to get word out, as well as print labels and seek out facilities to refine the taste and increase the jam’s shelf-life. The important result of this, however, is that the women are happy and confident at the promising prospect of this new venture and I pray that is its growth is constant and sustainable. I don’t think I could bear to see the collapse of their hopes.
The community has been catching on to the women’s activities. With the sale and success of jam, suddenly everyone wants to jump on the band wagon. Crowd mentality is common, but hopefully the ideas and principles of the group come across: building confidence and national pride. Ideas can spread like bush fires if lit in the right places. Like a line of dominoes, only the first need be pushed and the rest left to forces out of your control. I steadfastly believe there is nothing Malawians can’t produce in Malawi that they currently massively consume from other countries. I also believe it can be done economically at a lower cost, unburdened by transport and tariffs. And most importantly I believe that small industry, like the chakra, is the key to Malawi gaining its financial independence and reigniting its national pride.
The first part of my lectures always highlight this fact: when you buy something, look at the label and understand that money is leaving Malawi. Each time you buy a t-shirt or even a soda, that money goes to make a foreign country richer instead of Malawi.
Malawians have two misconceptions. First that goods made elsewhere are of higher quality than anything made in Malawi. Secondly, they have grown to believe that the Indians and Chinese are inherently smarter or better at business. Both tragic falsehoods that I pursue to eradicate in the course of lecture by example. The most straight forward example being the community income scenario by tracking a loaf of bread and having students explain the flow of money.
Beyond the simple issue of misconceptions, it goes beyond to a matter of national pride, and personal pride. This beautiful, bountiful country; virtually anything can be produced here. Yet the major outputs are maize, tobacco, and minor staples like cassava, sugar, and cotton. The maize is eaten, but produced using harmful fertilizers and hybrid seeds, all from Monsanto and other foreign corporations. Tobacco is bought at an astonishingly low price by major foreign tobacco companies, robbing the rural farmers, exported, processed into cigarettes, imported back and sold in Malawi. There is no reason these products can’t be manufactured in Malawi and no reason all businesses can’t be run by Malawians. The Indians and Chinese spotted opportunities that Malawians weren’t taking advantage of and profited. Unattended treasure will be taken.
Perhaps it was decades of colonial submission, generations of stifled growth with a British boot at the throat, and being told you are inferior, dumber because of what you believe and the color of your skin. Between the missionaries, traders and government officials Malawi didn’t stand a chance.
The nail in the coffin is the geographic placement of Malawi as a land locked country, with virtually no port access to goods. Today it still struggles under the duties and demands of Tanzania, Mozambique and Zambia. Plagued by constant fuel shortages and expensive goods, coupled with inflation, donor funding, and the snowball effect of the aforementioned matters, it’s akin to digging your own grave. A slow, torturous, fatal labor.
So how to unravel this situation? First fold is trying to inject national pride, and cultural pride, into students. Stop being passive, accepting what people say, stop accepting circumstances and believe in your own abilities. Reading Gandhi I was elated by the parallels between the Malawian struggle and Gandhi’s. Be it his fight in South Africa or India, the ideas of non-cooperation, Quit India, and especially the ideas of rejecting foreign cloth, strikes at the heart of the problem.
What the British Empire had accomplished almost a century ago has been emulated by a more subtle and silver-tongued capitalistic empire, under the auspices of globalization. British Reds replaced by the pinstriped uniforms of capital troops. Corporations are the new Empire and the fight for Malawi’s freedom, for personal freedom, is rooted in the ideals of non-cooperation. Quit India is in many ways the ideal template for a Quit Malawi movement. Between Monsanto, Coca Cola and Unilever, these three corporations control virtually every good in Malawi, from maize to water. A David versus Goliath battle, Malawi would have to non-violently cast a stone to be released from the clutches of these giants.
Gandhi adhered passionately with his life to the principle of the chakra. Many ridiculed such a simple idea. How can one fight the Empire with the simple task of spinning their own cloth? And later, how can one fight the Empire with salt? Yet he did. Gandhi was ahead of his time, he developed the art of non-violent warfare, developed the foundations of fighting empires, be it the British or Monsanto. Gandhi understood that the heart of the beast was fueled by money. Without money empires and corporations alike would shrivel and fade away. Ceasing cloth imports not only made Indian citizens more independent, but also reinvigorated an ancient part of the culture and economically withheld the wealth of the nation, at least parts pertaining to cloth, in India.
This is the same principle I try to instill in students, kids and adults alike. Malawi has grown accustomed and dependent on foreign goods, coupled with the effects of foreign aid. There is absolutely no reason these goods cannot be made in Malawi. Malawians are the most resourceful people I have met in my life, able to make the most out of the little they have. In my short time here, I too am learning this art form from the masters. Malawians are also smart, hard-working and incredibly skilled at not only agriculture but also understanding what is available locally and finding practical applications. Nothing goes to waste.
However, change is slow. It took Gandhi an entire lifetime to free the Indian mind, which still hasn’t been wholly achieved. Africa has had a much worse colonial experience than India, and the psyche in Malawi could take decades more to change, but it is happening. While the adults are too old to entertain new ideas, one sees it in students. Ideas of national pride, of taking back their country, experimenting new ideas, making goods locally, making their nation wealthier. Youthful exuberance is in their eyes, with a twinkling of fiery rebellion and fighting for a cause. Students understand these principles and, like the chakra, there is a basic solution to Malawi’s dilemma. One that not only liberates its economy, but also empowers the people and reignites a beautiful culture that is rapidly deteriorating under Western and corporate influence.
Clay pots were an essential part of life in Malawi. The process of making earthen pots was taught by parents to children and the craft was then passed down through generations. Some pots that remain are still beautiful and functioning. These pots when filled with water act as a sort of refrigerator. Today, you no longer find these pots with rare exceptions in the market. Upon further investigation you learn that very few people still know how to make them anymore. In the course of a few generations the craft practically vanished in my region and new generations opted to fully invest in tobacco and learn the ways of Western culture rather than learn “useless” pot making. Most of the earthen pots now in Malawi often come from Tanzania. An unfortunate shift in culture considering these pots sell for a premium in souvenir shops and even home decoration chains in the U.S. An art form lost to foreign tobacco, which has by now almost robbed the farmers barren. Most people finally understand this and regret not learning the skills of their forefathers, the knowledge of eras of survival, like earthen pots.
In light of this, there is hope on many fronts. I have poured all of my hopes not in students but the women’s group we formed with ten women in the community. I taught them basic business concepts and then discussed their ideas for small industries. We settled on two initial projects: oil pressing and jam making. Both were slow to gain momentum, but during the past two weeks were in full swing. I loaned the group money to purchase six tins of ground nuts, with the condition that they pay for two additional tins, and also purchased sugar, 200 ml bottles and fruit for jam. Concurrently, I taught basic accounting concepts to track their cash flow. So far I have been impressed with the initiative of the group, considering that women do so much here that for them to sacrifice time and money for these experimental projects is a major contribution. While I was away, the women shelled and prepped the nuts, which we so far only pressed a liter. This will be divided in to 30 ml sachets after processing and sold at Mkw. 20 each.
More interesting than oil is the jam project. The first day we made tomato jam for taste trials it was enormously popular among all tasters. The second jam day we sold out all seven bottles of tomato jam within the hour. The third jam day we made mango jam, our most delicious product yet, which sold at a premium to tomato, was again very successful. The women were excited and I am ecstatic for them. Jam, unlike oil, sells at a much higher margin because it is marketable in the boma, thus reaching a much larger audience of demand. Simple acts of adding value have produced numerous positive outcomes. Next week I will carry a few bottles to sell in Lilongwe and Mzuzu to get word out, as well as print labels and seek out facilities to refine the taste and increase the jam’s shelf-life. The important result of this, however, is that the women are happy and confident at the promising prospect of this new venture and I pray that is its growth is constant and sustainable. I don’t think I could bear to see the collapse of their hopes.
The community has been catching on to the women’s activities. With the sale and success of jam, suddenly everyone wants to jump on the band wagon. Crowd mentality is common, but hopefully the ideas and principles of the group come across: building confidence and national pride. Ideas can spread like bush fires if lit in the right places. Like a line of dominoes, only the first need be pushed and the rest left to forces out of your control. I steadfastly believe there is nothing Malawians can’t produce in Malawi that they currently massively consume from other countries. I also believe it can be done economically at a lower cost, unburdened by transport and tariffs. And most importantly I believe that small industry, like the chakra, is the key to Malawi gaining its financial independence and reigniting its national pride.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
The Godfather Principle
It’s amusing to sit here in my house and meditate on how drastically my daily habits and circumstances have changed in Malawi. And how rapidly. From the routine of brushing my teeth, daily upkeep and getting around, it has all changed. For example, I can’t simply turn on a faucet and brush, I need to fetch water from the borehole, pour in a cup and brush. It’s as if some invisible hand tore down the curtains and moved all the set pieces off stage, leaving just me; the actor in my own life, to mime the remaining acts.
To be blunt, PCVs live like, for lack of a better phrase, hobos. Dirty, grungy, welcoming free food and a free place to stay, and hitching the only mode of transport. No wonder most of these volunteers dutifully own a copy of Jack Kerouac. While we don’t come close to Gandhinian sacrifices, and a caveat that we can leave anytime, we do live quite menially. Little income, about $200 a month (which would not suffice if we had families), no transport, lack of proper telecommunication, etc. It’s the life we signed for, took our oath for as volunteers. I was chatting with an Indian shop owner in Mzuzu and mentioned my monthly salary and he threw a fit, and then offered me a cold beverage and some food.
Contrasted to this my life back home was the polar opposite. Trading a penthouse overlooking Boston for a humble brick house currently level with a dry, dead landscape. A shiny Audi for hitching and usually boarding an unreliable, unsafe, dirty bed of a 2-ton truck for transport. A giant television with all the trimmings for a book by candlelight. Those things at home I never really took for granted, though I was fearfully beginning to. I do miss comforts afforded by America; the conveniences for the most part.
While the case for missing is valid in a material sense, perhaps wrongly reinforcing that money buys happiness, the missing is nonexistent in a human sense. And I would trade a material world for a more humane world any day. The people here are more wonderful and unconditionally caring towards strangers than anyone back home. A visitor is a blessing, for example when a friend visits from afar, a huge celebration takes place with music and dancing all day.
The give and take of relationships; be it favors, a cup of sugar, or a meal when you’re sick, is unconditional here. Wellesley and I were discussing how American relationships are a very zero-sum affair: debits credited, credits debited. If I give you a cup of sugar, culturally you feel obligated to someday return the favor with one of equal magnitude. Let’s call this the Godfather Principle. This principle is so ingrained in us that Wellesley and I can’t seem to shed its effects. When people in our villages do something for us, help us, we get restless and anxious, worrying about how we can pay them back or return the favor. Forever self-burdened unless we find a solution.
In Malawi, people do favors with no expectations for it to be returned in any way. They believe that if the circumstances were reversed, you would do the same in the situation. In many ways it’s like you are family by simply being in the community, where everyone cares for everyone.
Reading through this I should clarify that I’m not implying one culture is better or that one nation is better, which is never the case. Nor am I aggrandizing myself for leaving a life of comfort for the village, for that means nothing if I still long for material comforts and if large families in my village live on less than I make here a month. I’m simply pointing out the stark differences on the other side of the pond, entertaining my thoughts because it’s dark and there’s nothing else to do. This provokes a greater question: how did so many starkly different, intricate, beautiful cultures come in being?
Pardon, I have a candle-lit rendezvous with Jared Diamond…where is that book?
To be blunt, PCVs live like, for lack of a better phrase, hobos. Dirty, grungy, welcoming free food and a free place to stay, and hitching the only mode of transport. No wonder most of these volunteers dutifully own a copy of Jack Kerouac. While we don’t come close to Gandhinian sacrifices, and a caveat that we can leave anytime, we do live quite menially. Little income, about $200 a month (which would not suffice if we had families), no transport, lack of proper telecommunication, etc. It’s the life we signed for, took our oath for as volunteers. I was chatting with an Indian shop owner in Mzuzu and mentioned my monthly salary and he threw a fit, and then offered me a cold beverage and some food.
Contrasted to this my life back home was the polar opposite. Trading a penthouse overlooking Boston for a humble brick house currently level with a dry, dead landscape. A shiny Audi for hitching and usually boarding an unreliable, unsafe, dirty bed of a 2-ton truck for transport. A giant television with all the trimmings for a book by candlelight. Those things at home I never really took for granted, though I was fearfully beginning to. I do miss comforts afforded by America; the conveniences for the most part.
While the case for missing is valid in a material sense, perhaps wrongly reinforcing that money buys happiness, the missing is nonexistent in a human sense. And I would trade a material world for a more humane world any day. The people here are more wonderful and unconditionally caring towards strangers than anyone back home. A visitor is a blessing, for example when a friend visits from afar, a huge celebration takes place with music and dancing all day.
The give and take of relationships; be it favors, a cup of sugar, or a meal when you’re sick, is unconditional here. Wellesley and I were discussing how American relationships are a very zero-sum affair: debits credited, credits debited. If I give you a cup of sugar, culturally you feel obligated to someday return the favor with one of equal magnitude. Let’s call this the Godfather Principle. This principle is so ingrained in us that Wellesley and I can’t seem to shed its effects. When people in our villages do something for us, help us, we get restless and anxious, worrying about how we can pay them back or return the favor. Forever self-burdened unless we find a solution.
In Malawi, people do favors with no expectations for it to be returned in any way. They believe that if the circumstances were reversed, you would do the same in the situation. In many ways it’s like you are family by simply being in the community, where everyone cares for everyone.
Reading through this I should clarify that I’m not implying one culture is better or that one nation is better, which is never the case. Nor am I aggrandizing myself for leaving a life of comfort for the village, for that means nothing if I still long for material comforts and if large families in my village live on less than I make here a month. I’m simply pointing out the stark differences on the other side of the pond, entertaining my thoughts because it’s dark and there’s nothing else to do. This provokes a greater question: how did so many starkly different, intricate, beautiful cultures come in being?
Pardon, I have a candle-lit rendezvous with Jared Diamond…where is that book?
Saturday, November 13, 2010
When You’re a Stranger
The skies are turning darker, clouds rolling through after shedding rain in the plateau. The sly winds are restless, howling in anticipation of the rains. The creatures from the tiniest ant to the fattest pig scurry about as if some great deluge is destined on this small village. The landscape is turning green again, trees spreading their leaves as if to shield the earth from a down pour. The days are still scorching hot, but the rains are coming. One can feel it in the air, in the earth, a tingling anticipation, parched lips and parched soil look earnestly to the skies and wait.
Those wily winds blowing through must have been unknowingly carrying a foreign agent that day. For the day after my birthday I was caught with a burning fever, aching muscles, and waves of nausea. My skin seared to the touch and the persistent fever jumped by the second morning. What an unrelenting illness this was.
Lack of network due to a “diesel shortage” and an inability to power the already faulty TNM tower proved to be problematic. I could not reach the PC doctors and we were strictly instructed in training to never go to a local health center. So I waited patiently, popping pain killers.
In this patient waiting a series of events in my community awed and gripped my heart. I was still practically a stranger, a boy really, a foreigner in a new place. The instant they learned of my illness they procured water and inquired about the medications I was on. Three families prepared soft foods for me when they discovered I was not eating because I was too frail to cook and nauseous to eat. They worried I had malaria, recommended I go see the medical assistant. Meanwhile, my counterpart kept a vigilant eye on network and immediately flashed PC medical when it was back up.
I have been bedridden for the past three days. The first being one of the worst I have had in Malawi; compounded by five PCVs crashing at my house en route to Nyika and three village kick-off meetings for new projects. Also, I hadn’t eaten anything all day and had been on my feet from dawn till dusk, the illness chipping away at me, I felt like fainting.
The guests departed the next morning, Friday. I called PC and again poor networks caused a miscommunication on prescriptions. What I heard as six Tylenols three times a day was supposed to be two three times a day. That’s 18 pills a day. I repeated the prescription and the doctor misheard. Accepting his expertise I began the regiment of 18 pills a day. The mishap was cleared up this morning when the doctor exclaimed at my concern over taking 18 pills a day. He asked me to cease the pills, start antibiotics, and drink lots of water to flush out the pain meds.
This whole event took a toll on me, but the attention and caring people in the community have shown amazes me. If I was sick in America, I would have been dead and rotting before someone complained of a foul stench and found me. I’m a stranger, yet they care for me like their own child. They worry when I don’t eat or get sick, and for no other reason than I am here and part of the community.
Later in the day Chief Chimbata and Reverend Kumwenda came by to chat about something. They started with a general topic of the bee group and detailed the itinerary for the Chilenda trip on Tuesday. In addition, the two outlined the negotiation strategy for purchase of planks for the group.
Then they diverted to another topic: my health. They were worried that I was not eating enough and that I starve myself (untrue). They said I live a very lonely life and I shouldn’t be afraid to ask for help or have someone cook for me. They proceeded to scrutinize the details of my daily diet. Reverend Kumwenda repeated that I live a lonely life and that he and Chimbata wanted to sit, chat and keep me company for a while during my illness. He told stories of his time in South Africa, how things have changed. We discussed Gandhi and other politics.
The conversation ended with them expressing their genuine concern for my health, stating: “we don’t want you to die Mr. Prashanth.” They departed with a prayer from the Reverend for my swift recovery.
Those wily winds blowing through must have been unknowingly carrying a foreign agent that day. For the day after my birthday I was caught with a burning fever, aching muscles, and waves of nausea. My skin seared to the touch and the persistent fever jumped by the second morning. What an unrelenting illness this was.
Lack of network due to a “diesel shortage” and an inability to power the already faulty TNM tower proved to be problematic. I could not reach the PC doctors and we were strictly instructed in training to never go to a local health center. So I waited patiently, popping pain killers.
In this patient waiting a series of events in my community awed and gripped my heart. I was still practically a stranger, a boy really, a foreigner in a new place. The instant they learned of my illness they procured water and inquired about the medications I was on. Three families prepared soft foods for me when they discovered I was not eating because I was too frail to cook and nauseous to eat. They worried I had malaria, recommended I go see the medical assistant. Meanwhile, my counterpart kept a vigilant eye on network and immediately flashed PC medical when it was back up.
I have been bedridden for the past three days. The first being one of the worst I have had in Malawi; compounded by five PCVs crashing at my house en route to Nyika and three village kick-off meetings for new projects. Also, I hadn’t eaten anything all day and had been on my feet from dawn till dusk, the illness chipping away at me, I felt like fainting.
The guests departed the next morning, Friday. I called PC and again poor networks caused a miscommunication on prescriptions. What I heard as six Tylenols three times a day was supposed to be two three times a day. That’s 18 pills a day. I repeated the prescription and the doctor misheard. Accepting his expertise I began the regiment of 18 pills a day. The mishap was cleared up this morning when the doctor exclaimed at my concern over taking 18 pills a day. He asked me to cease the pills, start antibiotics, and drink lots of water to flush out the pain meds.
This whole event took a toll on me, but the attention and caring people in the community have shown amazes me. If I was sick in America, I would have been dead and rotting before someone complained of a foul stench and found me. I’m a stranger, yet they care for me like their own child. They worry when I don’t eat or get sick, and for no other reason than I am here and part of the community.
Later in the day Chief Chimbata and Reverend Kumwenda came by to chat about something. They started with a general topic of the bee group and detailed the itinerary for the Chilenda trip on Tuesday. In addition, the two outlined the negotiation strategy for purchase of planks for the group.
Then they diverted to another topic: my health. They were worried that I was not eating enough and that I starve myself (untrue). They said I live a very lonely life and I shouldn’t be afraid to ask for help or have someone cook for me. They proceeded to scrutinize the details of my daily diet. Reverend Kumwenda repeated that I live a lonely life and that he and Chimbata wanted to sit, chat and keep me company for a while during my illness. He told stories of his time in South Africa, how things have changed. We discussed Gandhi and other politics.
The conversation ended with them expressing their genuine concern for my health, stating: “we don’t want you to die Mr. Prashanth.” They departed with a prayer from the Reverend for my swift recovery.
Monday, November 1, 2010
In The Land of Milk & Honey
Beyond the Nyika Plateau, west of Karonga, through a treacherous dirt road, past the Chinese road builders, is the northern most region in Malawi. Chitipa “the land of milk and honey” as Peaches endearingly named it. Chitipa is far and the travel tiresome. The three hour matola from Karonga boma to Chitipa was the dirtiest and bumpiest ride I have been on in Malawi. It instilled a newfound awe of the Chitipa Wrecking Crew, the aptly named group of PCVs up there, here in referred to as CWC.
Every year, according to PC tradition, the CWC hosts an annual Halloween gathering. Volunteers from all over Malawi make the costumed pilgrimage north for adventure, candy, Carlsberg and pig roast. As my first venture to Chitipa and my first Chitipa Halloween, the event was worth the trek. The CWC put a lot of work into organizing and hosting the group of about 15 volunteers that attended. The site was beautiful, Chitipa still green and lush, while the rest of the country was mourning the dry season.
It was unfortunate that more people did not attend, especially those in my own group. The CWC consists of Peaches, Franklin, and Filipo from our group and this was the event they hosted for us. I’m saddened to say I belong to a group of people in the central and southern regions that felt Chitipa was “too far” to attend. Instead they opted to celebrate, as they always do, amongst their Chewa-selves at the astoundingly original Lake Shore.
It only bothers me because the CWC put a lot of work into this weekend. The costumes were great; CWC had one of the best costumes as the Captain Planet team. Yotem was Captain Planet in a blue/white ski suit. Filipo was Earth in really tight (very very very tight) women’s pants that left little, if anything, to the imagination. I dressed up as Wellesley, who took the effort to draw an amazing rendition of her tattoos on my arm. I wore a lovely dress from Banana Republic with leggings and two head bands.
In the backdrop of all the festivities was Chitipa. Friday night we spent at Franklin’s, she hosted all of us in her really well-decorated home surrounded by the beauty of the region. The boma itself was like a ghost town, not many shops or goods available but it was enough to live on. The entire time there you are aware of the remoteness of the locale, far removed from the happenings of Malawi. In fact, I never even noticed a Malawian flag there.
Chitipa is a major boma and a large district in the North with a large diversity of tribes and languages (over 25 are spoken in the region). Even now there is no tarmac in the district, dirt roads only. However, the Chinese government has begun construction of the road, already underway it’s a massive effort. There are Chinese workers and flags all along the road. Some were sleeping under bridges, others smoking and driving big trucks. The entire ride you wonder what it takes to move so far from home, spend years building a road in another country. Money, certainly, but what else?
On Saturday we spent the day in the boma, eating chips mayaye, playing volleyball against the Chitipa Police squad, and the costume party. Thanks to Malawisaurus and Red, who were both competitive volleyball players, we beat the police for the first time in the match’s history. However, due to cheating on the police’s part, they won due to “rule changes.” After a somber technical defeat, and Malawisaurus almost assaulting an officer, we returned to Yotem’s Handymans Paradise for Carlsberg and dancing the night away in our costumes.
Sunday morning we left Chitipa on the same transport that brought us there. All of us loaded in, tired, thirsty, we drove through the winding dirt roads, through the majestic green mountains, and past the Chinese road builders, back to what seemed another world. The sole bumper sticker on the matola read: “to work like a slave is to live like a king.” Words to live by Chitipa.
Every year, according to PC tradition, the CWC hosts an annual Halloween gathering. Volunteers from all over Malawi make the costumed pilgrimage north for adventure, candy, Carlsberg and pig roast. As my first venture to Chitipa and my first Chitipa Halloween, the event was worth the trek. The CWC put a lot of work into organizing and hosting the group of about 15 volunteers that attended. The site was beautiful, Chitipa still green and lush, while the rest of the country was mourning the dry season.
It was unfortunate that more people did not attend, especially those in my own group. The CWC consists of Peaches, Franklin, and Filipo from our group and this was the event they hosted for us. I’m saddened to say I belong to a group of people in the central and southern regions that felt Chitipa was “too far” to attend. Instead they opted to celebrate, as they always do, amongst their Chewa-selves at the astoundingly original Lake Shore.
It only bothers me because the CWC put a lot of work into this weekend. The costumes were great; CWC had one of the best costumes as the Captain Planet team. Yotem was Captain Planet in a blue/white ski suit. Filipo was Earth in really tight (very very very tight) women’s pants that left little, if anything, to the imagination. I dressed up as Wellesley, who took the effort to draw an amazing rendition of her tattoos on my arm. I wore a lovely dress from Banana Republic with leggings and two head bands.
In the backdrop of all the festivities was Chitipa. Friday night we spent at Franklin’s, she hosted all of us in her really well-decorated home surrounded by the beauty of the region. The boma itself was like a ghost town, not many shops or goods available but it was enough to live on. The entire time there you are aware of the remoteness of the locale, far removed from the happenings of Malawi. In fact, I never even noticed a Malawian flag there.
Chitipa is a major boma and a large district in the North with a large diversity of tribes and languages (over 25 are spoken in the region). Even now there is no tarmac in the district, dirt roads only. However, the Chinese government has begun construction of the road, already underway it’s a massive effort. There are Chinese workers and flags all along the road. Some were sleeping under bridges, others smoking and driving big trucks. The entire ride you wonder what it takes to move so far from home, spend years building a road in another country. Money, certainly, but what else?
On Saturday we spent the day in the boma, eating chips mayaye, playing volleyball against the Chitipa Police squad, and the costume party. Thanks to Malawisaurus and Red, who were both competitive volleyball players, we beat the police for the first time in the match’s history. However, due to cheating on the police’s part, they won due to “rule changes.” After a somber technical defeat, and Malawisaurus almost assaulting an officer, we returned to Yotem’s Handymans Paradise for Carlsberg and dancing the night away in our costumes.
Sunday morning we left Chitipa on the same transport that brought us there. All of us loaded in, tired, thirsty, we drove through the winding dirt roads, through the majestic green mountains, and past the Chinese road builders, back to what seemed another world. The sole bumper sticker on the matola read: “to work like a slave is to live like a king.” Words to live by Chitipa.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Happy Birthday Sis
Happy birthday to my sister. Twenty years old; discarding the old skin of adolescence for that of a shiny new decade. She will always be more mature, smarter, and wonderful than I ever was (or will be). I should be careful, I'm starting to sound like my parents' greeting cards. Miss you, hope you have an awesome and fun birthday. Wish I was there to celebrate it with feats of gluttony.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
The Accidental Matola
I was on a matola today, the only one out of Mwazisi at the time, filled to the brim, along with a pile of poorly packed logs in the back. I managed to find a spot hanging over the edge of the truck bed, squeezed in between the logs and three amayis breast feeding their babies. Any matola ride is dangerous, each journey a matter of life and death. However, this time I was extra-aware of this fact because one of the large logs knocked loose, inching closer to me and to the edge with each new bump and turn in the road. People hollered warnings to the driver, but he paid no attention and matola kept on going. Luckily, just as the log was on its last straw and I was hanging on for dear life, the shocks on the back tire busted. We pulled into Bolero and waited for repairs. Growing impatient and uncomfortable I hitched another matola to Rumphi.
Africa has a way of toying with your mind. Stretching it, pounding it, testing its limits and its aptitude under duress. It's a strange land, unsparing, harsh, yet beautiful and forgiving in it's own way. Memories I thought I had long forgotten, secrets I had tucked away in some far corner, have blown back into my consciousness like a gale. These dead memories I thought were long buried under heaps of time seem to rise from the grave. Their ghosts drift through my house, haunting my days and sleepless nights with the pangs of missing. They taunt me with their wonderful apparitions of people, places, and emotions, beckoning me home. Even my dreams have been infiltrated, falling victim to these relentless spirits of memory.
Life and death take on a new meaning here. Death is prevalent on every corner. Yet unlike our death, which hides around the corner eagerly awaiting to ambush us uninvited and unwelcome, death here is welcomed, it is expected and, to a certain extent, embraced. Death is not feared as an unexpected guest but as a part of existence that will spirit us away to an afterlife without a moment's notice. I understand I could die on this matola, crushed under a pile of logs, or I could die of some other fate, but it would not surprise me. Death isn't hiding around the corner, it is simply watching passively, reminding us that we all have an expiry date, whenever that maybe.
When I'm on matolas, when I face the possibility of my ultimate demise peering over the edge of the truck bed, I think of her. She has been the most persistent of specters, haunting both reality and dreams. Pain courses through my veins emanating from my core and in my being. I don't understand why she still has this profound effect on me, why her memory can still haunt me across the world, across a sea of time. In bouts of sadness I wonder if she knows. I wonder if she is aware of her doppelganger that traverses through the fields of Africa. Probably not. The sea of time and space that separates is a door way to another world. I am in the land of dreams, the land of spirits, where death, life, and afterlife all coexist in a place that defies logic and reasoning. She resides on the other side, in the land of logic, where the mind rules all, where only present life is acknowledged and starkly segregated from other existence.
Beyond the sea, through the doorway, is that world I can only recall through the looking glass of my mind. Three of my friends are getting married, perhaps even found the meaning of their lives reflecting in this same sea. I wish them all the best and I wish I could be there for this momentous occasion. I miss everyone back home. My family, friends, and even those I considered my foes (though few in number). As 2 Kwacha put it best: “Home: it's better than you imagined.”
Africa has a way of toying with your mind. Stretching it, pounding it, testing its limits and its aptitude under duress. It's a strange land, unsparing, harsh, yet beautiful and forgiving in it's own way. Memories I thought I had long forgotten, secrets I had tucked away in some far corner, have blown back into my consciousness like a gale. These dead memories I thought were long buried under heaps of time seem to rise from the grave. Their ghosts drift through my house, haunting my days and sleepless nights with the pangs of missing. They taunt me with their wonderful apparitions of people, places, and emotions, beckoning me home. Even my dreams have been infiltrated, falling victim to these relentless spirits of memory.
Life and death take on a new meaning here. Death is prevalent on every corner. Yet unlike our death, which hides around the corner eagerly awaiting to ambush us uninvited and unwelcome, death here is welcomed, it is expected and, to a certain extent, embraced. Death is not feared as an unexpected guest but as a part of existence that will spirit us away to an afterlife without a moment's notice. I understand I could die on this matola, crushed under a pile of logs, or I could die of some other fate, but it would not surprise me. Death isn't hiding around the corner, it is simply watching passively, reminding us that we all have an expiry date, whenever that maybe.
When I'm on matolas, when I face the possibility of my ultimate demise peering over the edge of the truck bed, I think of her. She has been the most persistent of specters, haunting both reality and dreams. Pain courses through my veins emanating from my core and in my being. I don't understand why she still has this profound effect on me, why her memory can still haunt me across the world, across a sea of time. In bouts of sadness I wonder if she knows. I wonder if she is aware of her doppelganger that traverses through the fields of Africa. Probably not. The sea of time and space that separates is a door way to another world. I am in the land of dreams, the land of spirits, where death, life, and afterlife all coexist in a place that defies logic and reasoning. She resides on the other side, in the land of logic, where the mind rules all, where only present life is acknowledged and starkly segregated from other existence.
Beyond the sea, through the doorway, is that world I can only recall through the looking glass of my mind. Three of my friends are getting married, perhaps even found the meaning of their lives reflecting in this same sea. I wish them all the best and I wish I could be there for this momentous occasion. I miss everyone back home. My family, friends, and even those I considered my foes (though few in number). As 2 Kwacha put it best: “Home: it's better than you imagined.”
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Letter to Ms. Hanna
This was a reply I sent to Ms. Hanna, the teacher who I correspond with for the World Wise Schools program. Under the program volunteers have the option to correspond with a class of students in the U.S. and share their cultural and life experiences abroad. The questions she asked were things I never thought to write about, so here is the response:
Hope all is well. I also regrettably admit that before I was assigned I didn't even know Malawi existed. Once I did arrive I fell in love with the country and people. Malawi is really quite distinct from the surrounding countries. While it lacks in popularity, it’s an immensely beautiful landscape, the culture is colorful and the people are wonderful. I firmly believe that because it isn't popular, well-known,and lacks the precious resources of surrounding nations, that it is such a peaceful, unadulterated place. Like a hidden jewel in massively touristed sub-Saharan Africa.
While the country has its share of political and civil issues, it is overall a calm and quite rural culture. Most of the country's population consists of farmers, the biggest crops being maize,tobacco, cassava, sugar cane, and cotton. Maize, though introduced by foreigners, is the staple of a Malawian diet. The ground flour is cooked with water to produce thick, dough-like, patties called nsima (kind of like grits). Nsima is usually accompanied with dende, which are side dishes such as beans, greens, or meat.
Part of our assignment as volunteers is to diversify this diet as it is a leading cause of malnutrition in the country. Nsima is cheap and very very filling, thus in an impoverished country it’s an essential part of life. It provides an abundant amount of energy and you feel full for the whole day. I can eat one patty for lunch and not be hungry for the rest of the day and the women in my village are always concerned that I don't eat enough nsima (average Malawian diet consists of three patties per meal).
Dende is usually greens, such as Chinese cabbage/pumpkin leaves cooked down in water with salt and baking soda. There is usually a protein such as soy meal or beans, meat being a luxury reserved for special occasions. With meat, goat is considered the cheapest; one notch up is beef and pork; and then chicken, eggs, and fresh fish being the most expensive. There are also a variety of local protein fare that consist of mice/rats, flying termites, large worms, and small birds.
Greetings are a big part of interactions in Malawi. Culturally, everyone greets everyone whenever they see them, even if its multiple times a day. Generally greetings are: How did you wake/sleep? How have you spent the day? and How are you? This is very different custom especially for someone coming from Boston where no one greets each other. It’s been a hard adjustment, but you get used to it. I could see my neighbor in the morning, say “Mwawuka uli?” (How did you wake?) and then run into five minutes later and have to say “Mwatandala uli?” (How have you spend the day?). Mwatandala is used throughout the day and is the most used greeting. “Muli uli?” (How are you?) is usually reserved for once a day or if you see someone once in a while. The response is usually “Nili makora” (I am good).
For clothing, men generally wear pants and t-shirt/shirts. There is a local traditional wear, but like many developing countries, it has fallen victim to westernization. Women in the cities general dress in pants and shirts, but in the village there is more diversity. Culturally, women wear skirts or chitenges (large pieces of decorated cloth) wrapped around their waist. Much like sari, but only for the lower part of the body. There is a traditional top, but many women wear t-shirts. Lastly, women also wear a head wrap, which is usually a chitenge also. Traditional wear is also a special cut shirt and pants/skirt that is made from chitenges.
The homes in southern Malawi are generally made of mud with thatched roofs. In the north, my region, you see a lot more brick houses with tin roofs. This is mainly due to a relatively wealthier population in the north as a result of tobacco crops. Most homes in Malawi are family compounds, with multiple houses and different family members occupying each house. Thus, grand parents, parents, cousins all will be in the same compound. The houses are modest, some usually just a room or two, with some wooden furniture. The kitchen, bafa (bathing room), and chimbutzi (toilet) are separate structures usually built away from the house. Bafa is generally a small enclosed space to bathe, the kitchen is one room with a fire pit in the middle, and the chim is a pit latrine (a hole in the ground with a pit about 10-15m deep).
School for 10 year olds is variable depending where you are. In my village, most of the kids go to school. Classes consist of science, math, English, Chichewa (national language), Chitumbuka (language of the Northern tribe), social studies, life skills, and Bible studies. Primary education is free, but kids have no real incentive to attend school. Most students end up becoming farmers, like their parents and grand parents. They aspire to be doctors, lawyers, and accountants, but do not have the proper opportunity to pursue these dreams. Consider that once they complete primary school, secondary school (high school) is not free. A lot of families can't afford to send their kids to secondary school, so they help farm. The kids that make it through secondary school have limited options for college and again most can't afford the tuition.
There are about three universities in Malawi, and a handful of one building colleges for accounting or nursing. No where near enough to provide a college education to all the students in the country. In addition, part of the political issue between the Chewas (Southern/Central tribe) and the Tumbukas (Northern tribe) is the quota system for the universities. This system dictates that an equal number of students must be enrolled from every district in Malawi, despite their exam scores. The North has a lower population and better educated students (due to the early missions influence) and the highest test scores in Malawi. The South has higher population and the lowest scores. But under the quota system a student with a low score in the South will get into university over a Northern student with a higher score. So there are a lot of things working against you as a student in Malawi and you lose hope quite quickly and accept your fate.
In terms of sports there is nothing that compares to football (soccer). Granted World Cup fever is slowly dying, football is the one and only major sport in Malawi. Everyone is a fanatic and every male, from little kids to grown adults, can tactfully handle a football. Females generally do not play football, though that is slowly changing. However, they do play netball, which is a little like basketball. Malawi is still a very male dominated society, rife with problems of sexual assault, discrimination, harassment, and this comes across in many other aspects of life here. Change is slow, but it is happening.
Hope all is well. I also regrettably admit that before I was assigned I didn't even know Malawi existed. Once I did arrive I fell in love with the country and people. Malawi is really quite distinct from the surrounding countries. While it lacks in popularity, it’s an immensely beautiful landscape, the culture is colorful and the people are wonderful. I firmly believe that because it isn't popular, well-known,and lacks the precious resources of surrounding nations, that it is such a peaceful, unadulterated place. Like a hidden jewel in massively touristed sub-Saharan Africa.
While the country has its share of political and civil issues, it is overall a calm and quite rural culture. Most of the country's population consists of farmers, the biggest crops being maize,tobacco, cassava, sugar cane, and cotton. Maize, though introduced by foreigners, is the staple of a Malawian diet. The ground flour is cooked with water to produce thick, dough-like, patties called nsima (kind of like grits). Nsima is usually accompanied with dende, which are side dishes such as beans, greens, or meat.
Part of our assignment as volunteers is to diversify this diet as it is a leading cause of malnutrition in the country. Nsima is cheap and very very filling, thus in an impoverished country it’s an essential part of life. It provides an abundant amount of energy and you feel full for the whole day. I can eat one patty for lunch and not be hungry for the rest of the day and the women in my village are always concerned that I don't eat enough nsima (average Malawian diet consists of three patties per meal).
Dende is usually greens, such as Chinese cabbage/pumpkin leaves cooked down in water with salt and baking soda. There is usually a protein such as soy meal or beans, meat being a luxury reserved for special occasions. With meat, goat is considered the cheapest; one notch up is beef and pork; and then chicken, eggs, and fresh fish being the most expensive. There are also a variety of local protein fare that consist of mice/rats, flying termites, large worms, and small birds.
Greetings are a big part of interactions in Malawi. Culturally, everyone greets everyone whenever they see them, even if its multiple times a day. Generally greetings are: How did you wake/sleep? How have you spent the day? and How are you? This is very different custom especially for someone coming from Boston where no one greets each other. It’s been a hard adjustment, but you get used to it. I could see my neighbor in the morning, say “Mwawuka uli?” (How did you wake?) and then run into five minutes later and have to say “Mwatandala uli?” (How have you spend the day?). Mwatandala is used throughout the day and is the most used greeting. “Muli uli?” (How are you?) is usually reserved for once a day or if you see someone once in a while. The response is usually “Nili makora” (I am good).
For clothing, men generally wear pants and t-shirt/shirts. There is a local traditional wear, but like many developing countries, it has fallen victim to westernization. Women in the cities general dress in pants and shirts, but in the village there is more diversity. Culturally, women wear skirts or chitenges (large pieces of decorated cloth) wrapped around their waist. Much like sari, but only for the lower part of the body. There is a traditional top, but many women wear t-shirts. Lastly, women also wear a head wrap, which is usually a chitenge also. Traditional wear is also a special cut shirt and pants/skirt that is made from chitenges.
The homes in southern Malawi are generally made of mud with thatched roofs. In the north, my region, you see a lot more brick houses with tin roofs. This is mainly due to a relatively wealthier population in the north as a result of tobacco crops. Most homes in Malawi are family compounds, with multiple houses and different family members occupying each house. Thus, grand parents, parents, cousins all will be in the same compound. The houses are modest, some usually just a room or two, with some wooden furniture. The kitchen, bafa (bathing room), and chimbutzi (toilet) are separate structures usually built away from the house. Bafa is generally a small enclosed space to bathe, the kitchen is one room with a fire pit in the middle, and the chim is a pit latrine (a hole in the ground with a pit about 10-15m deep).
School for 10 year olds is variable depending where you are. In my village, most of the kids go to school. Classes consist of science, math, English, Chichewa (national language), Chitumbuka (language of the Northern tribe), social studies, life skills, and Bible studies. Primary education is free, but kids have no real incentive to attend school. Most students end up becoming farmers, like their parents and grand parents. They aspire to be doctors, lawyers, and accountants, but do not have the proper opportunity to pursue these dreams. Consider that once they complete primary school, secondary school (high school) is not free. A lot of families can't afford to send their kids to secondary school, so they help farm. The kids that make it through secondary school have limited options for college and again most can't afford the tuition.
There are about three universities in Malawi, and a handful of one building colleges for accounting or nursing. No where near enough to provide a college education to all the students in the country. In addition, part of the political issue between the Chewas (Southern/Central tribe) and the Tumbukas (Northern tribe) is the quota system for the universities. This system dictates that an equal number of students must be enrolled from every district in Malawi, despite their exam scores. The North has a lower population and better educated students (due to the early missions influence) and the highest test scores in Malawi. The South has higher population and the lowest scores. But under the quota system a student with a low score in the South will get into university over a Northern student with a higher score. So there are a lot of things working against you as a student in Malawi and you lose hope quite quickly and accept your fate.
In terms of sports there is nothing that compares to football (soccer). Granted World Cup fever is slowly dying, football is the one and only major sport in Malawi. Everyone is a fanatic and every male, from little kids to grown adults, can tactfully handle a football. Females generally do not play football, though that is slowly changing. However, they do play netball, which is a little like basketball. Malawi is still a very male dominated society, rife with problems of sexual assault, discrimination, harassment, and this comes across in many other aspects of life here. Change is slow, but it is happening.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Jacarandas in Bloom
October is said to be the hottest month in Malawi, the time before the rains fall in November. The heat is somewhat unbearable, dry, and the landscape is arid. The roads have turned to dust, raising a permanent cloud of dirt in the air. Occasional whirlwinds blow through and by mid-afternoon I try not to leave my house. Though it is much hotter by the lakeshore, central and southern regions, it is still relatively hotter than normal in Rumphi. In fact between the hours of about 10am to 5pm it’s so hot that one doesn’t feel like doing much of anything other than stay inside, drink water, and nap. Few more weeks, almost through.
There are some positive attributes to October in Malawi. Papayas are plentiful and mangos are only weeks away from ripening. Once mango season is in full swing we will commence the gastrointestinal symphony of sickness from this delicious fruit: jams, dried, pickles and wine. On a side note, achaar is a popular condiment in Malawi. I discovered that much like most things in Malawi (mangoes included), achaar was introduced to Malawi by the Indian community and became quite popular. You can see it sold in the markets and local shops.
Also, the jacarandas are flowering. These beautiful lavender flowered trees line the streets of Malawi’s cities and they are a mesmerizing sight contrasted against the dry, dead, backdrop of October heat. The bougainvilleas are also in full bloom, providing an accent of bright rouge complimenting the lavender of the jacarandas. These trees were barren for most of the time we have been in Malawi, opposing the abundant greenery after the rains. But now, while all the other plants are parched for cloudy skies the jacarandas are in full bloom.
There are some positive attributes to October in Malawi. Papayas are plentiful and mangos are only weeks away from ripening. Once mango season is in full swing we will commence the gastrointestinal symphony of sickness from this delicious fruit: jams, dried, pickles and wine. On a side note, achaar is a popular condiment in Malawi. I discovered that much like most things in Malawi (mangoes included), achaar was introduced to Malawi by the Indian community and became quite popular. You can see it sold in the markets and local shops.
Also, the jacarandas are flowering. These beautiful lavender flowered trees line the streets of Malawi’s cities and they are a mesmerizing sight contrasted against the dry, dead, backdrop of October heat. The bougainvilleas are also in full bloom, providing an accent of bright rouge complimenting the lavender of the jacarandas. These trees were barren for most of the time we have been in Malawi, opposing the abundant greenery after the rains. But now, while all the other plants are parched for cloudy skies the jacarandas are in full bloom.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Late
My last update was in August, after Camp Sky. Unfortunately, I have been travelling extensively since then, coupled with some other distractions, and then In-Service Training (IST). But IST just wrapped up yesterday and I will be spending the next few days in Lilongwe to meet with people at main offices of some NGOs in Malawi. Hopefully during this time I can upload some new posts. For now here are some updates:
- Women 2 Women workshop went well, pictures are on Facebook
- The final sum for completion of the EPA building project is ready
- My Friends of Malawi grant for the beekeeping group has been approved and the funds are ready
- Jo is back, sorry I mean Dr. Josephine Smith
- IST went well, though a major portion of it was pretty boring
- I got elected in to the Volunteer Advisory Council (VAC)
Monday, September 13, 2010
A Cloudless Sky
I woke up this morning thinking about an email from someone a couple of months ago and in their typical fashion I won’t hear from them for another six months. But its contents led me down a string of thought pertaining to how I’ve changed. Everything in America is built on selling the idea that we will all live until we’re a 100 years old, that everything will be ok. From the food we eat, to insurance, to retirement investments. We live each day like we have a million more of them. We even treat others like they will be around for a hundred more years. We take things for granted, we abuse our most basic human connections because we believe there is a tomorrow and everything will be alright. I too fall under this group. I took a lot of things and a lot of people for granted. I had this false sense of immortality, which is disturbing.
Being here, the world outside, the third world, your ideas change quickly. In the past few weeks there have been almost two funerals a week. See enough people die and you start living like there is no tomorrow because there isn’t one. You strip away everything to its bare bones and you see life in its raw form; you see people in their natural state. I’m forming my own philosophy because I realized that the current state is much too complex to be sensible.
Wind the clock back in time, remove the husks of civilization and what do we have? We are animals at our core, granted more intelligent, but animals nonetheless. We are driven by incentives and self-interest, it is our very nature. However, we also have moments of selflessness, as Adam Smith wrote, “How selfish so ever man may be supposed, there are evidently some principles in his nature which interest him in the fortune of others, and render their happiness necessary to him, though he derives nothing from it, except the pleasure of seeing it.” Even optimistically I think that split is 90-10. This is what we are, how we are, yet we are ashamed of it, forced to embarrassment by centuries of moral correction. We are Adam and Eve, after all, forever deviating from Eden because original sin is the natural state. Religion, like a metal brace, has “corrected” the growth of civilization, “saved” it from utter deformity.
To a certain extent, religion has prevented the world from falling into absolute chaos. It has lead to our great civilizations of today; consider what we have achieved from our humble ancestry. Do I believe in God? Yes, I believe in a greater power, an invisible hand, be it a being with wisdom and foresight, or simply a massive source of energy or even the force of nature itself, there is something greater. There are too many patterns and coincidences in life for it to be random. Look at us, every cell in our body, the intricate system of the universe, and most still beyond our understanding. The smallest electrons revolve around a nucleus, planets revolve around the Sun. Perhaps it’s our nature to detect patterns, to find meaning where it doesn’t exist; another mechanism to promote civility. It’s stifling and frightening.
Strip it all away, and despite our words and actions, we live and die by an order of two priorities:
Yourself
Everyone else
It’s bare, but consider everything we do and it falls in this order. It sounds terrible to say, to admit, but why is that? Because of a lifetime of lessons in morality? Social constraints and obligations? Fear of being outcast from the herd, outcast from this complicated world we have created for ourselves?
There are nuances to this order, details created by the complexity of human behavior caused by our own intelligence, our ability to think forward and plan. There is an interesting scene in the Dark Knight; two boats, one filled with prisoners, the other ordinary citizens, each rigged to blow the other boat should the passengers turn the key and save themselves. By midnight both boats would blow if neither turned the key. The film argues that people at their core are good, that they do the right things and not turn the key, even when faced with death. Even lowly prisoners, the scum of the city, would not turn the key; they too are good and simply misunderstood victims of circumstance.
However, this is only the tip of the iceberg. What does it mean to be good? Who defined good? What if good meant something entirely different? I’m not saying we should turn the key but at least admit and accept why we truly don’t turn it. One of the curses of our extraordinary intelligence is we strive for purpose, a meaning to our existence. We have children, strive for greatness, and yearn to be remembered because in a way it immortalizes us. If we die being remembered, then our entire existence is justified. Hence the presence of martyrs; the ability of one person to sacrifice life for a cause, but in reality it is for themselves, to be remembered, to become immortal.
Man’s greatest fear is loneliness. Even the most heartless criminal and the bravest hero all fear being alone. The Joker, the Stranger. This is why we have God, why we yearn to be in groups (work, family, clubs) and even why we marry, so that we may never be alone, even in death. It must stem from an evolutionary instinct of survival. Perhaps long ago we could only survive in packs, death falling on anyone who was alone. So consider the boat scenario again bearing this in mind and the fact that we are driven by incentives and self-interest. The decision with greater personal benefit is the one we will make. If we turn the key, kill an entire boat of people, we will forever be remembered as immoral killers. We will be outcast from society, alone, and left to fend for ourselves, like Cain. Secondly, we will continue to live, suffer the continuation of an existence in solitude, in rejection, and shame. If we don’t turn the key, we die, but we die as heroes, as the beacons of morality. People will remember us foever as good, as the valiant beings that did not fear death in the face of the absurd.
In light of this point of view, which of us would turn the key? It’s in our self interest not to turn it, to die, as logically it has the most positive outcomes. This order has many other such nuances, for example when you consider family and the idea of love. But in essence, I believe it can all be applied to the simple order of yourself first and everyone else second. Selfish, yes, but there is no denying its weight. We choose the most profitable route and thus we help others only when:
Benefit to self from helping someone else > Benefit to self from helping yourself
Many people would be outraged by this hypothesis. I am not arguing that we abandon our way of life but just be aware of this driver, consider life from this perspective. To what extent do we fear loneliness? Do we fear it enough to cause us to help others, to be accepted and welcomed into society? Things to ponder, things we are privileged to ponder. Life is short, our existence in essence is meaningless, solitude is the natural state and death is the only guarantee in life. A morbid list of realities that we drown in living, ignore, run away from. Even I don’t want to believe these pursuing specters exist, to my very core, but I know they do.
I feel liberated, even if it’s false, I wake up every morning and work because I want to work, eat what I want to eat, do what I want to do. If I choose to eat healthy, it’s because at that moment I simply want to and for no other reason than that. There is no tomorrow and what I can do to enjoy my life today, I will. I don’t want to go to bed with regret because if I don’t wake up it will be with regret. I will maintain order, fall in line, pray, eat, greet in the manners dictated by society because it prevents chaos. I am not going to cast a stone in the machinery of the system because I see no self benefit in it. We are animals, clever ones, but animals nonetheless. Anytime we claim we don’t know why we did something it’s simply because of this fact.
This falls into my philosophy about my work here. Development doesn’t work in the aid form. Non-profit is a silly idea because selflessness is a silly idea. For any kind of development to work, for poverty to be eradicated, all parties need the right incentives. In this case, these incentives are monetary. Profit is the single most powerful driver as it is the key to many other doors. In all the business classes I have been teaching here, people are responsive to the idea of doing what makes them the most money. All these practices of saving the environment, planting trees, don’t work unless people see the direct monetary benefit which is, in short, my job here. Linking the environment to profit; turn tree hugging into a scalable business and convince the community that it is in their best monetary interest.
For now I feel love, or at least I feel something I have been taught my whole life is supposed to be love. Did Meursault feel love? Was his logic so far from the realm of comprehension? What if the whole world was filled with Meursaults? It would be chaos. So is it a stretch to claim that to be good is to conduct ourselves in a manner that best prevents chaos?
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Camp Sky
I am currently at Camp Sky in Kusungu at the Teachers Training College. The camp was started by Peace Corps Malawi’s Education group and it invites the top students from all over the country. These students are taught a variety of subjects at the camp, from biology to cooking. It’s a great camp, running from the August 18th to the 26th, and requires a immense amount of logistical planning (especially in Malawi). Kudos to the Camp Director. I’m here to teach business for the entire 6 days of the camp.
We had our first classes yesterday and it was great. Although only about 3 kids seem to be keen on business and are very sharp, the class is still going well. The students have been assigned a project of creating a business plan for their mock businesses, which they will present to the class at the end of camp. The most difficult part of the whole lesson was trying to push students to think outside the box. When we asked them to come up with a creative business idea, for a product that is not made in Malawi, they all wanted to grow and sell vegetables.
The problem is that every person in Malawi grows and sells vegetables, it’s the most available product. This is what you find in every market in every village in Malawi and for these students, most from agricultural areas, this is all the business they know. So its understandable that this is the idea they embrace. A majority of other goods all come into Malawi from other countries, and thus the wealth that’s generated in Malawi often leaves Malawi, leaving the country poor and citizens scratching their heads on why that is.
The answer is simple: make the goods locally, make them in the country. Instead of buying cheese and other “exotic” products from South Africa, make it in Malawi. Malawi has wide diversity of land and they can produce virtually any product they want right here. Malawians have this perception that because a product is from America or China it is better than what they make here. For example clothes, bulk come from Tanzania, but also China and America. These clothes can easily be produced in country. After all, Zambia is major cotton producer and it’s right next door.
Hopefully, by the end of camp we can coax these students to think outside the box, think of creative business ideas. Anyone that understands some basic business tools and has a good idea will make a lot of money in Malawi. The country is ripe with opporunity and there is major development happening concurrently. We will see how the first part of the assignment goes later today when we review homework.
The camp otherwise has been awesome. I met a lot of great education volunteers that I had never met before. And those that I had only briefly met before, I saw a whole new side too (Yay!ger). Everyone is nice, fun, and they are all great teachers. They have a patience with students I could never fathom. Last night it was Anasol’s birthday and we had cake and sang happy birthday. Cake! Such a rarity, it was tasty. Also, Ben taught salsa dancing to all the students. The power went out just before dinner, so we lit the hall with candles and everyone danced to music played from small battery-operated iPod speakers.
The new education group also came to the camp as part of their training. All them are really cool and me and Peaches were dicussing the interesting mix of people in Peace Corps. In Malawi I have more diverse mix of friends (personalities and geographically) than I have ever had in my life and its wonderful. Not to discount my friends back home, but Boston breeds a certain of person as does New York. But here the volunteers are from everywhere and they all have the same itch. Some have a streak of adventure, others are quiet, and others fiercely independent, but they are all good-hearted, have geniune desire to help, and are compassionate. Though each is incredibly different we get along well and became very close very fast.
Camp Sky has been a good reminder of why I joined Peace Corps. The experience is unlike anything else I have done before with the most interesting, quirky, unique, and simply awesome people I have ever met. After Sky we head up to Karonga for Karonga’s Women 2 Women Workshop to teach another business class. Last week Karonga II went back to America due to medical reasons. I hope she will be alright, she will be missed.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Home Away From Home
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Project: Mwazisi Honey
Honey, honey, honey. Where to begin with this one; so much has happen in the past few months. Honey business occupies a majority of my time, energy, and money. The beekeepers in the Mwazisi area were loosely associated for a long time. Most producing honey independently and eating it. My predecessor pushed an association to form but it seems to have collapsed by the time I arrived. It was said to have about 60 members. But the problem was that so much of his energies were devoted to the massive EPA construction that there was little time for the Association. So I took the liberty of wiping the board clean and starting over. I called a meeting of all interested citizens, held elections for an executive committee, penned a constitution (based on the Livingstonia constitution). We enacted a registration fee, rules for club membership, contracts, and formally founded the Mwazisi Beekeepers Association (MBA).
We currently boast a membership of over 100 people, each club with 10 members. The first training will be held on August 16th, spanning over 3 days covering everything from hive building to apiary management. In the meantime, I ordered plastic jars from Polypack in Blantyre and designed a label for the MBA brand. We will hopefully secure a loan with Total Land Care (TLC) that we can pay back over the next three years. This loan will cover hives, suits, and smokers for every member. I’m also in the process of securing permits and licences to hang hives in Vwaza Marsh and Nyika, as they have an abundance of flora. Once hives are up, I can begin business training for all the members, covering topics from SWOT analysis to bookkeeping. If all goes well and production commences within 12 months, we can begin the process of marketing, perhaps even with the aid of OVOP.
I’ve never written a formal constitution or drafted a loan contract, so it has been quite an educational experience. I used everything I learned from banking, especially everything Rudy taught me by explaining legal documents. Who would have thought confidentiality agreements and CIMs would help me draft contracts for beekeepers in Northern Malawi?
I’m pretty proud of these documents I made, more surprised really that I have the ability to write them. The surprise extends to managing 110 people, creating a brand, and marketing the honey. So, a big thank you to Rudy for the invaluable business lessons. I’m learning on my own that things are much more efficient and faster when less people are involved. The less people the more productivity at least so I’ve observed when it comes to managing beekeepers.
Structuring the organization has been the most difficult task, mainly because I don’t know. Changes will have to be made as we go, but after extended thought and discussions I determined the following structure: each club will manage itself independently, with its own Chairman, Secretary, and Treasurer. Each club will provide honey and manage its own finances. The Association will be the umbrella over each club, providing valuable services such as loans, equipment, processing facilities, bottling, labels, other support, and most importantly brand and marketing of bee products. There are a lot more intricacies to this relationship detailed in the constitution and contracts, like the sales fee, etc. This is quite serious for a group that is not even fully producing honey yet, but it’s necessary. The loan contract could be, if all goes well, for about Mk. 5 million, which is no joke in a rural village. One club falters and that loan falls on the Association. The contracts I drafted incorporate some of the principles used by the Grameen Bank, that extracted from reading Banker to the Poor. The concept of using groups for loans, in this case clubs, and using social/community pressures as incentives for repayment. Will the system work in Malawi? I don’t know, but I really hope it does, even though I’m concerned club size is double that used by Grameen and the loan amount is much larger than a microloan.
My goal, as I told the MBA members at the first meeting, is to walk into a store in the boma and find a bottle of Mwazisi Honey. 2 years. Bwenu. Whatever it takes, I want that goal achieved. Honey is in short supply in Malawi, far below demand. Thus, prices keep going up, currently about Mk. 500 to Mk. 700 per 500 g bottle. Which is absurd if you consider that 1 kg of peanut butter is about Mk. 500 and 500 g of jam is about Mk. 450. There are a couple of major producers in the North, mainly Mzuzu Coffee Growers , that bulk buy honey from local farmers at Mk. 200 to Mk. 300 per kg, then bottle and sell at more than double the price. This excludes profits realized on by-products, such as candles. Honey is a viable business in Malawi, especially in the light of tobacco regulations.
The only problem (and it’s a big worry that keeps me up at night) is that it all hangs on everything working simultaneously. I’m throwing all the pieces up in the air, with a hope and prayer, that they all fall in place and that the puzzle fits together. There is a Plan B, but even that maybe is a crapshoot. If the loan with TLC doesn’t go through, then grant money is my last hope (and I really don’t want to use grant money during my two years here, if I can help it, it just seems like a ridiculous concept). There are too many variables at play: the loan, active membership, paying back the loan, getting equipment, using it properly, producing honey, producing good honey, demand for honey, licences, taxes, approvals, permissions, the list goes on. Sometimes I wonder if it all fails I will just take over and make the honey myself if I have to. Another issue is that MBA is tied closely to the EPA construction project, as one whole room is dedicated for honey production. That needs to be completed before any significant advances are made with the honey group. The stress of the whole project is immense and ever growing. As I detailed in a previous post, stress seems to be positively correlated with an increase in membership. Everyone has hung their hopes on me handling it all. We have about 10 clubs in the Mwazisi catchment area, and now that Destroyer has gone, Kampenda has sent an 11th club to join. About 110 people. I need pieces to start hitting the ground so I can make changes accordingly. As of now, all the pieces are still in the air. And even once they fall, and if by some celestial miracle they fall in the right places, then the whole thing is wrapped in a bow of sustainability. Once I leave the group has continue on its own.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Project: Jatropha
G20, I heard through the village wire, has demanded a reduction in tobacco production and exports from several countries, including Malawi. Tobacco is life in Mwazisi and most of Northern Malawi. It is the single income source for not only the community but also the crowds of tenant farmers that travel to the North every year to help harvest tobacco. Without tobacco they have no means to live. This decision has been in talks, on and off, for several years, but has acquired a new shade of seriousness and finality. Fortunately, this global decision on tobacco will be slowly phased in over a few years, providing time for farmers to change their crops.
Tobacco itself is a terrible crop. It destroys the soil, requires immense amounts of expensive fertilizer, and requires a large labour force. Also, drying tobacco requires drying sheds, which locals build from trees cut from the area: the largest cause of deforestation in Mwazisi. The Chewa tenant farmers that come up are in constant feuds with the Tumbuka farmers. And lastly, the price in the auction floors in Mzuzu fluctuate so much, hitting such lows, that it is not profitable at all. Once the fertilizer, tenant costs, transport, tax, and licences are factored in, most people realize a loss. But it is, and has been for a long time, part of life here.
This is where the jatropha tree comes in. There has been a big push to plant jatropha all over Malawi, but people seldom like change, especially in rural communities . They are sceptical and truly can’t take the risk of new ventures. Jatropha is a tree that grows best in the worst soils and conditions. The fruit it produces are little black shelled seeds about the size of a marble. Inside the shell is a white seed, that when processed, produces a poisonous liquid. This liquid can be used as an alternative fuel to diesel. Any diesel vehicle, with a little modification, can run on jatropha oil. It’s an amazing tree and could be a wonderful, sustainable, source of fuel. Simultaneously, it could lead to increased tree planting and the reversal of deforestation in the area.
The new pressure of tobacco reduction has made my goal of converting Mwazisi into a jatropha producer that much easier. Jatropha fruits in about 18 months, less than the time frame allotted by G20 to halt tobacco exports. With fossil fuel prices trending up; alternative and renewable fuels are a necessity for the future. I’m pushing the community to plant a few acres at a time, slowly phasing in the new crop, testing the waters.
The big push for jatropha in Malawi is lead by a company called Bio Energy Resources Ltd. (BERL) based just outside of Lilongwe. This company is the only major jatropha fuel producer in Malawi (that I have heard of so far) and it provides seed to any farmer that wants to grow the tree. I was a little disappointed when BERL told me that most of their operations are focused in the southern regions and are not ready to expand to the North. But this Malawi, where people can finagle anything and I will try to finagle BERL. BERL’s offer in Malawi is enticing as it provides sufficient incentives to farmers while maintaining the company’s profitability. BERL provides seed to farmers, who sign a contract agreeing to sell the fruit to BERL for 10 years. BERL buys the fruit from the farmers at about $1 per kg. From seed to fruit BERL periodically checks on the contracted crops, ensuring proper growth and providing support as need arises.
At $1 per kg it’s better than tobacco auction prices: about $1.80 per kg (and as low as $1.45), which are very little once all the costs are factored in. Jatropha has almost no costs, other than opportunity, as it doesn’t need fertilizer or licences and there is no tobacco tax. Currently diesel, which has run out in Rumphi and Mzuzu, is at Mk. 231.20 per litre. Jatropha, once processed, could be sold at a comparable or much lower price.
I’m meeting with BERL next week, hopefully, to discuss the prospect of jatropha in Mwazisi. Working with BERL would provide easy access and conversion to jatropha. Plus, there is already a buyer and demand for the crop, thus, lower risk in the venture than tobacco. The only thing holding us back is what if jatropha is not as profitable as they expected, what if the company folds? Then we could hopefully process the oil ourselves, else the farmers would be stuck with loads of useless jatropha. The process for producing jatropha oil is similar to groundnut oil. In fact the same equipment can be used interchangeably (just don’t do both as jatropha is poisonous). We might even plant a little jatropha independently and the process the fruit into paraffin substitutes. We will have to wait and see how everything pans out and more importantly if the community welcomes the change.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Project: Women’s Group
Women’s empowerment is a major part of the Peace Corps agenda in Malawi. It is a part of every program, an umbrella covering over each project, much like HIV/AIDS. In Mwazisi one of my projects is to create a formal women’s group that will focus on entrepreneurship. There was a loosely formed group before, but it was not very active and practically the leader of the group was the only participant. The leader of the group, Mrs. Nyabota, is an amazing lady that accomplished so much on her own. Together we hope to reinvigorate the group and start over. Our first business will be pressing oil from groundnuts.
Groundnut oil pressing can be fickle. Many people were unable to turn a profit while simultaneously competing with big store brands like Kazinga (Unilever) and Kukoma. So we ran a brief feasibility test. The problem, we discovered, was with the groundnuts. Local groundnuts are quite dry and produce very little oil, thus rendering the enterprise a waste of time. However, we tested the press with CG-7 groundnuts, which were issued by the government, and they produce a lot of oil, enough to make the product profitable.
The big manufacturers, with economies of scale, produce it so cheaply that it still eats our profit significantly. But I devised a solution to our problem (though we’ll have to see how well it works in practice). When the nuts are processed into oil the output is oil and a remainder of crushed groundnuts. This leftover material was considered waste, usually fed to livestock. It’s still very nutritious and tastes like raw groundnuts. I took the crushed groundnuts, roasted them in a pan with a little of their oil, and spooned in an equal proportion of brown sugar with a dash of water. Once the mixture melts, I poured it into a plate to cool, then cut it into squares. This is a simple Indian sweet my grandmother used to make, but with more of a peanut bar twist. We took the pieces and did a market test selling them at Mk. 5 a piece. The community loved them. Very little sugar was used and the waste material added a second revenue stream to the oil press. We generated a profit of about Mk. 90 on the remainder of 1 kg of pressed CG-7 groundnuts.
A third revenue stream that we are still testing is fire briquettes. When we buy the groundnuts they are shelled and we run them through a manual sheller to remove them. We collect the waste shells and keep them in a bucket. These are great materials for fires/fire starters. The shells are basically combined with some cassava flour and pressed into little square blocks. These blocks, once dried, can be sold to people in the community to use in their cooking fires. While we still need to see the actual profitability of this product, if it works, it would boost our total revenue. Also, by using the shells we basically made full use of the whole groundnut, wasting nothing.
The last test we ran was on quantity sold. We could not compete on price with 250 ml and greater against the big brands (maybe someday in the future, but not starting out). Currently, the only way people have cooking oil is that the local shops buy from supermarkets in the boma, put it on a matola, transport it to the village, and sell it. The oil supermarket price has then a transport cost and shop profit tacked on. But if we make the oil locally in the village and sold it in 25 ml sachets, starting out, we would profit. Each sachet would only be Mk. 20. These sachets, if enough are made, can be taken by bicycle to surrounding villages, reaching all the way from Kampenda to Bembe. The press itself cost Mk. 18,000 and at breakeven that’s about 90L of oil (if considering only the oil profit), it will be up to the group whether they want to undertake this business.
If this business doesn’t meet expectations, or succeeds enough to expand to other businesses, we want the group to begin exploring new ventures. Ideas in the works are the production of juice, jam, fruit drying, soap making, and pending some operational issues, baking. I hope the women’s group is successful and sustainable. The women I have met in Mwazisi are amazing, truly super women, work more than anyone I have ever seen. They are keen to start their own businesses and generate their own income. The only problem is they need the business tools (bookkeeping, business plans, etc.) and some reassurance that their businesses will succeed. After all, they are sacrificing the little time they have, which could be spent farming or the million other things they do everyday.
Mrs. Nyabota is the best example of an active successful woman in the community. Long before Peace Corps showed up in Mwazisi, since she was a young girl, she was running her own businesses from here to Bolero. She was producing dry fruit, jam in Bolero, a bakery in Mwazisi (that she built out of an oil drum, fuelled by wood fire), an egg farm, a tailoring shop, and a grocery shop. All this while also maintaining and caring for her household. She is a sharp business lady and Mwazisi is lucky to have her here.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Project Series
I thought that now out of banking my work schedule would be liberal and much more relaxed. I could not have been more wrong in that assumption. I have dilly dallied on this blog for quite sometime, nothing really pertaining to my project work. People don’t talk about what they do at work, because its work, and I fall under the same reasoning. My thoughts, which provide me with ample amusement, are not very pertaining to family and friends reading this blog. Thoughts, scribbles really, are all I usually write down. So I present the project series, a mini-blog-series dedicated to each project I’m working on. What exactly am I doing so far away in Malawi?
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Presidential Luncheon
I think the title is pretty self-explanatory; probably the 200th blog post about it coming out of Malawi this morning, but the event is surely to be an interesting ordeal. All PCVs in Malawi were invited to have lunch with President Bingu, thus swarms of usually grungy and scruffy volunteers have made the trip to Lilongwe, shaved, showered, and even dressed up. Contrary to popular belief, the Environment group cleans up nicely.
This will be an interesting luncheon for numerous reasons. First, there is a over-arching assumption the food will be good, after all we will be dining at the State House. Secondly, I can't speak for the Central and Southern regions, but people in the North generally don't like the President. He was a spectacular leader his first run, but the second time, and last time, he has failed in many respects. The primary issue is the quota system, which is stifling the generally well educated North. With the quota system all universities in Malawi must accept students in proportion to each region's population, regardless of exam scores. Thus, more students from the South and Central regions must be accepted because of higher populations than the North, even if all the students in the North score higher on the entrance exams.
The scores in the North are usually higher because the education system is better, due to the early influence of missionaries. It's frustrating to meet all these brilliant kids in my village, hard workers, that don't have a chance at university. It's saddening to hear them talk about their dreams of becoming journalists, doctors, lawyers, all of which they are more than capable of becoming if provided the proper opportunity. Their voices drip of dreams lost, voices reserved for old age, as they talk of framing tobacco as their fathers and their grandfathers have done. There are a couple of students in Mwazisi that have made it to university and the community proudly speaks of them as the ones that made it out.
The third reason this will be an interesting meal is because Wellesley prepared a proposal for President Bingu. This proposal discusses several plans to improve the education system. Her plan is to hopefully hand it to him, that he reads it, and changes his ways. Perhaps even put Wellesley in charge of the Ministry of Education...oh that's an amusing thought.
In other news, this is my first time in Lilongwe, the city I only passed through before. It's nice, a little strange though seeing shopping malls, cars, and all these things from home. The city is so abundant: food people, sounds, smells, its overwhelming to the senses and quite tiring. Sunrise and sunset, my most favorite times of the day in Mwazisi, are not the same, the night sky is cloudy and the stars invisible.
P.S. I finally got mail. Finally. 1 package (with American chocolate!) and 2 letters (Nina and Howley). I guess the mail situation has been sorted out and a particular volcano in Iceland has lost its impact. Also, Destroyer, my sitemate, is COSing tomorrow, back to America. He will be missed.
Basi.
This will be an interesting luncheon for numerous reasons. First, there is a over-arching assumption the food will be good, after all we will be dining at the State House. Secondly, I can't speak for the Central and Southern regions, but people in the North generally don't like the President. He was a spectacular leader his first run, but the second time, and last time, he has failed in many respects. The primary issue is the quota system, which is stifling the generally well educated North. With the quota system all universities in Malawi must accept students in proportion to each region's population, regardless of exam scores. Thus, more students from the South and Central regions must be accepted because of higher populations than the North, even if all the students in the North score higher on the entrance exams.
The scores in the North are usually higher because the education system is better, due to the early influence of missionaries. It's frustrating to meet all these brilliant kids in my village, hard workers, that don't have a chance at university. It's saddening to hear them talk about their dreams of becoming journalists, doctors, lawyers, all of which they are more than capable of becoming if provided the proper opportunity. Their voices drip of dreams lost, voices reserved for old age, as they talk of framing tobacco as their fathers and their grandfathers have done. There are a couple of students in Mwazisi that have made it to university and the community proudly speaks of them as the ones that made it out.
The third reason this will be an interesting meal is because Wellesley prepared a proposal for President Bingu. This proposal discusses several plans to improve the education system. Her plan is to hopefully hand it to him, that he reads it, and changes his ways. Perhaps even put Wellesley in charge of the Ministry of Education...oh that's an amusing thought.
In other news, this is my first time in Lilongwe, the city I only passed through before. It's nice, a little strange though seeing shopping malls, cars, and all these things from home. The city is so abundant: food people, sounds, smells, its overwhelming to the senses and quite tiring. Sunrise and sunset, my most favorite times of the day in Mwazisi, are not the same, the night sky is cloudy and the stars invisible.
P.S. I finally got mail. Finally. 1 package (with American chocolate!) and 2 letters (Nina and Howley). I guess the mail situation has been sorted out and a particular volcano in Iceland has lost its impact. Also, Destroyer, my sitemate, is COSing tomorrow, back to America. He will be missed.
Basi.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Volcanoes in Iceland
I’ve been in Malawi for about 5 months. Since I arrived I have not received a single letter or package in country, with the exception of one Fedex box which was sent express. It’s a little depressing but not enough to be a significant bother. It is, however, quite upsetting when every other person in my class is getting letters and packages almost every week. For example, Wellesley gets loads of packages filled with candy, chocolates, and bits of America that we miss enormously. I feel like the one kid in school who nobody likes.
People have sent mail, or at least they claim to have, and maybe it’s just my awful luck in life. I heard rumors through the PCV wire, which sometimes works as well as a game of telephone, that a volcano erupted in Iceland, causing a major disruption in mail heading to Lilongwe. Why? No idea, but apparently many flight routes were disrupted. So, now that things are settled, mail has resumed and the Lilongwe Post Office is backed up with an overload of letters and packages, causing further delays in delivery. My mail could be crammed in a dark corner of the Lilongwe Post Office, hopefully, or it could be in Malaysia, Timbuktu, a black hole, the Bermuda Triangle, or even the Lost island, who knows. At this point I have abandoned all hope and look forward to no mail or tasting an American chocolate bar for 2 years. Hope for the best, plan for the worst.
While I was stateside I had my words to say about America. I guess it’s always easy to complain about the place you live in when you are living there, and free to complain. This maybe a case of green grass or home sickness, but being in Malawi has made me realize how much I love America. Yes, it still has its problems, as any country does, but overall it’s a great place to live. The excess culture and media are bothersome, but you are free to pursue any life you wish and have the opportunity for that pursuit. All you need is hard work.
Malawi is wonderful, but the culture of obligation is stifling. My sister recently returned from volunteering in Haiti and was explaining how the people there are much nicer and helpful than in the US, which is generally true, because from my observations it seems the less you have the more giving you are.
In Malawi, and many other developing countries, people who have almost nothing are the most generous, and kind people, always offering what they have to visitors, complete strangers. Find me one person in the US that would do that for anyone. Different countries, different cultures, and I appreciate both for their positive attributes, now more than ever, there are good people in every country, and bad ones just the same.
People have sent mail, or at least they claim to have, and maybe it’s just my awful luck in life. I heard rumors through the PCV wire, which sometimes works as well as a game of telephone, that a volcano erupted in Iceland, causing a major disruption in mail heading to Lilongwe. Why? No idea, but apparently many flight routes were disrupted. So, now that things are settled, mail has resumed and the Lilongwe Post Office is backed up with an overload of letters and packages, causing further delays in delivery. My mail could be crammed in a dark corner of the Lilongwe Post Office, hopefully, or it could be in Malaysia, Timbuktu, a black hole, the Bermuda Triangle, or even the Lost island, who knows. At this point I have abandoned all hope and look forward to no mail or tasting an American chocolate bar for 2 years. Hope for the best, plan for the worst.
While I was stateside I had my words to say about America. I guess it’s always easy to complain about the place you live in when you are living there, and free to complain. This maybe a case of green grass or home sickness, but being in Malawi has made me realize how much I love America. Yes, it still has its problems, as any country does, but overall it’s a great place to live. The excess culture and media are bothersome, but you are free to pursue any life you wish and have the opportunity for that pursuit. All you need is hard work.
Malawi is wonderful, but the culture of obligation is stifling. My sister recently returned from volunteering in Haiti and was explaining how the people there are much nicer and helpful than in the US, which is generally true, because from my observations it seems the less you have the more giving you are.
In Malawi, and many other developing countries, people who have almost nothing are the most generous, and kind people, always offering what they have to visitors, complete strangers. Find me one person in the US that would do that for anyone. Different countries, different cultures, and I appreciate both for their positive attributes, now more than ever, there are good people in every country, and bad ones just the same.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Winds of Change
The winds of change are blowing, have been blowing for some time, through these mountains east of Vwaza Marsh. Mwazisi is on the cusp, the verge of apparently becoming an actual trading center. The World Bank has earmarked Mwazisi as an important area and plans to roll out a four phase infrastructure project to develop the village. Not sure exactly why Mwazisi, of all the villages in Rumphi West, was selected. Anyone who’s been here will tell you it’s a ghost town; a village once that began to grow but was abruptly abandoned with maybe 4 or 5 small shops making up the trading center.
My guess is it’s an important location for tourism, central to both Vwaza Marsh and Nyika and literally next to the border to Zambia. Considering also that after Mwazisi, the next village that will potentially be targeted is Hayway which is a border town and the last large community before Chilenda gate to Nyika and up to Chitipa. The DEB was also placed on a priority list for completion, probably because of the attention Mwazisi was getting from politicians. This is great news for me, makes my life easier if the funding gets here faster and they electrify the building (for free).
The four phase project, touted by the TA and MP as part of their “promises to the community,” is electrification, roads, water pipes, and telecom and internet. All financed fully under a World Bank ISP mandate, which also stipulates that all government buildings will be wired for free, so schools, health centers, and the DEB, which is technically also a government building. The electrification phase is poised to be completed by end of August, 2 years in the making. Between political, funding, and logistical hurdles, Mwazisi can finally see the light at the end of the development tunnel…and it’s fluorescent. They promised that once the electricity is in the other projects will just roll in easily and quickly.
Is this model sustainable, these large infrastructure projects? Who knows, but the community is pretty excited, as anyone would be. Sustainable is an interesting thing. Consider this: the last major infrastructure project, undertaken by the Malawian government, were telephone landlines to Mwazisi, by MTL. There was a service disruption, which as expected of MTL, they took quite some time to get to fixing. Eventually, people started cutting the wires down and using it as clothes lines or to hang bee hives. And by now all the lines from Mwazisi to Bolero have been cut down, all that remains are poles. Will ESCOM, the only Malawian electric company and contractor for this project, make the same mistake? We will see.
There are donors flinging money left and right in Mwazisi, it’s a crowded market. Thus, it's only inevitable that they cross swords and since I arrived in Mwazisi 2 months ago I’ve already crossed swords with several NGOs: DAMRA, Total Land Care (TLC), World Bank, NASFARM, etc. Most of these acronymed organizations, perhaps with the exception of TLC, seem to be in the business of giving, which is generally not sustainable in the long run. Every organization has different models, some based on funding, some on educating. Peace Corps focuses on the later; to educate and tries to stay clear of the funding business. Of course in a crowded market like Malawi, if you have one man offering to teach you to fish and one offering you free fish, which would you choose? Most consumers, as do Malawians, would choose the latter, which makes our jobs that much harder. Ah, the trials and tribulations of a PCV.
So what would you do? I could break out a SWOT analysis of Peace Corps versus competitor NGOs, but at the end of the day it’s a price war, and you hope that the other guy can’t last very long in the ring. Look around and you’ll see many abandoned buildings constructed by donor funds, like orphanages and schools that were never even used. I've seen some that have remained locked since their completion. I’m not saying funding is useless, if anything it the most important aspect, nor that the other model doesn’t work, but most of the time you notice it never sustains.
To the Waters and the Wild
Technically, I’m an employee of the Malawi Government, like a consultant, in a way. I work for the Vwaza Marsh Game Reserve, under the Department of Parks and Wildlife. The one caveat to this assignment is that Peace Corps policy dictates volunteers are not allowed to enter certain parks in Malawi because of tse tse flies carrying African trypanosomiasis. Vwaza is one those parks. However, I have to enter the park because that’s where my boss is. Oddly, I was recently reading in Guns, Germs, and Steel and that the tse tse fly is one of the major reasons that necessary livestock, such as cows and horses, were never successfully domesticated in sub-Saharan Africa: they all kept dying after being stung.
Locals say that the best indicator of trypanosomiasis in an area are dead cows. If you see herds of dead cattle then you should probably leave area ASAP. Not all tse tse flies carry the disease, so being stung doesn’t necessarily mean you will get sick. Vwaza Marsh put up fly traps all over the park, especially at Kazuni gate and surrounding villages. The traps consist of a large piece of cloth colored with two blue vertical bands sandwiching a black vertical band. These are apparently colors that attract the flies, which will sting the trap and die. Unfortunately, the new bikes Peace Corps issued us are the same blue and black colors.
That said, Harry was hosting a beekeeping training at Vwaza, and I had been putting off making a trip Kazuni gate for some time. So, me and Bwana Changa threw caution to the wind and rode down to Kazuni, making the longest bike ride I’ve ever been on. The total was about 70km (44 miles) round trip, on a hilly, rocky, some parts deep sand, dirt path that hugged the border of Vwaza. It may not be much for a serious biker, but for someone who never bikes, my legs feel like jelly, my back in pain. We made it though. People said it takes about 3 hours one way, but we hustled and cleared it in about an hour and a half. To be honest, I was quite surprised we made it there in one piece, considering the flies, the ravenous dirt path, lack of biking experience, and we even came across a snake on the way. There were miles of path that stretched without a soul or house in sight.
Deep down we harbored a secret motive, a hope that we could finally see elephants, Kazuni gate is the entrance to Vwaza and gets its name from Lake Kazuni, which is also where the safari camp is located. The lake is the only large water source in the entire park, so all the animals come to Kazuni to drink water. In the dry season, the lake is the only water source, so the African elephants from deep in the park come to the lake. It’s often hard to sight theses elephants, but they are abundant in Vwaza and in this season, easy to sight out the lake. However, they are very aggressive, and a scout is recommended company.
Mwazisi borders the Northern half of Vwaza, separated by valley of hills. The villagers in Mwazisi have been passing news of elephants in the area, lots of them. They say they come at night in search of food and eat the remnants of maize in the fields. While we didn’t get to see any elephants, as they were elsewhere searching for food, we saw plenty of hippos, which were out of the water, lazying about in the sun. There were also impalas, Egyptian geese, and a crocodile today, along with lots of elephant poop…literally everywhere. The water buffalo and baboons were also elsewhere today.
We greeted Harry, and Mr. Kataya, but missed Mrs. Kataya (my boss). George, one of the scouts, walked us around the lake pointing out various feces and animals. He gave us an update on the park’s current management situation. Vwaza used to be run by the government, after there were serious problems with the previous concession. The government, as expected, did a poor job managing the park and it faced a rough few seasons. George told us that a new company has taken over the management of Vwaza, named Ecolodges. Interestingly, he pointed out that the new owner is Indian. As we walked back from the lake we noticed a few azungus at the lodge by chalets. We all remarked how glad we were to finally see some tourists at the park.
The ride back was harder than the way there, mostly because we were tired, and more up hills. But we escaped unscathed by tse tse flies and disappointed about not catching a glimpse of some elephants. I will have to ask one of scouts to take us one of these days to find elephants. Tomorrow we decided to bike to Rumphi, which is about 80 km there and back. In the mean time I need to find my rooster; haven’t seen it since I got back from the lake, wonder where it could’ve gotten off too…
Locals say that the best indicator of trypanosomiasis in an area are dead cows. If you see herds of dead cattle then you should probably leave area ASAP. Not all tse tse flies carry the disease, so being stung doesn’t necessarily mean you will get sick. Vwaza Marsh put up fly traps all over the park, especially at Kazuni gate and surrounding villages. The traps consist of a large piece of cloth colored with two blue vertical bands sandwiching a black vertical band. These are apparently colors that attract the flies, which will sting the trap and die. Unfortunately, the new bikes Peace Corps issued us are the same blue and black colors.
That said, Harry was hosting a beekeeping training at Vwaza, and I had been putting off making a trip Kazuni gate for some time. So, me and Bwana Changa threw caution to the wind and rode down to Kazuni, making the longest bike ride I’ve ever been on. The total was about 70km (44 miles) round trip, on a hilly, rocky, some parts deep sand, dirt path that hugged the border of Vwaza. It may not be much for a serious biker, but for someone who never bikes, my legs feel like jelly, my back in pain. We made it though. People said it takes about 3 hours one way, but we hustled and cleared it in about an hour and a half. To be honest, I was quite surprised we made it there in one piece, considering the flies, the ravenous dirt path, lack of biking experience, and we even came across a snake on the way. There were miles of path that stretched without a soul or house in sight.
Deep down we harbored a secret motive, a hope that we could finally see elephants, Kazuni gate is the entrance to Vwaza and gets its name from Lake Kazuni, which is also where the safari camp is located. The lake is the only large water source in the entire park, so all the animals come to Kazuni to drink water. In the dry season, the lake is the only water source, so the African elephants from deep in the park come to the lake. It’s often hard to sight theses elephants, but they are abundant in Vwaza and in this season, easy to sight out the lake. However, they are very aggressive, and a scout is recommended company.
Mwazisi borders the Northern half of Vwaza, separated by valley of hills. The villagers in Mwazisi have been passing news of elephants in the area, lots of them. They say they come at night in search of food and eat the remnants of maize in the fields. While we didn’t get to see any elephants, as they were elsewhere searching for food, we saw plenty of hippos, which were out of the water, lazying about in the sun. There were also impalas, Egyptian geese, and a crocodile today, along with lots of elephant poop…literally everywhere. The water buffalo and baboons were also elsewhere today.
We greeted Harry, and Mr. Kataya, but missed Mrs. Kataya (my boss). George, one of the scouts, walked us around the lake pointing out various feces and animals. He gave us an update on the park’s current management situation. Vwaza used to be run by the government, after there were serious problems with the previous concession. The government, as expected, did a poor job managing the park and it faced a rough few seasons. George told us that a new company has taken over the management of Vwaza, named Ecolodges. Interestingly, he pointed out that the new owner is Indian. As we walked back from the lake we noticed a few azungus at the lodge by chalets. We all remarked how glad we were to finally see some tourists at the park.
The ride back was harder than the way there, mostly because we were tired, and more up hills. But we escaped unscathed by tse tse flies and disappointed about not catching a glimpse of some elephants. I will have to ask one of scouts to take us one of these days to find elephants. Tomorrow we decided to bike to Rumphi, which is about 80 km there and back. In the mean time I need to find my rooster; haven’t seen it since I got back from the lake, wonder where it could’ve gotten off too…
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
DEB
Before completing The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver referred to her book project as the Damn Africa Book, DAB for short. This project grew bigger and bigger, a cause of much frustration and sleepless nights. One of my projects, out of similar frustrations and sleeplessness, I have decided to name the Damn EPA Building, DEB for short.
DEB is a building construction project that I am now charged with completing. The only project I inherited wholly from my predecessor. Six months ago I was sitting behind a desk, never having touched a bag of cement in life, unless I had unknowingly brushed one in the aisles of Home Depot. Now I find myself in charge of a building project. Probably the deepest end I’ve been thrown in, the hardest I’ve hit the ground running.
Even though about 75-80% of the work is complete, there is still a lot of work to be done. Mainly half the flooring, drains, revealing, doors, windows, landscaping, painting, fisher boards, and compost toilets still remain. Also, with ESCOM bumbling about, we had to add the additional job of wiring the building for electricity, should it ever arrive.
Technically, I don’t have to take on this project. This belonged to the previous volunteer and I don’t have to continue any of the projects I don’t want to. Also, we are not supposed to start or work on any projects the first three months at site, until IST is completed. But, these are unusual circumstances and slowly I’m growing aware of certain personality similarities between the previous volunteer and myself.
DEB was started almost 2 years ago after the community indicated its strong need for an extension office in the area. Between the massive deforestation and tobacco farming, the local environment has been decimated. Mountains barren, dry, soil ruined, trees non-existent. The reason this project took 2 years to get this far is because it faces a two-sided problem. On the one side, the previous volunteer deeply wanted the building to be financed by the Malawian government, as opposed to direct donor money. This was, after all, an extension office for government workers, so it’s only fair that the government finance the construction. On the other hand, the actual construction of the office had to be undertaken by the community, which draws its own set of problems of gathering competent and dedicated workers.
The unfortunate caveat to all this is that although the government will be held accountable for this project the money is still donor sourced. Malawi is financed predominately by donor money, with over 60% coming from the World Bank, USAID, the EU, and other donors. Just walk the streets of any city and you will see almost 3 out of every 5 vehicles with an aid organization banner on its side panel. However, I understand the need to hold the government officers accountable, especially when funds have a tendency to “disappear” in the often empty halls of government offices.
Working with the local Malawian government is, for lack of a better phrase, a pain in the ass. The list of frustrations are endless, the bureaucracy, the pampered egos, the red tape, the fact that on most days people never come into the office, and the most infuriating shoulder shrug whenever I ask them what happen to the money. In addition, they never call back when they say they will, and constantly reneg on verbal agreements of money and supplies (which are common agreements here). Being Indian, I understand where these politics stem from, after all I’m a foreigner in their country, but it is nonetheless utterly frustrating. Having to shuttle back and forth to the city countless times just to meet a department head only to be told “I don’t know, but try again next week, maybe.” And travelling is no easy task, especially coming from remote Mwazisi, and especially considering Peace Corps does not cover that cost of travel, which is quite expensive.
The flip side is dealing with community workers. On one side you have the government pulling with its “lack of funds,” underpayment, and delayed payments. On the other side are the pulling workers: frustrated, tired, and hungry to be compensated for the work they did so they can eat. Sometimes I feel like the two sides will tear me in half. I side with the workers in my community: they are not always good, but they do the work. I understand that they set aside tobacco farming for working on this building project and that this is their primary source of income this season. I understand the frustration when the work is done but they are not paid. However, at the same time, they too can be a pain in the ass to deal with. Getting them organized, pushing them to show up to work on time, everyday, to do a good job, working along-side them, getting up 2 hours before they arrive, working an extra hour after they leave, and occasionally floating them out of my own pocket. It’s a constant battle.
Sometimes the workers are out for legitimate reasons, mainly severe illnesses stemming from lack of proper healthcare and nutrition. But other times they don’t show up because they are working on other projects, which is irritating but understandable as private projects pay much better than public ones. It’s unfortunate that I sometimes have to run the project with an iron fist, but there’s no other way.
I don’t have to complete this building; I have no obligations to it. I could let the government and community figure it out and complete it on their own, even though if it might take years. But I know what it’s like to put two years into something and not see it to fruition. No matter how detached one can become, the building is still sitting there unfinished, incomplete, haunting and nagging as the summation of your work here. Perhaps I’m projecting. Also, this project gives me a chance to prove myself to the community that I can take over from the previous volunteer they so endeared. The project serves as a passed torch, allowing me to take the community into another direction. I’m also thrown in the deep end of the local Malawian government and understanding how to work within it, navigating the often empty offices. But of all this, mainly I hate to see unfinished things, strings untied. It bothers me, to a point where I will do it myself if need be.
That’s how I ended up in charge of DEB. The reason I find myself, shovel in hand, mixing proportions of sand and cement to make plaster, varying mixtures for flooring, getting quotes for doors, windows, and ignoring the bubbling sores forming on my hands. I enjoy learning about construction, all things I did not know before, even though the responsibility of completion weighs heavily. That Damn EPA Building.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Oh Sorry Sorry, Is it Malaria?
I haven’t been feeling well for the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately, it coincided with the arrival of cement for DEB. I could opt not to work, as I don’t get paid for it, but it would reflect poorly on my abilities in the community. Plus, I’ve learned that I’m not one to sit and watch someone else do the work. For some reason it makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable, even if I’m paying for the labor. I feel obligated to help in some way, to do something.
So the sickness only worsened due to the building work, face full of cement and dirt all day, and the freezing temperatures of the dry season, all equally contributing. Everything has become twice as hard to do and I find myself without energy. People ask why they haven’t seen me around or if I’m alright, and I tell them I have been very sick. They respond with:”Oh sorry, sorry, is it malaria?”
Malaria is very common here and the most common ailment that people get sick from. The health center, fortunately, gives out Coartem, but not everyone is so lucky. After briefly doubting my own memory of taking my weekly anti-malarial, I was reminded of our extended health sessions on malaria.
Malaria is taken very seriously in Peace Corps. Anyone that contracts it, and is discovered not to have taken their anti-malarials, will be medically separated and sent home. We are required to carry a supply of pills (Meflaquin for me) along with a regiment of Coartem. All of us probably already have malaria, as there were plenty of mosquitoes in Dedza, but the anti-malarials ensure that the virus stays in the liver, containing it. Thus, we have to take the pills regularly, so it can keep containing it for our time here. At the end of service we are given pills that will kill the virus in our system. If at any time the anti-malarials wear off and new doses aren’t ingested, the virus leaves the liver and enters the blood stream.
There are three types of anti-malarials Peace Corps offers, depending on the drug’s side effects for each volunteer. Meflaquin is the most common and lowest cost. It is taken once a week, but lasts in the system for 14 days. So even if you forget to take it for a few days you will still be alright. The only problem with Meflaquin is that it has a lot of mental side effects. It not only causes the sharpening of every emotion, but also severe depression. Regular anger turns to fury; you may become moody, easily irritable. Sometimes these symptoms take time to manifest.
The other two drugs do not have such side effects and generally cost more: Doxy and Malarone. The most common anti-malarial in Malawi is Doxy. The only pain with Doxy is that you have to take it every day. Granted it has none of the mental side effects of Meflaquin, it does cause skin sensitivity to the sun, leading to sun burn. And there is little leeway; if you forget to take the pill for a few days you will probably contract malaria.
Once we do contract malaria, or are very ill and assume we have malaria, Peace Corps has specific procedures to follow. First is to call the medical office from the nearest phone/network you have available. After informing them of your symptoms, if they believe it may be malaria, they will ask you to send a blood sample. This is the fun part. We had an entire session in training dedicated to taking our own blood samples. We spent an hour pricking ourselves and squeezing blood out of our fingers and preparing two slides.
In each of our med kits is a set of slides and a little needle contraption to prick ourselves. Unfortunately, if one does have malaria, this entire operation will prove to be quite tricky. First, we clean the area on our fingers with a sanitizing wipe. Then we prick the area with a needle. After pricking ourselves, ensuring it’s deep enough to get the blood out, we squeeze our fingers until the blood starts to come out. We have to make two slides for the medical office: one thin and one thick. So, we squeeze one or two drops of blood on one slide, spread it thinly using the glass plate as a brush, and cover it with the plate. Then we squeeze a pool of drops on the second slide, a thick layer, and cover it with a plate. We store the two slides in a zip lock bag and put it in a cardboard tube. The tube then, somehow, needs to be sent to the medical office in Lilongwe for analysis.
If you have a health center in your area, sometimes the medical office approves for diagnosis there. If it turns out you have malaria, then you start Coartem. But as always, here transport and communication are difficult to come by, so the process has an added layer of difficulty.
In training it took a while to get a good prick in my finger, surprising how tough the skin layer is. It took several painful tries, but eventually I managed to get enough blood out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)