On Family

This is a piece written for the 50th Anniversary commemorative book for Peace Corps Malawi.

Family is the bedrock from which we grow, no matter its size or form. For most of my life I only knew of family bound by blood, exploring and coming of age nourished by genetically unconditional love. And that love was more than enough. Years later, a world away, I was welcomed into a new family. Not a family I was born into or a family in the American sense of the word, but a village, a community, that cares for each other.

It was early November and the winds in the valley were restless in anticipation of the rains. A Wednesday, I had been in Mwazisi for seven months. I was caught with a burning fever, accompanied by aching muscles and waves of nausea. The relentless fever soared by the second morning and I could not reach the PCMO as the cell network was down due to fuel shortages and a faulty tower. Unable to reach anyone I waited patiently, taking Ibuprofen and tylenol.

News of my illness spread instantly throughout the village and in minutes I was surrounded by movement. Fathers fetched water to keep me hydrated. Mothers cooked soft foods because I was too weak and nauseous to eat. Brothers and sisters kept vigil by the school waiting for a cell signal. Many came regularly to check on my condition, worried it was malaria, and urging me to see the medical assistant.

By Saturday network was up, the PCMO prescribed antibiotics and I was in recovery. Chief Chimbata and Reverend Kumwenda visited as representatives of the community. My first intervention. The community expressed concern that I was not eating enough and thus got sick. They said I live a lonely life and I shouldn’t be afraid to ask for help. Then Reverend Kumwenda explained that he and Chief Chimbata would keep me company while I recovered. He told stories of his travels in South Africa, Gandhi and how the world has changed.

America is a land of many fenced families and Malawi is a country of one family. I am a stranger, yet my community cares for me like their own child. They worry when I don’t eat or get sick or return late from travelling. They love for no other reason than I am here and part of the village, living, surviving life together. Towards the end of the visit Reverend Kumwenda said “we don’t want you to die Mr. Prashanth.” They departed with a prayer and I remained in a quiet emptiness.