13 August 2007
Update from Dar
The internet gods continued to thwart me in Mchinji, and my last couple of weeks were busy finalizing work so I haven't posted. But much has happened: I have been to Zambia and back (South Luangwa National Park ), Serge arrived safely, we left Malawi, are currently in Dar es Salaam, and are headed to Zanzibar in a few hours. I will add some new posts in the next few days (Tanzania has better internet service), but I did finally get to add some of the pics to previous posts!
31 July 2007
Disclaimer
Blogger and the internet gods hate me and my attempts to upload pictures. The next few posts really aren't as interesting without the pics, but I have currently accepted defeat.
Lesson No.239 From Rural Malawi
ALWAYS carry some metal wire and string in you bag.
About halfway into my walk (5km) into the boma today to go to the hospital, my flip flop broke – the thing between my toes disconnected itself from the sole of the shoe. Granted this had happened before so I wasn’t too surprised. I had visited the cobbler in the market and he fixed it once before. However I had at least another 2 km to go and could not keep the thing on my foot. So I began walking along with one flip flop and one bare foot. Despite the fact the about half of Malawians don’t have shoes and walk barefoot all the time, an azungu with one shoe on and one bare foot drew A LOT of attention. (As an aside, I would need to go through some SERIOUS training to get the soles of my feet in condition for bare foot walking all the time – even on the tarmac after about 5 minutes it hurt!)
There were no bike taxis in sight, as I was headed in very early, and just when I thought I was going to have to take a seat on the side of the road until one came along, an ox cart rolled up. The young guy driving the cart really didn’t understand my pathetic Chichewa attempt to explain about my broken flip-flop, but with much pantomime he figured it out.
So picture this: me jogging along side the ox cart, one flip flop one, one in my hand, with my bike bag on my back, gesturing like mad to this poor guy that I wanted a ride into the boma. When he understands what I want and agrees, I throw my bag and flip flop in the cart, and continue to job along side the cart until I can safely hop in while its moving while not making an utter fool of myself (well at least not any more than I already had).
So we are plodding along at a pace, slower than my “hospital walk” but hey, the sole of my foot is getting some much needed relief. Timothe, the nice ox-cart man, then takes his ox-whip thingy that has a bunch of metal wire twisted in a bunch on the end (I guess the metal wire gets the message across better than just the stick) and pulls off a piece of wire. He gestures for my flip flop, and proceeds to stick the wire piece through the between the toe piece, then poke it through the sole and flatten each end out to secure it. I had to just about force 50 kwacha (less than a quarter) on him as a thank-you. Out I hopped and headed into the market to my cobbler who re-did the job with thread and leather (much more comfortable than ox-whip wire!).
I know a man with a deep love of duck tape, who would probably argue that duck tape would have worked just as well, but it certainly wouldn’t have looked as nice. Nonetheless, I think wire, string and duck tape will ALWAYS be in my bag from now on.
Here’s my feet on a good day, i.e. no flip flop mishaps. Even with functioning shoes they take a beating in and out of the boma so you can see why I was SO happy to not have to walk 2+km without one shoe:
And if you are wondering why I don’t just wear my running shoes in, its because an azungu in sneakers is even more of a sight, and I’m trying not to add to the azungu parade spectacle!
About halfway into my walk (5km) into the boma today to go to the hospital, my flip flop broke – the thing between my toes disconnected itself from the sole of the shoe. Granted this had happened before so I wasn’t too surprised. I had visited the cobbler in the market and he fixed it once before. However I had at least another 2 km to go and could not keep the thing on my foot. So I began walking along with one flip flop and one bare foot. Despite the fact the about half of Malawians don’t have shoes and walk barefoot all the time, an azungu with one shoe on and one bare foot drew A LOT of attention. (As an aside, I would need to go through some SERIOUS training to get the soles of my feet in condition for bare foot walking all the time – even on the tarmac after about 5 minutes it hurt!)
There were no bike taxis in sight, as I was headed in very early, and just when I thought I was going to have to take a seat on the side of the road until one came along, an ox cart rolled up. The young guy driving the cart really didn’t understand my pathetic Chichewa attempt to explain about my broken flip-flop, but with much pantomime he figured it out.
So picture this: me jogging along side the ox cart, one flip flop one, one in my hand, with my bike bag on my back, gesturing like mad to this poor guy that I wanted a ride into the boma. When he understands what I want and agrees, I throw my bag and flip flop in the cart, and continue to job along side the cart until I can safely hop in while its moving while not making an utter fool of myself (well at least not any more than I already had).
So we are plodding along at a pace, slower than my “hospital walk” but hey, the sole of my foot is getting some much needed relief. Timothe, the nice ox-cart man, then takes his ox-whip thingy that has a bunch of metal wire twisted in a bunch on the end (I guess the metal wire gets the message across better than just the stick) and pulls off a piece of wire. He gestures for my flip flop, and proceeds to stick the wire piece through the between the toe piece, then poke it through the sole and flatten each end out to secure it. I had to just about force 50 kwacha (less than a quarter) on him as a thank-you. Out I hopped and headed into the market to my cobbler who re-did the job with thread and leather (much more comfortable than ox-whip wire!).
I know a man with a deep love of duck tape, who would probably argue that duck tape would have worked just as well, but it certainly wouldn’t have looked as nice. Nonetheless, I think wire, string and duck tape will ALWAYS be in my bag from now on.
Here’s my feet on a good day, i.e. no flip flop mishaps. Even with functioning shoes they take a beating in and out of the boma so you can see why I was SO happy to not have to walk 2+km without one shoe:
And if you are wondering why I don’t just wear my running shoes in, its because an azungu in sneakers is even more of a sight, and I’m trying not to add to the azungu parade spectacle!
Sumsong and Kaddock Batteries
29 July 2007
Its been a while since I’ve blogged - partly because I’ve been busy trying to finalize the ARV survey for piloting at the Mwai clinic at the Mchinji District Hospital, but also because I’ve been defeated by the internet gods. They will let me connect and check email, but when it comes to uploaded or downloading any documents I have incurred some serious wrath. The two previous posts, I’ve been waiting to post for a week, because they just weren’t the same without the pictures. Still not able to upload but have given up. Yesterday Ben, Emily and I left Mchinji and traveled here for a couple of days to see the lake and to get out of dodge for a few days. At Lilongwe bus depot we were offered the usual variety however this time we were offered a lot of batteries. And not just any old batteries, these were gen-u-ine Sumsong and Kaddock batteries! Some businessman is making a killing with the Samsung and Kodak rip-offs.
We took a minibus from Lilongwe to Salima, the “big” town nearest to the lake, and then hopped in the back of a mini pick-up truck for the final 15 km to the lake. And I know I said no more minibus/transportation stories but, well, I lied. This particular pick-up truck involved 23 adults, 5 children, 5 sacks of freshly dug sweet potatoes, 2-3 sacks of rice, some posts and pans, and one live chicken. We concocted our own version of the “Twelve Days of Christmas” song as we rode. I spent the ride squatting on my pack towards the front with a sweet older woman reclining between my legs because when I invited her to sit on the pack with me she was very happy and made her self right at home!
Here's our chicken friend - note the small child who calmly held the flapping angry bird for the half hour trip:
Yes ladies and gentlemen this is a small pick-up loaded 10 feet high:
Beach buskers (check out the homemade bass!):
Senga Bay fishermen:
Moonrise over Lake Malawi:
And yes, we got up for sunrise too:
Its been a while since I’ve blogged - partly because I’ve been busy trying to finalize the ARV survey for piloting at the Mwai clinic at the Mchinji District Hospital, but also because I’ve been defeated by the internet gods. They will let me connect and check email, but when it comes to uploaded or downloading any documents I have incurred some serious wrath. The two previous posts, I’ve been waiting to post for a week, because they just weren’t the same without the pictures. Still not able to upload but have given up. Yesterday Ben, Emily and I left Mchinji and traveled here for a couple of days to see the lake and to get out of dodge for a few days. At Lilongwe bus depot we were offered the usual variety however this time we were offered a lot of batteries. And not just any old batteries, these were gen-u-ine Sumsong and Kaddock batteries! Some businessman is making a killing with the Samsung and Kodak rip-offs.
We took a minibus from Lilongwe to Salima, the “big” town nearest to the lake, and then hopped in the back of a mini pick-up truck for the final 15 km to the lake. And I know I said no more minibus/transportation stories but, well, I lied. This particular pick-up truck involved 23 adults, 5 children, 5 sacks of freshly dug sweet potatoes, 2-3 sacks of rice, some posts and pans, and one live chicken. We concocted our own version of the “Twelve Days of Christmas” song as we rode. I spent the ride squatting on my pack towards the front with a sweet older woman reclining between my legs because when I invited her to sit on the pack with me she was very happy and made her self right at home!
Here's our chicken friend - note the small child who calmly held the flapping angry bird for the half hour trip:
Yes ladies and gentlemen this is a small pick-up loaded 10 feet high:
Beach buskers (check out the homemade bass!):
Senga Bay fishermen:
Moonrise over Lake Malawi:
And yes, we got up for sunrise too:
This Country Runs on Bikes
23 July 2007
For someone who commutes to work on her bike, and uses her bike more often than the car for errands (even now that it has nothing to do with my ability to drive a manual:)), living in a country with so many bicycles feels right at home. You cannot be on a road here and not be inundated with bicycle travel. Even for a girl who thinks nothing of riding to work in a skirt and heels with a load of books strapped to my bike rack, the multitude of ways that bikes are used here in Malawi has not yet ceased to amaze me:
personal transport,
public transport,
to carry your wares to market (charcoal, maize, vegetables, sugarcane stalks 12 feet long, baskets of dried fish 4 feet in diameter and 2 feet deep, 4+ chickens hanging off the back or in a reed cage, a live goat or 2, etc.),
to deliver products from the wood-working shop (e.g. doors, tables, and bed frames),
to transport empty bottles (3 or more crates) to the processing plant,
to carry a stack of egg cartons 12 high each holding 30 raw eggs from one town to the next,
to get fuel or a new battery for your car or motorbike (because here you run vehicles until they are dry or dead!),
to carry another bicycle to be repaired,
to gather and carry home loads of firewood,
the list goes on and on.
What is usually most amazing is the shear weight of what’s being transported, some of the loads I’ve seen (people or otherwise) have to be 200+ pounds! Unfortunately I am rarely able to whip out the camera in time to get a picture of some of the more amazing loads on the back of bikes, however here are some pics:
For someone who commutes to work on her bike, and uses her bike more often than the car for errands (even now that it has nothing to do with my ability to drive a manual:)), living in a country with so many bicycles feels right at home. You cannot be on a road here and not be inundated with bicycle travel. Even for a girl who thinks nothing of riding to work in a skirt and heels with a load of books strapped to my bike rack, the multitude of ways that bikes are used here in Malawi has not yet ceased to amaze me:
personal transport,
public transport,
to carry your wares to market (charcoal, maize, vegetables, sugarcane stalks 12 feet long, baskets of dried fish 4 feet in diameter and 2 feet deep, 4+ chickens hanging off the back or in a reed cage, a live goat or 2, etc.),
to deliver products from the wood-working shop (e.g. doors, tables, and bed frames),
to transport empty bottles (3 or more crates) to the processing plant,
to carry a stack of egg cartons 12 high each holding 30 raw eggs from one town to the next,
to get fuel or a new battery for your car or motorbike (because here you run vehicles until they are dry or dead!),
to carry another bicycle to be repaired,
to gather and carry home loads of firewood,
the list goes on and on.
What is usually most amazing is the shear weight of what’s being transported, some of the loads I’ve seen (people or otherwise) have to be 200+ pounds! Unfortunately I am rarely able to whip out the camera in time to get a picture of some of the more amazing loads on the back of bikes, however here are some pics:
24 July 2007
What Happens After You Check the Mouth & Tilt the Head?
18 July 2007
Ben and I found this series posted on the wall at an unnamed swimming pool in Lilongwe. For some reason we found the illustrations hilarious. I think my favorites are “Stand off position” and “Shake and shout- Look and listen”. I am however, concerned that nothing happens after you “Check the mouth – Tilt the head”. It seems an awful lot of work to go through to plan and carry out the rescue as depicted, only to not know how to attempt to resuscitate the person because there are no instructions after tilting the head……………
Ben and I found this series posted on the wall at an unnamed swimming pool in Lilongwe. For some reason we found the illustrations hilarious. I think my favorites are “Stand off position” and “Shake and shout- Look and listen”. I am however, concerned that nothing happens after you “Check the mouth – Tilt the head”. It seems an awful lot of work to go through to plan and carry out the rescue as depicted, only to not know how to attempt to resuscitate the person because there are no instructions after tilting the head……………
16 July 2007
Gilligan's Island Meets Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure
15 July 2007
Yesterday Ben and I decided to day trip it to Dedza, a town about an hour south of Lilongwe, that is known for its pottery/artists community as well as a restaurant at the pottery shop with real coffee and desserts.
www.dedzapottery.com
We browsed the grounds and the shop and I got some great gifts, which I was able to ship home for a very low cost, and then hit up the coffee shop for the famous (at least in Malawi) cheesecake and apple pie. The desserts were good and the view was beautiful.
However it was at the coffee shop having lunch that our day trip turned into “A Three Hour Tour…” a là Gilligan’s Island. Just replace the skipper with our waiter who would disappear for 30 minutes on end, Gilligan with the magpie on the roof above us waiting to steal food, and Ben and I for the other characters and you get the idea. The theme song was on loop in my head the entire time we were desperately trying to finish up, pay the bill and start looking for a minibus back to Lilongwe before dark.
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale
A tale of a fateful trip
That started from this tropic port
Aboard this tiny ship.
The mate was a mighty sailing man,
The Skipper brave and sure.
Five passengers set sail that day
For a three hour tour...a three hour tour.
The weather started getting rough,
The tiny ship was tossed,
If not for the courage of the fearless crew
The Minnow would be lost...the Minnow would be lost.
The ship's a'ground on the shore of this
Uncharted desert isle,
With Gilligan, the Skipper too, the millionaire, and his wife,
(first season) The movie star, and the rest,
(second and third seasons) The movie star, the Professor and Mary Ann,
Here on Gilligan's Isle.
Here’s me “putting on my happy face” as I try to exercise profound patience:
After a marathon tour on foot of Dedza (it is actually a beautiful mountain town around 5300 ft. altitude, with craggy peaks, groves of pine trees, and a nice boma) while trying to find the minibus depot, we finally found perhaps the most dilapidated vehicle I’ve seen yet. It only had a few people on it which meant it was going to spend more timing looking for customers, and instinct screamed not to get on it, but it was the only one in sight and the sun was setting. We climbed on and proceed to retrace our foot tour of Dezda on the minibus. It quickly became clear that this minibus is the party minibus of Dedza. Despite a very rusted exterior, a sliding door that only opens from the outside by squeezing the coat hanger handle through the open window, a missing window replaced with strips of clear packing tape, and a baby poop yellow spray painted interior – this minibus cruised the streets, bumping Malawi hip-hop (which for some strange reason often features a sample of a baby’s cry mixed in) trawling for passengers. We pulled up at the bus depot and parked for 10 minutes while the driver and ticket-taker/doorman got out and hung with some friends. The music of course stayed on and all the vendors at the bus depot gathered around as our minibus because the center of Dance Party Dedza! Surreal doesn’t even begin to describe the experience.
My anxiety quieted down as we finally got going. It was getting dark (you DO NOT want to be on the roads in Malawi in the dark because: 1. the roads are very treacherous, 2. everyone drives like a maniac even though the roads are treacherous, 3. there are no street lights, or lines to guide the driver to stay on the road, and 4. there are way too many cars on the road with no headlights) but I reasoned to myself that we would be back in Lilongwe in an hour, hour and a half max, as it had only taken 45 minutes to get to Dedza. HA!
Because we were not full, we trolled for passengers the whole way, made umpteen stops, and accepted and deposited a steady stream of characters and their animals through the broken door which came off its track EACH time. I kept waiting for Abraham Lincoln or Dr. Freud to get in the next time the minibus stopped a là Bill & Ted’s (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_&_Ted's_Excellent_Adventure).
The comedy became even more ridiculous when the doorman got dropped off about halfway through the trip, which meant the driver had to get in and out at each stop to let people on/off. At one point we stopped at a police checkpoint, and an extra guy (4th person) got in the front seat. The police officer told the driver that was too many people (mind you there were 20 of us crammed in the back, but for some reason it’s the front seat that is a safety concern?) so the guy gets out, jogs through the check point maybe 20 yards, then tries to hop back in. At which point the driver stops again, gets out and throws him and another guy out of the front. All Ben and I could do was laugh and sing the Gilligan’s Island Theme Song once again.
Suffice to say, we did finally (2 and a half hours) make it back safely.
P.S. I promise I will try to make this my last minibus adventures post!
Yesterday Ben and I decided to day trip it to Dedza, a town about an hour south of Lilongwe, that is known for its pottery/artists community as well as a restaurant at the pottery shop with real coffee and desserts.
www.dedzapottery.com
We browsed the grounds and the shop and I got some great gifts, which I was able to ship home for a very low cost, and then hit up the coffee shop for the famous (at least in Malawi) cheesecake and apple pie. The desserts were good and the view was beautiful.
However it was at the coffee shop having lunch that our day trip turned into “A Three Hour Tour…” a là Gilligan’s Island. Just replace the skipper with our waiter who would disappear for 30 minutes on end, Gilligan with the magpie on the roof above us waiting to steal food, and Ben and I for the other characters and you get the idea. The theme song was on loop in my head the entire time we were desperately trying to finish up, pay the bill and start looking for a minibus back to Lilongwe before dark.
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale
A tale of a fateful trip
That started from this tropic port
Aboard this tiny ship.
The mate was a mighty sailing man,
The Skipper brave and sure.
Five passengers set sail that day
For a three hour tour...a three hour tour.
The weather started getting rough,
The tiny ship was tossed,
If not for the courage of the fearless crew
The Minnow would be lost...the Minnow would be lost.
The ship's a'ground on the shore of this
Uncharted desert isle,
With Gilligan, the Skipper too, the millionaire, and his wife,
(first season) The movie star, and the rest,
(second and third seasons) The movie star, the Professor and Mary Ann,
Here on Gilligan's Isle.
Here’s me “putting on my happy face” as I try to exercise profound patience:
After a marathon tour on foot of Dedza (it is actually a beautiful mountain town around 5300 ft. altitude, with craggy peaks, groves of pine trees, and a nice boma) while trying to find the minibus depot, we finally found perhaps the most dilapidated vehicle I’ve seen yet. It only had a few people on it which meant it was going to spend more timing looking for customers, and instinct screamed not to get on it, but it was the only one in sight and the sun was setting. We climbed on and proceed to retrace our foot tour of Dezda on the minibus. It quickly became clear that this minibus is the party minibus of Dedza. Despite a very rusted exterior, a sliding door that only opens from the outside by squeezing the coat hanger handle through the open window, a missing window replaced with strips of clear packing tape, and a baby poop yellow spray painted interior – this minibus cruised the streets, bumping Malawi hip-hop (which for some strange reason often features a sample of a baby’s cry mixed in) trawling for passengers. We pulled up at the bus depot and parked for 10 minutes while the driver and ticket-taker/doorman got out and hung with some friends. The music of course stayed on and all the vendors at the bus depot gathered around as our minibus because the center of Dance Party Dedza! Surreal doesn’t even begin to describe the experience.
My anxiety quieted down as we finally got going. It was getting dark (you DO NOT want to be on the roads in Malawi in the dark because: 1. the roads are very treacherous, 2. everyone drives like a maniac even though the roads are treacherous, 3. there are no street lights, or lines to guide the driver to stay on the road, and 4. there are way too many cars on the road with no headlights) but I reasoned to myself that we would be back in Lilongwe in an hour, hour and a half max, as it had only taken 45 minutes to get to Dedza. HA!
Because we were not full, we trolled for passengers the whole way, made umpteen stops, and accepted and deposited a steady stream of characters and their animals through the broken door which came off its track EACH time. I kept waiting for Abraham Lincoln or Dr. Freud to get in the next time the minibus stopped a là Bill & Ted’s (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_&_Ted's_Excellent_Adventure).
The comedy became even more ridiculous when the doorman got dropped off about halfway through the trip, which meant the driver had to get in and out at each stop to let people on/off. At one point we stopped at a police checkpoint, and an extra guy (4th person) got in the front seat. The police officer told the driver that was too many people (mind you there were 20 of us crammed in the back, but for some reason it’s the front seat that is a safety concern?) so the guy gets out, jogs through the check point maybe 20 yards, then tries to hop back in. At which point the driver stops again, gets out and throws him and another guy out of the front. All Ben and I could do was laugh and sing the Gilligan’s Island Theme Song once again.
Suffice to say, we did finally (2 and a half hours) make it back safely.
P.S. I promise I will try to make this my last minibus adventures post!
Dorothy, We're Not in Kansas Any More
15 July 2007
There are any number of things that distinguish daily life in Malawi from daily life in the U.S. but one of those that I find to be such a clear signal and that usually garners a laugh is the difference in signs. I realize these differences are due to cultural and language gaps and really aren’t all that funny. But they continue to give me pause and make me smile. For example when walking through the market in any small town you will without question find a number of coffin makers with great store names such as “Heavenly Bound Coffins” and “Mr. Smith’s Precious Rest Coffins”. These names seem to be a marketing ploy – as if a great slogan about peacefulness in the afterlife will bring in the customers. The names are both funny and sad (the number of coffin makers is always overwhelming).
You will also find great names for beauty salons and barbershops such as “In God’s Hands Beauty Shop” (i.e. if you come in here for a haircut, know that you are placing the outcome in God’s hands because the person cutting your hair is not so good at her job) and “Oriental Barbershop” (which is 1. not owned by an Asian person, 2. does not have an Asian barbers, 3. doesn’t have any special Asian hair cutting tools, and 4. gives the same haircut as the non-“Oriental” barbershops). Unfortunately I spots these store names in crowded markets or other places that make it impossible to inconspicuously pull out my camera for a shot.
Although I did get this one of the “Jumbo Luxury Shop”
One of my favorites is road signs. For example instead of “Bump Ahead” there is “Humps Ahead” or “Humped Crossing”
Some other favorites include the remnants of British Colonialism, i.e.
A golf club with a course that looks like this:
And finally the "oh so familiar" yet "oh so different" food products:
More wierd signage to come................
There are any number of things that distinguish daily life in Malawi from daily life in the U.S. but one of those that I find to be such a clear signal and that usually garners a laugh is the difference in signs. I realize these differences are due to cultural and language gaps and really aren’t all that funny. But they continue to give me pause and make me smile. For example when walking through the market in any small town you will without question find a number of coffin makers with great store names such as “Heavenly Bound Coffins” and “Mr. Smith’s Precious Rest Coffins”. These names seem to be a marketing ploy – as if a great slogan about peacefulness in the afterlife will bring in the customers. The names are both funny and sad (the number of coffin makers is always overwhelming).
You will also find great names for beauty salons and barbershops such as “In God’s Hands Beauty Shop” (i.e. if you come in here for a haircut, know that you are placing the outcome in God’s hands because the person cutting your hair is not so good at her job) and “Oriental Barbershop” (which is 1. not owned by an Asian person, 2. does not have an Asian barbers, 3. doesn’t have any special Asian hair cutting tools, and 4. gives the same haircut as the non-“Oriental” barbershops). Unfortunately I spots these store names in crowded markets or other places that make it impossible to inconspicuously pull out my camera for a shot.
Although I did get this one of the “Jumbo Luxury Shop”
One of my favorites is road signs. For example instead of “Bump Ahead” there is “Humps Ahead” or “Humped Crossing”
Some other favorites include the remnants of British Colonialism, i.e.
A golf club with a course that looks like this:
And finally the "oh so familiar" yet "oh so different" food products:
More wierd signage to come................
Attack of the Army Ants
12 July 2007
This post is neither informative or educational. Nor will it tug at your heartstrings. Its really just me sharing some comical adventures of Heather in rural Malawi. Last night, we cooked dinner – a fabulous chicken stew topped off with a box of red wine (yes unfortunately, even in rural Malawi, you can get boxed wine and yes unfortunately we sank that low). Like clockwork the electricity went out halfway through the cooking process, but luckily the chefs at Kayesa were nice enough to let us use their open fires to continue the process:
As we were walking to Lauren’s room for our nightly dose of South Park (hey – we all need some mindless comedy at the end of a day full of being stared at, called azungu a million times over, and asked for money by ever child we meet) I felt something biting my legs. I had somehow managed to walk across a line of black army ants marching into Kayesa and they got on my shoes and quickly made their way up my legs. Those suckers can bite! Emily informs me that she watched a documentary on army ants that stated they can kill an elephant if enough of them swarm. I ran into Lauren’s bathroom, stripped down and picked them off of me. Luckily they hadn’t made it past mid-thigh. I then proceeded to spend the next hour or so freaking out and imagining that they were all over me. I imagine that I looked a lot like a heroin addict withdrawing.
Here’s me a bit shell-shocked and still compulsively checking my legs for wayward ants:
It doesn’t end there though – at the end of the night Emily and I went to our respective rooms, only to find the ants had invaded that side of Kayesa – they were everywhere but especially in the bathroom! A huge writhing swarm of them below the sink and a inch think line of them marching down the wall and in front of the shower. I freaked out, we ran out of our rooms, Emily found Mom Anderson on the walk who was coming to warm us that the ants were invading, Sakala came and started sprinkling some white powder everywhere, and Mom started doing the stamp-feet shuffle to keep the ants off her, while swatting my legs with her chitenje and warning me to “take all my clothes off and make sure they don’t get into your hair or soft parts!” I wish the scene had been videotaped – it was so over the top. This regal, stately woman shuffling/stamping/swatting, warning about soft parts, and me shuffling/stamping/swatting and doing the heroin-withdrawal twitch while running to get all my clothes off once again.
The next morning the grass in the courtyard was littered with carnage from the previous night – piles of clothes, rugs, powder everywhere, ant carcasses, and the random vegetables (a cabbage, some onions, and eggplant) I threw out of the pantry in my room thinking the ants were attracted to them:
Here's wikipedia's description of the nasty buggers:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Army_ant
This post is neither informative or educational. Nor will it tug at your heartstrings. Its really just me sharing some comical adventures of Heather in rural Malawi. Last night, we cooked dinner – a fabulous chicken stew topped off with a box of red wine (yes unfortunately, even in rural Malawi, you can get boxed wine and yes unfortunately we sank that low). Like clockwork the electricity went out halfway through the cooking process, but luckily the chefs at Kayesa were nice enough to let us use their open fires to continue the process:
As we were walking to Lauren’s room for our nightly dose of South Park (hey – we all need some mindless comedy at the end of a day full of being stared at, called azungu a million times over, and asked for money by ever child we meet) I felt something biting my legs. I had somehow managed to walk across a line of black army ants marching into Kayesa and they got on my shoes and quickly made their way up my legs. Those suckers can bite! Emily informs me that she watched a documentary on army ants that stated they can kill an elephant if enough of them swarm. I ran into Lauren’s bathroom, stripped down and picked them off of me. Luckily they hadn’t made it past mid-thigh. I then proceeded to spend the next hour or so freaking out and imagining that they were all over me. I imagine that I looked a lot like a heroin addict withdrawing.
Here’s me a bit shell-shocked and still compulsively checking my legs for wayward ants:
It doesn’t end there though – at the end of the night Emily and I went to our respective rooms, only to find the ants had invaded that side of Kayesa – they were everywhere but especially in the bathroom! A huge writhing swarm of them below the sink and a inch think line of them marching down the wall and in front of the shower. I freaked out, we ran out of our rooms, Emily found Mom Anderson on the walk who was coming to warm us that the ants were invading, Sakala came and started sprinkling some white powder everywhere, and Mom started doing the stamp-feet shuffle to keep the ants off her, while swatting my legs with her chitenje and warning me to “take all my clothes off and make sure they don’t get into your hair or soft parts!” I wish the scene had been videotaped – it was so over the top. This regal, stately woman shuffling/stamping/swatting, warning about soft parts, and me shuffling/stamping/swatting and doing the heroin-withdrawal twitch while running to get all my clothes off once again.
The next morning the grass in the courtyard was littered with carnage from the previous night – piles of clothes, rugs, powder everywhere, ant carcasses, and the random vegetables (a cabbage, some onions, and eggplant) I threw out of the pantry in my room thinking the ants were attracted to them:
Here's wikipedia's description of the nasty buggers:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Army_ant
09 July 2007
DOOM
7 July 2007
How do you respond to someone who comes to your door at dusk, with a bright smile, a sweet demeanor, and asks you in a singsong voice “May I spray Doom?”? Translation: “May I fill your room with noxious gases designed to kill mosquitoes, that will make you cough and gag, and most likely slowly poison you throughout the night as you sleep?”. I am quite sure that this product can’t be good for me and so I decline ever time. At which point, the very nice person looks at me as if I am absolutely off my rocker.Here’s a project for the new toxicology resident: Find out what’s in this stuff and what harmful effects may occur to those who breathe it in after it is sprayed in a closed space with no ventilation.
Lessons in Patience
9 July 2007
I’ve almost been here a month and over the last few weeks there have been a number of things that have taught me much more patience than I have at home. Never again (at least not in the first few weeks that I’m home) will I curse at my computer while waiting an extra 5 seconds for an internet page to load – here I’ll demurely wait 5 minutes for my inbox to load. I also have a new found respect for time and appointments. There seems to be two types of time. One is according to the clock and when someone says let’s meet at noon, you both arrive within 10 minutes of the arranged meeting time. The other type of time is AT or African Time, which means that the person you have arranged a meeting or pick-up with comes, as far as I can tell, whenever they feel good and ready or whenever the spirit moves them.
Evasiveness is also pervasive here and I am attempting to bring a sense of calm within when I encounter this – which is in many interactions. For example, in the market the price of things goes well beyond the friendly bargaining that is a part of most cultures, there are many types of prices: there is the price the seller has in mind for a fellow Malawian, there is the price he/she has in mind for the azungus, there is the price you arrive at together after bargaining, and then there is the price that the item should be but that you never arrive at because no one will ever tell you if there is indeed a set price, but he/she will look at you as if you utterly failed to read their mind.
The public transportation system (or lack thereof) has also instilled in me a sense of fortitude and serenity (albeit temporary) with which to approach my travels. When you know that the ride is going to entail:
I’ve almost been here a month and over the last few weeks there have been a number of things that have taught me much more patience than I have at home. Never again (at least not in the first few weeks that I’m home) will I curse at my computer while waiting an extra 5 seconds for an internet page to load – here I’ll demurely wait 5 minutes for my inbox to load. I also have a new found respect for time and appointments. There seems to be two types of time. One is according to the clock and when someone says let’s meet at noon, you both arrive within 10 minutes of the arranged meeting time. The other type of time is AT or African Time, which means that the person you have arranged a meeting or pick-up with comes, as far as I can tell, whenever they feel good and ready or whenever the spirit moves them.
Evasiveness is also pervasive here and I am attempting to bring a sense of calm within when I encounter this – which is in many interactions. For example, in the market the price of things goes well beyond the friendly bargaining that is a part of most cultures, there are many types of prices: there is the price the seller has in mind for a fellow Malawian, there is the price he/she has in mind for the azungus, there is the price you arrive at together after bargaining, and then there is the price that the item should be but that you never arrive at because no one will ever tell you if there is indeed a set price, but he/she will look at you as if you utterly failed to read their mind.
The public transportation system (or lack thereof) has also instilled in me a sense of fortitude and serenity (albeit temporary) with which to approach my travels. When you know that the ride is going to entail:
- waiting at a bus depot for any amount of time (maybe 10 minutes maybe over an hour) until the bus fills up to the satisfaction of the 15 year old kid manning the door and taking tickets;
- being besieged with any number of good thrust into your face and pleas to buy things you have no desire for (although the stops in the rural areas are good as you can find great produce). For example yesterday I was offered a comb, a child’s mini toy electronic piano, a green belt, toothbrushes, very bad Jesus art, eggs, and fried frogs, in additional to the usual soda and breadgoods;
- cramming 20+ people, live chickens, bags of grain beans, dried fish, suitcases, buckets, sugarcane and extra fuel in a van designed to hold 15 max;
- you may end up holding someone’s coughing child, a live chicken in a plastic bag (this I did yesterday), a few pounds of groundnuts, or have someone who hasn’t had the luxury of bathing in the last couple of weeks fall asleep on your shoulder;
- enduring 2 or more hours or exhaust and fuel fumes filling the van because the fuel and exhaust lines are always broken;
- careening over “roads” with no guardrails, no shoulders, more potholes and bumps than continuous pavement, and crumbling tarmac at speeds so unsafe that all you can do is pray to a higher power and resign yourself to the fact that if its your time to go, its your time;
- stopping every half hour at a police roadblock so the Malawian police can pretend to look for drugs or something else on the bus ( I think this is so the police have something to do in the rural districts - Malawi’s version of the of the New Deal Public Works and the Civilian Conversation Corps;
- and entrusting your life to a driver who more often than not looks like he is twelve years old;
There is no reason to devote one ounce of energy to getting impatient with the process. Let’s just hope that when I return I can retain some sense of this tranquility. Here are a few pics, one of friends on a minibus that was fairly empty (I can never get a good picture of the insanely full ones because I can’t ever feel my feet or reach down to my bag to get my camera; a couple of the scene outside the windows as the swarm comes up to sell you things you don't need or want; and another of a sunset view that is helping me retain my patience.
01 July 2007
A Pigeon….A Puppy….And A Papaya……
We are finishing up our stay at the Lilongwe hotel – the NAC conference ended Friday but we’ve been living in the lap of bougieness for the past few days while we get some planning and meetings accomplished before heading to Salima. Saturday we attended a 4th of July party at the U.S. Ambassador’s home: aka every mzungu in the country in a beautiful backyard with more green grass than I’ve seen anywhere else in Malawi, complete with hot dogs, hamburgers, baked beans, a balloon toss, a bean bag race, partyware decorated with American flags, and a moon bounce. While it was nice to celebrate the 4th American style, the whole experience was very surreal, and I had a hard time with the whole "Malawian house staff waiting on the bunch of white Americans while we celebrate our Independence" irony.
Here's my fabulous balloon toss partner just before I dropped it and got soaked.
Some other encounters with irony this week:
Two pictures I took this week that speak volumes. I'll let you find you own irony in them.
Here's my fabulous balloon toss partner just before I dropped it and got soaked.
Some other encounters with irony this week:
Two pictures I took this week that speak volumes. I'll let you find you own irony in them.
"World Vision is a Christian relief and development organization dedicated to helping children and their communities worldwide reach their full potential by tackling the causes of poverty."
http://www.worldvision.org/
http://www.worldvision.org/
A picture from Malawian court TV that I just don't know what to do with.................
And finally, the title of this blog entry. Whenever one travels in a developing country, no matter which country it is, the roadside vendors that approach your car at traffic lights, minibus at a roadside stop, or bus/train at a station are a common thread. In Malawi I've been offered some fantastic things such as fresh strawberries and roasted corn; some things I wanted no part of such as rats on a stick (perhaps more on this later); and some things that are just downright confusing such as a dog collar and one flip flop. The other day we were in the car and when we slowed, the familiar children, young men and women were their on the side of the road selling their wares in an attempt to eek out an existence. This time however, the lineup was just too perfect. One person asked "what are they selling?" to which I replied, " A pigeon........a puppy...........and a papaya." It's now become a running joke for our group that sends us rolling with laughter, but I can't help but spend time thinking about these lives that are dependent on selling their wares by the roadside. To be so desperate that you try to sell a dog collar or one flip flop or a struggling, flopping single pigeon. As each vehicle nears, hopes must raise, the possibility of money for survival flashes for a moment, only to be crushed as your fellow Malawians and the azungus who somehow got the long end of the lucky stick in life speed on by.
And finally, the title of this blog entry. Whenever one travels in a developing country, no matter which country it is, the roadside vendors that approach your car at traffic lights, minibus at a roadside stop, or bus/train at a station are a common thread. In Malawi I've been offered some fantastic things such as fresh strawberries and roasted corn; some things I wanted no part of such as rats on a stick (perhaps more on this later); and some things that are just downright confusing such as a dog collar and one flip flop. The other day we were in the car and when we slowed, the familiar children, young men and women were their on the side of the road selling their wares in an attempt to eek out an existence. This time however, the lineup was just too perfect. One person asked "what are they selling?" to which I replied, " A pigeon........a puppy...........and a papaya." It's now become a running joke for our group that sends us rolling with laughter, but I can't help but spend time thinking about these lives that are dependent on selling their wares by the roadside. To be so desperate that you try to sell a dog collar or one flip flop or a struggling, flopping single pigeon. As each vehicle nears, hopes must raise, the possibility of money for survival flashes for a moment, only to be crushed as your fellow Malawians and the azungus who somehow got the long end of the lucky stick in life speed on by.29 June 2007
More Pictures..............
Some friends and family have requested more pictures of day to day life in Malawi, so here they are:
Sunsets in Mchnji
Sunsets in Mchnji
The boma in Mchinji
Praying to the internet gods on the porch of IKI
My frequent showering partner in Mchinji
My frequent showering partner in Mchinji
Kids cooking "chips" sort of fries served with a cabbage/tomato/onion slaw, salt, and peri peri (hot sauce) in a plastic bag - YUM! They are cooked and sold from stalls in the boma and I took the gastronomical plunge the 2nd day I was here.
My favorite tailor in the Mchinji boma. His partner to the right has a machine called the "Flying Dove" which he didn't want me to take a picture of................
Me working outside IKI (its usually too cold to work inside) with some helpers
Too cute! 
Too cute! Me trying to get some reading done outside my room but Stinker and Dottie have other plans
Kayesa Inn
More Shameless Promotion of Chiozo's Walk
Because i think he's a fantastic guy and have much respect for his upcoming walk, here are some more pics to promote Jimmy's (aka Chiozo) upcoming walk for poverty.
If you haven't checked out the websites they are:
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