A day in the life...

I recently read on Facebook Jason Mraz (a musical artist) encouraging people to help in the efforts to stop malaria because “11% of children in Kenya miss school each year due to [the pandemic].”  As malaria is obviously an issue in this area of the world, I took interest in reading what people’s responses were.  I’ll be honest to say I was shocked at how many had the attitude of something to the effect of “why are we not taking care of our own country?” up to “why should we care about Africa?”  Although this is a completely different issue I’d rather not discuss right now, it saddened me to hear how selfish people were sounding in the responses. This leads me to share how giving the Malawian people are, even with having so little.  If they heard of people starving in other areas of the world, I can imagine families pulling together precious 10kg bags of maize with hope that they would be sent to those who needed it.  The giving and graciousness never ends here.  Why can’t it exist all over the world?

This past Thursday a woman with a baby on her back showed up at my door, not knowing who she was or why she had come.  I brought out two stools for us to sit on under the front veranda.  Quickly I realized I would be chatting in more Chichewa than I knew so I brought out my translating dictionary.  Embarrassed I didn’t have tea or cookies to offer her, I brought a cup of water and a piece of bubble gum (from a care package, thank you Debbie!) and she was much appreciative.  

At times we sat in silence, unsure of each other and what next to say.  I did the best I could and surprised myself with knowing more Chichewa than I thought.  Somewhere in the conversation it came up that I had not visited Bwanje River and it was decided that she would come around 2pm on Saturday and we would go together.  Little did I know what adventure I would embark on with her while experiencing more of the Malawian culture!

Suzie came as scheduled on Saturday and we were off.  Thinking it would be a short walk, I brought my water bottle and my dictionary, per her request.  We walked, chatting every once in a while.  When I didn’t know a word I wanted to say or was trying to understand something she said, I would flip open the dictionary.  It was much the same on Thursday when she stopped by, although now I was feeling more comfortable around her and we laughed when I couldn’t understand what was being said.

We greeted people as we walked, all of them staring as usual.  As we neared the river I saw tall stalks of corn growing along with pumpkin vines.  My eyes were drawn to the rows upon rows of cabbage which were seemingly lined up with precision, while reminding me of my beloved Cabbage Patch Dolls I had as a child.  They sure would have been big enough to hide a baby in, that’s for sure.

A new bridge was being built but not yet completed, so we had to use the makeshift one just down the river a bit.  Scraps of wood planks and poles were nailed together to span the length between banks.  By the looks of it I was impressed it had stood long enough for the wood to be smoothed by the weather, but nonetheless you do with what you can here. We crossed gingerly with no problems.  We continued walking as she said something about going to visit her family and thus we continued walking.  It was such a relaxing pleasure to see part of Bwanje and surrounding villages that I hadn’t seen before.  I felt like I’d been missing out, that I had found some treasure hidden that was waiting to be explored.  It felt quiet and calm and for a moment I felt like a child wanting to climb into the massive banana trees to make a fort, or get lost amongst the tall corn stalks.

We continued for what seemed another 10 minutes, although I am sure it was longer.  When new trees, crops, and roads rise to your view, one can’t help but feel like time is suspended.  We turned right off the dirt path and were led into her family compound.  Children immediately stared and voices quieted in confusion and awe of a white person coming into their home.  I politely greeted her father and sisters as a reed mat was rolled out for all of us to sit on.  I took off my shoes as Suzie untied Freighton from her back and joined me on the mat.  Her father spoke some english and took a particular interest in my translating dictionary as we continued conversation in a mix of English and Chichewa.  I was doing the best I could to rack my brain for forgotten words so that I could communicate with everyone.

The standard question of “Mumadya nsima?” was asked and of course I said yes.  Shortly afterwards two huge bowls of nsima were brought out accompanied by nyemba (beans), my favorite.  Whenever I am eating with a family I I become self conscious about my horrible nsima rolling skills, but it never stops me from enjoying delicious food.  I watched the children and noticed they push the nsima into the beans so they will stick.  I’ll get there!  While we were eating an older woman came to join us and she quickly became my favorite.  Her big personality and obvious sense of humor entertained me immediately and I couldn’t help but laugh while chatting with her.  It is such a joy when a language barrier ceases to be an inhibitor but rather adds to the humor and joy of a situation.  When the topic of nsima came up she had me laughing in the way she would say it, and I would join in turn having everyone else rolling with laughter.

At the conclusion of nsima, amayi was insistent that I see her house and of course I obliged.  As we walked into her back yard I spotted a mama duck with her three babies as well as chickens with a flock of chicks scurrying behind.  I sat on another reed mat  next to a woman getting the kernels of corn off the husks.  The process of preparing to make ufa (flour) is such a big part of life for Malawians and thus I had always wanted to try.  Let me tell you, it takes some skill to do that.  Kernels popped off the cob as I did my best to find a rhythm of technique.  In between husks I could not help but plunge my hand into the pile of kernels, burying my fingers deep to feel the smooth cool texture pressing up through my fingers.

When enough time was spent with the maize, tea and mandazi’s (similar to donuts) were next.  Both are as widely consumed as nsima therefore I could not depart without having both.  I was lead to another reed mat and joined by Suzie and another one of her sisters.  I have discovered quite quickly that tea is enjoyed much differently here than anywhere else I have lived.  White sugar is not cheap here but is enjoyed very much with tea.  Malawians will pour four to five tablespoons into their tea which is very be shocking at times.  I am used to a teaspoon in my tea I helped myself to the equivalent, which was followed by a very confused look from Suzie and her sister.  No no, apparently that was not enough. Lovingly she dumped two more tablespoons in my tea and grinned widely, satisfied that now I had enough sugar in my tea.  When in Malawi, do as the Malawians do :)  Mandazi’s were then dipped in the tea, as nostalgia hit me and I think of The Simpsons and Homer dipping a donut into his coffee.  It was delicious :)

The good byes concluding tea were bittersweet for me.  This was the first time being around Malawians that I felt completely myself, even doing my funky dance-walk and having them laughing instead of looking like I was crazy.  But all good things must come to an end, sometimes simultaneously with the setting sun.  I was given a gift of a bag full of sweet potatoes and tomatoes.  Likely the potatoes would have fed the family for breakfast, paired with tea, but they wanted me to depart with some goodies.  Suzie tied Freighton on her back and I carried my bag of garden goodies and off we went.

I met women I had never seen before, speaking Chichewa where it was appropriate.  I felt so welcomed and enjoyed  that I grinned and laughed with them as we shook hands and greeted one another.  Suzie and I continued walking enjoying each others presence but necessarily saying much.  We walked next to the corn fields and along the cabbage rows, over the makeshift bridge, up the road past the borehole where women gathered, and finally to my house.  By that time it was nearing 5pm and I needed to bafa the sweat and dirt off from my delightful afternoon.

The spirit of Malawians is absolutely amazing and even pleasantly shocking at times.  Their ability to make a person feel welcome and at ease is not practiced, it is simply second nature for them.  I felt exhausted after my long day, my brain having worked so hard to translate my English thoughts into Chichewa.  I felt so accomplished with my efforts and so happy with my day spent with Malawians.  There is so much I to learn from Malawians, and so much the world can learn as well.

Not part of my job description

When I signed up for Peace Corps I can honestly say that I wasn’t not quite sure all that I was getting myself into.  I did know that I’d be living waaaay out seemingly in the middle of nowhere doing my best to help improve the lives of villagers.  No where had I read “Hanging out with the U.S. Ambassador” or “Meeting the President of the country.”  Well, I’ve done both (and a lot more not in my known job description, mind you) which allows me to add two things to my “Bucket List” that weren’t on there before, and then check them off.

For the 4th of July celebration all Peace Corps Volunteers were invited to the U.S. Ambassadors house for a barbeque.  All PCVs were invited as well as expats living in Malawi.  That’s a lot of mazungu’s in one place!  This was the same place our Environment group had sworn in as volunteers at the end of April, so it felt like I was visiting an old friend.  The back lawn was beautifully manicured and a bright lush green, reminding me immediately of my front lawn back in Colorado.  Tables were set up holding deserts (my favorite!) and just next to it under the gazebo held the much anticipated additions to hot dogs and hamburgers, currently being cooked. 

All of us mingled with each other while thoroughly enjoying a few beers and leisurely relaxing.  Over the speakers we heard our attention being called as we gathered around.  The U.S. Ambassador, Bode, read the speech that President Obama was to read to the American Nation the subsequent day, which immediately followed a couple singing the USA National Anthem acapella.  WIth all of this - lush green grass, american flags, picnic tables, hotdogs and hamburgers to come - I felt like I was back in America.

Once the meat was ensured dead and ready to eat we all lined up anxiously awaiting a plate full of American food.  Two meal tickets meant I was surely getting a hotdog AND a cheese burger.  I piled my plate with beans and chips and loaded my burger with onions, lettuce, tomato, and my usual heap of ketchup, also added to the hotdog.  When you’re a lover of ketchup and the closest thing you can get here is “tomato sauce” you take advantage of the time you see “Heinz” written on the side of a bottle.  These are times you throw out your counting of calories  and chow down.  

As I was standing next to Tom, one of our original crew, it seemed customary to sit and chat while we scarfed down.  I hadn’t seen him since we began our service and I was anxious to hear how things were going at his site.  I think it’s enlightening to hear how other people are doing.  It helps me to look at my village a different way and also appreciate what I have...or be envious of what I don’t!  

I surprised myself by demolishing the entire hotdog AND hamburger in about 10 minutes.  The beans (baked beans, like back home!) joined the party in my belly as well as the Doritos and Lays piles.  My belly was full, to say the least.  But it was time to enjoy another Carlesburg (yep, that’s one of two choices of beer here...reasonably priced) and discover who else's site I would be envious of. 

Then the desert table “opened” for the taking.  That’s what I really came for.  Forget those burgers and chips, now my sites were on the cookies, candies...and of course cupcakes.  I’d been dreaming of cupcakes (surprise!) for the few weeks preceding the event, but then again I’m always dreaming of them.  My wishes were fulfilled by seeing the carefully iced peaks lined together in a tupperware container.  “Ooooooh joooooooy!” as Stimpy would say.  Let’s just say the visual of the cupcakes was a bit more satisfying than the product itself, but nonetheless my sweet tooth had been satisfied...along with the other four trips to the desert table :-O

Goodness, I hadn’t been this full in a looooong time.  I felt like that gal that turns into a blueberry in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  All that food and a good handful of delicious beverages will do that to a gal!  

It was so good to catch up with friends and have a chance to relax and let lose for a little while.  To have the U.S. Ambassador (who always exclaimed his love for PCVs and the work we do...he’s been relocated to the Middle East due to exceptional skills) to open his home to over 100 volunteers and numerous others was such an honor and a treat.  I’m not sure he fully understood how much he made our weeks by inviting us.  Needless to say, we all went home very satisfied we had celebrated the patriotic holiday with great friends and delicious food.  One of many unexpected perks of my job :)

Unexpected perk #2 was meeting the President of Malawi, His Excellency Dr. Bingu wa Mutharika and First Lady Madame Calista Mutharika.  The first indication that I may have the opportunity to meet the President of anything came to me in a text from our Country Director, Vic.  It was unclear to me and Justine, my site mate, which President we were talking about.  “Obama?”  “Naaahhhh, why would Obama care about Peace Corps Malawi compared to all the other issues like oil invading our oceans and a bad job market?”  “President of Peace Corps?”  “Yeah, that seems more likely.”  “President of Malawi?”  “Ha, yeah right!”

Well all this got cleared up when we were in Lilongwe for the 4th of July celebration that we would, indeed, be dining with Bingu sometime in the next two weeks.  I waited in anticipation in the weeks following the feast at the Ambassadors house, hardly believing that I’d meet the President of ANY country, for that matter.  Then comes the question of “What do I wear!”  Anyone who knows me knows that my most comfortable attire is a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and sweat shirt.  Skirts I can do.  Dresses, now that takes a special occasion.

I was lucky enough to inherit National Wear from the previous volunteer who worked in Bwanje.  It worked out well, too, that she and I are relatively the same size.  Problem solved!  Except for the shoes...but thank you Justine!  She’s the one with the style, I tell you.  If you want to find anything cute in the markets, you must take her with.  She’s like a magnet to the American Eagle and Aeropostal goodies.

In the time back in Bwanje before hearing of the date our luncheon would take place, I busied myself with my puppy, yelling at him to stop chasing the chickens while encouraging him TO chase the goats, as well as sewing and reading.  A text finally arrived declaring we would meet the President on July 20th at the State House.  Let me tell you, did I feel important or what!

Fast forward to the day of the event.  You have never seen 100+ PCVs cleaner, I’ll tell you that.  Hair washed the day of, feet scrubbed of village dirt and who-knows-what else, teeth brushed, and clean clothes, er, at least clean-looking.  We piled on large buses, all of us excited and bouncing with anticipation!

We were welcomed by one gate and guards that came up asking to see the specialized invitations given to each of us.  No invitation, no admittance!  They seemed to think all of the white sheets of paper waved in the air was enough to get through the first gate, so on we went.  I wondered how long the drive was going to be to the next gate...enough for a 2 minute conversation at least.  Goodness, what a large stretch of land!  Lots of room for a few soccer fields and an amusement park, I’m sure.

The next set of guards were nice as well, that we were welcomed and inviting us to “feel free.”  We all stood patiently in line where were were patted down one by one to see if we were carrying any explosives, cameras, or twinkies.  We were informed prior to departure that cameras were not allowed...however they didn’t say anything about camera phones ;)

A large white tent resembling the Denver International Airport was where our shindig was to be held.  As I walked in I was hit by a blast of cold air.  What is this?!  Air conditioning?!  Haven’t felt that in ages!  I was actually cold, which was a shock to myself for sure.  I’ve come to prefer the natural temperature of air, regardless of the fact I don’t have the choice or pleasure of AC.  At any rate, I found my table which as conveniently placed two tables away from the head table.

As Malawian time exists, everything starts late.  So I walked around and chatted with some friends and also with the newbies from the Health and Education Volunteers who arrived in country two weeks prior.  I also took in the crystal chandeliers, chunk strips of fabric in Malawi flag colors strung from the peak of the tent to the sides, the large dance floor laid out, red carpet near the entrances, and more.  I will tell you, it was quite extravagant.  It reminded me a bit of the debutante ball I had when I was a senior in high school, only National Wear and suits were worn instead of wedding-style dresses and tuxedos.

In the mean time delicious beverages were brought out, much to my surprised pleasure.  First the red wine, white wine, and Amarula liquor.  I thought that was awesome in and of itself, yet it was followed by a rosae, sparkling wine, another red (and white, I believe), and juice.  Gotta put the juice in there ;)  I was shocked beyond belief...what a treat!

When His Excellency arrived we all stood up and the band played as he entered with the First Lady.  I was grinning from ear to ear because really, this was so cool!  As soon as he was settled the food came out, of which I was in anticipation to see.  None of us were served until the head table had begun.

I had expected nsima, being that it is a national favorite.  But all things considered it was probably best to serve over 100 people rice opposed to having 15 hand washing stations.  The plates were real china and we were literally eating from silverware.  First was a delicious potato soup, of which I went easy on knowing there was more to come.  Next on the menu was rice, beans, fish, potatoes, more rice, beef, and chicken.  If there happened to be something else I cannot remember, as my plate was packed full!  I enjoyed as much as I could before I was too stuffed to eat any more in my already-snug dress (being the style here).  But then came desert, and we all know what happens with that...of course, there’s always room on my desert shelf!  I even had two, in fact :)  I’m sly to pull that one off!

We all sat patiently and attentive as speeches were given by our very own PCV Sarah Swenson (all in Chichewa), Vic Barbiero our Country Director, and Bingu himself.  I would wager to say it is big news anywhere for the president of a country to come out and publicly support Peace Corps.  I know in the past Peace Corps has been asked to leave countries because fear that our presence was altering the culture of the country.  So all things considered, it was a really great speech!  

In honor of the event, families from our homestay villages came up from Dedza to perform a traditional Malawian dance for the President.  Some were dressed with feathers and bangles on their feet, so each time they stepped it added rhythm to the dance.  My heart fills with delight and happiness when I hear Malawians singing, and this was simply icing on the cake for this day.

With all of us comfortable happy and pleasantly stuffed, we were called to the dance floor to dance with the President.  Okay, okay, so many people have lunch of dinner with a president...but how many can say they danced with him?!  Yeah that was cool!  Also shook his hand and took a photograph with him!

Bingu must have thought it time to go relax, as we all ushered out for one final photo with him and the First Lady.  It sure was quite an honor to be standing right next to his chair in the photograph too ;)  Gracing the red carpet on their departure, off they went in jet black cars donning Malawi’s flags on the points.

Before our departure in the large buses we were able to enjoy some more dancing of our own on the dance floor to a live band playing Malawian music.  Ladies popped off their shoes and men loosened their ties and we all savored the time we were able to enjoy with friends on such a momentous occasion.  However all good things must come to an end as the band played it’s final song. 

Later that evening, back at the lodge, a bunch of us were hanging out and decided to see what the evening news held.  Well, it held a lot of Peace Corps and our luncheon with Bingu!  Video cameras present at the event caught speeches and dancing with the President.  You could hear us down the road, I'm sure, cheering when most of us saw yourselves at least once on TV.  How's that for my 5 seconds of fame ;)

So it is true when signing up for a job not everything is present in the job description.  Sometimes it may be not weigh in your favor, as you sign up to become a restaurant server but have to start off as a food runner instead.  Or it may be magnificent where you are able to enjoy the American food delights at the Ambassadors house or dine with the President.  

Colleen, Amy, Jackie, Bri, Sara, Adam, me

Justine

At the U.S. Ambassadors house for 4th of July

Me (in my inherited National Wear) and Twila ready to meet the President

The following were taken with my camera phone, sorry for the poor quality!

Lunch!

Desert (second time around was even better :p)

Dancing with Bingu!

Inspired for Life and Africa

There are not many books or movies that come along that stop me in my tracks to make me feel truly inspired.  The last time that happened was when I watched Into the Wild where I followed Christopher McCandless selfishly, (to some) and bravely (to others) venture out to experience what his soul desired.  As a result I wrote a transcript that was shortly later into a song that expressed my understanding of the souls burning desire for adventure.

I remember watching the movie The Power of One in Mrs. Muller’s Social Justice class in my second to last year of high school.  It was the first time I remember being taken aback by the sites of the South African landscape along with soul moving African music.  It was then I had decided I would travel to Africa someday.  

I became wrapped up in the movie.  It was all I could think about.  Africa was all I could think about.  I made a bracelet like the one Peekay receives from his mother in the movie.  I eventually located the soundtrack as well as the DVD for the movie, unable to pull myself from wanting to experience this world I viewed as being magical.  I even named a parakeet my mother gave me Peekay after my beloved character in the movie.  Okay, fine, maybe I was a bit consumed.

I’d never read the book in high school, although my mother had it at one point where I countered and exclaimed “The movie is awesome!!”  As per one of my brothers, it was always easier to watch the movie instead of reading the book ;)  It wasn’t until coming to Malawi that I found the book at the Peace Corps office and I was immediately ecstatic. 

I sometimes find that a combination of the book and the movie creates close to a masterpiece: precisely said in this case.  The movie brought to life the African music so well illustrated in the book.  The book went in to great detail of Peekay’s emotion and the corresponding events that shaped him into becoming a man.  It described his process, his way of thinking, the hardships he had to endure to get there.

Had I realized the book held so much inspiration for me I surely would have read it years ago.  Although it may not have meant as much as it does to me now, as I feel most things come when the time is right.  As Peekay travels through life he discovers to power of one in all that he does and finds ways to beat the odds in almost every circumstance.  Instead of finding the strength in others, he looks in to himself to find the power to go on.  And even some things that occur by as something small shortly turns into a great accomplishment

Instead of recalling the entire movie and book, my suggestion is to simply read it for yourself.  If you’re not inspired to change at least one part of your life or even your outlook on life then my suggestion is to read it again ;)

I listened to the soundtrack for weeks on end, and secretly admired the bracelet I had made.  I sensed Africa, even though I’d never reveled in her beauty.  I hadn’t read the book at that point: I didn’t need to.  All that I needed at that time was what I had already seen: a boy grows up with the odds against him which in turn give him the fuel he needs to become a strong, self confident individual.  Such stories are those in which drive us all to step beyond our comforts and make a positive impact on our communities and those around us.

Beloved nsima

As of today I have been at my site, Bwanje, for exactly 3 months.  5 months ago yesterday I arrived in Malawi.  Before coming I did as much reading as I could about what sorts of things Malawians eat.  Not that food was a selling or breaking point into coming to Malawi, but curiosity got the best of me.  “Nsima” was something I could not grasp a concept of, let alone figure out how to pronounce.  But the first week I was in country I had my first taste of it.  Simply put, it doesn’t have much taste and fills you up pretty darn quick.  Do you remember your mom ever making Cream of Wheat?  Well, that’s what it looks like, but it doesn’t taste quite as delicious sprinkled (read: dumped) with sugar on Sunday mornings with everyone still in their pajamas.

I’ll give some background of nsima  It is the #1 staple food in Malawi (and many neighboring countries from what I understand) made from corn.  The process is extremely extraneous, consisting of pulling dried corn kernels off the cob (you should have seen Justine’s blisters after a half an hour!  That’s some tough stuff!), pounded, sifted, washed, pounded again, sifted again, taken to the maize mill, until it is an acceptable ufa (flour).  No machines for most of this process!  As if the preparation isn’t hard enough, Amayi’s, as well as children, have perfected the art of making nsima from the ufa.  It truly is a challenge to make a good, smooth nsima considering once you put the flour in the boiling pot of water all it wants to do is clump together...at least that’s what happens to me.  

I am asked all the time if I make nsima...and then I’m asked if I eat it.  Well, I’ve made it a few times, yes, and it was acceptable to eat by my standards.  However my neighbor said I had some work to do…  I make Peter an usipa (fish) and nsima porridge to eat...does that count as making nsima?  If one can make a good pot of nsima then Malawians say that she will make a good wife.  Hum...

Something many people will say is “If you haven’t eaten nsima then you haven’t eaten!”  Well, according to Malawians, it looks like there have been days that have gone by where I haven’t eaten in that case.  When invited to meals I can only eat about one patty of nsima (average is about the size of your hand extended), and if I’m really hungry I might get 1.5 or 2.  Simply put, nsima fills up your belly so, truly, you feel like you’ve just eaten a feast!  I can’t handle that much!

All this came to light when I went to one of my counterparts houses before a meeting with the mushroom club that the PCV before me established.  I arrived at his home and was welcomed and offered a chair to sit on while I waited.  Shortly I was told “bwerani” (“you should come”) by one of his sons.  I’m always cautious when following men into or through a house, as it is assumed that if a man and woman are in the same room even for a very brief time then some hanky panky must have occurred.  But all was well, as I was led to the back veranda to join for nsima.

I accompanied two older men and my counterpart which at first felt awkward.  Men and women in Malawi eat separately, even if they are in same room.  I don’t usually notice it until it clicks in my brain that the genders aren’t interacting.  Anyways, I felt a little uncomfortable at first, but then realized I was only felt that way because of how the Malawian culture expects it to be.  So I thought maybe I’d get closer to the table to make them uncomfortable...hehe.  It’s fun sometimes to see if you can push someone out of their comfort zone :)

I was asked, “Mumadya nyama nya umbudzi?” (literally: You habitually continuously eat skin of goat?”).  “Inde!” (“yes!”).  Bodza (“false/lie”)!!  I don’t really care for goat to be honest.  However, having been taught proper manners by my parents, I will not refuse food when it is offered by a host.  Most definitely didn’t want to offend anyone.  And really, goat is pretty good if it’s cooked well, which has only happened for me twice since I’ve been here.  Er, as of today 3 times.

Of course nsima was on the menu along with the meat and ndiwo (side dish/relish) of greens with groundnut (peanut) flour.  We all wash up with water being poured from a battered teapot over our hands and collecting in a crisp metal bowl.  Then the containers are opened with our goodies inside and passed around.  To my surprise, knowing Malawian culture, I was served first.  Woohoo, best pick of the meat :p

I wait until the other men start, remembering my American manners that are not easily forgotten.  Not knowing enough Chichewa for conversation, I do my best to sort of stare off into the back yard which is filled with piles upon piles of wood, a humongous palm tree, 3 dogs tied up, an old beat up truck and one that still sparkles (hardly anyone in the village has a vehicle, let alone a bike).  

Do you remember when you were a child and you would try to sneak peeks at things without trying to look obvious, since mom always said it was rude to stare?  Yeah, that was me...trying to observe how these men were rolling their nsima.  Yet kids here in Malawi stare at me all the time...does that mean I’ve earned it to stare back?

May sound funny, but I swear there is an art to it.  You dish up a patty the size of your hand or bigger, pull pieces of it off (which often times is straight from the pot and feels as if I am handling molten lava), and roll it in your palm to create some sort of thing that looks like a sushi roll before it is sliced.  To that, you are supposed to “stick” things to it, like a chunk of ndiwo and maybe some meat.  That whole “sticking” thing is where I’m lost.  I end up sort of piling it on the end of my deformed nsima-sushi-hand-roll-thing and trying my best to make it in my mouth in one felled swoop.  The meat I’ve given up on trying to “cut” with my fingers so depending on the company I’m in I’ll put the whole piece in my mouth and chew until it’s broken down.  You always know which plate is mine, as it will have little pieces of nsima in the sauce since I just cant seem to grasp the rolling technique.

No matter how much I try to roll it like a Malawian, it never ever turns out the same.  But I really do enjoy nsima.  Even though it doesn’t have much flavor, I will never pass up a good plate of nsima and nyemba (beans, my favorite!) or other delicious ndiwo my neighbor cooks (cabbage with tomato, tomato with groundnut flour, eggplant, and more).  Also, it’s a bonus because when I eat nsima it fills me for the entire day so I don’t have to cook!  Win win :)

I managed to get through lunch just fine and come out the other end with a full tummy.  I didn’t seem to offend any of the men with my ill-practiced nsima rolling techniques either, which is a bonus.  Instead of doing sudoku puzzles (my latest addiction) maybe I should be practicing my nsima techniques so I don’t embarrass myself at my next big event.  Fortunately, for this reason, there was no nsima at the State House when I met the President of Malawi, but that’s a story for another day.

Today was the first time that I realized I was subconsciously mixing my American cultural etiquette with that of Malawian culture.  However, a large part of this experience is learning and understanding another way of life.  But there are times there is no room for American ways of doing things, even though it has all become second nature and it’s nearly impossible to to weed it out.  For example, food here is eaten with your hands (ha, mom!!).  Growing up I was taught to put down my silverware after I had taken a bite.  Well...what are you supposed to do with your hand (i.e. utensil) sticky with nsima, when you’re chewing a big hunk of meat?  Yeah, Peace Corps never briefed us on that one.  Neither did mom ;)

My home cooked nsima with scrambled mzira (eggs) 

and ndiwo (tomatoes, onions, and spices)