Seeing beyond the village

I have grown to appreciate the village life for its simplicity.  It is not concerned with what kind of car you own or what name brand clothes you wear.  The village takes pleasure in person to person relationships, cooking nsima, in simply existing and living every day.  I value this simplicity in a way that I did not while living in the midwest during college, which now is seemingly floating somewhere in the middle between city and village life.

My fondness for the village has grown over these past four and a half months since I arrived.  However, I cannot hide the fact that I take great pleasure in trips to the capital city.  Yes, I am excited to taste cheese again, to wear trousers, to take a warm shower and feel sparkling clean, to chat fluently in English with my fellow volunteers, to enjoy a cold beer and watch TV.  Simple pleasures of where I’ve come from have now have turned into delightful luxuries.

I have my bags packed as lightly as possible, foretelling that I will bring it back full of goodies received in packages along with rice, lentils, peanut butter, and any other food stuffs I see fit to last me through the month.  When a driver - not looking for money but rather the simple company of 2-hour friend - pulls over at my hitching wave, I gladly oblige and thank him  profusely and settle in for the drive.  We ask about each other: he usually explains the work he is doing and where he lives, whereas I explain my volunteer service and what I hope to achieve in my two years.  I genuinely enjoy this conversation, knowing I will learn at least one thing new from each person I meet on my road of life.

But I have a secret.  My favorite part of going to the city is the drive.  It’s mystifying watching the landscape of Malawi change so rapidly.  It begins with trees lining the road, large hills to the east, baobab trees dotting the landscape like the sprinkle of a spring rain.  I stare awestruck as I recall one of the many legends I have heard about the origins of the baobab.  When God planted the tree it kept getting up and walking about.  Thus, God pulled up the tree and thrust it back to the earth upside down to keep it from walking away.  Stories like these make me feel welcomingly like a child.

We drive further, chatting away about miscellaneous world events, politics, or personal stories.  The car is guided down curving roads with ease.  People line the neighboring paths pushing bicycles stacked high with large bags of charcoal or other goods, women with bundles of brightly colored fabric with mysterious goods wrapped thoughtfully while having a patient  baby strapped to their back.  For this short drive I feel a barrier between myself and the village I’ve left behind.  This is the time in which I truly look out in awe of the new country I call home.  It hits me, I cannot believe I live here.

My eyes are glued outside, watching large clusters of trees, including papaya and bluegum, slowly melt behind us and more people come in view to replace the ones miles behind.  An hour into the journey we are in my favorite part of the drive.  The close hills and trees have dropped away and in what seems like one sudden swoop, I can see for miles upon miles.  I sense the earth, the landscape, has no boundaries and will keep going and never end.  Mozambique is just beyond the vehicle window and the only words I can manage to mutter in my brain are wow.  A sorry way to describe such beauty, such elegance, but sometimes there aren’t any words to illustrate the magic that appears.

I see grass roofed huts scattered along like a patches of fireworks.  The richness of the blue sky is bewildering, especially when contrasted against the green and brown of the landscape.  I take in the colors of the clouds, not pure white but a mixture of blues, purples, and grays.  Bushes unfamiliar to me sprout up wherever they has chosen to see fit, and goats and chickens roam freely as animals were meant to exist.  I feel at peace, as if I have arrived home.  In those moments I am content.  Conversation may be continuing with the gracious driver, but my mind is outside.

I have tried numerous times to take photographs of the site I see.  However, I have found through my love of photography that there are times you simply cannot catch the beauty.  I write from memory, as I have burned it in my brain as detailed as possible.  Yet the night before my travel to the city, I lay in bed excited to refresh the allure in my head once again.  Each time I add something to the photograph, and I wonder what it will be this time...

This photo hardly does it justice, but you get the idea :)