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.