Cupcake Day II: Salvation!

If any of you recall, I wrote a blog a while back titled (you guessed it!) Cupcake Days.  I outlined my need for sweet satisfaction as a response to days that royally kick me in the rear.  Seeing as these come by a little bit more often than occasionally, I reckoned I’d better figure out how to make cake for such days.  Seeing that I’m a baker back home I didn’t think it could be that hard.  I’ve made (and repeated) the following process numerous times but thought it might be fun to give all of you an idea back home of how I bake in the village.

Using charcoal is the best way to bake.  No, it’s not the best environmentally, I know…but using paraffin takes too long and quite frankly it’s a waste.  But I pride myself to say that I only use charcoal once a day and with that I plan my meals and baking.  First the rice, then some variation of tomatoes, onions, beans, soya pieces, eggs, and any other veggies to follow.  Next is cooking for the dogs where I make a nyenyeswa ufa (left over fish + maize flour) porridge for the dogs.  I’m still not sure what it is about it, but it grosses me out…  Anyways, so when the coals are good and ready, it’s time for baking.

So you remember that double boiler type of system you all use to warm up chocolate to dip pretzels in for the holidays (S.O.S. please!)?  Yeah, so that is essentially what I do here.  First you have to ensure you have two pans, one small enough to fit in the larger one.  Once the batter is prepared (which goes without saying...my favorite to make is yellow cake, pictured :D), pour it in the smaller pan coated with butter (read: margarine, I wish we had butter…) and dust with flour (yep, that’s real).  In the larger pot you put a layer of sand so that the pan with the batter has something to sit on and not on top of the coals..it prevents it from burning.  Then in goes the small pot, and a lid on top.  Make sure not to let it touch the sides!  Standard baking rule.

If you’ve planned, the coals are all hot and ready to go!  I’ve found that the less coals underneath the pot are better while the rest are on top.  With trusty tongs, I pile the hot coals on top and then put the pot on the mboula to cook.  Time to wait…

...and to check it with a knife…

...and check again while trying to keep Peter away from eating the precious goods…

Since I’ve never really timed it, I have no idea how long it takes.  But I have this spider sense (which is not related to the wind scorpions I find in the house) I try my hardest NOT to eat the cake right out of the pan...which I’ve only mustered enough patience once which was for these photos :)  Otherwise the powdered sugar frosting is simply dripping off the cake as I place it delicately in my mouth and savor...or else completely inhale, which is usually the latter.  If I’m lucky I’ll get a round of sprinkles on there as well, which just adds even more to the satisfaction of eating a freshly baked cake.

And before all of you start making bets on when I’ll gain 20 lbs, I’ll have you know that I only make half a batch of batter, which somehow has me feeling less guilty when I down the cake in 15 minutes :)  This is just another delicious item I will make for you when you visit.  I mean, seriously folks, get on buying those tickets!  A year and a half left, and time is ticking.  Until then, I’ll be eating all the cake, all by myself.  Brownies I feel are on the menu today…

Ndimalima bwino!

I can safely say that I’ve never worked as hard in my life before coming to Peace Corps.  Sure, learning Chichewa is a struggle sometimes and is an ongoing challenge.  Scheduling meetings and having people a) not show, b) attend a funeral, c) stay home to escape the rain...is just part of learning the culture and patience.  But mostly I have not worked as hard as I do in my garden.

Malawian’s livelihood is heavily based on their farming regardless of acreage and all worked by hand.  Men and women will leave their houses around 3am to get to the garden to build the ridges where, come rains, crops of all kinds will begin growing.  I know numerous women easily double my age that can do more back breaking work than I can.  Soft azungu…

The only way I thought I might begin to have an appreciation for how hard Malawians work in the garden was to begin my own.  Now, I’m lucky to have 5x10 meters of unused ground for growing such delicious goodies.  I’ll admit I’ve stared at it for the past two months, while others in the fields around my house have been preparing theirs, hoping that somehow Peter might dig enough to turn up the soil for me.  No such luck.  

With my kasu (hoe) in hand, I began digging.  From the short studying and learning I’ve done through Peace Corps, I knew I wanted to get the subsoil on top in hopes to turn up the nutrients...or whatever is left there.  So I began digging hard.  Hard to the point in which I had sweat dripping off my nose and streaming down my back.  Sweat to the point that your clothes automatically feel like saran wrap to your body.  It doesn’t hurt that it’s still hot season (reaching 100F+ during the day) but I’ll tell you for sure it wasn’t all the heat.  I felt like starting to sing that song that says “Put your back into it” but I had Malawian music on my iPod and for all I know that’s what they were telling me to do.

As I dug, I kept finding pieces of bricks, old maize sacks, and even a pair of old shorts.  House improvements or shopping anyone?  Upon tossing them to the side, Peter and Chule run over excited to see what goodies had been discarded.  To their disappointment it would be a few more rounds before I found the goat and cow bones.  I wouldn’t let them have the fat juicy grasshopper bugs that the iwe’s like to catch and then fry.  Instead I put them aside for my neighbor gal, Mary (awesome name, by the way).  She hasn’t prepared any for me to eat yet, but I’m all up for new experiences.  After all, it’d probably make this experience feel even more like something out of the Lion King, when Pumba and Timon are eating those fat grub.  Yum!

My first day out there brought on four enormous blisters even I was impressed to have incurred.  I’ll be honest to say the last time I think I got a blister was on my foot from breaking in my sandals, and that isn’t hard work.  The last time my hands had hurt this bad was when I decided to cement a step at the back door...with my hands.  Let’s just say cement burns your tender flesh and with gravel imbedded in them it was by far worse than working in the garden for a week.  But nonetheless, we tend to mentally forget previous experiences of hurt and think that the current one is worse.  My hands had felt as if I had bruised them to the bone.  Adding insult to injury, pulling the bucket of water up the well for my bafa popped one of them.  Bring on the gravel.

My counterpart advised me to soak my hands in salt water at night to help with the blisters.  I think he must have thought “what a softy!” until he actually saw how deep I was actually digging and then could understand my blisters.  Then he probably shifted to “she’s crazy.”  Malawians make ridges.  Mary makes, uhm, a pit?  Just wait...when I have a garden full of *breathe in* corn, pumpkin, tomatoes, basil, hibiscus, cabbage, lettuce, onions, carrots, cauliflower, millet, jew mallow…..*sigh* *breathe* and pigeon pea everyone will think “I should do a garden like the azungu!”  Ok, probably not.  But at least I’ll be eating my own homegrown veggies!

Days gone by and my hands have gotten stronger...as well as my biceps, back, stomach, and legs.  Body building anyone? Dang, who thought gardening would be such a work out?!  It’s great though because time away from site makes me “soft” so it’s nice to get back to work and feel strong again.

The only gardening I’ve done in my life before coming here was a little bit with my grandfather.  He always had the best carrots.  During high school he helped me begin growing squash, cantaloupe, and cucumber in the backyard.  I can’t say that I’m a natural gardener (we’ll have to see how this years crops turn out), but I truly enjoy it.  One of my goals coming to Peace Corps was to build a garden that my grandfather would be proud of.  So it’s in the works and I’m sure he’ll send down some good vibes for me.  In the mean time I’ll keep digging and preparing, strengthening my hands to give the next guy with a marriage proposal a second thought via handshake.  Hopefully he wont see it as having strong nsima hands...

Bug.  Bigger than my thumb!

Workin' hard, or hardly workin'?

Where to?

Transport within Malawi is quite an adventure. You basically have four options: 1) Large coach buses, 2) Mini bus, 3) Matola, 4) Hitch. All seem like doable options; of course I’m assuming you say except the hitching.

Large buses are a pain in the rear. They are typically over crowded, make lots of stops at police check points, and rarely have enough seats for everyone who as purchased a ticket. My first experience with taking one was heading up the M5 Lakeshore road to a friend’s site close to Nkhata Bay. Let’s just say I’ll never again take a coach if I can help it. It’s a “fight for your space” situation which doesn’t work well for me. Although, you do learn pretty quick that if you don’t sit down in the seat before agogo (grandma/grandpa) then you’ll be the laughing stock, to yourself mostly. That, or else you’ll be standing for the 5 hour bus ride.

I managed to win musical chairs about an hour into the ride, for which I was extremely grateful. I’ll be honest to say that when it comes to public transport I’m already in a crummy mood because there is so much you have to deal with. So when a group of 5 boys in the isle next to my seat kept putting their hands in my face I went American on them: told them to knock it off. But you learn pretty quickly to simply accept the cramped situations or else it’s going to feel like an even longer ride. I finally arrived…9 hours after having left my house that morning. You wouldn’t believe how good a cold shower felt!

Mini buses. I don’t take them if I don’t have to. Short distances are fine, such as around the city or to the boma for stock up on food. These buses are the rejects from Asia, occasionally decked out in foreign characters and often in marginal shape. Now, when you hear that this is the most common mode of transport for Malawians you’d think they would be up to snuff. Wrong. They often have broken seats, mismatched or bare tires, broken doors, no seat belts…name it, and it’s got it. As if those aren’t reason enough to try and avoid them, the drivers have been known to drink which has resulted in hundreds of accidents around the country, commonly killing majority of passengers. Even worse they will pack as many people as possible simply so they can make some more money. I’ve counted at least 28 in one bus thus far (not including babies, chickens, or goats). Just when you think no one else can squeeze, they manage to find space.

They aren’t all that bad when going short distances, however since their predictability is commonly unknown I wait to pay when we arrive. To make it fun (mostly to keep myself sane in the rides) I figure if I can get everyone laughing or smiling on the bus then it will be fun. This is usually achieved by greeting everyone in Chichewa and they think it’s the funniest thing that an azungu speaks their language. The kids are a little tougher, but if you greet them with “Bo bo!” (simple slang) then they usually perk up…or cry. One time I was doing some silly dance as I got on the bus and a couple minutes later I was offered 20 kwacha by a guy to dance with him. It’s even funnier that kids here will say “Give me my money!” (yes, they say “my” not “your”) and yet I was given money for doing some silly chicken dance.

Matola’s are quite a ride, no pun intended of course. Essentially it’s like riding in the back of a truck bed, but sometimes similar to a flat bed. I’ve done some traveling up in the Northern region and matola’s are some of the only transport you can get. Typically they pack people’s goods towards the back and strap it in. It’s another situation where the conductors will pack in as many people as possible. If you’re lucky (or unlucky, depending certain factors) you’ll get a seat (read: a spot to pretzel yourself into). Women prefer to “sit” since most of them have children, while men usually stand. It still blows my mind how decently behaved the children can be while not crawling out of the matola. The trick is to get to a relatively empty matola and steak out your seat while it fills up. This is a time not to be nice or generous by moving to accommodate other people. You have to fight for your space!

The most fun I have had on a matola was going from Karonga to Chitipa. All the PCVs in the north have talked up that 4+ hour ride in the back of a truck, under the sun, with dust everywhere (the road isn’t paved yet). So while doing some site visits this last week and going that way, I figured now was the time to see how long I’d be able to handle it. Fortunately I got there early and camped out right behind the cab and sitting on top of my backpack. It quickly filled up and I had lost my leg space to three men and had a guy standing to my left on the rail of the truck the whole ride. My comfort “bubble” was quickly popped and my solution was to put on some music to keep myself chilled out while looking at the changing scenery. As usual, it didn’t take long to get a conversation going with someone and before I knew it everyone was laughing with me (or at me, I never know) while speaking Chichewa. Despite being covered in dust and dehydrated, I can safely say it was my most fun public transport experience yet.

This leaves us to the last option, but my favorite option. Hitching. The standard for getting a hitch is standing at the side of the road and waving your arm frantically. I’ve had to wait up to an hour for a hitch but have been picked up in less than 5 minutes so the trade of is pretty good. The condition of hitches are hands down better than mini buses. Typically the people who stop are well educated Malawians with nice cars which are in good shape. Occasionally I’ll get a free coke or maybe African cake (delicious muffin) and good conversation. The other side of "occasionally" rests on awkward/creepy men who just want a phone number and sometimes sneak in a marriage proposal.

The best hitch I’ve had yet was with a guy from Blantyre going up north to Mzuzu. Justine and I had met him on the way to a clothes market the previous week when he picked us up. He mentioned he was going north and I changed my travel plans to ride with him. Getting from my site to Mzuzu is safely a 2 day, 1 night travel and so this offer was one I couldn’t turn down. Especially when it’s a “bwana” (rich) ride there are usually perks. The ride included air conditioning (a luxury!), all the new dance hits back home, sandwiches, beers, two stops along the way including Kande Beach and Nkhata Bay, and dinner at the Sunbird Mzuzu which was a T-bone steak with mashed potatoes and apple pie with cream for desert (you’d better believe I ate it all!). He easily spent my monthly income on the entire day. Aaaand that’s the point in which it got creepy and a seemingly gentleman turned into a sleaze. How do you sleep at night with a family back home and hitting on women the age of your daughter? Goes to show they exist everywhere. But I can’t complain about that steak :)

Hitching also crosses into the realm of hopping into the back of pickups. I’ll be honest to say this is nothing I would ever do in the states. But there is an element of excitement and freedom when you’re riding in the back of a truck. You get to appreciate so much more of the scenery opposed to seeing it all from the inside of a car.

All in all, travel in Malawi can be an awesome adventure. It is such a treat to have fun conversations with people, even if it’s half in English and Chichewa with universal charades thrown in to distinguish any confusion. Knowing the language can go far with people here, as not all white people who visit Malawi will take the time to learn how to converse. Goals for my days are trying to make people laugh, and if I have done so then I feel accomplished. Everything I do is a cultural exchange and some of the best places for those are enroute to any desired destination. My experience here would not be the same without coaches, mini buses, matola's, or hitches. Especially when connections you make result in a delicious desert of apple pie :)

New buddies.  Rode in that same position for 3.5 hours!

(Karonga to Chitpa)

A little snug :) looking out of the matola.

(Karonga to Chitipa)

Back of a trailer...I always wanted to ride in one!

(Chitipa to Kapoka)

Back of a pickup, at least kept the dust down

(Kapoka to Karonga)