If there is one thing I have noticed about Mozambique, it is that aforementioned grimy, weedy opulence. It's mostly a feeling when you look at the abandoned buildings, and it says that once and not so very long ago, things were a lot, lot better around here. And then they stopped being that way. Overnight. The decadence has contracted, and now we're seeing the flotsam, the high tide line. Mozambique is filling it in slowly, but it's not there yet. It is a fascinating feeling.
And now I'm in Gorongosa National Park, central Mozambique, soaking up the free internet. Hence three updates in one day. Dan and I took a game drive this morning- saw lots of antelope, crocs, hippos, that most charismatic of savanna creatures- the warthog, plus tons of cool birds. We're staying in a plushish camp in the middle of the park- Chitengo camp. We're camping, and the entrance fee was waived, so we are still practically on a Peace Corps budget! Tomorrow we go to climb the sacred Gorongosa Mountain.
On another note, my traveling companion Dan has a much more interesting blog than I do. He is also better at updating it in general, and also at writing the juicy details that I'm sure you guys at home would savor. His address is www.malawidan.blogspot.com Enjoy!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Have you read Song of Myself?
No? Well. Go out a read it.
Snippets from my journal:
Dirt roads pretty much the whole way today, following the Shire down. The river was to our left, the railroad was to our right, and for some distance the M-1 was in such bad condition that we rode on the footpaths alongside it, which was actually a very nice change with all the zig-zagging and lack of open space ahead of you. Plus I got to sneak up on cows and goats.
There is plenty of end of the Earth feeling here.
This is where my trip really begins, where I slip into vacation/traveling mode and that thought alone already makes me happy.
We checked into Nsanje Discovery Lodge (only 600 kwacha for the two of us! Although Dan doesn't get a bed... but still! $2 each! With electricity AND running water!) and then we took showers (dusty. as. hell.) and went over to the restaurant where our waiter spoke only Portuguese. We were sitting in this pretty open airy turquoise restaurant, both doors open with a perfect breeze coming in ruffling the crazy rainbow colorful plastic crap hanging down from the walls drinking a cold beer and it suddenly felt very exotic, very latino, and I became very happy.
The border crossing was one of the most chill ever. When we asked the immigration officer if we could exchange money in the town of Vila Nova da Frontera, he said "Black market, just near," and then pointed us in the right direction. Now that's a helpful border official! And there is this cavernous old building, which must have been left over from when the Portuguese pulled out in the seventies. It had that grimy, weedy opulence that reminds me of Bokor Hill Fort in Cambodia.
After two and a half days of dirt roads, tarmac is a gift from the biking gods. We flew. The sun went under the horizon and the sky went pink and purple, I yelled that I love Mozambique and then after a little hill I saw the sign for this place, M'phingwe Camp.
This place in unreal. It feels like Yellowstone or something. We have a little chalet that is clean and cheapish and perfect. It's about 2kms down a great dirt track in a beautiful singing forest. They have hot water and an awesome menu, and I saw my breath at night.
Snippets from my journal:
Dirt roads pretty much the whole way today, following the Shire down. The river was to our left, the railroad was to our right, and for some distance the M-1 was in such bad condition that we rode on the footpaths alongside it, which was actually a very nice change with all the zig-zagging and lack of open space ahead of you. Plus I got to sneak up on cows and goats.
There is plenty of end of the Earth feeling here.
This is where my trip really begins, where I slip into vacation/traveling mode and that thought alone already makes me happy.
We checked into Nsanje Discovery Lodge (only 600 kwacha for the two of us! Although Dan doesn't get a bed... but still! $2 each! With electricity AND running water!) and then we took showers (dusty. as. hell.) and went over to the restaurant where our waiter spoke only Portuguese. We were sitting in this pretty open airy turquoise restaurant, both doors open with a perfect breeze coming in ruffling the crazy rainbow colorful plastic crap hanging down from the walls drinking a cold beer and it suddenly felt very exotic, very latino, and I became very happy.
The border crossing was one of the most chill ever. When we asked the immigration officer if we could exchange money in the town of Vila Nova da Frontera, he said "Black market, just near," and then pointed us in the right direction. Now that's a helpful border official! And there is this cavernous old building, which must have been left over from when the Portuguese pulled out in the seventies. It had that grimy, weedy opulence that reminds me of Bokor Hill Fort in Cambodia.
After two and a half days of dirt roads, tarmac is a gift from the biking gods. We flew. The sun went under the horizon and the sky went pink and purple, I yelled that I love Mozambique and then after a little hill I saw the sign for this place, M'phingwe Camp.
This place in unreal. It feels like Yellowstone or something. We have a little chalet that is clean and cheapish and perfect. It's about 2kms down a great dirt track in a beautiful singing forest. They have hot water and an awesome menu, and I saw my breath at night.
You've probably already read this...
Don’t have time? Here’s the quick version!
I’ve completed my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer! I got Malaria and
said goodbye to my village! I’m riding my bike with Dan down Malawi, along
the Mozambican coast and into South Africa, where I’ll go to Capetown and
then fly to Dubai! I’ll be home soon!
Long day in the cubie? Here’s the it’s-this-or-youtube-clips version!
I haven’t sent one of these in a very, very long time so I am very much
out of practice. Therefore, if I skip bits you find interesting, or forget
pivotal details or commit a grammatical error or (worst of all) bore you,
please let me know. If you think you like getting emails from me, I
sincerely promise it is even better on this end.
Where to start? I’m no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer! I have
successfully completed my two years. The village goodbye was said, the
parties were had, the ticket home has been bought. (June 9th, in case you
are wondering) I am now in the noble city of Blantyre, the largest city in
Malawi and set deep in the south. It took eight days to bike here from my
house. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.
My final weeks at my house were nothing but goodbyes and giving things
away. I had a little goodbye party with my HIV group, and a little goodbye
party with a natural resource committee/women’s group in a village I worked
in a lot. In case you are wondering, a little goodbye party means that
everyone shows up in their nice clothes and we all sit around and talk and
exchange contact information. Someone asks me for my bike. I take a lot of
pictures. At some point I go down the line and shake hands with everyone
Malawi style, bending at my knees and grabbing my right elbow with my left
hand. Finally the night before I set off all of my neighbors come over with
a bounty of food and we all cram onto my front porch and eat our delicious
curried chicken and sima and rice and avocados, I made spaghetti, and
chatted and chatted by the candlelight. My chief gave a short speech, then
my friend Bayani turned on the sound system and we danced. It was pretty
great.
I should note that I got malaria with less than a week to go in Tukombo.
Malaria is a truly awful disease and I was laid out in bed on and off for my
last five days. It’s a very cyclical disease, and so I would have bouts of
insane fever and nausea, and seriously the most extreme exhaustion you could
imagine. And then 12 hours later I would pretty much feel fine. Then my
red blood cells would re-explode with malarial parasites and it would all
start over again. I shuffled around my meetings/goodbyes and by the day I
had to go I was fit as a fit person.
I have been wanting/planning/hoping to take a big bike ride on my way
home almost since I got here. Traveling by bike is pretty much the best
possible way to travel ever. I get to see details I would miss in a bus or a
car, and I get to stop whenever I want for whatever reason. I talk to
people while I’m riding, and I can smell when to stop for good food. I get
the satisfaction of using my own locomotion to actually get somewhere. And
going down an escarpment on a bike just can’t be beat. Mostly though, I’m
convinced that human beings generally find happiness in movement, and I’m
simply indulging myself.
So I bought a bike and saddlebags and the morning I left I rode away from
my wonderful lakeside village with my neighbors waving and my dog barking.
I had just met the child I got to name for the first time (Taylor) (funny
cause Malawians have a hard time with Ls and Rs) that morning too. I rode 35
kilometers to my sitemate’s house and had dinner with three other
volunteers. The next day I rode to another volunteer’s house, riding
through Nkhotakota Game Reserve and feeling very alone in the wilderness, it
was a very cool feeling. So I rode for four days down the lakeshore road to
Lilongwe, where I did all my final paperwork and officially closed my
service. I met up with Dan, another Peace Corps Volunteer who I had talked
into wasting his vacation time to ride his bike with me, and we were off! I
we spent five days biking to get here, staying with Peace Corps Volunteers
(usually even more than one at a time) the whole way down. I swear on my
turquoise, purple and pink saddlebags that staying with Peace Corps
Volunteers pretty much can’t be beat. We would call the morning we were
planning on showing up and invite ourselves over. They don’t have a lot but
they give you a lot- everyone wanted to cook a meal for us and we even got a
chocolate cake for breakfast one morning. It was my birthday so it made more
sense, but still.
So we have begun the Big Bike Trip! 730 kilometers so far, with at least
another 3000 to go. Our plan is basically to bike to the very bottom tip of
this country and cross the border into glorious Mozambique. From there we
follow the Zambezi river to the coast, and then simply bike down along the
coast. We both got scuba certified in Malawi, so we are just going to bike
and dive and bike and dive and stay in a place when we want to and move on
when we want to. We’ll be hitting up a tropical island national park to
dive with whale sharks and manta rays and dugongs! We’ll be biking along the
beautiful coast! We’ll be staying with Peace Corps Mozambique volunteers and
couchsurfers! Then to Maputo, then on and on crossing into South Africa and
stopping somewhere in there- we will go as long and as far as time allows.
Dan and I will part ways and then I’ll be spending time in Capetown before
flying out of there to Dubai. And because I like an adventure, I have a 12
day layover in Dubai to toot around and achieve a life-goal of visiting Abu
Dhabi. Then home to California, my real once and future home, a
peoplemindstate I plan on re-acquainting myself with intimately and wholly.
I’ve seen some different stuff here. Working as a Peace Corps Volunteer
here has been life, and nothing less. If you asked me what it was like I
would say, pick a word, any word. So keep in touch, and I’ll see you on the other side.
ox
me
Born between roughly 1982 and 1988? Here’s the Oregon Trail version!
Name: Matt “Jebediah Phiri” Wisniewski
Occupation: Farmer
Salary for provisions: Meager
Traveling with: Dan Carr
Lena who punched me in third grade
That annoying kid
Seymour Butts
Rate: Grueling
Rations: Moderate
Start date: March 28. Still heavy snow on the ground.
*Stares at 14 pixel image of us on bikes*
Beep! Matt “Jebediah Phiri” Wisniewski has contracted Malaria! Do you wish
to wait or move on?
[Move on]
Beep! The M-5 lakeshore road has been washed out just below Nkhotakota! Do
you wish to: Ford the river? Caulk the wagon? Pay 20 kwacha for a hastily
constructed footbridge that somehow manages to be useless looking and scary
looking at the same time?
[Pay 20 kwacha for footbridge]
Beep! Matt “Jebediah Phiri” has popped a tube just outside of Dedza!
Luckily, you have a spare.
Dan Carr has gone hunting and has come back with six hard boiled eggs! He
used 748 bullets.
You have reached Blantyre! Do you wish to rest or move on?
[Rest]
[Save game now]
[I am so stoked]
[I miss you all terribly]
I’ve completed my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer! I got Malaria and
said goodbye to my village! I’m riding my bike with Dan down Malawi, along
the Mozambican coast and into South Africa, where I’ll go to Capetown and
then fly to Dubai! I’ll be home soon!
Long day in the cubie? Here’s the it’s-this-or-youtube-clips version!
I haven’t sent one of these in a very, very long time so I am very much
out of practice. Therefore, if I skip bits you find interesting, or forget
pivotal details or commit a grammatical error or (worst of all) bore you,
please let me know. If you think you like getting emails from me, I
sincerely promise it is even better on this end.
Where to start? I’m no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer! I have
successfully completed my two years. The village goodbye was said, the
parties were had, the ticket home has been bought. (June 9th, in case you
are wondering) I am now in the noble city of Blantyre, the largest city in
Malawi and set deep in the south. It took eight days to bike here from my
house. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.
My final weeks at my house were nothing but goodbyes and giving things
away. I had a little goodbye party with my HIV group, and a little goodbye
party with a natural resource committee/women’s group in a village I worked
in a lot. In case you are wondering, a little goodbye party means that
everyone shows up in their nice clothes and we all sit around and talk and
exchange contact information. Someone asks me for my bike. I take a lot of
pictures. At some point I go down the line and shake hands with everyone
Malawi style, bending at my knees and grabbing my right elbow with my left
hand. Finally the night before I set off all of my neighbors come over with
a bounty of food and we all cram onto my front porch and eat our delicious
curried chicken and sima and rice and avocados, I made spaghetti, and
chatted and chatted by the candlelight. My chief gave a short speech, then
my friend Bayani turned on the sound system and we danced. It was pretty
great.
I should note that I got malaria with less than a week to go in Tukombo.
Malaria is a truly awful disease and I was laid out in bed on and off for my
last five days. It’s a very cyclical disease, and so I would have bouts of
insane fever and nausea, and seriously the most extreme exhaustion you could
imagine. And then 12 hours later I would pretty much feel fine. Then my
red blood cells would re-explode with malarial parasites and it would all
start over again. I shuffled around my meetings/goodbyes and by the day I
had to go I was fit as a fit person.
I have been wanting/planning/hoping to take a big bike ride on my way
home almost since I got here. Traveling by bike is pretty much the best
possible way to travel ever. I get to see details I would miss in a bus or a
car, and I get to stop whenever I want for whatever reason. I talk to
people while I’m riding, and I can smell when to stop for good food. I get
the satisfaction of using my own locomotion to actually get somewhere. And
going down an escarpment on a bike just can’t be beat. Mostly though, I’m
convinced that human beings generally find happiness in movement, and I’m
simply indulging myself.
So I bought a bike and saddlebags and the morning I left I rode away from
my wonderful lakeside village with my neighbors waving and my dog barking.
I had just met the child I got to name for the first time (Taylor) (funny
cause Malawians have a hard time with Ls and Rs) that morning too. I rode 35
kilometers to my sitemate’s house and had dinner with three other
volunteers. The next day I rode to another volunteer’s house, riding
through Nkhotakota Game Reserve and feeling very alone in the wilderness, it
was a very cool feeling. So I rode for four days down the lakeshore road to
Lilongwe, where I did all my final paperwork and officially closed my
service. I met up with Dan, another Peace Corps Volunteer who I had talked
into wasting his vacation time to ride his bike with me, and we were off! I
we spent five days biking to get here, staying with Peace Corps Volunteers
(usually even more than one at a time) the whole way down. I swear on my
turquoise, purple and pink saddlebags that staying with Peace Corps
Volunteers pretty much can’t be beat. We would call the morning we were
planning on showing up and invite ourselves over. They don’t have a lot but
they give you a lot- everyone wanted to cook a meal for us and we even got a
chocolate cake for breakfast one morning. It was my birthday so it made more
sense, but still.
So we have begun the Big Bike Trip! 730 kilometers so far, with at least
another 3000 to go. Our plan is basically to bike to the very bottom tip of
this country and cross the border into glorious Mozambique. From there we
follow the Zambezi river to the coast, and then simply bike down along the
coast. We both got scuba certified in Malawi, so we are just going to bike
and dive and bike and dive and stay in a place when we want to and move on
when we want to. We’ll be hitting up a tropical island national park to
dive with whale sharks and manta rays and dugongs! We’ll be biking along the
beautiful coast! We’ll be staying with Peace Corps Mozambique volunteers and
couchsurfers! Then to Maputo, then on and on crossing into South Africa and
stopping somewhere in there- we will go as long and as far as time allows.
Dan and I will part ways and then I’ll be spending time in Capetown before
flying out of there to Dubai. And because I like an adventure, I have a 12
day layover in Dubai to toot around and achieve a life-goal of visiting Abu
Dhabi. Then home to California, my real once and future home, a
peoplemindstate I plan on re-acquainting myself with intimately and wholly.
I’ve seen some different stuff here. Working as a Peace Corps Volunteer
here has been life, and nothing less. If you asked me what it was like I
would say, pick a word, any word. So keep in touch, and I’ll see you on the other side.
ox
me
Born between roughly 1982 and 1988? Here’s the Oregon Trail version!
Name: Matt “Jebediah Phiri” Wisniewski
Occupation: Farmer
Salary for provisions: Meager
Traveling with: Dan Carr
Lena who punched me in third grade
That annoying kid
Seymour Butts
Rate: Grueling
Rations: Moderate
Start date: March 28. Still heavy snow on the ground.
*Stares at 14 pixel image of us on bikes*
Beep! Matt “Jebediah Phiri” Wisniewski has contracted Malaria! Do you wish
to wait or move on?
[Move on]
Beep! The M-5 lakeshore road has been washed out just below Nkhotakota! Do
you wish to: Ford the river? Caulk the wagon? Pay 20 kwacha for a hastily
constructed footbridge that somehow manages to be useless looking and scary
looking at the same time?
[Pay 20 kwacha for footbridge]
Beep! Matt “Jebediah Phiri” has popped a tube just outside of Dedza!
Luckily, you have a spare.
Dan Carr has gone hunting and has come back with six hard boiled eggs! He
used 748 bullets.
You have reached Blantyre! Do you wish to rest or move on?
[Rest]
[Save game now]
[I am so stoked]
[I miss you all terribly]
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
...just like a gmail account.
As a Californian it pains me greatly to say this: crappy weather really does make you appreciate the good weather more.
I stepped outside to burn my trash this evening and the stars shocked me with their indecency.
I went inside and grabbed my constellation book. I found for the first time Columbia (the dove) and Lepus (the Hare), and rediscovered a number of others. A couchsurfer recently theorized that my interest in constellations is a straightforward outgrowth of my obsession with geography. True, but that’s only part of it. I know now why they were so important to seafarers back in the day: navigation, sure, but also a familiarity that borders on friendship. You build up a rapport with the sky, and you can take that anywhere...
I stepped outside to burn my trash this evening and the stars shocked me with their indecency.
I went inside and grabbed my constellation book. I found for the first time Columbia (the dove) and Lepus (the Hare), and rediscovered a number of others. A couchsurfer recently theorized that my interest in constellations is a straightforward outgrowth of my obsession with geography. True, but that’s only part of it. I know now why they were so important to seafarers back in the day: navigation, sure, but also a familiarity that borders on friendship. You build up a rapport with the sky, and you can take that anywhere...
Reading waka
Two days ago a boy was staring at me as I lay reading on the beach. This is nothing unusual. I ignore him. Eventually he greets me. I respond and we make small talk, with me slipping in English, under my breath and directed towards answering myself, in the manner I always do whenever I am slightly annoyed. Astoundingly he understands all that I am saying in English. His name is George and he speaks the best English of anyone I've met in Tukombo. He is nine years old. I gave him a book, some magazines and a snorkel.
Today was an absolutely beautiful day. Kuwirwi was crystal clear. The trees looked like mold or algae on a rock, begging me to smoosh it down with my thumb. I could not take my eyes off the mountain today.
Reading Pedagogy of the Oppressed. I actually think that the dated socialist jargon and concepts (Praxis! Liberation! And that most dreaded sentiment in serious hoity-toity social science: love.) are what make it sing to me.
Today was an absolutely beautiful day. Kuwirwi was crystal clear. The trees looked like mold or algae on a rock, begging me to smoosh it down with my thumb. I could not take my eyes off the mountain today.
Reading Pedagogy of the Oppressed. I actually think that the dated socialist jargon and concepts (Praxis! Liberation! And that most dreaded sentiment in serious hoity-toity social science: love.) are what make it sing to me.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Yes We Can (We Shall, We Did)
From the journal:
Wow. I wrote that last on on election day. It's from a song we made up in 4th grade- I had it stuck in my head. A lot has changed since I wrote that. I have a black president for at least the next four years. Democrats increased majorities in both houses. It is again illegal for any two people who love each other to get married in my state. Construction will soon begin on a bullet train linking the major cities of my life: San Francisco and Los Angeles.
So, lots of change.
Election night. Huddled around Fornoffs shortwave radio after dinner, wondering how best to run an environment camp while hearing everything we want to hear. We decide to sleep early, and then wake up at 2:00 and meet down at the soccer pitch.
Picture it: Dan, Fornoff, Emily, Rob, and after a while Amalia and Gracie. We are laying on our backs in a line under the stars, switching back and forth between BBC and Voice of America. We've got one sleeping mat underneath us, an open sleeping bag laying across all of us, and shooting stars, many of them that evening, racing through the sky. Two of them were so bright that they left a visible trail for a few seconds. I spat on the ground after seeing the first one, a Tumbuka custom I just learned, to ward off hexes.
I had made a large map of the United States on some flipchart paper. I brought blue and red pencils and colored in each state as the numbers rolled in.
We would chat, point out constellations and freeze as soon as an important announcement came on. State by state we colored in the future- northeast states going blue by blue, with Kentucky the first aknowledged thorn in our side. Pennsylvania was an important moment, but I was banking on it anyways. Mom, Taylor, Katie all texting me, Sivan trying to call but not getting through.
The point where the reality of history dovetailed with my dreams was when Ohio rolled in. They announced the delegate count to that point. It was in the low 200s. With California's 50-something, plus Oregon, Washington and Hawaii- well, I felt a knot in my stomach leave forever. I had been holding that knot for a long, long time.
The sun was rising over the Kandoli mountains, gorgeous and orange and striped and crimson. What a perfect start to a new begining. I got choked up. We all hugged each other.
Waiting for breakfast I had nothing to do, so I started washing some clothes while listening to the radio. McCain's speech came on- I listened, rapt. It was really happening, outside my head.
Waiting just outside the kitchen door a little later, Barack Obama came on to give his acceptance speech.
My words will fail me in my attempt to convey my feelings as I listened to him. In his first speech as a national leader, he asserted the legitimacy of everyone in American society, very unneccesarily. I teared up, not for the last time.
When he talked about people huddled around shortwave radios in the forgotten places of the world, I got goosebumps. He was talking to us, and especially the dozen or so campers huddled around us. I wanted to point at them and tell them that the future President of the United States was adressing THEM, live at this very moment, on the other side of the planet in a big party in a park. But I didn't- I didn't want to miss the speech.
And then with the look back at history that somehow didn't sound cheesy, the 106 year old black woman who voted for him, the Yes We Can.
Oh, God. It was so beautiful. That moment, when I felt my pride sweep in from some unknown place.
There was a time when I thought that I would almost rather have McCain win. Then I could rest easily in my cynicism and comfortably reside in Californian provincialism.
But this feeling- oh my God- it is so much better than that.
Wow. I wrote that last on on election day. It's from a song we made up in 4th grade- I had it stuck in my head. A lot has changed since I wrote that. I have a black president for at least the next four years. Democrats increased majorities in both houses. It is again illegal for any two people who love each other to get married in my state. Construction will soon begin on a bullet train linking the major cities of my life: San Francisco and Los Angeles.
So, lots of change.
Election night. Huddled around Fornoffs shortwave radio after dinner, wondering how best to run an environment camp while hearing everything we want to hear. We decide to sleep early, and then wake up at 2:00 and meet down at the soccer pitch.
Picture it: Dan, Fornoff, Emily, Rob, and after a while Amalia and Gracie. We are laying on our backs in a line under the stars, switching back and forth between BBC and Voice of America. We've got one sleeping mat underneath us, an open sleeping bag laying across all of us, and shooting stars, many of them that evening, racing through the sky. Two of them were so bright that they left a visible trail for a few seconds. I spat on the ground after seeing the first one, a Tumbuka custom I just learned, to ward off hexes.
I had made a large map of the United States on some flipchart paper. I brought blue and red pencils and colored in each state as the numbers rolled in.
We would chat, point out constellations and freeze as soon as an important announcement came on. State by state we colored in the future- northeast states going blue by blue, with Kentucky the first aknowledged thorn in our side. Pennsylvania was an important moment, but I was banking on it anyways. Mom, Taylor, Katie all texting me, Sivan trying to call but not getting through.
The point where the reality of history dovetailed with my dreams was when Ohio rolled in. They announced the delegate count to that point. It was in the low 200s. With California's 50-something, plus Oregon, Washington and Hawaii- well, I felt a knot in my stomach leave forever. I had been holding that knot for a long, long time.
The sun was rising over the Kandoli mountains, gorgeous and orange and striped and crimson. What a perfect start to a new begining. I got choked up. We all hugged each other.
Waiting for breakfast I had nothing to do, so I started washing some clothes while listening to the radio. McCain's speech came on- I listened, rapt. It was really happening, outside my head.
Waiting just outside the kitchen door a little later, Barack Obama came on to give his acceptance speech.
My words will fail me in my attempt to convey my feelings as I listened to him. In his first speech as a national leader, he asserted the legitimacy of everyone in American society, very unneccesarily. I teared up, not for the last time.
When he talked about people huddled around shortwave radios in the forgotten places of the world, I got goosebumps. He was talking to us, and especially the dozen or so campers huddled around us. I wanted to point at them and tell them that the future President of the United States was adressing THEM, live at this very moment, on the other side of the planet in a big party in a park. But I didn't- I didn't want to miss the speech.
And then with the look back at history that somehow didn't sound cheesy, the 106 year old black woman who voted for him, the Yes We Can.
Oh, God. It was so beautiful. That moment, when I felt my pride sweep in from some unknown place.
There was a time when I thought that I would almost rather have McCain win. Then I could rest easily in my cynicism and comfortably reside in Californian provincialism.
But this feeling- oh my God- it is so much better than that.
LAMa
Also culled from my journal:
"It truly appeals as paradise."
(Rs and Ls are interchangeable in Malawi)
I was sitting next to Kamata Banda in his living room stuffed with knicknacs, ceramic dogs and more than one unopened bottle of salad dressing.
For display. You know.
Kamata Banda lives on the shores of Lake Malawi. And not in the way that I live on the shores of Lake Malawi. He lives on the beach. Sitting in this living room you look out onto the ultrafine sand beach littered with boulders sprinkled in aquamarine water, with verdant forest to the right and the great hulking body of Kuwirwi mountain descending straight into the water, like a giant Malawian diving into the lake.
Perfect. Ten.
"It truly appeals as paradise."
Kamata Banda was not talking about the view from his living room. He was talking about Los Angeles. I had just given him a photo book of my one-anda-half-removed hometown, since publishers don't seem to think there's a big enough market to publish glossy picture books about Arcadia.
Beautiful? Can be. Lively? Undoubtedly. Paradise?
Not the word I would have chosen.
"You know, many people in my country would look at this place and call it paradise."
But that's like him telling me LA is like heaven on Earth.
As Malawians say, we are both used.
We are both used to what we see every day, as is only natural among live human beings, whether we like it or not. It also helps that our communities are polar opposites in many, many ways.
Thus this place stopped being punch-to-the-gut exotic. That aquamarine lake strewn with boulders and ultrafine sand beaches? That's just my bathtub. Sometimes with snorkelling. For a long time now I haven't said to myself "I'm bathing in the lake!" I just strip down and lather up, and get really annoyed when there's too much sand on my bar of soap.
Concieted? Sure. So is complaining about traffic.
"It truly appeals as paradise."
It's funny, cause I don't even know what he is saying with that.
"It truly appeals as paradise."
(Rs and Ls are interchangeable in Malawi)
I was sitting next to Kamata Banda in his living room stuffed with knicknacs, ceramic dogs and more than one unopened bottle of salad dressing.
For display. You know.
Kamata Banda lives on the shores of Lake Malawi. And not in the way that I live on the shores of Lake Malawi. He lives on the beach. Sitting in this living room you look out onto the ultrafine sand beach littered with boulders sprinkled in aquamarine water, with verdant forest to the right and the great hulking body of Kuwirwi mountain descending straight into the water, like a giant Malawian diving into the lake.
Perfect. Ten.
"It truly appeals as paradise."
Kamata Banda was not talking about the view from his living room. He was talking about Los Angeles. I had just given him a photo book of my one-anda-half-removed hometown, since publishers don't seem to think there's a big enough market to publish glossy picture books about Arcadia.
Beautiful? Can be. Lively? Undoubtedly. Paradise?
Not the word I would have chosen.
"You know, many people in my country would look at this place and call it paradise."
But that's like him telling me LA is like heaven on Earth.
As Malawians say, we are both used.
We are both used to what we see every day, as is only natural among live human beings, whether we like it or not. It also helps that our communities are polar opposites in many, many ways.
Thus this place stopped being punch-to-the-gut exotic. That aquamarine lake strewn with boulders and ultrafine sand beaches? That's just my bathtub. Sometimes with snorkelling. For a long time now I haven't said to myself "I'm bathing in the lake!" I just strip down and lather up, and get really annoyed when there's too much sand on my bar of soap.
Concieted? Sure. So is complaining about traffic.
"It truly appeals as paradise."
It's funny, cause I don't even know what he is saying with that.
Wowowo
I was walking to the office in Lilongwe today, and it struck me that without a doubt the coolest hotel I've ever stayed at was Giraffe Manor, in Nairobi, Kenya. Breakfast every day was eggs and bacon and fresh fruit and giraffes sticking their heads into the room through the huge plate glass windows to nibble on treats, or give kisses. Giraffe tongues feel like sandpaper.
Dinner was semi-formal, and delicious. Drinks by the fireplace, with amarula. Scottish manor house with warthogs. Seeing my family for the first time in over a year and a half, and just sitting around with them.
Just really, really nice. Thanks, fam.
Dinner was semi-formal, and delicious. Drinks by the fireplace, with amarula. Scottish manor house with warthogs. Seeing my family for the first time in over a year and a half, and just sitting around with them.
Just really, really nice. Thanks, fam.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Backlog: Camp is ova
Synthesized from the journal: (undated, as I don't date my journal, but sometime in the first week of August)
Camp is over- I'm spending my first night at home in over a week.
Camp was successful. And wierd. It really was so much stress- I should have done it with someone else. The worst part of all was that the money wasn't coming through even though I was told it would be there by the time camp started, then it would be there by the end of camp, then it turns out they deposited the entire grant into the wrong account. Whose I don't know. [A huge loan from Meg (another volunteer), my parents and a complete wipeout of my living expenses account made it happen. I got an email from my country director that the funds should be in my bank account by the time I get back from vacation. I'm heading over there as soon as I'm done writing this.]
I brought William along to help out and cook. Tim and Emily were the Ministry of Fun, Yulie taught natural medicine. Karen and Jared took health. I did permaculture, otherwise known as a kind of sustainable agriculture. Poor William was so overwhelmed with work the first day, so Jared's cook Francis came over on day two.
And while I didn't get the name of Camp ACRONYM on the proposal, that actually was the name of the camp. Jared came up with the acronym: Aspiring, Creative, Revolutionary, Optomistic, Never-Say-Die Young Malawians. Also known as Enviro Health Camp. Or Camp Wiz.
And these gems:
(During riddle time at the bonfire)
Jared: What's black and white but read all over?
Camper, genuinely confident: Eleven!
Team mottos: (and I swear there was no counselor collaboration with any of these)
Hippos- Weapons of mass destruction
Snakes- The worst bitters
Lizards- We have short legs
Overall, I genuinely feel like it was a unique, helpful thing- especially how all of the classes were interrelated and that they all contribue to Wellness with a capital W. Caroline, who works with local schools teaching permaculture, was a great help. She gave us books on permaculture, lesson plans, seeds, ideas. She sent over one of her workers, Simone, to do a killer composting demonstration. (His secret ingredient is the inside of rotting banana stalks. Who knew?) Caroline also organized and led a field trip to Sandra's Orphanage, an awesome place to see what permaculture looks like in practice. Finally she came over with four other helpers to give a slideshow presentation on graduation day. It showed before/after sites, usefull plants, and examples of what we learned in class.
For graduation we had the students catwalkstrutdance up to recieve thier diplomas.
And now, home, I hung out with Jeannie Kathongomala and the Ng'omas, where I had dinner. Kondowole/woyera mix, with okra and mandolo (cowpeas) which I just learned about from Caroline. I also chatted with Charles, who sadly said that he will be transferred in about a week. Moving to Chintheche. It's nice to come home and relax and bathe in the lake at my usual beach and chat with my neighbors in Tonga. I've been meaning to hang out more with my neighbors lately- whenever I do they make me feel better.
Camp is over- I'm spending my first night at home in over a week.
Camp was successful. And wierd. It really was so much stress- I should have done it with someone else. The worst part of all was that the money wasn't coming through even though I was told it would be there by the time camp started, then it would be there by the end of camp, then it turns out they deposited the entire grant into the wrong account. Whose I don't know. [A huge loan from Meg (another volunteer), my parents and a complete wipeout of my living expenses account made it happen. I got an email from my country director that the funds should be in my bank account by the time I get back from vacation. I'm heading over there as soon as I'm done writing this.]
I brought William along to help out and cook. Tim and Emily were the Ministry of Fun, Yulie taught natural medicine. Karen and Jared took health. I did permaculture, otherwise known as a kind of sustainable agriculture. Poor William was so overwhelmed with work the first day, so Jared's cook Francis came over on day two.
And while I didn't get the name of Camp ACRONYM on the proposal, that actually was the name of the camp. Jared came up with the acronym: Aspiring, Creative, Revolutionary, Optomistic, Never-Say-Die Young Malawians. Also known as Enviro Health Camp. Or Camp Wiz.
And these gems:
(During riddle time at the bonfire)
Jared: What's black and white but read all over?
Camper, genuinely confident: Eleven!
Team mottos: (and I swear there was no counselor collaboration with any of these)
Hippos- Weapons of mass destruction
Snakes- The worst bitters
Lizards- We have short legs
Overall, I genuinely feel like it was a unique, helpful thing- especially how all of the classes were interrelated and that they all contribue to Wellness with a capital W. Caroline, who works with local schools teaching permaculture, was a great help. She gave us books on permaculture, lesson plans, seeds, ideas. She sent over one of her workers, Simone, to do a killer composting demonstration. (His secret ingredient is the inside of rotting banana stalks. Who knew?) Caroline also organized and led a field trip to Sandra's Orphanage, an awesome place to see what permaculture looks like in practice. Finally she came over with four other helpers to give a slideshow presentation on graduation day. It showed before/after sites, usefull plants, and examples of what we learned in class.
For graduation we had the students catwalkstrutdance up to recieve thier diplomas.
And now, home, I hung out with Jeannie Kathongomala and the Ng'omas, where I had dinner. Kondowole/woyera mix, with okra and mandolo (cowpeas) which I just learned about from Caroline. I also chatted with Charles, who sadly said that he will be transferred in about a week. Moving to Chintheche. It's nice to come home and relax and bathe in the lake at my usual beach and chat with my neighbors in Tonga. I've been meaning to hang out more with my neighbors lately- whenever I do they make me feel better.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Camp
I'm in Lilongwe trying to pick up money for the environmental camp I'm about to hold. I really really tried to call it Camp ACRONYM in deference to the acronymization of everything in Peace Corps. But since it's an environmental health camp and only some of the letters can be development jargon (Capacity, Youth) I now just call it Environmental Health Camp. Lame, I know.
There are three elements to it: permaculture, natural medicine and health/nutrition. It's going to be held at Vibitac Bible Institute, a local private secondary school conviniently situated on a beach that is even more gorgeous than mine. The teachers are all going to be my homepeople- Peace Corps Volunteers, plus a local Englishwoman who works for the German development agency here. Tim and Emily are are heading up the Ministry of Fun. Basically, it's going to be the best camp ever.
I was here for the new health group swear-in yesterday too. Fun to meet the new kids, party it up a bit, and see what we must have been like a year and a half ago.
I'm also getting ready for a big trip- bus up to the Tanzanian border, train to Dar es Salaam, then boat out to Zanzibar to meet up with some friends. Then back to Dar and up to Nairobi to meet up with the fam, that I may show them around my little corner of the planet for a while. I already got to play host to Mar and Kath, and it was splendid. It also helped that the generosity they showed me was stunning.
All for now, gimme a shout.
There are three elements to it: permaculture, natural medicine and health/nutrition. It's going to be held at Vibitac Bible Institute, a local private secondary school conviniently situated on a beach that is even more gorgeous than mine. The teachers are all going to be my homepeople- Peace Corps Volunteers, plus a local Englishwoman who works for the German development agency here. Tim and Emily are are heading up the Ministry of Fun. Basically, it's going to be the best camp ever.
I was here for the new health group swear-in yesterday too. Fun to meet the new kids, party it up a bit, and see what we must have been like a year and a half ago.
I'm also getting ready for a big trip- bus up to the Tanzanian border, train to Dar es Salaam, then boat out to Zanzibar to meet up with some friends. Then back to Dar and up to Nairobi to meet up with the fam, that I may show them around my little corner of the planet for a while. I already got to play host to Mar and Kath, and it was splendid. It also helped that the generosity they showed me was stunning.
All for now, gimme a shout.
Monday, May 5, 2008
Zomelani
Almost since I arrived in my village, I have been subtly searching for HIV positive people. The level of ignorance about HIV here is huge, despite the fact that it affects so many more people, directly and indirectly, than almost anywhere else you can think of. The level of shame associated with it is also much bigger than would have thought, even after I leard about it in Pre-Service Training. Still, after asking my close friends and neighbors, there hasn't been a single openly positive person I could identify.
So I started asking around at my local health clinics and I stumbled upon a group of HIV positive people, the Zomelani AIDS Club. It was started by the local chief, who was the first to come out about status. Today there are 12 members.
{One wife who goes to every meeting with her husband. They are both HIV+}
I didn't really get international development, grassroots work or even my role as a Peace Corps volunteer until I found this group. Everything just kinda clicked. Internal debates on the role of money, patronism and sustainability melted away; i'm not having existential issues any more, which is nice. Not a single project before this made me want to just give money to people.
{One man in his thirties. He walks with a cane.}
The first thing I did was find out what Zomelani wants and needs. (A bleakly humorous factoid: need and want are the same words in Tonga. [So are love and like, and pray and beg]) What it came down to was money. Anti-retroviral medications (ARVs) are a lifesaver- really, people who go on this can look like they come back from the dead. And ARVs are free in Malawi, thanks to various governments and NGO initiatives. BUT transportation to them is not. A person cannot pick up more than a month at a time, and no one can pick up your meds for you. Basically it is a HUGE financial drain on a household. People make is happen but only by scrimping, begging and family connections.
{One mother who brings her twelve year old daughter to meetings. They are both HIV+}
SO this is where my particular skill set comes into play: wine!
I learned how to make wine at site- I brewed a killer coconut/mango wine for my New Years Eve party. If there is one fool-proof, fail-safe income generating activity in the village, it's brewing liquor. So it's where I wanted to start.
One batch of wine per month yeilds slightly less than transport money to and from the clinic.
Work has never been so appreciated.
The first batch was banana.
So I started asking around at my local health clinics and I stumbled upon a group of HIV positive people, the Zomelani AIDS Club. It was started by the local chief, who was the first to come out about status. Today there are 12 members.
{One wife who goes to every meeting with her husband. They are both HIV+}
I didn't really get international development, grassroots work or even my role as a Peace Corps volunteer until I found this group. Everything just kinda clicked. Internal debates on the role of money, patronism and sustainability melted away; i'm not having existential issues any more, which is nice. Not a single project before this made me want to just give money to people.
{One man in his thirties. He walks with a cane.}
The first thing I did was find out what Zomelani wants and needs. (A bleakly humorous factoid: need and want are the same words in Tonga. [So are love and like, and pray and beg]) What it came down to was money. Anti-retroviral medications (ARVs) are a lifesaver- really, people who go on this can look like they come back from the dead. And ARVs are free in Malawi, thanks to various governments and NGO initiatives. BUT transportation to them is not. A person cannot pick up more than a month at a time, and no one can pick up your meds for you. Basically it is a HUGE financial drain on a household. People make is happen but only by scrimping, begging and family connections.
{One mother who brings her twelve year old daughter to meetings. They are both HIV+}
SO this is where my particular skill set comes into play: wine!
I learned how to make wine at site- I brewed a killer coconut/mango wine for my New Years Eve party. If there is one fool-proof, fail-safe income generating activity in the village, it's brewing liquor. So it's where I wanted to start.
One batch of wine per month yeilds slightly less than transport money to and from the clinic.
Work has never been so appreciated.
The first batch was banana.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Flisbee
I threw one frisbee out. This is not unusual, I often toss one out after my daily saunter in the lake. But this day there were a lot of kids in the area, so I hatched my brilliant plan. I ran inside and gathered up the rest of my frisbees and held them behind my back while I ran out. My kids were running around, screaming, falling down for no apparent reason. I hooted and then threw out the frisbees, one after another.
The universe coughed, contracted and collapsed in on itself; time froze and all reality was reset.
It fell silent for a second, eyes bulged. Then everyone went crazy.
The universe coughed, contracted and collapsed in on itself; time froze and all reality was reset.
It fell silent for a second, eyes bulged. Then everyone went crazy.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Waterfalls
I rode my bike to my sitemate Alex's house, about 45 minutes away. He and Paige were waiting for me when I got there, just as it was getting dark. We ate homemade bread (Alex = for reals cook) killed a tarantula and then lay down on the floor and went to bed.
Early next morning (my sitemates have not been able to perfect the art of sleeping in in the village)(or maybe anywhere, I don't really know) up and out and hiking along the banks of the river, up and up into beautiful dry hills, up and up past villages until it was just us and river and forest.
You could hear the waterfall a long ways away. I would rate it as the second best waterfall I've ever seen. We took off our shoes and scampered down it, partially in the water and partially on the rocks, so big and wide that there were big pools halfway down the face of it that we could lounge around in and not be afraid of crocodiles.
So we lounged and lounged and ate beef jerkey and it was a LOVELY day.
Since then I've been in Lilongwe for Thanksgiving. I've consumed:
1. Tacos
2. Pizza
3. Nachos
3. BBQ Pork
4. Orange Rolls
5. Gin and Tonic
6. Calzone
7. Charles Shaw Merlot
8. Spaghetti
9. Thai Garlic Noodles
10. Quiche
My life is decadent beyond my wildest dreams- hope yours is too.
Early next morning (my sitemates have not been able to perfect the art of sleeping in in the village)(or maybe anywhere, I don't really know) up and out and hiking along the banks of the river, up and up into beautiful dry hills, up and up past villages until it was just us and river and forest.
You could hear the waterfall a long ways away. I would rate it as the second best waterfall I've ever seen. We took off our shoes and scampered down it, partially in the water and partially on the rocks, so big and wide that there were big pools halfway down the face of it that we could lounge around in and not be afraid of crocodiles.
So we lounged and lounged and ate beef jerkey and it was a LOVELY day.
Since then I've been in Lilongwe for Thanksgiving. I've consumed:
1. Tacos
2. Pizza
3. Nachos
3. BBQ Pork
4. Orange Rolls
5. Gin and Tonic
6. Calzone
7. Charles Shaw Merlot
8. Spaghetti
9. Thai Garlic Noodles
10. Quiche
My life is decadent beyond my wildest dreams- hope yours is too.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Hey buddy, have you got a dime?
Back from training, back from travel, I missed my village. I was gone for almost 3 weeks all told (the 2 hour SUV ride takes all day [really] on a minibus). I am working with four tree nurseries, one bee keeping club and fourish school clubs right now. Some of them worked while I was gone, some of them didn't. Which was actually a good thing- it lets me know who is interested in the project, and which projects will continue to function after I leave.
Anyways, I just wanted to write about the beekeeping club, becuase I like working with them the best.
I am so proud of this club. They get things done. Working with groups, funding is always a problem. We need money for hives, suits, wire, wax, buckets, smokers... the list goes on and on. Most groups I work with don't even consider funding themselves- and with good reason, for the most part. Money really IS tight here.
Thats what makes this beekeeping club so awesome. At our first meeting we agreed that everyone would bring 20 kwacha per week, every week. (20 kwacha is about 14 cents) I was stoked that they thought this idea up, really stoked that they followed up with it, and really really stoked when they did it in my absence. At my first meeting back, I wanted to hug them.
Now they are over halfway to their goal and chugging along. I don't know how they get the money, and not everyone brings it every time. But now I give them a round of applause after we announce the savings each week. It makes me so happy. I'm so proud of them.
And the beat goes on.
Anyways, I just wanted to write about the beekeeping club, becuase I like working with them the best.
I am so proud of this club. They get things done. Working with groups, funding is always a problem. We need money for hives, suits, wire, wax, buckets, smokers... the list goes on and on. Most groups I work with don't even consider funding themselves- and with good reason, for the most part. Money really IS tight here.
Thats what makes this beekeeping club so awesome. At our first meeting we agreed that everyone would bring 20 kwacha per week, every week. (20 kwacha is about 14 cents) I was stoked that they thought this idea up, really stoked that they followed up with it, and really really stoked when they did it in my absence. At my first meeting back, I wanted to hug them.
Now they are over halfway to their goal and chugging along. I don't know how they get the money, and not everyone brings it every time. But now I give them a round of applause after we announce the savings each week. It makes me so happy. I'm so proud of them.
And the beat goes on.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
AZUNGU FIESTA!!!
There were 42 azungus from America and Australia in my village for the last week. It was a VERY nice break from the monotony of village life. And a lot of 'em are from the Bay Area! It was so awesome seeing them see Malawi with their brand new Africa-eyeballs. For me there isn't much novelty anymore (other than the occasional witch doctor or crazy hitch) so I liked to watch them look at my house, ask about Tukombo, ask about what I do (I felt so smart! I knew the answers to their questions!)
It was just very very nice.
It was just very very nice.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
T.I.A. (hahaha)
SO Im back in Lilongwe for Reconnect/In Service Training. Four months at site...ahhhh.
There's a lotta fun stories that have happened, but alas, only my journal shall know them all. Or if you make me tell you later. I'll give you a couple right now.
From my journal:
(First of all, to truly understand the magnitude of the following story, you must understand the Herculean rivalry between other Volunteers, most notably Jim, and myself, concerning high scores on the cell phone game Snake. When I am around other volunteers, and I have a low score, it rules my life.)
Mmmmm, today was delicious. A delicious curry, I finally cooked the perfect amount. But the real yes! yes! yes! came later today when I went to the market. There was a big square marked in white lines in the sand. Inside were gourds covered with beads and heair and horns, a box, a clump of clothing and roots. The witch doctor had come to town.
There were two, actually, both very young. I would guess, 18 and 22. Luckily John Howard was with me, translating. They spoke only Chichewa and Portuguese, so I really couldn't even catch bits and pieces. First they made everyone back up even past the square while they began to sing and shake their metal shakers. They began to dance around the white box, smearing black paste on their hands and arms and talking to the gourds and roots. The main doctor talked in depth with the mother, the biggest pile of gourds, beads, horns and skin, asking for her protection. "Theres a snake!" John Howard said. The doctors kept singing, shaking their shakers, and one of them opened the box, poked a stick in it and slammed it shut. He kept this up for a few minutes, until he finally pulled out a medium sized brown snake, about two feet long. It's the same kind of snake I see most often, the kind I call Alfred, the kind I stepped on on my way to the beach one day. Anyways, the snake is slow. The doctors sing and dance around it, placing charms on its box while it slithers slowly. The younger doctor takes a needle from off the top of the box and presses it into his skin. I cant watch this part (Doctor Matt, Doctor Matt) but when I look back the needle has pierced the bottom of his forearm and pooped back out again, like he was interrupted while stitching. He looks around and says to us (there are maybe 100 of us crowding around the square) that there are two magicians among us, a wizard and a witch. He picks up the snake and wraps it around his neck, goes around and pats people on their heads, searching for the witch and wizard. They don't find them, so the younger doctor taked the snake and holds it up so that it frames his face and then looks "through" it to try to see the magicians. Still no luck. (yes! yes! This is Africa, I recognize this even if it's only in my generalizations and stereotypes and preconceptions, this is not boring, that's it more than anything, this is not boring village life)(and I felt Berkeley guilt at even feeling THAT way, but in the end its what I saw, and it was so exciting!) The older doctor takes the snake and unzips his fly. He shoves the whole thing down there, pulls his waiststrap out and looks down and talks to it. He pulls it out and calls on someone from the audience. The participant stands on an X in one of the corners. The young witch then collects the charms from off the box while the older one starts to smudge the particpants arms and hands. He puts all the charms into a piece of paper and then folds it up and hands it to the participant, who is shaking just a little.
Malawians are terrified of snakes. I love to tell people it was what I used to do for a living in America- work with snakes.
The younger witch, needle still there under his skin, gives him the snake, and its all he can to stay put. They try to put it around his neck, but that's just too much. SO the duo takes it back. They ask the participant to open the paper- there's a 500 kwacha note in it now. Children run away, a woman screams.
Then witch #1 tells everyone who he tapped on the head to follow him to an abandoned building. John Howard and I were the last ones to get there, but thanks to my bent celebrity status we were the second ones up. We walk behind the building, where they are waiting. I kneel and put my hand on a gourd. The doctor tells me of my illnesses(Stomach pains) and asks if I want a cure. I say no, but I ask for a good luck charm/spell/medicine. He says he can, for 850 kwacha. I offer 50, he takes it. He puts smudge, bark and porcupine flesh into a newspaper sachet and tells me to bathe with it.
Is that all? he asks.
Can I hold the snake? I ask.
The way he looks at me makes me seriously doubt if anyone has asked this before. He laughs and smudges my the palms of my hands, "so it won't bite." So now I've got two black marks in the palms of my hands, a snake sitting in them, a bath bubble sachet-cum-charm in my pocket, sitting no kneeling behind an old abandoned building in Africa with a witch doctor who is looking into a hole in a gourd to see what ails me.
I get home and pick up my cell phone and start to play, guess, Snake. The first thing I do and the first game I play and I set a new personal high score and as far as I can tell a tie for high score in PC Malawi. 2795.
I'm still laughing.
There's a lotta fun stories that have happened, but alas, only my journal shall know them all. Or if you make me tell you later. I'll give you a couple right now.
From my journal:
(First of all, to truly understand the magnitude of the following story, you must understand the Herculean rivalry between other Volunteers, most notably Jim, and myself, concerning high scores on the cell phone game Snake. When I am around other volunteers, and I have a low score, it rules my life.)
Mmmmm, today was delicious. A delicious curry, I finally cooked the perfect amount. But the real yes! yes! yes! came later today when I went to the market. There was a big square marked in white lines in the sand. Inside were gourds covered with beads and heair and horns, a box, a clump of clothing and roots. The witch doctor had come to town.
There were two, actually, both very young. I would guess, 18 and 22. Luckily John Howard was with me, translating. They spoke only Chichewa and Portuguese, so I really couldn't even catch bits and pieces. First they made everyone back up even past the square while they began to sing and shake their metal shakers. They began to dance around the white box, smearing black paste on their hands and arms and talking to the gourds and roots. The main doctor talked in depth with the mother, the biggest pile of gourds, beads, horns and skin, asking for her protection. "Theres a snake!" John Howard said. The doctors kept singing, shaking their shakers, and one of them opened the box, poked a stick in it and slammed it shut. He kept this up for a few minutes, until he finally pulled out a medium sized brown snake, about two feet long. It's the same kind of snake I see most often, the kind I call Alfred, the kind I stepped on on my way to the beach one day. Anyways, the snake is slow. The doctors sing and dance around it, placing charms on its box while it slithers slowly. The younger doctor takes a needle from off the top of the box and presses it into his skin. I cant watch this part (Doctor Matt, Doctor Matt) but when I look back the needle has pierced the bottom of his forearm and pooped back out again, like he was interrupted while stitching. He looks around and says to us (there are maybe 100 of us crowding around the square) that there are two magicians among us, a wizard and a witch. He picks up the snake and wraps it around his neck, goes around and pats people on their heads, searching for the witch and wizard. They don't find them, so the younger doctor taked the snake and holds it up so that it frames his face and then looks "through" it to try to see the magicians. Still no luck. (yes! yes! This is Africa, I recognize this even if it's only in my generalizations and stereotypes and preconceptions, this is not boring, that's it more than anything, this is not boring village life)(and I felt Berkeley guilt at even feeling THAT way, but in the end its what I saw, and it was so exciting!) The older doctor takes the snake and unzips his fly. He shoves the whole thing down there, pulls his waiststrap out and looks down and talks to it. He pulls it out and calls on someone from the audience. The participant stands on an X in one of the corners. The young witch then collects the charms from off the box while the older one starts to smudge the particpants arms and hands. He puts all the charms into a piece of paper and then folds it up and hands it to the participant, who is shaking just a little.
Malawians are terrified of snakes. I love to tell people it was what I used to do for a living in America- work with snakes.
The younger witch, needle still there under his skin, gives him the snake, and its all he can to stay put. They try to put it around his neck, but that's just too much. SO the duo takes it back. They ask the participant to open the paper- there's a 500 kwacha note in it now. Children run away, a woman screams.
Then witch #1 tells everyone who he tapped on the head to follow him to an abandoned building. John Howard and I were the last ones to get there, but thanks to my bent celebrity status we were the second ones up. We walk behind the building, where they are waiting. I kneel and put my hand on a gourd. The doctor tells me of my illnesses(Stomach pains) and asks if I want a cure. I say no, but I ask for a good luck charm/spell/medicine. He says he can, for 850 kwacha. I offer 50, he takes it. He puts smudge, bark and porcupine flesh into a newspaper sachet and tells me to bathe with it.
Is that all? he asks.
Can I hold the snake? I ask.
The way he looks at me makes me seriously doubt if anyone has asked this before. He laughs and smudges my the palms of my hands, "so it won't bite." So now I've got two black marks in the palms of my hands, a snake sitting in them, a bath bubble sachet-cum-charm in my pocket, sitting no kneeling behind an old abandoned building in Africa with a witch doctor who is looking into a hole in a gourd to see what ails me.
I get home and pick up my cell phone and start to play, guess, Snake. The first thing I do and the first game I play and I set a new personal high score and as far as I can tell a tie for high score in PC Malawi. 2795.
I'm still laughing.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
New Stats
Future correspondence can be sent to:
Me
District Forestry Office
P.O. Box 38
Chinteche, Malawi
Southern Africa
Letters are good for your soul. Write one- you'll see.
Me
District Forestry Office
P.O. Box 38
Chinteche, Malawi
Southern Africa
Letters are good for your soul. Write one- you'll see.
Panic Attack...?
I'm in Lilongwe. It's my first time in Lilongwe, or any real city, since swearing in. I was treated to dinner last night by a friend/professor from Cal who is here for an AIDS/HIV conference. Sitting in the lobby of her hotel I had a bit of a panic attack. I didn't think I would be so wierd coming back to a Western, developed setting. But I was. It didn't help that it was probably the nicest hotel in Lilongwe. I saw myself in a mirror larger than my hand. I look different.
My projects in the village are coming along. The biggest hat I wear right now is (I didn't think I'd be saying this, but I like it a lot) that of labor organizer. A type of union, kinda. All the resorts in my district, and there are a lot of resorts in my district, buy their produce from Lilongwe, which is ridiculous for everyone involved. So I'm working with an agriculture extension worker to organize the villagers to be able to grow and sell to the resorts. It's a real no-brainer. Other than that, I work with one Village Natural Resource Management Committee (or VNRMC for "short") at a tree nursery, and they want to expand into beekeeping. Beekeeping is a great way to generate an income in the forest without cutting down trees, and in fact works to conserve trees. There's a huge market for it too. Then after school clubs: Wildlife, AIDS and Human Rights. That and cooking, and that's a day at the lake. My Tonga is improving. Life is wonderful.
Hope you're all doing well and well enough say hello.
My projects in the village are coming along. The biggest hat I wear right now is (I didn't think I'd be saying this, but I like it a lot) that of labor organizer. A type of union, kinda. All the resorts in my district, and there are a lot of resorts in my district, buy their produce from Lilongwe, which is ridiculous for everyone involved. So I'm working with an agriculture extension worker to organize the villagers to be able to grow and sell to the resorts. It's a real no-brainer. Other than that, I work with one Village Natural Resource Management Committee (or VNRMC for "short") at a tree nursery, and they want to expand into beekeeping. Beekeeping is a great way to generate an income in the forest without cutting down trees, and in fact works to conserve trees. There's a huge market for it too. Then after school clubs: Wildlife, AIDS and Human Rights. That and cooking, and that's a day at the lake. My Tonga is improving. Life is wonderful.
Hope you're all doing well and well enough say hello.
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