This is Africa

Anyone likely to worry about me – don’t read this one!

Last Friday I joined a cultural visit to Mua Mission.  From there we felt we were just too close not to take advantage of my new found contacts and head to the Lake.  Our driver gave us a lift into a small town on the outskirts of Salima where we jumped out in search of transport.

The only transport option as far as Salima turned out to be bicycle taxis.  It was almost 4pm, we needed to get to Senga Bay before dark and hey it was my first time.  Bicycle taxis have a padded seat over the back wheel.  Sometimes they come with something to hold on to, but otherwise it’s down to balance and grabbing hold of what you can around the seat.  Women here often ride side saddle, but I thought that was pushing my luck.  Thankfully, I had my stuff in a back pack – some ride with suitcases, but I haven’t figured out how they manage that, there’s not a lot of room between the driver and his passenger!   I relaxed once I realised I wasn’t going to fall off and that the driver did have the presence of mind to leave the road when there was a car coming,  if a bit abruptly, given at the back you can’t see anything other than his back.  It’s not only fun but a great way of covering a couple of kms in super quick time.

Arriving in Salima was the usual frenzy of taxi drivers and Matolos vying for trade, there were at least 6 round me before I’d even stepped off the bike.  We agreed our price and yes I admit it, climbed into the back of a pick-up truck, sat on the side with everyone else, holding on very tightly to the frame at the back of the driver’s cab and rode the 10 km into Salima with the wind in my face – not to mention elbows, knees and other less savoury body parts as more and more squeezed on.  OK, so it’s not our Western idea of the safest mode of transport, but it is the only public transport and believe me I’d rather do that than get in some unlicenced ‘taxi’.  As ever, lots of people chatted to us – the usual questions, who are we?, how long have we been in Malawi?, where are we from?, do we like Malawi?, etc plus the constant ‘hey this is Africa’ whenever something makes us laugh.  I know I keep saying it but people are incredibly friendly and helpful.

Coming back was the real delight – not only did they pack on the people but most of them returning from the Lake brought with them bags of fish – from huge bin liners full to small supermarket carrier bags and that many fish do tend to ooze a bit.  I washed my rucksack as soon as I got home but even now I can sense the faint whiff of fish in the air!

More from the Lake itself in the next instalment!

A very long engagement

On Sunday I was collected by one of the drivers at 6.45 am.  The thought doesn’t seem to occur here that blasting the car horn repeatedly at that time on a Sunday morning might be seen as a little unsociable – sorry compound buds, hope you got back to sleep ok!

 

At the office, I climbed on the Ministry bus with the other guests – almost all women, and only two or three I recognised.  All I’d been told before we left was to dress up and bring money in small denomination notes! 

Blantyre is a good four hours away and the journey dragged.  Everyone was chatting away in Chitewan and hardly anyone spoke to me!  There was a quick halfway stop where I bought a fruit juice and almost everyone else bought either the beef liver which sat in a pot on the shop counter, or meat from the grill outside – I’ve no idea what it was, but it didn’t look like chicken!  Then of course, there were the mice kebabs from the roadside vendors.  Someone actually asked the driver to stop to buy some.  About five mice skewered, as they are, fur and all, and grilled.  I’d heard a lot about these, but hadn’t seen them up to that point.   Delicious!

Eventually we arrived at Joseph’s (the future groom) parents’ house.  Then the signing started on the bus and Patricia took me in hand.  As we got out of the bus, two guys with drums appeared from nowhere, women took whistles from their handbags and the whole party sang as they danced up the drive, me included.  Somewhere in the middle of all this was Joseph!  Lots of women in aprons danced down from the house to meet us as we slowly processed up the drive.

Once in the house (quite big I think by Malawian standards) there were huge pots of food everywhere.  There must have been 50 people for lunch and apparently this one just one of a series of lunches typically given by the groom’s parents leading up to the engagement ceremony itself.  It appears weddings are now more westernised, but the Malawian tradition of engagement remains strong.  We were told to line up, there was a sink in the corner of the dining room and each person washed her hands before taking a plate.  For me, it was a serious carb overload – rice, potato salad, bread, beans and coleslaw – I declined the beef or chicken stews!  Oh and a choice of Fanta, sprite or coke to drink – fizzy drinks here are everywhere too – much more common to see than water.  I learned that Joseph’s dad is a Pastor and the women in aprons, people from the church.

We all ate without actually meeting any of the family – as far as I could see the meal was put on for us and the family and helpers ate elsewhere.  No-one introduced themselves or came to chat.  Immediately after eating most of those who’d arrived with me disappeared to get changed, put on make-up , … Then it was back on the bus for round two.  This time, it was awash with bright colours, red lipstick and extremely high heels.  And they sang all the way – not that I understood any of it, but it was certainly lively!  Even the blokes at the front of the bus (alongside the spare tyres and the huge jerry cans of fuel for the return journey) sang along.

The actual ceremony takes place at the future bride’s parents’ house.  When we arrived there were probably about 50 people sitting on chairs in the yard outside the house, full Malawian dress including headdress everywhere, kids dressed up to the nines, but also people in jeans and trainers (and jackets).  Yet more dancing and singing marked our arrival, until we were guided into our seats.  Patricia insisted I sat right at the front with her.  I have never felt so white!!! My dancing, not understanding a word, my dress, my skin, everything!!!!

In brief, it goes like this – there is a master of ceremonies, a ‘head of protocol’, some cashiers, some extra assistants and a DJ.  The MC calls for specific groups of people (the bride’s friends, the church, the bride’s family, the groom’s workmates, etc, etc) and then says ‘Mr DJ please’ (yep one of the rare bits in English) and as the music starts the group concerned get up, dance around a large flat basket and throw cash (hence the small denomination notes) into the basket.  This goes on a while, collecting more and more cash which is collected by the assistants and counted by the cashiers while the head of protocol organises who does what and the MC basically shouts at everyone!

Later there are baskets of food donated to the bride and groom (symbolic of providing for one another), in this instance brought in by very cute dancing kids, but then they are immediately taken from the future bride and groom again to be auctioned off for more money.  There’s a kind of ceremonial area where the groom and his best man sit at some point, and eventually are joined by the bridesmaid and bride to be.  The whole thing went on about 3 hours and much cash was thrown about during the whole thing.

                      

The actual ceremonial bit involves an uncle from each side being called to the front and (after paying up of course.  One asks the other what he is doing there, the other replies he is searching for someone he has heard will be there, then there’s all sorts of shenanigans about no strangers here, then going to look for a stranger in the area, the prospective groom being brought in (dancing again), what do you want here?, I've seen a girl I’d like to marry,…, no you must be mistaken, there are no eligible women here, … lots of women come in dancing, including four hidden under chitenjes, the first one unmasked is an old woman, great hilarity, then the future groom eventually finds his future bride …..

In between all this and the money throwing, there are lots of welcome thanks from both sets of parents.  Not a drink was served and it was all over before darkness fell.

It was fascinating to watch and my boss Patricia was a delight translating what was going on.  It was a real experience and one I doubt I will ever see again.  I was tucked up fast asleep by 8pm, somehow didn’t feel the need for dinner! 

Cheesecake Heaven

Early Saturday morning saw us heading to the bus depot to find a bus to Dedza.  The depot in itself was a new one on me – I’ve never seen so many minibuses in one place, with all the noise and chaos that goes with it.  The problem with getting on a bus, is that it then doesn’t go anywhere, or not very far – until it’s full.  We were lucky, our conductor was a real hustler, I’ve no idea how he was persuading people, but almost all those who said no ended up getting on, mainly when there was clearly no more space.

At various points on the journey we had live chickens in carrier bags, all poking their poor little heads out through the plastic to breathe, huge sacks of maize that somehow got forced into the boot and under the seats. “Sister, lift up your feet!”.  Oh and the real highlight, which not only happened on the way there, but on the way back too – a massive basket of (relatively) recently caught fish – no ice, just the fish humming nicely in the heat.  Combine that with the massed body odours of a dozen or so people who haven’t washed in a while, and you begin to get the idea!

The journey took about 2 and a half hours, including all the times the driver stopped for coke or chips and all the times we waited for our conductor to hustle, which included him successfully tempting people off other buses going to the same place!

Dedza mountain apparently has some rock paintings near the summit, unfortunately I didn’t find this out until Sunday morning ….

After a long walk, almost to the top, we followed some very helpful local boys who showed us the shortcut back to the Pottery – where the toasted sandwich turned out to be fried, but by that time I was too hungry to care.  The cheesecake that Dedza pottery is famous for proved well worth the wait  - the service very much on the relaxed side, apparently another thing Dedza pottery is famous for, oh and pottery of course!

Back to School

I had the absolute pleasure last week of visiting a community school – not an ordinary school, but one set up at the request of women who didn’t go to school as children who want to learn to read and write.

The school set was set up by a community association, funded by tourism.  They provided the equipment (about a dozen text books and a a blackboard), trained a volunteer teacher and monitor on a monthly basis.  The women have been coming to school to learn to read, write, do basic maths and amongst all this pick up some basic heath, sanitation and environmental awareness for 10 months and are about to take the basic school certification exam, also funded by tourism through Lilongwe Wildlife Sanctuary.

The women were inspirational.  School was a walled area behind a house. No roof, a bit of tarpaulin on the floor and those who couldn’t fit in this area, sat in the dusty courtyard outside.  They were delighted to show us what they had learned and gave us a speech and presents of sweet potatoes and peanuts before we left.

More and more villages on the outskirts of Lilongwe, those who live with almost nothing and survive on what they can grow to eat are asking for educational help as a first step towards helping themselves and it was an absolute pleasure to meet some of them.

I’m seeing for the first time, why I am here.

Marriage

I find it amazing how quickly I am getting used to life here.  Saturday afternoon is complete chaos in town, particularly at the minibus station (basically the side of the road near one of the local supermarkets).  Minibuses don’t leave until they are full, there must be at least 40 of them lined up, reversing into spaces way too small, arriving and leaving in all directions.  The driver of each one peeps the horn constantly, whilst hanging out of the window, waving and shouting the destination of the bus, they also have conductors, or rather guys that encourage you to get on their bus rather than anyone else’s and collect your fare at some point during the journey, they too are all shouting and waving.  At the same time you have traffic trying to drive up and down the road, with varying degrees of patience, street vendors banging on the windows trying to sell a bag of ice (or more often water), cassava, strawberries, Irish (potatoes to you and me) or whatever – all this is going on in the heat and dust and is completely unremarkable – Lilongwe life!

A further slice of Lilongwe life is delivered at very frequent intervals throughout the working day.  People wander into the office, selling all manner of things.  Today’s combination was oranges, lettuce and then a book seller.  The latter arrived in the office, very politely sat down and said ‘Mwadzuka bwanji’ to each of us individually, and then sat quietly waiting until eventually someone asked if they could help.  At this, she fished 2 hard backed books out of her bag.  I was sorely tempted to buy ‘Highly Effective Marriages’ but couldn’t find any advice for women who’d left their husbands behind to live in Africa for 4 months!  Sorry Pat, we will have to keep making that bit up!  What was in there was an array of usefully entitled chapters like ‘Are men’s brains normal?’ ’21 ways to love your wife’ and ‘Deciding who submits to whom’!!! Incidentally, I didn’t bother reading the first – given I already know the answer.  The second involved things like getting home on time (most disappointing) and I was too busy spluttering to read any further on the third!

Anyhow, that’s way too much blabbing and my Kindle beckons …..

Skeffa night

Hey

Sorry people, it’s been a while – you can tell I’m working a bit harder now!

I think there were 2 highlights in week 3 – the commencement of interviews, which, after all, is why I’m here and the momentous arrival of a new fridge!! No more unintentionally frozen veg.  Just in the nick of time too, as the temperature is rising.  Ok, I know millions of Malawians live without fridges, but once I found out there were unused VSO fridges from the days when there were many more volunteers here, it seemed daft not to ask for one.

The initial interviews (I’m now up to 6, I think) are unsurprisingly a mixed bunch – ranging from huge passion and enthusiasm for eco-tourism and total delight that I am here to draw attention to it, to complete disinterest.  I’m currently trying to get my head around the size of the task – it’s a big ask for one person.  Fortunately, the Lilongwe interviews are providing a lot of background, which will be invaluable once I get on the road.

Getting on the road is proving more of an issue than I thought.  The fuel crisis may be over but getting money to pay for it is a feat in itself.  I work for a Government Department, but there is no money to pay for fuel this week and garages aren’t prepared on this occasion to give the Ministry credit – so no money means no fuel, and no fuel means no travelling.  This shouldn’t bring my plans crashing to the ground, but it does adjust the ground rules and stops me taking anything for granted.

On a lighter note, last Friday saw a small group of us heading off to a ‘sports and leisure complex’ to see Skeffa, an apparently famous Malawian singer.  This was “a vibrant joint” or so it said on the sign on the gate!  It was basically a big car park, a bar and an enclosed open air concreted space with a stage at one end.  The electricity failed within minutes of our getting there.  A very common occurrence for everyone in Lilongwe, unless, like me, you live near the Prison – funny how our supply is preserved!  Half an hour later, the generator sprang to life and this time wasn’t instantly blown by the amps on stage and the music began.  Kind of a mixture of reggae and ska, played all night by the same musicians, whilst a series of singers performed their sessions, often then becoming one of the backing singers for the next act.  The show was billed to start at 8pm.  The ‘main event’ came on stage at 1.20 am, apparently not unusual for Malawian singers, and we should consider ourselves lucky, as he was billed to perform somewhere else the following night and I hear didn’t appear at all.

Crowd watching was fascinating.  The whole question of personal space and touching is so very different.  Men dance happily with men, often holding hands as they do, with no sub text.  There were noticeably fewer women and very few groups of women friends together.  People come and say hello, encourage you to dance, want you to prove you are having fun by jumping around and then wander off again.  There’s a complete lack of self-consciousness, people dance as if no one is watching, often completely in their own worlds.  It was relaxed, fun – and vibrant!!  It was also one of the funniest nights I have had in a long time – I stayed out way beyond my bedtime (but given that’s 9pm it’s not hard!) and I loved it.

A snapshot of week 1

So end of the first full week and on the whole things are going pretty well on the whole.

I’ve been keeping up to date with the Games on the radio every night.  From my distant perspective it feels like it would be really exciting to be there, I’d certainly rather be watching and getting excited with the tv commentators, than listening on the world service, but hey I chose to be here!

From reading Pat’s ‘the life of a volunteer’s partner’ blog, it’s probably harder for him than me.  Here all is new and different so far and I’m excited to be going to the Lake soon (or at least I hope it will be soon as that’s why I’m here).  Keeping in touch isn’t always easy, but I have to say it’s much easier so far than I thought it would be.  Sorry Pat, I will try to stay awake after 9pm so we can Skype occasionally!  For those of you who know me well, being an early bird really isn’t me, or wasn’t until I came here.  I’ve woken up every day this week at 5.40 am!!  Hopefully I will be out to a more conventional hour tonight so I can sleep a little later tomorrow!

So my days start with that early start, I put on a pan of water to boil as soon as I get up and manage to make it hot enough for a coffee at about 6.30 am – oh yes, it really is taking that long!  I’m at work just after 7.30 am, and stay til 4.30 pm – not the official knocking off time, but for me the necessary knocking off time to get home before dark.  Everyone else I share offices with drives, so I feel like I’m shirking.

So a quick snapshot of some of the memorable images and events from the week:

- army officers leaving the nearby supermarket with bags of shopping in one hand, and a rifle in the other

- cars with windscreens so broken they can’t possibly see to drive

- lorries with no windscreen at all, which I guess is much preferable to the above

- gorgeous, brightly coloured birds – turquoise and violet, and as common as blackbirds at home

- learning to cope with a MUCH slower pace of life – this may be the capital city but it certainly isn’t buzzing

- learning a phrase of Chichewan, and promptly forgetting the one I learned yesterday

- thinking I’ve got the greetings at least sussed, then not recognising them when I hear them!

- actually feeling quite comfortable (just the once so far) on a minibus!

- gospel music, and lots of it

- being called sister – and the lady who drinks lots of tea!

- the disappointed look on the faces of the interns in the office when they realised I’m not the famous Armstrong they thought I was (!)

- wondering if I can actually go to bed at 7.30 pm! (in my defence there is no light in the lounge so it’s much cosier in the bedroom)

- the lizard who lives undisturbed in our office

- the electric socket falling off the wall when I went to plug something in

- the hotplate socket sparking (a little disconcerting and I did get up 3 times that night to check the place wasn’t on fire!)

- the bedroom light that flashes all night after I switch it off (how do I manage to get all that sleep?!)

- the excessively large spider who invited himself in when I opened the back door one morning

- the impromptu residents meeting we had over cups of Tetley tea and choc biscuits after work yesterday when my fellow volunteers agreed it would be a good idea for me to refuse to sign the lease til they have sorted my flat!

- my fridge that freezes everything I put in there

- the debate I’ve just had with one of the above mentioned interns about just why the British are so bad at sport (he’s watching the cricket!)  At least I made him laugh!!

And probably so many more!

So here we are, 3.30 pm, the office is largely empty, I’m still waiting to hear if the meeting I’ve been promised with my boss on a daily basis (and believe me I’m pushing for it!) will happen today – my guess?  Not a chance!

Vacancy

Letter received in the office I work in today. 


Dear Sir, 


I would like to apply for the position of xxx, previously held by the recently deceased xxxx.  I am often writing for jobs, but am always told there is no vacancy, but this time I know the vacancy exists.  I went to his funeral to make sure.  I enclose my CV and the copy of his death certificate.  I look forward to hearing from you.


This apparently isn't one of the usual recruitment channels.