Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition
0 Comments Published by Ben on Saturday, July 21, 2007 at 9:46 AM.
I went to the field yesterday, going to the most northern part of the district to talk to people at these different sectors of government (schools, health centers, etc.). Fortunately, it's accessible by public transport (read: minibuses), so I could get out and back without overusing my welcome to borrow the motorbike.
I scheduled my visits with people, the first of which was with a guy who works with primary schools in the area at 9:00am. I didn't know how long it was going to get there and I knew someone who got stuck at the transfer point and wasn't able to get a minibus going north for an hour-and-a-half. So I got up and was out the door by 6:15; there were no bike taxis, so I walked into town and caught a minibus getting fuel on its way out of town. Once I got to the transfer point, it was clear that no minibuses were leaving anytime soon. But a guy with a car said it would only be K150 (like $1) to get where I needed to go, so I was cool with that.
I wasn't expecting there to be 7 adults, 3 children, and a man in the closed trunk (!!). I didn't know about the guy in the trunk until we got out. I shared the front seat with this nice guy who was taking his father-in-law to the same hospital where I was hoping to go before my 9:00 appt (I was basically sitting on the parking brake). We chatted the whole way up, which was nice. Halfway there, the car ran out of gas. The driver produces a 3liter bottle and fills the tank, with the car still running. Once he's done, the car shuts down. Apparently the solution was for the driver to open the hood and siphon the gas from the fuel tank up into the engine. Then he realized we were on a upward incline making the gas' passage into the engine difficult, so we pushed the car until we were on level ground (which took two tries to get it up the hill enough to make a difference); he siphoned more, the car started and off we went.
We got off at the hospital around 8:10 (the father-in-law’s comment about the guy in the trunk was "Ah! Saddam Hussein!! hahaha." which his son in law explained refers to anything shady and suspicious here because Malawis didn't like Saddam) and I thought I could stop into the hospital quickly before heading off to find the school. I'd talked with two people there the day before, and met some guys outside who worked there and asked them. The man was gone, but the woman (a nun) was. I hadn't totally put together until I was there that this was a Catholic mission hospital that was run in part by the government. In any event, I met her and we started talking about what I was there for. She'd never heard of our program before and had only been there for two months, so she went and got more senior sisters.
In walk two other nuns: one's maybe mid-30s and Asian, the other is like mid-60s and clearly from Spain. I explain my reason for coming (to get the name of the main community health worker so s/he can be interviewed in October) and then comes the third degree from the nuns. They wanted to know how we were monitoring the money (we're not, that's the government), how the people were being selected (we're not selecting, that's the government) and so on. I couldn't seem to convey that we were just evaluating the program so I just kept trying to say the same thing enough times and in enough different ways for it to make sense. Most of this was coming from Nun 1 and 30s Nun.
The Sister Spain goes in for it. She doesn't like that I'm there, that I'm asking for their help, that many, many other people come and ask for their help, they are just a poor hospital who have to treat every sick person who shows up whether they have the money to or not, etc. Then she said that she’d been in Malawi for 23 years, that she'd seen it all, so many people coming and asking for help. She'd been here for as long as I was very young, she said, and was just tired of it.
I was so not prepared for this, so I responded as best I could, "I can appreciate that you're overworked and under-resourced and clearly have a great facility and reputation in spite of those obstacles. That's exactly why I wanted to speak with some of the government staff who are here, to get their perspective." Seriously, all I needed was a name and a phone number. After another round of explanation, they start to understand what I want. I think they thought I was asking them to collaborate or do something else, which I wasn't. Something got us both confused along the way.
Then the other two sisters go outside to make copies and get the guy's phone number and I try to sweet talk Sister Spain just to be nice. I think she warms up a bit, and says, "Adios, Benjamin" as I'm leaving. In fact, when I was writing my name and contact information, I thought rightly to put Benjamin and not just Ben—immediately they started discussing Benjamin from the bible. I almost mentioned being (raised) Catholic, but really didn't want to go there if I didn't need to. It took about an hour and a half, but I got what I needed.
I called the guy I was supposed to meet at 9:00 to say that I was clearly late. He gave me directions the day before, which involved about a 2k walk through town (the hospital is south of town) and then another 2k off the paved road. I made my way up and finally asked for directions, thinking that I'd passed the post office, which was the landmark. I called him once I was near the post office and headed down the dirt road.
3k later, I realized that I was down the wrong road. I called him and explained where I was (which was, "about a 40 minute walk down the other dirt road. I'm in the shade under a big tree"), and he came to get me on his motorbike. It had actually been a nice walk, if not a little hot in the sun, so I didn’t really mind. And what could I do but laugh. Stuff like this just happens here, so I caught some shade and enjoyed the bike ride back. We went back to his office, had a good meeting, he gave me a Coke (which was just what I needed), and took me back to the "bus station" (a cement curb that is on the shoulder along most paved roads).
The ride back was pretty average: it got packed, the woman next to me had a grocery bag full of dried fish with her, there were lots of flies in the car. Once we got to the transfer point to come west to the boma, I got on this minibus that was possibly in the worst condition I'd ever seen. They had to push to start, the speedometer didn't work, the side door wasn't even on the track anymore. In the end, I got home fine.
I didn't expect just a Planes, Trains and Automobiles sort of day (or foot, taxi, and minibus as the Malawi case may be). And certainly not the Spanish inquisition. Another reminder that my expectations don't get me far here...
I scheduled my visits with people, the first of which was with a guy who works with primary schools in the area at 9:00am. I didn't know how long it was going to get there and I knew someone who got stuck at the transfer point and wasn't able to get a minibus going north for an hour-and-a-half. So I got up and was out the door by 6:15; there were no bike taxis, so I walked into town and caught a minibus getting fuel on its way out of town. Once I got to the transfer point, it was clear that no minibuses were leaving anytime soon. But a guy with a car said it would only be K150 (like $1) to get where I needed to go, so I was cool with that.
I wasn't expecting there to be 7 adults, 3 children, and a man in the closed trunk (!!). I didn't know about the guy in the trunk until we got out. I shared the front seat with this nice guy who was taking his father-in-law to the same hospital where I was hoping to go before my 9:00 appt (I was basically sitting on the parking brake). We chatted the whole way up, which was nice. Halfway there, the car ran out of gas. The driver produces a 3liter bottle and fills the tank, with the car still running. Once he's done, the car shuts down. Apparently the solution was for the driver to open the hood and siphon the gas from the fuel tank up into the engine. Then he realized we were on a upward incline making the gas' passage into the engine difficult, so we pushed the car until we were on level ground (which took two tries to get it up the hill enough to make a difference); he siphoned more, the car started and off we went.
We got off at the hospital around 8:10 (the father-in-law’s comment about the guy in the trunk was "Ah! Saddam Hussein!! hahaha." which his son in law explained refers to anything shady and suspicious here because Malawis didn't like Saddam) and I thought I could stop into the hospital quickly before heading off to find the school. I'd talked with two people there the day before, and met some guys outside who worked there and asked them. The man was gone, but the woman (a nun) was. I hadn't totally put together until I was there that this was a Catholic mission hospital that was run in part by the government. In any event, I met her and we started talking about what I was there for. She'd never heard of our program before and had only been there for two months, so she went and got more senior sisters.
In walk two other nuns: one's maybe mid-30s and Asian, the other is like mid-60s and clearly from Spain. I explain my reason for coming (to get the name of the main community health worker so s/he can be interviewed in October) and then comes the third degree from the nuns. They wanted to know how we were monitoring the money (we're not, that's the government), how the people were being selected (we're not selecting, that's the government) and so on. I couldn't seem to convey that we were just evaluating the program so I just kept trying to say the same thing enough times and in enough different ways for it to make sense. Most of this was coming from Nun 1 and 30s Nun.
The Sister Spain goes in for it. She doesn't like that I'm there, that I'm asking for their help, that many, many other people come and ask for their help, they are just a poor hospital who have to treat every sick person who shows up whether they have the money to or not, etc. Then she said that she’d been in Malawi for 23 years, that she'd seen it all, so many people coming and asking for help. She'd been here for as long as I was very young, she said, and was just tired of it.
I was so not prepared for this, so I responded as best I could, "I can appreciate that you're overworked and under-resourced and clearly have a great facility and reputation in spite of those obstacles. That's exactly why I wanted to speak with some of the government staff who are here, to get their perspective." Seriously, all I needed was a name and a phone number. After another round of explanation, they start to understand what I want. I think they thought I was asking them to collaborate or do something else, which I wasn't. Something got us both confused along the way.
Then the other two sisters go outside to make copies and get the guy's phone number and I try to sweet talk Sister Spain just to be nice. I think she warms up a bit, and says, "Adios, Benjamin" as I'm leaving. In fact, when I was writing my name and contact information, I thought rightly to put Benjamin and not just Ben—immediately they started discussing Benjamin from the bible. I almost mentioned being (raised) Catholic, but really didn't want to go there if I didn't need to. It took about an hour and a half, but I got what I needed.
I called the guy I was supposed to meet at 9:00 to say that I was clearly late. He gave me directions the day before, which involved about a 2k walk through town (the hospital is south of town) and then another 2k off the paved road. I made my way up and finally asked for directions, thinking that I'd passed the post office, which was the landmark. I called him once I was near the post office and headed down the dirt road.
3k later, I realized that I was down the wrong road. I called him and explained where I was (which was, "about a 40 minute walk down the other dirt road. I'm in the shade under a big tree"), and he came to get me on his motorbike. It had actually been a nice walk, if not a little hot in the sun, so I didn’t really mind. And what could I do but laugh. Stuff like this just happens here, so I caught some shade and enjoyed the bike ride back. We went back to his office, had a good meeting, he gave me a Coke (which was just what I needed), and took me back to the "bus station" (a cement curb that is on the shoulder along most paved roads).
The ride back was pretty average: it got packed, the woman next to me had a grocery bag full of dried fish with her, there were lots of flies in the car. Once we got to the transfer point to come west to the boma, I got on this minibus that was possibly in the worst condition I'd ever seen. They had to push to start, the speedometer didn't work, the side door wasn't even on the track anymore. In the end, I got home fine.
I didn't expect just a Planes, Trains and Automobiles sort of day (or foot, taxi, and minibus as the Malawi case may be). And certainly not the Spanish inquisition. Another reminder that my expectations don't get me far here...
Labels: malawi
I'm in Lilongwe for the weekend, mostly to get a break from Mchinji, but also because I have a meeting on Monday with someone from one of the government ministries and I need to change my departure ticket at the South African Airways office here. Both of those could be done in a day, so the former reason clearly trumped and made a good time to get out of town. After last weekend with everyone gone at Kayesa, I wasn't ready for another.
We came in Friday, had lunch at the place with good sesame chicken, did a little window shopping at what we call The Azungu Mall (it's fancy, there's a travel agent, expensive art and artisan stores, a small British grocery store, only expats in the parking lot, etc.), and then ran some errands, like going with Lauren to extend her visa, go to the post office (which took forever since she had a package stuck in the customs line), ducked into the crafts market outside, and then checked into the hotel, where we four split a room. We had dinner at this italian place downstairs, Don Brioni's, where there really is a Don and his Malawi wife tends bar. It was a decent meal, but nothing to write home about.
Emily came in for a training here at the hotel, Lauren was just passing through to go meet a friend in the south, so Heather and I decided to do a day trip to Dedza to break-up the time (see separate post).
We had a nice breakfast yesterday morning at the hotel (it's complimentary, tg), hung out a bit, checked out and into another hotel up the road since the Kiboko was booked last night, and just had lunch (pizza...yum) with folks before coming back to the hotel to do some more work-work.
I met with someone who's starting at HSPH in the fall this morning. Someone from Kayesa is doing similar work, their paths crossed, he is apparently having a hard time finding housing from here (surprise), so I offered to meet up with him while I'm in town. Again, it's a world of laughter and a world of tears here in Malawi... (for any hsphers, he did peace corps with a certain person in pih who corrects stats professors about sexual habits of older men). From there, I got back in bed for a while and then went over to meet with someone that an HSPH professor met at a conference over on Capital Hill. He does something in the same vein as my project and Mchinji is one of his districts; it was interesting to hear about his projects, although I thought there might be more overlap or suggestions he'd have of people I could talk to. I also had a few things to pass along to him as well.
The South African Airways office is in the Capital Hotel, and after that meeting, I stopped by to change my departure date a few days early. She changed it in the computer (which was down b/c of the power rationing when I arrived) and then literally just put a sticker and hand wrote the new information on my existing ticket. I love it. Anyway, my plan is to get into South Africa on Tuesday, stay there for the night, then a morning to travel to Swaziland, a night there. Then Thursday to Saturday in Mozambique (most likely just Maputo, but maybe a beach just north of there), travel back on Sunday for a Monday afternoon flight back home. I'm going to go the hostel route and do it all on the cheap, maybe meet some people along the way to travel with.
Then Lauren is coming back through Lilongwe by way of a friend's project's minibus that we can take back to Mchinji Monday mid-day. I've done enough minibusing for one weekend already. They're going to be coming in much later than we thought, but I'm still holding out for the non-minibus route.
Like usual, it's nice to be here and out of Mchinji for a while. To be able to go to a real supermarket, have choices of cuisine, and not be called azungu for the weekend it pretty nice.
We came in Friday, had lunch at the place with good sesame chicken, did a little window shopping at what we call The Azungu Mall (it's fancy, there's a travel agent, expensive art and artisan stores, a small British grocery store, only expats in the parking lot, etc.), and then ran some errands, like going with Lauren to extend her visa, go to the post office (which took forever since she had a package stuck in the customs line), ducked into the crafts market outside, and then checked into the hotel, where we four split a room. We had dinner at this italian place downstairs, Don Brioni's, where there really is a Don and his Malawi wife tends bar. It was a decent meal, but nothing to write home about.
Emily came in for a training here at the hotel, Lauren was just passing through to go meet a friend in the south, so Heather and I decided to do a day trip to Dedza to break-up the time (see separate post).
We had a nice breakfast yesterday morning at the hotel (it's complimentary, tg), hung out a bit, checked out and into another hotel up the road since the Kiboko was booked last night, and just had lunch (pizza...yum) with folks before coming back to the hotel to do some more work-work.
I met with someone who's starting at HSPH in the fall this morning. Someone from Kayesa is doing similar work, their paths crossed, he is apparently having a hard time finding housing from here (surprise), so I offered to meet up with him while I'm in town. Again, it's a world of laughter and a world of tears here in Malawi... (for any hsphers, he did peace corps with a certain person in pih who corrects stats professors about sexual habits of older men). From there, I got back in bed for a while and then went over to meet with someone that an HSPH professor met at a conference over on Capital Hill. He does something in the same vein as my project and Mchinji is one of his districts; it was interesting to hear about his projects, although I thought there might be more overlap or suggestions he'd have of people I could talk to. I also had a few things to pass along to him as well.
The South African Airways office is in the Capital Hotel, and after that meeting, I stopped by to change my departure date a few days early. She changed it in the computer (which was down b/c of the power rationing when I arrived) and then literally just put a sticker and hand wrote the new information on my existing ticket. I love it. Anyway, my plan is to get into South Africa on Tuesday, stay there for the night, then a morning to travel to Swaziland, a night there. Then Thursday to Saturday in Mozambique (most likely just Maputo, but maybe a beach just north of there), travel back on Sunday for a Monday afternoon flight back home. I'm going to go the hostel route and do it all on the cheap, maybe meet some people along the way to travel with.
Then Lauren is coming back through Lilongwe by way of a friend's project's minibus that we can take back to Mchinji Monday mid-day. I've done enough minibusing for one weekend already. They're going to be coming in much later than we thought, but I'm still holding out for the non-minibus route.
Like usual, it's nice to be here and out of Mchinji for a while. To be able to go to a real supermarket, have choices of cuisine, and not be called azungu for the weekend it pretty nice.
Dedza is about an hour south of Lilongwe, but far enough that it's in the mountains (ok, hills really, but still). The main attraction is this huge pottery compound (for lack of a better word) that has a nice cafe attached. The trip down was fine--it was my first time at the minibus station in Lilongwe, so that was a trip. Otherwise, it was your usual crowded minibus. We got off a little past where we should have and walked back. It was nice being up in the hills--different topography and greenery (evergreens) made it feel a bit like the pacific northwest. The pottery place was up a long dirt road and had nice grass, gardens, walkways, signs, etc. It still felt like Malawi, but just really well groomed Africa. I can't think of a better way to describe it.
The pottery shop itself was a bust, but the cafe's food was good. To say that the service was slow is an understatement--our meal took about 2.5 hours--but there was a great view of the grounds and of the mountain nearby. It was cold and cloudy, so after 2.5 hours outside, we needed to get moving.
We walked toward town. And walked, and walked. We could have gone back to the main road and waited for a minibus, but it seemed to make more sense to find the bus station and catch one there. About an hour later, we found a minibus that was empty (seeing Dedza along the way was worth the walk), but got in anyway. By this point, it was 4:45 and going to be dark soon, so we didn't want to mess around any longer so we took the first one we could find. The minibus was one of the most dilapidated ones I've seen--Heather's window was strips of tape, and to open the door on the side, the door guy had to reach his hand in this hole cut in the door panel to pull on this coat hanger thing and yank the door open, which often caused it to fall out of the track entirely. I just kept thinking about car commercials toting the side-impact airbags and safety rating of the vehicles from home. After driving around Dedza for half an hour with the door guy shouting "LILONGWE" out the window, we got on the road at only about one-third full. We filled along the way, which meant a lot of stops. It got typically full (they seat 20 no matter what size you are or how much stuff you have with you) and about half way up, the door guy gets out and a deputy takes his place for the next half hour before he gets off. From then on, the driver has to stop the car, get out, come around, open the window, reach in, pull the coat hanger and yank to open the door. Along the way there was some big dude next to me who kept calling everyone/thing stupid--they'd be talking in chichewa and then he'd declare, "ah, he is stuupid" and the conversation would resume in chichewa--and the guy who tried to get in at the police road block and then got thrown out by the police, only to walk across the roadblock and get in again, only to get thrown out (with another passenger) by the driver. And the ubiquitous chicken on someone's lap, that we didn't know was there until it started squawking at the guy who tried to get in at the roadblock. Heather rightly suggested it was like Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure--we were just waiting for Abe Lincoln to show up. 2.5 hours later, we're back in Lilongwe. There's nothing to do but soak it all in
Once off the bus, we quickly get in a cab and meet people for dinner. Delicious Indian food made it all wash away.
The pottery shop itself was a bust, but the cafe's food was good. To say that the service was slow is an understatement--our meal took about 2.5 hours--but there was a great view of the grounds and of the mountain nearby. It was cold and cloudy, so after 2.5 hours outside, we needed to get moving.
We walked toward town. And walked, and walked. We could have gone back to the main road and waited for a minibus, but it seemed to make more sense to find the bus station and catch one there. About an hour later, we found a minibus that was empty (seeing Dedza along the way was worth the walk), but got in anyway. By this point, it was 4:45 and going to be dark soon, so we didn't want to mess around any longer so we took the first one we could find. The minibus was one of the most dilapidated ones I've seen--Heather's window was strips of tape, and to open the door on the side, the door guy had to reach his hand in this hole cut in the door panel to pull on this coat hanger thing and yank the door open, which often caused it to fall out of the track entirely. I just kept thinking about car commercials toting the side-impact airbags and safety rating of the vehicles from home. After driving around Dedza for half an hour with the door guy shouting "LILONGWE" out the window, we got on the road at only about one-third full. We filled along the way, which meant a lot of stops. It got typically full (they seat 20 no matter what size you are or how much stuff you have with you) and about half way up, the door guy gets out and a deputy takes his place for the next half hour before he gets off. From then on, the driver has to stop the car, get out, come around, open the window, reach in, pull the coat hanger and yank to open the door. Along the way there was some big dude next to me who kept calling everyone/thing stupid--they'd be talking in chichewa and then he'd declare, "ah, he is stuupid" and the conversation would resume in chichewa--and the guy who tried to get in at the police road block and then got thrown out by the police, only to walk across the roadblock and get in again, only to get thrown out (with another passenger) by the driver. And the ubiquitous chicken on someone's lap, that we didn't know was there until it started squawking at the guy who tried to get in at the roadblock. Heather rightly suggested it was like Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure--we were just waiting for Abe Lincoln to show up. 2.5 hours later, we're back in Lilongwe. There's nothing to do but soak it all in
Once off the bus, we quickly get in a cab and meet people for dinner. Delicious Indian food made it all wash away.
This past week was pretty quiet. I did data work almost all week (Tuesday to Thursday), working a few days from my room, just plugging away. It seems silly to do something like that here when it could be done easily at home, but it sort of needed to happen and was a good break and time to plan for the next trip to the field.
The data entry was tedious to be sure, but I think I actually set up a good system for what I needed to do. Although, if culture shock is an accumulation of small things, realizing how much I rely on being able to get just about any computer program I want from school was one this week. I'm doing all of this data work in excel, coding open ended survey responses and some quantitative stuff too in a worksheet so you can sort it. It's such a small thing, and it actually works quite well to pull up different codes, but it's the small things that I take for granted. When I think about working in "resource-scarce settings", I don't think about how you do any of your work without a computer full of all different kinds of software. I was going to download a trial version of one of the programs I normally would have used, but it would have taken hours and hours to download (and see earlier post about the internet in town...).
Good company made the evenings good fun. Heather and Emily, two of the Penn crew, came back to Mchinji since their project is still waiting for the Malawi IRB (the ethics board) to approve the study. It was good to have them back, and with Lauren who I hung out with a lot the prior week, we made a good group. Which includes us as a team of chefs: we cooked really good food every night.
Menu planning surrounded what we had in stores and the market in the boma, the abundance of non-perishables that Lauren brought (she was here last year and knew what to bring), and some things that they picked up in Blantyre (like foccacia) the previous weekend. In fact, some of the vegetables came from the bus ride back, like the peas that went into the skilled chicken. [People are selling food anytime you stop at major destination points (which could be any town along the road, really); sometimes it's quite aggressive, with vendors rushing the minibus door and windows and other times they're just there quietly. It happens a lot while you're waiting in the bus stations, too--anything from DVDs to ice cream (sold from totally unrefridgerated wood boxes). I liken it to SkyMall for minibuses. Except people actually buy things from it. Like, as you pull away, you realize that everyone suddenly is eating a hard boiled egg, an orange, peanuts, popcorn, or whatever else was for sale at the time.] We also tried making tortillas for mexican, which really didn't work (we think we bought the wrong flour), and ended up having these weird doughy chips and making taco salads. The tricky thing about cooking is that the power tends to go out right around the time that we're cooking, so we often have to transfer from the stove to the cooking fires outside. If I go camping anytime soon, my repertoire of meals-on-the-fire has greatly increased.
Our nightly ritual after dinner is to watch an episode of South Park on Lauren's computer. Heather and Lauren stopped to talk to someone on the way back to Lauren's room one night (which is like 30 feet from the kitchen), and got attacked by ants along the way. In the three minutes they were there, these ants got all over Heather's legs and skirt. They bit and stung, hard. We quickly realize that they're everywhere, and upon close inspection, you can see that they have these little claw-like things on their front that are definitely the biters. By the time South Park was over, they'd overtaken Emily and Heather's room and all the staff was out, trying to extinguish them. The inn owner, Mrs Andeson, warned Emily with a few facts about these ants, most notably that they have been known to kill elephants and can get in your "soft spots." Gross. There were fortunately none in my room (I saw one the following morning, but no more), but the three of them had to camp out in Lauren's room for shelter. Apparently they come when there's a lot of water, like the rainy season or when the grass and flowers are generously watered in the dry season, as they have been doing around the inn.
That same night, two people from HSPH were in town and checking out Kayesa for a project they're doing in October. The inn was full so they had to put up at Joe's Motel, where the condition of the accommodations shortened their stay from 5 days to 2. I felt bad for them, but did chat with them while they were at Kayesa for a bit before dinner to meet Farah and catch up a bit with Sam. I'd run into Sam on the street in Lilongwe the previous week, and then again this Friday when I bumped into him in the hotel we're staying at in Lilongwe (we realized that we were in rooms next to each other). There's a very powerful azungu magnet here, that's for sure.
This week: data, food, ants, and Americans. A good week for sure.
The data entry was tedious to be sure, but I think I actually set up a good system for what I needed to do. Although, if culture shock is an accumulation of small things, realizing how much I rely on being able to get just about any computer program I want from school was one this week. I'm doing all of this data work in excel, coding open ended survey responses and some quantitative stuff too in a worksheet so you can sort it. It's such a small thing, and it actually works quite well to pull up different codes, but it's the small things that I take for granted. When I think about working in "resource-scarce settings", I don't think about how you do any of your work without a computer full of all different kinds of software. I was going to download a trial version of one of the programs I normally would have used, but it would have taken hours and hours to download (and see earlier post about the internet in town...).
Good company made the evenings good fun. Heather and Emily, two of the Penn crew, came back to Mchinji since their project is still waiting for the Malawi IRB (the ethics board) to approve the study. It was good to have them back, and with Lauren who I hung out with a lot the prior week, we made a good group. Which includes us as a team of chefs: we cooked really good food every night.
Menu planning surrounded what we had in stores and the market in the boma, the abundance of non-perishables that Lauren brought (she was here last year and knew what to bring), and some things that they picked up in Blantyre (like foccacia) the previous weekend. In fact, some of the vegetables came from the bus ride back, like the peas that went into the skilled chicken. [People are selling food anytime you stop at major destination points (which could be any town along the road, really); sometimes it's quite aggressive, with vendors rushing the minibus door and windows and other times they're just there quietly. It happens a lot while you're waiting in the bus stations, too--anything from DVDs to ice cream (sold from totally unrefridgerated wood boxes). I liken it to SkyMall for minibuses. Except people actually buy things from it. Like, as you pull away, you realize that everyone suddenly is eating a hard boiled egg, an orange, peanuts, popcorn, or whatever else was for sale at the time.] We also tried making tortillas for mexican, which really didn't work (we think we bought the wrong flour), and ended up having these weird doughy chips and making taco salads. The tricky thing about cooking is that the power tends to go out right around the time that we're cooking, so we often have to transfer from the stove to the cooking fires outside. If I go camping anytime soon, my repertoire of meals-on-the-fire has greatly increased.
Our nightly ritual after dinner is to watch an episode of South Park on Lauren's computer. Heather and Lauren stopped to talk to someone on the way back to Lauren's room one night (which is like 30 feet from the kitchen), and got attacked by ants along the way. In the three minutes they were there, these ants got all over Heather's legs and skirt. They bit and stung, hard. We quickly realize that they're everywhere, and upon close inspection, you can see that they have these little claw-like things on their front that are definitely the biters. By the time South Park was over, they'd overtaken Emily and Heather's room and all the staff was out, trying to extinguish them. The inn owner, Mrs Andeson, warned Emily with a few facts about these ants, most notably that they have been known to kill elephants and can get in your "soft spots." Gross. There were fortunately none in my room (I saw one the following morning, but no more), but the three of them had to camp out in Lauren's room for shelter. Apparently they come when there's a lot of water, like the rainy season or when the grass and flowers are generously watered in the dry season, as they have been doing around the inn.
That same night, two people from HSPH were in town and checking out Kayesa for a project they're doing in October. The inn was full so they had to put up at Joe's Motel, where the condition of the accommodations shortened their stay from 5 days to 2. I felt bad for them, but did chat with them while they were at Kayesa for a bit before dinner to meet Farah and catch up a bit with Sam. I'd run into Sam on the street in Lilongwe the previous week, and then again this Friday when I bumped into him in the hotel we're staying at in Lilongwe (we realized that we were in rooms next to each other). There's a very powerful azungu magnet here, that's for sure.
This week: data, food, ants, and Americans. A good week for sure.
Labels: malawi, mchinji, professional ramblings
I was supposed to go to the field on Monday. I'd been out two days the previous week and they guy taking me out seemed intent on either extending his time out of the office (and on a motorbike, which he clearly enjoyed--he liked making detours to show it off to various family members and colleagues around the district) or to be very thorough. Either way, he wanted to keep going out, while I had seen enough. You can stop once you start hearing the same things over and over again--from my perspective, two days was plenty. But he was persistent and so I caved: I'd go to the last place on Monday morning. It was close by and easy to do in a morning.
Or so I thought.
The bikes are kept at the main office, in the boma, where we always meet. So I went in, got there shortly past 8 and there was no sign of the bike. Just as I was walking up to the office, a friend from the inn called to say that she was there with Isaac, who was pushing his bike up the big hill by the inn, as he'd apparently run out of gas on his way to get gas money from me. [Background: these bikes, and any car that folks get to drive here from the company/organization, are hot commodities because you can use them all weekend, which someone had clearly done and returned it with fumes.] The only gas stations are in the boma, so we agreed to meet at one of them (meaning, he had to come back in somehow). I go and wait at one for at least half an hour before I hear the attendant tell someone that there's no fuel.
Me: No fuel?
Attendant: Yes, no fuel.
Me: What about the other two gas stations?
Attendant: No fuel.
Me: So there's no fuel anywhere in Mchinji?
Attendant: No fuel here.
Me: Where's the closest fuel?
Attendant: At the next trading center.
Me: Kamwendo? (like 20kms away)
Attendant: Yes. Maybe before if you're lucky.
There was no gas anywhere in the town. I'd heard something about this a few days earlier when I ran into someone in Lilongwe who mentioned that she had a hard time getting out of Mchinji for this reason. Even so, for all our boo-hooing about the rising cost of gas prices in the U.S., I'd never considered that there just wouldn't be any.
I start walking out of town, back to the inn, hoping to intercept Isaac. Not a few hundred yards up he appears--he's kind of sidles up like that--and confirms that there's no fuel. But there are vendors, he mentions. Black market fuel, of course. Where there's no market or economy, one will appear, right? 3 litres will be MK700 ($5). He said to go back to the inn because he parked the near there and that he'll come to get me. Along the way, I see this sedan driving in the direction of the gas with all of these big (like 5-10 gallon) containers overflowing from the trunk and the backseat windows. I guess that's how vendors get gas.
I walk back to the inn to wait. I figure he'll be by shortly, so I have a cup of tea and chat with the owner. We talked about her prior life in politics, Malawi's separation from Zambia, and a host of other topics. She mentioned that the gas issue comes from the exchange rate favors Zambia, so people come over and fill up from Mchinji (both cars and containers for resale). She also mentioned that gas vendors tend to put cooking oil, water, rocks and other fun additives to weight down the bottle. As the time goes on, I realize that he's not coming, so I enjoy the morning off, get some time outside in the sun to finish my book, catch a friend at the inn, we have lunch and head back into the boma around 2:00.
We're about half way back to the boma when this bike taxi slows up. Isaac is on the back with a bottle of fuel. I was so not expecting to see him--I had already figured it wasn't going to happen and planned to do other stuff. I didn't ask what the delay was, mostly because I didn't really want the answer. He put in the fuel and off we went.
The trip itself was short and rather uneventful. We went to one village, met with four families and then to another where there was a funeral that day, so it wasn't okay to meet with people and we headed home.
Clearly the moral of the story is the same as very wise advice I got before coming here: nothing happens on my time frame, which in turn allows for amazing, unexpected things to happen. In the end, it was actually a pretty good day, if for no other reason but it taught me that lesson. And realized to plan ahead for fuel next time I'm going to the field.
Or so I thought.
The bikes are kept at the main office, in the boma, where we always meet. So I went in, got there shortly past 8 and there was no sign of the bike. Just as I was walking up to the office, a friend from the inn called to say that she was there with Isaac, who was pushing his bike up the big hill by the inn, as he'd apparently run out of gas on his way to get gas money from me. [Background: these bikes, and any car that folks get to drive here from the company/organization, are hot commodities because you can use them all weekend, which someone had clearly done and returned it with fumes.] The only gas stations are in the boma, so we agreed to meet at one of them (meaning, he had to come back in somehow). I go and wait at one for at least half an hour before I hear the attendant tell someone that there's no fuel.
Me: No fuel?
Attendant: Yes, no fuel.
Me: What about the other two gas stations?
Attendant: No fuel.
Me: So there's no fuel anywhere in Mchinji?
Attendant: No fuel here.
Me: Where's the closest fuel?
Attendant: At the next trading center.
Me: Kamwendo? (like 20kms away)
Attendant: Yes. Maybe before if you're lucky.
There was no gas anywhere in the town. I'd heard something about this a few days earlier when I ran into someone in Lilongwe who mentioned that she had a hard time getting out of Mchinji for this reason. Even so, for all our boo-hooing about the rising cost of gas prices in the U.S., I'd never considered that there just wouldn't be any.
I start walking out of town, back to the inn, hoping to intercept Isaac. Not a few hundred yards up he appears--he's kind of sidles up like that--and confirms that there's no fuel. But there are vendors, he mentions. Black market fuel, of course. Where there's no market or economy, one will appear, right? 3 litres will be MK700 ($5). He said to go back to the inn because he parked the near there and that he'll come to get me. Along the way, I see this sedan driving in the direction of the gas with all of these big (like 5-10 gallon) containers overflowing from the trunk and the backseat windows. I guess that's how vendors get gas.
I walk back to the inn to wait. I figure he'll be by shortly, so I have a cup of tea and chat with the owner. We talked about her prior life in politics, Malawi's separation from Zambia, and a host of other topics. She mentioned that the gas issue comes from the exchange rate favors Zambia, so people come over and fill up from Mchinji (both cars and containers for resale). She also mentioned that gas vendors tend to put cooking oil, water, rocks and other fun additives to weight down the bottle. As the time goes on, I realize that he's not coming, so I enjoy the morning off, get some time outside in the sun to finish my book, catch a friend at the inn, we have lunch and head back into the boma around 2:00.
We're about half way back to the boma when this bike taxi slows up. Isaac is on the back with a bottle of fuel. I was so not expecting to see him--I had already figured it wasn't going to happen and planned to do other stuff. I didn't ask what the delay was, mostly because I didn't really want the answer. He put in the fuel and off we went.
The trip itself was short and rather uneventful. We went to one village, met with four families and then to another where there was a funeral that day, so it wasn't okay to meet with people and we headed home.
Clearly the moral of the story is the same as very wise advice I got before coming here: nothing happens on my time frame, which in turn allows for amazing, unexpected things to happen. In the end, it was actually a pretty good day, if for no other reason but it taught me that lesson. And realized to plan ahead for fuel next time I'm going to the field.
Malawi independence day was a week ago Friday (June 6th), and most of my friends here went to Blantyre for the weekend. I stayed in Mchinji and was actually really productive. Some of which was from having a dedicated two hours online at the hospital in the morning to do a literature review I've been trying to do for qualitative studies similar to what I'm proposing. I also ran into the three Peace Corps people in the district who were also interneting at the hospital and had lunch with them, which was a nice surprise. I found a new restaurant in the market that was good, got to get to know them a bit better, and just had a change of pace. After lunch, we all went separate ways; I went to the office and worked for the rest of the afternoon.
On my way home, I stopped back to the hospital to check one more thing online. the hospital was quiet in the morning and even moreso in the late afternoon. A guy came up to me in the hall and said hello. I said it back, thinking this was just the normal exchange of pleasantries. But he sort of stood there a minute longer than usual, so I looked up again and said, "is there something wrong?" He replied that he was the night watchman and he'd been instructed that, "people who are doing whatever it is [I was] doing are not allowed." This was the first I'd heard of it, so I explained that I'd never had a problem before, even talked to the nurse matron that morning while online, etc., nor did I want to get him into trouble, so I said that I'd leave.
I had to do some banking the next day and tried to use the other, much more finicky network that's not through the hospital to no avail. I decided to push my luck at the hospital again, and very quickly had another guard tell me that the network was only for district hospital business and that others were not allowed. I had just finished what I was doing so I just left. No more internet in Mchinji for any azungu.
I had heard something from someone at the hospital who wanted to put a block on it, since they were paying for it that others shouldn't be able to use it. I explained my understanding of the internet and that since you don't pay by amount of use, it costs just the same to have multiple people on as it does to have one. I don't think it translated well, and I can imagine that it looks like a bunch of rich white people coming only when it's convenient to them to use this new, precious thing and that they shouldn't be able to for free. But things here are so much more political, sensitive, and also quiet (as in, people are sort of evasive and aren't nearly as forward with their needs and feelings about things as we are) that I really didn't want to push hard.
I told this all to the Penn people when they got back, and they talked to the managers of the research center where they work (which is affiliated with the hospital--so much so that multiple people have brought the hospital the routers they need for the internet that is being used). One of them cleared it up with the hospital, as they have a clear stake to the hospital internet, and told me that it would be fine to use it again. I'm really lucky to have them [the managers at this center, as well as the Penn crew] to lean on here. Without a Malawi ally, and without an easily described affiliation to an organization (I've started saying that I work for the district social welfare office directly), life can be a lot harder here.
On my way home, I stopped back to the hospital to check one more thing online. the hospital was quiet in the morning and even moreso in the late afternoon. A guy came up to me in the hall and said hello. I said it back, thinking this was just the normal exchange of pleasantries. But he sort of stood there a minute longer than usual, so I looked up again and said, "is there something wrong?" He replied that he was the night watchman and he'd been instructed that, "people who are doing whatever it is [I was] doing are not allowed." This was the first I'd heard of it, so I explained that I'd never had a problem before, even talked to the nurse matron that morning while online, etc., nor did I want to get him into trouble, so I said that I'd leave.
I had to do some banking the next day and tried to use the other, much more finicky network that's not through the hospital to no avail. I decided to push my luck at the hospital again, and very quickly had another guard tell me that the network was only for district hospital business and that others were not allowed. I had just finished what I was doing so I just left. No more internet in Mchinji for any azungu.
I had heard something from someone at the hospital who wanted to put a block on it, since they were paying for it that others shouldn't be able to use it. I explained my understanding of the internet and that since you don't pay by amount of use, it costs just the same to have multiple people on as it does to have one. I don't think it translated well, and I can imagine that it looks like a bunch of rich white people coming only when it's convenient to them to use this new, precious thing and that they shouldn't be able to for free. But things here are so much more political, sensitive, and also quiet (as in, people are sort of evasive and aren't nearly as forward with their needs and feelings about things as we are) that I really didn't want to push hard.
I told this all to the Penn people when they got back, and they talked to the managers of the research center where they work (which is affiliated with the hospital--so much so that multiple people have brought the hospital the routers they need for the internet that is being used). One of them cleared it up with the hospital, as they have a clear stake to the hospital internet, and told me that it would be fine to use it again. I'm really lucky to have them [the managers at this center, as well as the Penn crew] to lean on here. Without a Malawi ally, and without an easily described affiliation to an organization (I've started saying that I work for the district social welfare office directly), life can be a lot harder here.
This week has been sort of weird. I think the honeymoon is over a bit. Mostly, it started with Tuesday, which was cold and rainy, neither of which makes for a good day on a motorbike. I got back to the inn cold to the bone and just needed to take a hot shower, get in bed, and watch Grey's Anatomy that I borrowed while getting warm. I just needed to forget I was in Malawi for a while. I worked some on Wednesday but the power kept going out, so it was a wash of a day. Yesterday I went into Lilongwe, which was a good day, although unusual from any sort of normal routine I have. Now today's independence day and it's a quiet day around. This week has been rather like the white-boy-shuffle--I can't seem to find the rhythm.
Yesterday was a good day, though. I went into town with someone else from kayesa, so we chatted the whole bus ride in. Not two minutes off the bus and I run into someone from HSPH (who I knew was in town, but didn't expect to bump into). We catch up; he'll be in Mchinji next week, which will be good. Then we walk over to where Sahra (the person I came in with) was staying in Lilongwe to pick up her passport, and on the way out, we bump into the person who gave me a ride out to Mchinji the previous weekend. This whole country is like a small town, I swear. Then Sahra went grocery shopping while I had lunch with Emily and Heather, two of the Penn crew. The place was like The Official Ex-pat Lunch Destination; I think the owner was white. I can see why: I had sesame chicken, which was absolutely delicious.
From lunch, we went to extend our visas. It didn't occur to me until I was at immigration office and in line what a luxury it is not to have to worry about my legal status when I'm home. The officer was a bit of a jerk and could get away with it. But the whole scene was just so tense and uncomfortable. He clearly got slipped some money by one woman, and I was getting a little worried that's how it was going to have to go. They gave Sahra a hard time because she got only 10 days at entry (you're supposed to get 30) and were claiming that she had wanted to overstay. The officer called over the guy who had stamped her at the airport, who basically said, "are you calling me a liar? that's my stamp. I only gave you 10 days. you must have misunderstood." Fortunately, they relented and gave her the stamp. I had no problems, besides the guy questioning that my picture with long hair and hemp necklaces from 1998 was actually me, but I tried to make a joke about it, he laughed, I got my stamp and we got he hell out of there.
The minibus ride back was a trip. 2/3rd of the van was packed with indiscernible goods (like soap and salt, I think), and they packed between 8-10 of us in the front two benches, facing each other. There was one big pack of clothes that kept falling onto someone's head when we slowed down. I am assuming they were brining it all to mchinji to sell, but I don't know. I rode the whole way backwards. I got my $2.50's worth for sure.
Yesterday was a good day, though. I went into town with someone else from kayesa, so we chatted the whole bus ride in. Not two minutes off the bus and I run into someone from HSPH (who I knew was in town, but didn't expect to bump into). We catch up; he'll be in Mchinji next week, which will be good. Then we walk over to where Sahra (the person I came in with) was staying in Lilongwe to pick up her passport, and on the way out, we bump into the person who gave me a ride out to Mchinji the previous weekend. This whole country is like a small town, I swear. Then Sahra went grocery shopping while I had lunch with Emily and Heather, two of the Penn crew. The place was like The Official Ex-pat Lunch Destination; I think the owner was white. I can see why: I had sesame chicken, which was absolutely delicious.
From lunch, we went to extend our visas. It didn't occur to me until I was at immigration office and in line what a luxury it is not to have to worry about my legal status when I'm home. The officer was a bit of a jerk and could get away with it. But the whole scene was just so tense and uncomfortable. He clearly got slipped some money by one woman, and I was getting a little worried that's how it was going to have to go. They gave Sahra a hard time because she got only 10 days at entry (you're supposed to get 30) and were claiming that she had wanted to overstay. The officer called over the guy who had stamped her at the airport, who basically said, "are you calling me a liar? that's my stamp. I only gave you 10 days. you must have misunderstood." Fortunately, they relented and gave her the stamp. I had no problems, besides the guy questioning that my picture with long hair and hemp necklaces from 1998 was actually me, but I tried to make a joke about it, he laughed, I got my stamp and we got he hell out of there.
The minibus ride back was a trip. 2/3rd of the van was packed with indiscernible goods (like soap and salt, I think), and they packed between 8-10 of us in the front two benches, facing each other. There was one big pack of clothes that kept falling onto someone's head when we slowed down. I am assuming they were brining it all to mchinji to sell, but I don't know. I rode the whole way backwards. I got my $2.50's worth for sure.
I went into the field with a guy, Kalongonda, from the agriculture department yesterday and will be doing the same today. I borrowed a motorbike from the district commissioner's office for two days to go and see the effects this program is having on farmers and agriculture. I met with the guy last week and he started talking about stuff like getting small stock (rabbits, mice, etc.) to create manure and I knew I was in for something unusual.
The bike alone is hilarious. I can't drive stick, let alone a motorcycle, so the combination was a little too daunting. It is a little like being a drummer--you need both hands and feet involved--and I felt more like the guy from Def Leppard. So I asked the guy I was with to drive. The whole thing is Motorcycle Diaries meets Driving Miss Daisy meets Out of Africa.
We went to a bunch of different villages, talked to a bunch of people. We moved across a lot of the district and ended up in our intervention area by early afternoon. We actually went to a village where I'd been when I was with the study team; the guide was the same woman, and she and I laughed at having met now twice. The process is: meet with the chief (twice today the "chief" was female), then find this committee chairperson, then have them take you to houses.
People tend to offer food--we got a bunch of sugar cane (which was strapped the back and made while riding much easier because I had something to hold onto) and then peanuts--but at this place the village head had actually cooked for us by the time we returned. We went into her house, me, Kalongonda, and the chairwoman/guide, and the food was on a mat on the floor of the main room (probably 10X10'). Kalongonda, gestured for me to sit and I sat. We were washing out hands (poured water from a bowl), when Kalongonda says, "Mbuzi." I don’t quite register and sort of think he’s talking about the food. Then I look over and a goat had just stuck its head into our room from the other room. The guide kind of pulls at me to get up, and I was a bit too slow for the freaked out goat, who totally runs his head-on into me (presumably moving me out of the way), and then tries again to get out, this time successfully. I was a little freaked out, mostly just because I was not expecting live animals in the house, but we all quickly laughed about it. We then ate our nsima and chicken (not goat) and went on with the day. I made the mistake of starting to eat with my left hand (there’s a reason why you shake people's right hands and don’t touch their left…), and Kalongonda said, "oh are you left handed?" I wanted to explain that I use toilet paper and soap, but I just laughed and said no, it was just the closer hand, and I forgot. They didn't seem to care much--we were eating from communal food--but it was a good reminder for next time.
We did also completely disrupt a school's day by showing up to talk to this girl who returned to school after having to drop out to take care of her parents who both died of HIV/AIDS. She's now probably 16 and in Standard 6 (5th grade), while her 14 year old brother stayed in school and is now in Form 2 (9th grade). In any event, having an azungu is a big deal, and I tried to say I'd stay behind knowing that my presence would create a ruckus, but they insisted. And ruckus happened--all the kids came to the windows of the classrooms and were shouting and waving. I can't imagine that it takes much to distract a student in a class of 60-90 kids, but it was quite odd how things sort of shut down while we were there. The whole thing was awkward, including this poor girl who was pulled out of class to talk to us about being an orphan. I didn't want any part of it, but sort of had no choice. No one else seemed to find it troubling, so I went along for it. And now I know not to go during school hours when I need to talk to teachers and headmasters, which I’ll be doing next week.
Otherwise, the day was pretty uneventful. Let’s hope for a quieter day today.
The bike alone is hilarious. I can't drive stick, let alone a motorcycle, so the combination was a little too daunting. It is a little like being a drummer--you need both hands and feet involved--and I felt more like the guy from Def Leppard. So I asked the guy I was with to drive. The whole thing is Motorcycle Diaries meets Driving Miss Daisy meets Out of Africa.
We went to a bunch of different villages, talked to a bunch of people. We moved across a lot of the district and ended up in our intervention area by early afternoon. We actually went to a village where I'd been when I was with the study team; the guide was the same woman, and she and I laughed at having met now twice. The process is: meet with the chief (twice today the "chief" was female), then find this committee chairperson, then have them take you to houses.
People tend to offer food--we got a bunch of sugar cane (which was strapped the back and made while riding much easier because I had something to hold onto) and then peanuts--but at this place the village head had actually cooked for us by the time we returned. We went into her house, me, Kalongonda, and the chairwoman/guide, and the food was on a mat on the floor of the main room (probably 10X10'). Kalongonda, gestured for me to sit and I sat. We were washing out hands (poured water from a bowl), when Kalongonda says, "Mbuzi." I don’t quite register and sort of think he’s talking about the food. Then I look over and a goat had just stuck its head into our room from the other room. The guide kind of pulls at me to get up, and I was a bit too slow for the freaked out goat, who totally runs his head-on into me (presumably moving me out of the way), and then tries again to get out, this time successfully. I was a little freaked out, mostly just because I was not expecting live animals in the house, but we all quickly laughed about it. We then ate our nsima and chicken (not goat) and went on with the day. I made the mistake of starting to eat with my left hand (there’s a reason why you shake people's right hands and don’t touch their left…), and Kalongonda said, "oh are you left handed?" I wanted to explain that I use toilet paper and soap, but I just laughed and said no, it was just the closer hand, and I forgot. They didn't seem to care much--we were eating from communal food--but it was a good reminder for next time.
We did also completely disrupt a school's day by showing up to talk to this girl who returned to school after having to drop out to take care of her parents who both died of HIV/AIDS. She's now probably 16 and in Standard 6 (5th grade), while her 14 year old brother stayed in school and is now in Form 2 (9th grade). In any event, having an azungu is a big deal, and I tried to say I'd stay behind knowing that my presence would create a ruckus, but they insisted. And ruckus happened--all the kids came to the windows of the classrooms and were shouting and waving. I can't imagine that it takes much to distract a student in a class of 60-90 kids, but it was quite odd how things sort of shut down while we were there. The whole thing was awkward, including this poor girl who was pulled out of class to talk to us about being an orphan. I didn't want any part of it, but sort of had no choice. No one else seemed to find it troubling, so I went along for it. And now I know not to go during school hours when I need to talk to teachers and headmasters, which I’ll be doing next week.
Otherwise, the day was pretty uneventful. Let’s hope for a quieter day today.
I spent the weekend in Lilongwe and had a great time. I needed to get out of Mchinji more than I knew. I had a pretty productive week and was glad to be leaving work and my computer behind for even 30 hours (it's actually hard to believe it was such a short time--it felt like I was there for three days at least).
We left Saturday morning, taking a minibus into town. I'd been in matatus in Kenya, but only around town and not for any long distance. Fortunately, Malawi minibuses have to close the door, so no oneís hanging out the side. But, the whole thing did remind me a bit of the Chinatown buses in their infancy. It's like $2.50 to get into Lilongwe, and about an hour or so travel time, mostly because they speed like crazy. So all 7 of us azungus cram into the back of the bus and head in. Thankfully, I knew that they expect passports at the checkpoints, because I usually never travel with mine on my body. We only had to get out at one of them (there are two checks on the way in). All in all, an uneventful ride (save getting a slight headache from the van's fumes and the loud music).
We hop out at a gas station across from where we're staying and headed over to meet people who were already there (we were cramming into their rooms-they'd been there all week for a conference). The place felt like a palace compared to Mchinji. Granted, itís one of the nicer hotels in Lilongwe, but there was something so western and luxurious about even basic things that already felt extravagant having been out in the sticks for three weeks. We quickly found our way to the pool and hung out there for some time, catching sun and then catching up.
The main purpose of the trip was to go to a 4th of July party that the US Ambassador has at his house. The details we knew were sketchy and came from peace corps volunteers, someone passing through a backpacker lodge in Lilongwe, and finally, a friend of a friend in Lilongwe who went to the Holiday party there in December and had an idea of the drill. Essentially, you wave your passport and are in. So we piled into three taxis (the herd-like travel felt a bit like freshman year of college with 14 people going to the dining hall together) and went over.
To say that this place is a compound is an understatement. We didn't know exactly where we were going, but then saw a sea of SUVs (the official expat-mobile) and knew we were close. Signs directed to the side gate, and that street was lined with even more SUVs. We walk through the gate, past the Malawi security guards to be greeted by this big American dude, a silver-haired Dad with wrap around sunglasses, a red polo shirt and shorts. My general hater-ation and cynical nature may have been feeding how odd it all seemed and what a culture shock it was to suddenly be interacting with only Americans after the gate guard. But it was pretty weird.
MK500 (like $4.50) got you three drinks and two hamburgers/hot dogs. The food line was really long, giving ample time to scope things out. I think the thing that was most shocking in those first 5 minutes there was seeing someone wearing a College Republicans shirt in public. There were a lot of families and a lot of other 20/30-something kind of people. Once I made it up there, the food was classic: burgers (which were likely not beef; if they were, I don't know why they were that color), hot dogs, baked beans, cole slaw and potato chips. Complete with hologram stars and stripes paper products. Homemade desserts (including bars, thank god) rounded off the patriotic gluttony. The guy who gave me my coke light was from the state department. And there were a lot of southern accents happening. Also weird.
The 20-somethings were overwhelmingly Peace Corps people, a few of whom are based in Mchinji and people in our group had met around. A bunch of them were playing guitar on stage; all wore red white and blue cowboy hats. There was also someone dressed like Uncle Sam. I never do stuff like this at home, so it was weird to do it anywhere, but especially in Malawi. It was just a totally alternate reality--the grass was green (it's too dry here to have green grass anywhere else), a lit basketball court, huge house, etc.
Once it all sunk in a bit, I actually quite enjoyed myself. There was a water balloon toss, in which my partner and I got fairly close to winning; a water balloon relay; potato sack races; and limbo. It was nice to be able to relax for a while, sit on the grass and just chill. It was really easy to forget that like a quarter of a mile away is a village of really poor people. It was probably designed exactly for that reason, and it worked for as long as I was there.
Once back to the hotel, we watched some (bad south african) tv and rested before dinner, which was delicious Indian food across the street. It was so nice to be able to choose food by cuisine and be able to walk to get it. Some people were going out after; others went to crash.
I rallied and went dancing at Harry's, which was also a lot of fun. They played pretty good music (mostly hip-hop and good mixes of some pop stuff, mixed in with your random Zambian/Malawian reggae), and there was a decent crowd there. There was almost a fight with this guy who was pretty drunk who kept trying to dance with a bunch of different women (including the ones I was with). Some guys, including one I was with, handled him really well, but I was really expecting a full on fight at one point. It's the small things, like knowing that his ass would have been kicked out if we were in Boston, that are so much more indicative of the culture differences. But he paid his 300 Kwacha ($2) cover and could stay there and drink for as long as he wanted. We were there for about an hour and a half or two and then split. Although not before a large contingent of Canadians came in sporting some SERIOUS Canadian pride for Canada Day. I'm talking all red and white, girls with small flags stuck in their ponytails, flags painted on t shirts and cheeks. Also not before catching sight of a fem-mullet on some other white chick. A full night to say the least.
The following morning consisted of a lavish, complementary, breakfast, a trip to the big grocery store to stock up on stuff, and hanging out before getting a ride (rock) with someone who was heading out to Mchinji.
We left Saturday morning, taking a minibus into town. I'd been in matatus in Kenya, but only around town and not for any long distance. Fortunately, Malawi minibuses have to close the door, so no oneís hanging out the side. But, the whole thing did remind me a bit of the Chinatown buses in their infancy. It's like $2.50 to get into Lilongwe, and about an hour or so travel time, mostly because they speed like crazy. So all 7 of us azungus cram into the back of the bus and head in. Thankfully, I knew that they expect passports at the checkpoints, because I usually never travel with mine on my body. We only had to get out at one of them (there are two checks on the way in). All in all, an uneventful ride (save getting a slight headache from the van's fumes and the loud music).
We hop out at a gas station across from where we're staying and headed over to meet people who were already there (we were cramming into their rooms-they'd been there all week for a conference). The place felt like a palace compared to Mchinji. Granted, itís one of the nicer hotels in Lilongwe, but there was something so western and luxurious about even basic things that already felt extravagant having been out in the sticks for three weeks. We quickly found our way to the pool and hung out there for some time, catching sun and then catching up.
The main purpose of the trip was to go to a 4th of July party that the US Ambassador has at his house. The details we knew were sketchy and came from peace corps volunteers, someone passing through a backpacker lodge in Lilongwe, and finally, a friend of a friend in Lilongwe who went to the Holiday party there in December and had an idea of the drill. Essentially, you wave your passport and are in. So we piled into three taxis (the herd-like travel felt a bit like freshman year of college with 14 people going to the dining hall together) and went over.
To say that this place is a compound is an understatement. We didn't know exactly where we were going, but then saw a sea of SUVs (the official expat-mobile) and knew we were close. Signs directed to the side gate, and that street was lined with even more SUVs. We walk through the gate, past the Malawi security guards to be greeted by this big American dude, a silver-haired Dad with wrap around sunglasses, a red polo shirt and shorts. My general hater-ation and cynical nature may have been feeding how odd it all seemed and what a culture shock it was to suddenly be interacting with only Americans after the gate guard. But it was pretty weird.
MK500 (like $4.50) got you three drinks and two hamburgers/hot dogs. The food line was really long, giving ample time to scope things out. I think the thing that was most shocking in those first 5 minutes there was seeing someone wearing a College Republicans shirt in public. There were a lot of families and a lot of other 20/30-something kind of people. Once I made it up there, the food was classic: burgers (which were likely not beef; if they were, I don't know why they were that color), hot dogs, baked beans, cole slaw and potato chips. Complete with hologram stars and stripes paper products. Homemade desserts (including bars, thank god) rounded off the patriotic gluttony. The guy who gave me my coke light was from the state department. And there were a lot of southern accents happening. Also weird.
The 20-somethings were overwhelmingly Peace Corps people, a few of whom are based in Mchinji and people in our group had met around. A bunch of them were playing guitar on stage; all wore red white and blue cowboy hats. There was also someone dressed like Uncle Sam. I never do stuff like this at home, so it was weird to do it anywhere, but especially in Malawi. It was just a totally alternate reality--the grass was green (it's too dry here to have green grass anywhere else), a lit basketball court, huge house, etc.
Once it all sunk in a bit, I actually quite enjoyed myself. There was a water balloon toss, in which my partner and I got fairly close to winning; a water balloon relay; potato sack races; and limbo. It was nice to be able to relax for a while, sit on the grass and just chill. It was really easy to forget that like a quarter of a mile away is a village of really poor people. It was probably designed exactly for that reason, and it worked for as long as I was there.
Once back to the hotel, we watched some (bad south african) tv and rested before dinner, which was delicious Indian food across the street. It was so nice to be able to choose food by cuisine and be able to walk to get it. Some people were going out after; others went to crash.
I rallied and went dancing at Harry's, which was also a lot of fun. They played pretty good music (mostly hip-hop and good mixes of some pop stuff, mixed in with your random Zambian/Malawian reggae), and there was a decent crowd there. There was almost a fight with this guy who was pretty drunk who kept trying to dance with a bunch of different women (including the ones I was with). Some guys, including one I was with, handled him really well, but I was really expecting a full on fight at one point. It's the small things, like knowing that his ass would have been kicked out if we were in Boston, that are so much more indicative of the culture differences. But he paid his 300 Kwacha ($2) cover and could stay there and drink for as long as he wanted. We were there for about an hour and a half or two and then split. Although not before a large contingent of Canadians came in sporting some SERIOUS Canadian pride for Canada Day. I'm talking all red and white, girls with small flags stuck in their ponytails, flags painted on t shirts and cheeks. Also not before catching sight of a fem-mullet on some other white chick. A full night to say the least.
The following morning consisted of a lavish, complementary, breakfast, a trip to the big grocery store to stock up on stuff, and hanging out before getting a ride (rock) with someone who was heading out to Mchinji.
