It was actually really sad to leave, more than I thought. I think it was helpful that it came in waves: I left work and work people on Friday, then Kayesa on Saturday, then split from Lauren and Kim on Saturday, then everyone else on Monday. But in the car ride to Lilongwe on Saturday, after we left Kayesa, which included a fond farewell from the staff to see us off, it first hit. I turned around and said, "Wow. I just left Mchinji. I don't really know what to do with that." to the girls in the back. And it was true, I didn't really know what to make of it.
For all my anxieties going into the trip (most of which hit like a ton of bricks just before leaving), I knew all along on some level that this was the thing that I was supposed to do this summer. But like most everything, I had no idea why and how until it was over.
I feel like I grew up a lot in seven weeks, got over a lot of things--patterns, fears, habits, inhibitions--that I was ready to shed, and identified some other ones as well. The work I was doing really forced me to get out of myself, to ask for help, to be persistent and follow through, to be patient, to admit that I don't already have all the answers or can figure it out alone, most of which are otherwise pretty standard modus operandi.
This was the first time that I had ever really been a foreigner. In some key ways, this was very much doing what many peoples' college study abroad experiences seem to do. I'd never been challenged (or felt challenged) by being an outsider before. I was always traveling somewhere where I knew the language, was with someone always who did, or where everyone I was meeting spoke English. My cultural and other biases hadn't really been put to the test yet either--I am really glad that I could start to see things from other perspectives and not just stay in my own. I was out of my comfort zone a lot, away from many things that keep me grounded (which I now see how much I take them for granted), and had to just keep moving through it all. I had to try things that had been things I was/would have been reluctant (or resistant) to take up at home.
A key reason why I chose to go abroad was to use this as a test run for working internationally, and I think this trip also served that function really well. I definitely think that I could live the expat life from spending those last few nights and some others early on living with expats. But I also have a sense of living in the real "field," and what that means. There are limitations of both settings, but suffice it to say that what I want and think I can handle is much clearer in this regard as well.
Lastly, but certainly not least, I feel like I have a really strong focus on what sort of work I want to do, what interests me, and what I'm hoping for professionally in the future. Some of that is a matter of topic of work (not just about a certain disease or population, but really addressing the distant determinants of health by non-directly health policy related work), some is about level of work and influence (i.e., living in the city as an expat, or in the field more as a direct worker), and some is a matter of what gaps do I see that I need to fill in the next year to get there.
In short, I guess I feel rejuvenated, much clearer about myself and who I want to be professionally and personally. It might not have changed my life, but I'm pretty certain it's changed me.
For all my anxieties going into the trip (most of which hit like a ton of bricks just before leaving), I knew all along on some level that this was the thing that I was supposed to do this summer. But like most everything, I had no idea why and how until it was over.
I feel like I grew up a lot in seven weeks, got over a lot of things--patterns, fears, habits, inhibitions--that I was ready to shed, and identified some other ones as well. The work I was doing really forced me to get out of myself, to ask for help, to be persistent and follow through, to be patient, to admit that I don't already have all the answers or can figure it out alone, most of which are otherwise pretty standard modus operandi.
This was the first time that I had ever really been a foreigner. In some key ways, this was very much doing what many peoples' college study abroad experiences seem to do. I'd never been challenged (or felt challenged) by being an outsider before. I was always traveling somewhere where I knew the language, was with someone always who did, or where everyone I was meeting spoke English. My cultural and other biases hadn't really been put to the test yet either--I am really glad that I could start to see things from other perspectives and not just stay in my own. I was out of my comfort zone a lot, away from many things that keep me grounded (which I now see how much I take them for granted), and had to just keep moving through it all. I had to try things that had been things I was/would have been reluctant (or resistant) to take up at home.
A key reason why I chose to go abroad was to use this as a test run for working internationally, and I think this trip also served that function really well. I definitely think that I could live the expat life from spending those last few nights and some others early on living with expats. But I also have a sense of living in the real "field," and what that means. There are limitations of both settings, but suffice it to say that what I want and think I can handle is much clearer in this regard as well.
Lastly, but certainly not least, I feel like I have a really strong focus on what sort of work I want to do, what interests me, and what I'm hoping for professionally in the future. Some of that is a matter of topic of work (not just about a certain disease or population, but really addressing the distant determinants of health by non-directly health policy related work), some is about level of work and influence (i.e., living in the city as an expat, or in the field more as a direct worker), and some is a matter of what gaps do I see that I need to fill in the next year to get there.
In short, I guess I feel rejuvenated, much clearer about myself and who I want to be professionally and personally. It might not have changed my life, but I'm pretty certain it's changed me.
Labels: Lake Malawi, mchinji, transitions
Emily, Heather and I went to the lake the last weekend I was in Mchinji. We were going to have a fourth, Simon, but he broke his arm the previous week and couldn't deal with the minibus in an arm sling. At one point, we were going to go further north on the lake and the weekend prior; we were all busy with work and couldn't make it happen, so we chose the following weekend (losing a few people in the process) and a place that was still in the central region, Senga Bay, to save some time. We'd never been there before, but some of the people who were here last year had gone, as had D, and offered good advice. We wanted to go to this place on the beach that had permanent tents set up instead of chalets, but they were full. We booked a room instead for one night at the Livingstonia Beach Resort (yes, it's as posh as it sounds), and then to another place for the following night because Livingstonia only had one night free.
We decided to go Saturday for a variety of reasons: we were all going to be tired from finishing things up that week with our work, that you couldn't do it all in one day unless you took the day off or overnighted in Lilongwe, and so to compromise, we thought we would have a farewell party of sorts on Friday. The party itself was a bit awkward (okay, very awkward) in the end, and felt like an obligation to attend. It consisted of most of the staff and some european relatives of the owners who were staying there and a few random drunk people who heard music off the road and came in. One in particular was completely unintelligible and kept getting passed off between me and the other white dude to deal with him until he finally got the hint. In any event, it didn't quite pan out as we'd hoped, but I was glad to have the night to pack, rest and get ready to go.
Getting there was another episode of planes, trains, and automobiles.
I'd run into this taxi driver I'd hired before in the boma on Thursday and asked him to come pick me up at 9:00 on Saturday because I was going to have my luggage (as were the others), and getting in without a car ride would have been difficult. He didn't show, and solid hour later after waiting for a number of other drivers we called, I was going to go in by bike taxi and get one myself. One showed up just as I was on my way out; we left and the car broke down not 100 yards from the inn. Fortunately, it was easy and quick to fix, but hilarious and somehow ironic at the same time. We get to the boma where I have a shirt for me and one for D to pick up at the tailor. (sidenote: mine is a straight up mu-mu. no joke. it could probably fit two of me and falls about mid-thigh). Once I have them, I start eyeing this Toyota 4x4 hoping that I can hire it to take us to lilongwe (there were five of us with all our luggage and we knew a minibus wasn't feasible; a taxi would be like $8/each) when some other guy comes up and says that he heard that I need a car for 5 to lilongwe. I'd mentioned it to my first driver and word travels fast; go figure. But dude had a station waggon and agreed to our price, so off we went.
We got to Lilongwe, had lunch at the favorite pizza place, and then off to the bus station for a bus to Salima. We had to walk a ways to find the bus itself, as they're all in different areas by destination geography and we didn't know where this one was. We finally get on, it fills to appropriate crowdedness (20-something people; I couldn't really put my feet on the ground, but I have had worse), and was a generally a fine ride.
From Salima, you basically hitch a ride to Senga Bay, which is another 15km east. Apparently Saturday afternoon is the official drinking time in Salima because everyone was out and loud around 3:00pm. There are 10 or so men who at one point or another get a little too close and offer to help us find a ride, once we'd already found one. The rides are basically the back of a pickup truck, and even once we were in ours, they wouldn't let up. One was just a little too close to Heather, to the point that I thought I might shove him off. It was just chaos. There was our truck and another one that was quite full already; to attract more people, they just honk relentlessly. Then the trucks start moving around, one in front of the other, for no apparent reason besides what we could gather as to suggest that they were more ready to leave than another. (One of our activities was to figure out who was who: we later found that this person, the honker, is just that--his job is to honk and move the car until full; similarly, there are the guys who comes to fetch people, one of whom then transitions into the money taker and the rest fall away; the driver is a third person entirely). Then, at one point a fight erupts outside a bottle store (bar) nearby between a man and a woman--it's unclear what started it, but they were both actively hitting each other. We just wanted to get out of there, and fortunately left shortly thereafter with about 6 of us in the truck bed.
Along the way, we gather what I liken the 12 days of Christmas: 27 adults, 8 pots/tubs/boxes, 7 children (including one breast feeding baby), 6 20 lb bags of maize and rice, one log, and one child holding a small chicken. Just when you think it's too full, someone else gets on. But we got there. And then we convinced them to drive us directly to our hotel, which was another 2k from Senga Bay town, for a $3 more. So we end up showing up to the nicest beach resort, and in fact the oldest hotel in Malawi, in the back of this sky blue, old pick up truck. A great sight, for sure. Emily appropriately started singing The Beverly Hillbillies theme song when we pulled through the gates.
The place was everything and more. It felt a lot like where I stayed in Mombasa, except nicer: white-washed walls, nice room, big bathroom, private beach (which is key, as it prevents people from harassing you to buy their stuff while on the beach), pool, hot tub, etc. It felt easy to forget that you were in Malawi, which at first felt a bit disconcerting, if not blatantly like we were the "bad" kind of white person in Malawi because it felt good to forget Malawi was outside the gates and live in this extravagant bubble. In the end, it became abundantly clear that it was a good thing: it was relaxing and easy, with good food and company, and worth every penny.
It was a great end to my time in Malawi. I swam every day (in the pool, not the lake), laid out a bit, just took it easy. the second day we got up early to see the sun rise over the lake which was exquisite, took an early breakfast, I got in another time for laps in the pool, and then we headed off. Not 10 feet outside the gates and I heard, "Azungu, give me bottle!" Back to reality.
We did the same trip, including crowded (and now slow) truck, and minibus back to Lilongwe. In fact, the minibus was also slow. There were three police check points: one we were more or less waved through, one the driver had to go with the police officer into this non-descript grass hut where I can't imagine anything but a bribe payment happened, and then at a third where the driver got a hard time because the vehicle's insurance papers were outdated. Only to add excitement, we actually hit a goat (and kept going) along the way.
But for all of the travel hilarity, it really was a perfect wrap up. I did feel like I had ended my time in Mchinji by Friday evening. Not to mention that I needed a distraction more than I realized--I had worked through the previous weekend so was going on two straight weeks of work. I also feel like I didn't "do" much of Malawi (which was a choice, granted), so it was good to round out my time there by seeing one of the must-sees.
We decided to go Saturday for a variety of reasons: we were all going to be tired from finishing things up that week with our work, that you couldn't do it all in one day unless you took the day off or overnighted in Lilongwe, and so to compromise, we thought we would have a farewell party of sorts on Friday. The party itself was a bit awkward (okay, very awkward) in the end, and felt like an obligation to attend. It consisted of most of the staff and some european relatives of the owners who were staying there and a few random drunk people who heard music off the road and came in. One in particular was completely unintelligible and kept getting passed off between me and the other white dude to deal with him until he finally got the hint. In any event, it didn't quite pan out as we'd hoped, but I was glad to have the night to pack, rest and get ready to go.
Getting there was another episode of planes, trains, and automobiles.
I'd run into this taxi driver I'd hired before in the boma on Thursday and asked him to come pick me up at 9:00 on Saturday because I was going to have my luggage (as were the others), and getting in without a car ride would have been difficult. He didn't show, and solid hour later after waiting for a number of other drivers we called, I was going to go in by bike taxi and get one myself. One showed up just as I was on my way out; we left and the car broke down not 100 yards from the inn. Fortunately, it was easy and quick to fix, but hilarious and somehow ironic at the same time. We get to the boma where I have a shirt for me and one for D to pick up at the tailor. (sidenote: mine is a straight up mu-mu. no joke. it could probably fit two of me and falls about mid-thigh). Once I have them, I start eyeing this Toyota 4x4 hoping that I can hire it to take us to lilongwe (there were five of us with all our luggage and we knew a minibus wasn't feasible; a taxi would be like $8/each) when some other guy comes up and says that he heard that I need a car for 5 to lilongwe. I'd mentioned it to my first driver and word travels fast; go figure. But dude had a station waggon and agreed to our price, so off we went.
We got to Lilongwe, had lunch at the favorite pizza place, and then off to the bus station for a bus to Salima. We had to walk a ways to find the bus itself, as they're all in different areas by destination geography and we didn't know where this one was. We finally get on, it fills to appropriate crowdedness (20-something people; I couldn't really put my feet on the ground, but I have had worse), and was a generally a fine ride.
From Salima, you basically hitch a ride to Senga Bay, which is another 15km east. Apparently Saturday afternoon is the official drinking time in Salima because everyone was out and loud around 3:00pm. There are 10 or so men who at one point or another get a little too close and offer to help us find a ride, once we'd already found one. The rides are basically the back of a pickup truck, and even once we were in ours, they wouldn't let up. One was just a little too close to Heather, to the point that I thought I might shove him off. It was just chaos. There was our truck and another one that was quite full already; to attract more people, they just honk relentlessly. Then the trucks start moving around, one in front of the other, for no apparent reason besides what we could gather as to suggest that they were more ready to leave than another. (One of our activities was to figure out who was who: we later found that this person, the honker, is just that--his job is to honk and move the car until full; similarly, there are the guys who comes to fetch people, one of whom then transitions into the money taker and the rest fall away; the driver is a third person entirely). Then, at one point a fight erupts outside a bottle store (bar) nearby between a man and a woman--it's unclear what started it, but they were both actively hitting each other. We just wanted to get out of there, and fortunately left shortly thereafter with about 6 of us in the truck bed.
Along the way, we gather what I liken the 12 days of Christmas: 27 adults, 8 pots/tubs/boxes, 7 children (including one breast feeding baby), 6 20 lb bags of maize and rice, one log, and one child holding a small chicken. Just when you think it's too full, someone else gets on. But we got there. And then we convinced them to drive us directly to our hotel, which was another 2k from Senga Bay town, for a $3 more. So we end up showing up to the nicest beach resort, and in fact the oldest hotel in Malawi, in the back of this sky blue, old pick up truck. A great sight, for sure. Emily appropriately started singing The Beverly Hillbillies theme song when we pulled through the gates.
The place was everything and more. It felt a lot like where I stayed in Mombasa, except nicer: white-washed walls, nice room, big bathroom, private beach (which is key, as it prevents people from harassing you to buy their stuff while on the beach), pool, hot tub, etc. It felt easy to forget that you were in Malawi, which at first felt a bit disconcerting, if not blatantly like we were the "bad" kind of white person in Malawi because it felt good to forget Malawi was outside the gates and live in this extravagant bubble. In the end, it became abundantly clear that it was a good thing: it was relaxing and easy, with good food and company, and worth every penny.
It was a great end to my time in Malawi. I swam every day (in the pool, not the lake), laid out a bit, just took it easy. the second day we got up early to see the sun rise over the lake which was exquisite, took an early breakfast, I got in another time for laps in the pool, and then we headed off. Not 10 feet outside the gates and I heard, "Azungu, give me bottle!" Back to reality.
We did the same trip, including crowded (and now slow) truck, and minibus back to Lilongwe. In fact, the minibus was also slow. There were three police check points: one we were more or less waved through, one the driver had to go with the police officer into this non-descript grass hut where I can't imagine anything but a bribe payment happened, and then at a third where the driver got a hard time because the vehicle's insurance papers were outdated. Only to add excitement, we actually hit a goat (and kept going) along the way.
But for all of the travel hilarity, it really was a perfect wrap up. I did feel like I had ended my time in Mchinji by Friday evening. Not to mention that I needed a distraction more than I realized--I had worked through the previous weekend so was going on two straight weeks of work. I also feel like I didn't "do" much of Malawi (which was a choice, granted), so it was good to round out my time there by seeing one of the must-sees.
Labels: beach, Lake Malawi, malawi, transportation, travel
