I'm at work, the Boston people and senior people from the India group are all here having a big introductory meeting. I'm not sure that I'm needed/welcome or that it's a good use of my time to get the reintroduction. So I'm doing other things. Fine. Point is: there are a lot of important people here.
Perfect time for me to need to use the bathroom and for the toilet not to flush enough. I was in there for like 20 minutes trying before I finally asked the research manager here if there was a trick. It wasn't so much that water wasn't going in as it was that there was no suction mechanism to move things through (ifyouknowwhatImean). Embarrassed to be the one who broke the toilet, I ask her discretely, she comes and "fixes" it, which doesn't fix anything. I'm back at square one. All I want is a goddamned plunger and there's none in sight. Or at least the dual handle on the toilet at home--one for small flush, one for big flush.
Then I have an idea: I notice the big bucket of water for washing your hands once you're through and a light bulb appears over my head. If I pour all that water, maybe it'll clear everything out--it'll be just like pouring mop water down the toilet, a trick my mother once told me. Success. So bad plumbing is solved by another cultural mechanism (the bucket of water), and half an hour later, I'm back at my desk.
Thanks, Mom.
Perfect time for me to need to use the bathroom and for the toilet not to flush enough. I was in there for like 20 minutes trying before I finally asked the research manager here if there was a trick. It wasn't so much that water wasn't going in as it was that there was no suction mechanism to move things through (ifyouknowwhatImean). Embarrassed to be the one who broke the toilet, I ask her discretely, she comes and "fixes" it, which doesn't fix anything. I'm back at square one. All I want is a goddamned plunger and there's none in sight. Or at least the dual handle on the toilet at home--one for small flush, one for big flush.
Then I have an idea: I notice the big bucket of water for washing your hands once you're through and a light bulb appears over my head. If I pour all that water, maybe it'll clear everything out--it'll be just like pouring mop water down the toilet, a trick my mother once told me. Success. So bad plumbing is solved by another cultural mechanism (the bucket of water), and half an hour later, I'm back at my desk.
Thanks, Mom.
I saw my first white person yesterday. He was walking down the street nearby work. I almost said hello, but that seemed weird. And if we'd been in the US, the way I looked at him probably would have been taken as checking him out, but it was more just of surprise than anything. It just occurred to me that there's a big yoga institute nearby...I wonder if he was coming/going from there. It's not that I don't otherwise know I'm not from here--I'm constantly coming to impasses with language, culture, etc. But it's odd that I don't really recognize that I'm white until I see another white person.
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.
There are a number of vegetarians here, all with different rules about what they do when they travel. One weaned from vegan to eating meat to prepare; one is still pretty staunch egg/dairy vegetarian; another will break only if it's a home made meal, where you can pretty much assume they killed what you’re eating for you and it would be terribly impolite. One person also doesn’t eat beef, just chicken and fish.
It's funny, reflecting on my own time as a vegetarian and then vegan, to think that I pretty thoughtlessly eat meat these days. In some ways meat here is better, or at least more "natural" in that it’s not factory farmed, plumped up on hormones, etc. Not to say that it's actually good quality meat, but that it's not artificial. And yet, it's also weird being so close to what you're eating. I'm seeing now more than ever how much I take for granted to the entire process of going from coop to package.
Yesterday in the market, there was this goat who got tied up near the row of the main meat vendors, and as he was being put down he made this weird sound that none of us had heard before. But it was clear as day: this goat was making the universal 'oh shit, I know what’s coming next' noise. One had just been slaughtered and skinned as we walked past; it’s head was sitting the chopping block with fresh blood all around. People are often walking around with live chickens, often with that same docile, having already submitted to what’s happening look.
In some ways, being here really makes me want to be vegetarian again. I don't want that goat to have to die so I can eat it. And yet, not eating meat here would be an exceptionally boring and poorly nutritious diet; at home, I may just make better decisions about how much and often I eat it. In the meantime, off to dinner. The chicken is usually delicious. [note: there was no chicken. Only fish, that looked like the dried fish from the market. Subnote: will remember to take a picture of the fish section and post soon. If I could make it scratch and sniff, I totally would.]
It's funny, reflecting on my own time as a vegetarian and then vegan, to think that I pretty thoughtlessly eat meat these days. In some ways meat here is better, or at least more "natural" in that it’s not factory farmed, plumped up on hormones, etc. Not to say that it's actually good quality meat, but that it's not artificial. And yet, it's also weird being so close to what you're eating. I'm seeing now more than ever how much I take for granted to the entire process of going from coop to package.
Yesterday in the market, there was this goat who got tied up near the row of the main meat vendors, and as he was being put down he made this weird sound that none of us had heard before. But it was clear as day: this goat was making the universal 'oh shit, I know what’s coming next' noise. One had just been slaughtered and skinned as we walked past; it’s head was sitting the chopping block with fresh blood all around. People are often walking around with live chickens, often with that same docile, having already submitted to what’s happening look.
In some ways, being here really makes me want to be vegetarian again. I don't want that goat to have to die so I can eat it. And yet, not eating meat here would be an exceptionally boring and poorly nutritious diet; at home, I may just make better decisions about how much and often I eat it. In the meantime, off to dinner. The chicken is usually delicious. [note: there was no chicken. Only fish, that looked like the dried fish from the market. Subnote: will remember to take a picture of the fish section and post soon. If I could make it scratch and sniff, I totally would.]
Two findings from the field:
1. Apparently someone in the field thought C was Madonna. I read that in a supervisor's diary and started laughing hysterically. I can imagine that most petite white women would get that at some point or another, especially in Mchinji where her son is from. Then I finished reading the sentence--she brought her baby for C to adopt. Still a little funny, but mostly just sad.
2. Yesterday I went out with another team to the field. We were having some trouble finding one house and stopped for directions. The guy who asked for directions came back with a guide, which isn’t uncommon. So the guide hops in the back of the truck with the rest of us, he's probably 16 years old or so. I look at him as he gets in, but notice that no one else even acknowledges his presence (this is common when guides come along, although I don't understand why), so neither do I. He says something, someone says something back. Then he gets a little fidgety, starts shifting around a bit, then lunges for the door yelling, "Ma dula! Ma dula!" He pushes down and pulls up the lock, and keeps yelling. Finally one of the people opens the door for him and he takes off running. This all goes down in probably 10-15 seconds. At this point I have no clue what happened, but am assuming that the kid is a bit crazy. Then I hear what he’s shouting as he's running and I hear that word I know well--azungu--and know I have something to do with it. Turns out that when he saw me, he thought we were abducting him. So he yells "Dad! Dad!" and tries to get out (he doesn't know that he's locking himself in, but I doubt he’s been in too many cars in his life to know what the handle is). His first statement was trying to make an excuse that he had no shoes and that’s why he couldn’t come along; then he just couldn't deal and needed out. I felt kinda bad, but it was so bizarre and unexpected that it was actually pretty funny at the time. Apparently, he'd only seen one white person before, and never that close up. The team leader said that many people in the villages think that white people want to abduct and eat black people. I replied that I was glad I didn't say hello…I probably would have made it worse. In the end, the father came over while we were pulling away and laughed about it, we waved and smiled at each other, he gave us directions and we took off. It gave the team a laugh the whole way home.
1. Apparently someone in the field thought C was Madonna. I read that in a supervisor's diary and started laughing hysterically. I can imagine that most petite white women would get that at some point or another, especially in Mchinji where her son is from. Then I finished reading the sentence--she brought her baby for C to adopt. Still a little funny, but mostly just sad.
2. Yesterday I went out with another team to the field. We were having some trouble finding one house and stopped for directions. The guy who asked for directions came back with a guide, which isn’t uncommon. So the guide hops in the back of the truck with the rest of us, he's probably 16 years old or so. I look at him as he gets in, but notice that no one else even acknowledges his presence (this is common when guides come along, although I don't understand why), so neither do I. He says something, someone says something back. Then he gets a little fidgety, starts shifting around a bit, then lunges for the door yelling, "Ma dula! Ma dula!" He pushes down and pulls up the lock, and keeps yelling. Finally one of the people opens the door for him and he takes off running. This all goes down in probably 10-15 seconds. At this point I have no clue what happened, but am assuming that the kid is a bit crazy. Then I hear what he’s shouting as he's running and I hear that word I know well--azungu--and know I have something to do with it. Turns out that when he saw me, he thought we were abducting him. So he yells "Dad! Dad!" and tries to get out (he doesn't know that he's locking himself in, but I doubt he’s been in too many cars in his life to know what the handle is). His first statement was trying to make an excuse that he had no shoes and that’s why he couldn’t come along; then he just couldn't deal and needed out. I felt kinda bad, but it was so bizarre and unexpected that it was actually pretty funny at the time. Apparently, he'd only seen one white person before, and never that close up. The team leader said that many people in the villages think that white people want to abduct and eat black people. I replied that I was glad I didn't say hello…I probably would have made it worse. In the end, the father came over while we were pulling away and laughed about it, we waved and smiled at each other, he gave us directions and we took off. It gave the team a laugh the whole way home.
internet has been down here since last week. the hospital's connection is off (apparently it's a billing issue), so now I'm on the front porch of an office of an NGO that some of the UPenn folks' started using wireless from this other NGO's office about 10m away. I tried yesterday to get on and could for about 5 minutes, so it’s definitely not a very strong alternative. It apparently tends to crash by 9 am, so we’re heading down early to try to catch it.
For backlogged updates:
Field: I went to field last saturday. I sat in on three interviews which consisted of getting dropped off in the middle of a field and walking varying distances to someone’s house. Often we walked through a number of villages, which are essentially very small clusters of houses (like any more than 4 will count). Other times it was literally walking along this little worn path through grasses taller than I. It is another world, and probably a truer representation of Malawi than anything I’m getting here in town. Down to cell phone coverage in the middle of the bush. Poor by our standards doesn't even describe it.
And yet, again, people are just people. The first interview was of a 21 year old woman who had two small kids and a 23 year old husband. The last one was of a 32 year old man and his 27 year old wife who had three kids. I tend to think very abstractly about this work and forget that many of the people are about my age. Families by that description are totally universal; it’s no different here. But they were clearly just barely getting by. The first interviewee and her mother and sister-in-law were husking and pulling corn from the cob while the husband was in the field working. The third interviewee had to be called from the field since his wife didn’t want to talk to us alone. Their clothes are clearly western cast-offs (the sister-in-law was wearing this yellow business suit from the 1980s) or old chitenje (a piece of cloth that is a wrap skirt, a head wrap, a baby carrier on ones back, and myriad other things) and it seemed clear these were probably their only change of clothes. The little girls at the third house were wearing these little dresses that were torn; their father’s shirt was tattered and his pants had clearly been mended multiple times. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that people were happy, but kids are playing and most peoples' spirits are okay. The middle interview was totally fine - there was a big family in what seemed like a nice house (it was concrete with a tin roof, slatted windows and a door with a lock v. clay/mud houses with thatched grass roof).
I still can’t get over the animals: at the first one three guinea fowls came up to me; at the third there were goats and pigs roaming around. They’re just everywhere. Half way through the interview I noticed that one of the pigs had gotten muddy, by the end of the interview all of them were covered in mud. Awesome. Chickens and roosters are ubiquitous. (I also saw a couple of donkeys eating from a pile of trash, and some cows munching on tree leaves in a front lawn on the way to town this morning.)
Speaking of animals, I didn’t take any pictures because it felt too much like treating peoples’ homes like a zoo. But there was plenty that was picture worthy, like the well in the last village that was literally a board covering a hole and a pail with a rope on it (note: I am grateful for running water). I’m going again Friday and Saturday, and Monday if they team isn’t finished by Saturday, so perhaps some more pictures then. I’m not going to be sitting in on many interviews – my presence skews things quite a bit – but I’m going more to hear what people are hearing once they’re back in the truck to get a sense of where I should head, who I should talk to, and what questions I should be asking in the next bit of work.
C and the other intern both left Tuesday. The study team is here until Saturday (or Monday) and then it's just me. It was a little weird when they left; I was surprisingly sad. Their presence was a great transition and way of easing into things here, and now I have to hit the ground running. I think this next phase will really be where I get going and learn a lot. It helps that I have a better sense of what I need to work on in the next 6-7 weeks; I was able to get some one-on-one time with C before she left and have a good handle on things. I’m basically going to be going all over the district doing formative work for the qualitative component of the evaluation. I’ll draw up the sampling scheme, listing out people they should talk to, and interview guides and protocols. (Basically it’s Theresa’s class for real. For real?) Naturally, it involves a lot of the stuff that I need to practice (networking, asking for help and favors, etc.). It’s still a little scary and uncertain, but I came to have my world rocked, and so it is/will be. In the meantime, I’m in good shape. I’m just taking action as much as I can each day and using the different networks already here (our study manager, some people at the district office I’ve met, some of the Penn folks’ colleagues here). I’ve had to get better at reigning it in when I get too ahead of myself and into the big picture; the mental energy for worrying is a luxury that I really don’t have here.
One of the people from the district building is this guy Z who helped us out last week. Part of our current questionnaire is about food and non-food expenditures and C had me and the other intern price all of the things in our market so that we know how much things cost. We found this guy, Z, to come translate, explain what we doing, and make sure that we were getting the non-azungu price. It was a great way to see the market and the town. We went in almost every store along the road and throughout most of the market. One of the stores I still can’t get over: it’s a plastics store. Seriously, EVERYTHING here is plastic. Chairs in the conference room are all like the white stackable plastic chairs for your backyard. Trash cans, cups, drums and pails for water, and on and on…all plastic. Benjamin, the future really is in plastics. Anyway. We even went back to the maize mill and watched people processing their maize (you have to pay a fee and we needed to know how much the fee was). There are some things in the market that I just don’t quite understand, like the huge section in the back dedicated to dried fish (you can imagine how it smells) or the bike that had four live chickens tied together and to the handlebars. But otherwise it’s pretty straightforward stuff: food, clothes, household goods. And interestingly, most everything is priced universally. Some things might be inflated for me, but because it’s so not a tourist destination, it’s not really an issue. Not bargaining at the market was a little counterintuitive at first, but now sort of makes sense. Z’s a good guide, about my age, and will probably be a good ally while I’m here. He’s introduced me to most of the people around the district office building, which will likely be key people to talk to in the next phase of things.
Sunday night, I cooked dinner with the other intern which was really nice. Beans out on the fire outside; the rest (rice and greens) inside on the stove. It was good to feel productive again and like i’m at home. C came out to see how we were making out and we all had a long talk about food while we were eating with the owner of the inn at the fire. She mentioned all of the foods she wanted to cook but couldn’t because she was still in a year of mourning after her husband died. The way she spoke of him and how hard it’s been was heart breaking. That’s another story altogether. But the conversation must have put the thought in her head because the past few days have been full of western food (goatburgers with cheese, which were delicious; some weird sausage-in-a-pastry thing that I called a Malawian Hot Pocket; mashed potatoes; pancakes). I'm still digging the greens (rabe), but not so much the nsima (basically cooked flour in the size of a brick). I’m pretty happy with a totally Malawian diet, but a little variety can’t hurt.
Two other staple of the Malawian diet are sugar cane and peanuts. We came back from the field with 6 stalks of sugar cane under one seat and this 3 foot tall bag of ground nuts strapped to the top of the truck. I mentioned that I’d never eaten sugar cane and a stalk was quickly peeled and put in my hand. It’s really hard to bite through (it was suggested I take smaller bites), and was hard to eat in a confined space. I kept having to spit out the residue cane into my hand and throw it out the window. I also couldn’t get much leverage on the cane to get good sized bites, so it took me about 30 minutes to eat one segment. By the end I had sugar juice all over my face, hands, shirt and pants. It wasn’t so much my thing, and it showed – one of the interviewers told me that it wasn’t punishment, that I didn’t have to finish. But everyone here’s eating it, mostly because you can grab a stalk from just about everywhere. The roads and things are covered in the leftover stalks to prove it.
In other firsts, I took a bike taxi into town this morning. It’s only MK50 (like, $.35) to center of the boma, so it’s not like it’s going to break the bank to do it more regularly. I’ve been getting rides in most mornings, so I haven’t needed to bike taxi. Plus I’m a bit bigger than the average Malawian, so the idea of me on the back of someone’s bike making them do all the work seemed a little cruel. The others here who take them more regularly say that goes away, so I’ll believe them. It was actually a nice ride; cool, morning breeze as we went down the first hill, going too fast to hear “Azungu! Give Me Money!” even if it was shouted. People look at me like I’m crazy when I say I actually like walking to and from town. Walking is the only exercise I get here, so I try to take advantage of it when I can. I do wish I’d been able to find room in my suitcase for running shoes, but oh well. We figure it’s probably about 2 or 2.5 miles to town, which isn’t bad.
The team will be here and working this weekend. Last weekend we had a party in one of the huts on the far side of the inn’s property, which was a lot of fun. The manager of the inn got apparently got a kick out of watching me and the other intern dance. Everyone on the team wanted to know if I could dance. I tried to explain the white-boy-shuffle, but it didn’t quite translate without demonstration. It was such a classically Malawian thing: first the power was off for a few hours so we figured we’d have to postpone; once it came back on, people went looking for someone to play DJ, and got two random dudes, their CDs of Zambian and Malawian reggae and a stereo that consisted of two boomboxes, a receiver, a few cords and three un-matching speakers. But it all worked and we danced until well past 1am, which is like 4am for Malawians. The owner of the inn’s son and his girlfriend are Rastafarian and from what of their practicing I hear quite good reggae musicians. (also, Rasta = Dreds, for those who know what I’m saying). Anyway, they’re going to walk across Africa or something, so this is supposedly a benefit for their cause. They played in Lilongwe last weekend and I missed it by staying here for our party, so I’m looking forward to seeing them.
For the rest of the weekends, I'm going to try to get out of here and see other things. There's a town in the northern part of the central region, Nkhotakota, that's along the lake; there's another place just south of Lilongwe that’s in the mountains that’s supposed to be nice. Both should be easy day trips. A bunch of the Penn folks are going to be working in Salima, also along the lake, and there will probably be a trip to go see them. There was talk of a Zambian game park trip, but the visa alone is $100 (apparently Zambia charges Americans what we charge them), and I don’t really need to go on safari again, so I'll probably just chill in Malawi and see what’s here with my free time. In the meantime, I'll probably go into lilongwe in the next week or so just to get out of here for a bit. need to see some people in there as well.
still dreaming of starbucks and miss home.
For backlogged updates:
Field: I went to field last saturday. I sat in on three interviews which consisted of getting dropped off in the middle of a field and walking varying distances to someone’s house. Often we walked through a number of villages, which are essentially very small clusters of houses (like any more than 4 will count). Other times it was literally walking along this little worn path through grasses taller than I. It is another world, and probably a truer representation of Malawi than anything I’m getting here in town. Down to cell phone coverage in the middle of the bush. Poor by our standards doesn't even describe it.
And yet, again, people are just people. The first interview was of a 21 year old woman who had two small kids and a 23 year old husband. The last one was of a 32 year old man and his 27 year old wife who had three kids. I tend to think very abstractly about this work and forget that many of the people are about my age. Families by that description are totally universal; it’s no different here. But they were clearly just barely getting by. The first interviewee and her mother and sister-in-law were husking and pulling corn from the cob while the husband was in the field working. The third interviewee had to be called from the field since his wife didn’t want to talk to us alone. Their clothes are clearly western cast-offs (the sister-in-law was wearing this yellow business suit from the 1980s) or old chitenje (a piece of cloth that is a wrap skirt, a head wrap, a baby carrier on ones back, and myriad other things) and it seemed clear these were probably their only change of clothes. The little girls at the third house were wearing these little dresses that were torn; their father’s shirt was tattered and his pants had clearly been mended multiple times. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that people were happy, but kids are playing and most peoples' spirits are okay. The middle interview was totally fine - there was a big family in what seemed like a nice house (it was concrete with a tin roof, slatted windows and a door with a lock v. clay/mud houses with thatched grass roof).
I still can’t get over the animals: at the first one three guinea fowls came up to me; at the third there were goats and pigs roaming around. They’re just everywhere. Half way through the interview I noticed that one of the pigs had gotten muddy, by the end of the interview all of them were covered in mud. Awesome. Chickens and roosters are ubiquitous. (I also saw a couple of donkeys eating from a pile of trash, and some cows munching on tree leaves in a front lawn on the way to town this morning.)
Speaking of animals, I didn’t take any pictures because it felt too much like treating peoples’ homes like a zoo. But there was plenty that was picture worthy, like the well in the last village that was literally a board covering a hole and a pail with a rope on it (note: I am grateful for running water). I’m going again Friday and Saturday, and Monday if they team isn’t finished by Saturday, so perhaps some more pictures then. I’m not going to be sitting in on many interviews – my presence skews things quite a bit – but I’m going more to hear what people are hearing once they’re back in the truck to get a sense of where I should head, who I should talk to, and what questions I should be asking in the next bit of work.
C and the other intern both left Tuesday. The study team is here until Saturday (or Monday) and then it's just me. It was a little weird when they left; I was surprisingly sad. Their presence was a great transition and way of easing into things here, and now I have to hit the ground running. I think this next phase will really be where I get going and learn a lot. It helps that I have a better sense of what I need to work on in the next 6-7 weeks; I was able to get some one-on-one time with C before she left and have a good handle on things. I’m basically going to be going all over the district doing formative work for the qualitative component of the evaluation. I’ll draw up the sampling scheme, listing out people they should talk to, and interview guides and protocols. (Basically it’s Theresa’s class for real. For real?) Naturally, it involves a lot of the stuff that I need to practice (networking, asking for help and favors, etc.). It’s still a little scary and uncertain, but I came to have my world rocked, and so it is/will be. In the meantime, I’m in good shape. I’m just taking action as much as I can each day and using the different networks already here (our study manager, some people at the district office I’ve met, some of the Penn folks’ colleagues here). I’ve had to get better at reigning it in when I get too ahead of myself and into the big picture; the mental energy for worrying is a luxury that I really don’t have here.
One of the people from the district building is this guy Z who helped us out last week. Part of our current questionnaire is about food and non-food expenditures and C had me and the other intern price all of the things in our market so that we know how much things cost. We found this guy, Z, to come translate, explain what we doing, and make sure that we were getting the non-azungu price. It was a great way to see the market and the town. We went in almost every store along the road and throughout most of the market. One of the stores I still can’t get over: it’s a plastics store. Seriously, EVERYTHING here is plastic. Chairs in the conference room are all like the white stackable plastic chairs for your backyard. Trash cans, cups, drums and pails for water, and on and on…all plastic. Benjamin, the future really is in plastics. Anyway. We even went back to the maize mill and watched people processing their maize (you have to pay a fee and we needed to know how much the fee was). There are some things in the market that I just don’t quite understand, like the huge section in the back dedicated to dried fish (you can imagine how it smells) or the bike that had four live chickens tied together and to the handlebars. But otherwise it’s pretty straightforward stuff: food, clothes, household goods. And interestingly, most everything is priced universally. Some things might be inflated for me, but because it’s so not a tourist destination, it’s not really an issue. Not bargaining at the market was a little counterintuitive at first, but now sort of makes sense. Z’s a good guide, about my age, and will probably be a good ally while I’m here. He’s introduced me to most of the people around the district office building, which will likely be key people to talk to in the next phase of things.
Sunday night, I cooked dinner with the other intern which was really nice. Beans out on the fire outside; the rest (rice and greens) inside on the stove. It was good to feel productive again and like i’m at home. C came out to see how we were making out and we all had a long talk about food while we were eating with the owner of the inn at the fire. She mentioned all of the foods she wanted to cook but couldn’t because she was still in a year of mourning after her husband died. The way she spoke of him and how hard it’s been was heart breaking. That’s another story altogether. But the conversation must have put the thought in her head because the past few days have been full of western food (goatburgers with cheese, which were delicious; some weird sausage-in-a-pastry thing that I called a Malawian Hot Pocket; mashed potatoes; pancakes). I'm still digging the greens (rabe), but not so much the nsima (basically cooked flour in the size of a brick). I’m pretty happy with a totally Malawian diet, but a little variety can’t hurt.
Two other staple of the Malawian diet are sugar cane and peanuts. We came back from the field with 6 stalks of sugar cane under one seat and this 3 foot tall bag of ground nuts strapped to the top of the truck. I mentioned that I’d never eaten sugar cane and a stalk was quickly peeled and put in my hand. It’s really hard to bite through (it was suggested I take smaller bites), and was hard to eat in a confined space. I kept having to spit out the residue cane into my hand and throw it out the window. I also couldn’t get much leverage on the cane to get good sized bites, so it took me about 30 minutes to eat one segment. By the end I had sugar juice all over my face, hands, shirt and pants. It wasn’t so much my thing, and it showed – one of the interviewers told me that it wasn’t punishment, that I didn’t have to finish. But everyone here’s eating it, mostly because you can grab a stalk from just about everywhere. The roads and things are covered in the leftover stalks to prove it.
In other firsts, I took a bike taxi into town this morning. It’s only MK50 (like, $.35) to center of the boma, so it’s not like it’s going to break the bank to do it more regularly. I’ve been getting rides in most mornings, so I haven’t needed to bike taxi. Plus I’m a bit bigger than the average Malawian, so the idea of me on the back of someone’s bike making them do all the work seemed a little cruel. The others here who take them more regularly say that goes away, so I’ll believe them. It was actually a nice ride; cool, morning breeze as we went down the first hill, going too fast to hear “Azungu! Give Me Money!” even if it was shouted. People look at me like I’m crazy when I say I actually like walking to and from town. Walking is the only exercise I get here, so I try to take advantage of it when I can. I do wish I’d been able to find room in my suitcase for running shoes, but oh well. We figure it’s probably about 2 or 2.5 miles to town, which isn’t bad.
The team will be here and working this weekend. Last weekend we had a party in one of the huts on the far side of the inn’s property, which was a lot of fun. The manager of the inn got apparently got a kick out of watching me and the other intern dance. Everyone on the team wanted to know if I could dance. I tried to explain the white-boy-shuffle, but it didn’t quite translate without demonstration. It was such a classically Malawian thing: first the power was off for a few hours so we figured we’d have to postpone; once it came back on, people went looking for someone to play DJ, and got two random dudes, their CDs of Zambian and Malawian reggae and a stereo that consisted of two boomboxes, a receiver, a few cords and three un-matching speakers. But it all worked and we danced until well past 1am, which is like 4am for Malawians. The owner of the inn’s son and his girlfriend are Rastafarian and from what of their practicing I hear quite good reggae musicians. (also, Rasta = Dreds, for those who know what I’m saying). Anyway, they’re going to walk across Africa or something, so this is supposedly a benefit for their cause. They played in Lilongwe last weekend and I missed it by staying here for our party, so I’m looking forward to seeing them.
For the rest of the weekends, I'm going to try to get out of here and see other things. There's a town in the northern part of the central region, Nkhotakota, that's along the lake; there's another place just south of Lilongwe that’s in the mountains that’s supposed to be nice. Both should be easy day trips. A bunch of the Penn folks are going to be working in Salima, also along the lake, and there will probably be a trip to go see them. There was talk of a Zambian game park trip, but the visa alone is $100 (apparently Zambia charges Americans what we charge them), and I don’t really need to go on safari again, so I'll probably just chill in Malawi and see what’s here with my free time. In the meantime, I'll probably go into lilongwe in the next week or so just to get out of here for a bit. need to see some people in there as well.
still dreaming of starbucks and miss home.
what a difference a few days makes
0 Comments Published by Ben on Tuesday, June 12, 2007 at 3:47 PM.
What a difference a day makes.
I'm back in Lilongwe for the night, somewhat unexpectedly. Today was the day of The Big Meeting which went quite well. There were all sorts of people there--people from almost every ministry of government, all the major UN and national aid programs. Going into the government compound was really kind of odd—it’s on Capital Hill (and no, not Capitol, which I don’t quite get…), which is literally a walled off area with armed guards (sounds much worse than it actually is) where each of the ministries have their main building. It's very nice, quiet, there’s covered parking, etc. We were at the ministry of poverty in the big conference room. Ths ministry's building is tucked way in the back of the compound (no big surprise) and had sort of falling down curtains (also not a surprise, although a little ironic).
I forget how deferential things are here—the chair of the meeting called it to order and passed it over to C; he then selected the order in which people could ask questions, and when they did, they all said, "Thank You Mr. Chairman," before going on. I’ve watched enough C-SPAN to know that’s not totally rare in government, but again, my irreverence makes me find it all pretty funny. He even had a higher chair than the others. And I am sure he well should, it is just funny to notice how infused that sort of thing is into everything, from big to small.
But nothing about this project isn't political—we were printing out the presentations at the funder's office and she said that she shouldn’t be seen stapling them. I thought that it was something about division of labor within their office or something, but no, it was because it needed to be clear that this was an entirely independent evaluation. She shouldn't be seen touching them. I collated and stapled all of the copies no problem, and again, just sort of chuckled at the extent to which things are the way they are.
I knew that we were coming in for the presentation, but I figured that we'd go back tonight. Halfway in, C tells me that she's staying the night. Oh. I put it together later that the meeting was going to be long enough that we wouldn’t be able to drive back in the light, but all of it was news to me. So I could get a room in Lilongwe or go back if the other guy from the project showed up. I called the guy I know in Lilongwe (through Bill) and am actually crashing here tonight instead. He told me to save the money on the room, and I happily obliged. Plus he and some of his friends were getting together tonight at their club, so I went along with him and his wife there. But man, after 5 days, being in a house with other Americans is really nice. I'm not so much homesick (although starbucks may suggest otherwise) as I am just not really used to being the foreigner. I should say, it's similarly weird to be in a house with an iron gate, two all-night guards and a panic button next to my bed, but that's another story. That's the expat story.
And having meat to eat (we pasta and meat sauce for dinner). Speaking of, we were having our second day of training yesterday (including my stats presentation), and about half way through we hear this loud noise from the other room (our room adjoined the kitchen). It goes again. C stops and says, "Is that chicken about to be slaughtered?" and everyone nods and says, "yes." She says okay and we move on. I wake up most mornings to the rooster, shortly followed by the cow mooing. I know I'm eating eggs that were laid by the chickens at the inn, which is fine. But people are ridding with dead goats on the back of their bikes. Then we were talking about eating mice in our food expenditure questionnaire. I guess its coming full circle from the CDC/NYC trip…
So back to Mchinji in the morning, a day in the office, and then out to the field for a while (like every day for the next two weeks). I may wander around town and take pictures tomorrow, so be on the lookout for them.
I'm back in Lilongwe for the night, somewhat unexpectedly. Today was the day of The Big Meeting which went quite well. There were all sorts of people there--people from almost every ministry of government, all the major UN and national aid programs. Going into the government compound was really kind of odd—it’s on Capital Hill (and no, not Capitol, which I don’t quite get…), which is literally a walled off area with armed guards (sounds much worse than it actually is) where each of the ministries have their main building. It's very nice, quiet, there’s covered parking, etc. We were at the ministry of poverty in the big conference room. Ths ministry's building is tucked way in the back of the compound (no big surprise) and had sort of falling down curtains (also not a surprise, although a little ironic).
I forget how deferential things are here—the chair of the meeting called it to order and passed it over to C; he then selected the order in which people could ask questions, and when they did, they all said, "Thank You Mr. Chairman," before going on. I’ve watched enough C-SPAN to know that’s not totally rare in government, but again, my irreverence makes me find it all pretty funny. He even had a higher chair than the others. And I am sure he well should, it is just funny to notice how infused that sort of thing is into everything, from big to small.
But nothing about this project isn't political—we were printing out the presentations at the funder's office and she said that she shouldn’t be seen stapling them. I thought that it was something about division of labor within their office or something, but no, it was because it needed to be clear that this was an entirely independent evaluation. She shouldn't be seen touching them. I collated and stapled all of the copies no problem, and again, just sort of chuckled at the extent to which things are the way they are.
I knew that we were coming in for the presentation, but I figured that we'd go back tonight. Halfway in, C tells me that she's staying the night. Oh. I put it together later that the meeting was going to be long enough that we wouldn’t be able to drive back in the light, but all of it was news to me. So I could get a room in Lilongwe or go back if the other guy from the project showed up. I called the guy I know in Lilongwe (through Bill) and am actually crashing here tonight instead. He told me to save the money on the room, and I happily obliged. Plus he and some of his friends were getting together tonight at their club, so I went along with him and his wife there. But man, after 5 days, being in a house with other Americans is really nice. I'm not so much homesick (although starbucks may suggest otherwise) as I am just not really used to being the foreigner. I should say, it's similarly weird to be in a house with an iron gate, two all-night guards and a panic button next to my bed, but that's another story. That's the expat story.
And having meat to eat (we pasta and meat sauce for dinner). Speaking of, we were having our second day of training yesterday (including my stats presentation), and about half way through we hear this loud noise from the other room (our room adjoined the kitchen). It goes again. C stops and says, "Is that chicken about to be slaughtered?" and everyone nods and says, "yes." She says okay and we move on. I wake up most mornings to the rooster, shortly followed by the cow mooing. I know I'm eating eggs that were laid by the chickens at the inn, which is fine. But people are ridding with dead goats on the back of their bikes. Then we were talking about eating mice in our food expenditure questionnaire. I guess its coming full circle from the CDC/NYC trip…
So back to Mchinji in the morning, a day in the office, and then out to the field for a while (like every day for the next two weeks). I may wander around town and take pictures tomorrow, so be on the lookout for them.
I'm now at the district hospital where there is free wireless. I haven't been as happy as I was when I saw the network bars pop up on my mac in quite a while. Sad but true. The great thing is that this is just across the road from our office (more or less), so internet access shouldn't be too hard to get with regularity. This building is open all the time, too. Rock.
It took about 45 minutes to walk here. I turned down one ride offer cause I'm not quite at the hop-in-the-back-of-the-pickup comfortable here yet. And all the minibuses (I keep wanting to call them mutatus) that passed were packed. There are plenty of other people out walking, riding past, etc. I know two words of Chichewa so far: moni (hello) and azungu (white person). I used the former, and many others used the latter. It just cracks me up when kids will call to friends to see the azungu. I think that it's probably even more unusual to see many white people walking than to see them in town.
These three kids came up the hill to the road when they saw me, all of them probably under 4 years old. One yelled Azungu! and the others came running. Most say hello, if anything. These three all said, "give me some money," in the sweetest tone you could ever imagine. I couldn't help but laugh, a. since they may not even know what they're saying, and b. because it was desperately sad.
The other thing that I noticed on this walk is how beautiful the hills are here. We're sort of at the foot of a number of them, and every now and again there was a clearing to the left and this breathtaking view of the hills in the distance. In the foreground there are homes and neighborhoods, mostly brick, some with grass roofs others with solid ones. I was wondering what this small, worn clearing in the grass and a faint trail on the ground was shortly after I started walking and it occurred to me, duh, people live back there. Right. I'm having a lot of these duh/a-ha moments that are so much about re-contextualizing what's around. It's not so much that it's unique, it's just very different, and the patterns, visual cues, etc. don't really translate.
Also, I uploaded a bunch of pictures (more from London than yet of here...I feel a little weird pulling out my camera here). Click the photos tab at the top and you should get there.
It took about 45 minutes to walk here. I turned down one ride offer cause I'm not quite at the hop-in-the-back-of-the-pickup comfortable here yet. And all the minibuses (I keep wanting to call them mutatus) that passed were packed. There are plenty of other people out walking, riding past, etc. I know two words of Chichewa so far: moni (hello) and azungu (white person). I used the former, and many others used the latter. It just cracks me up when kids will call to friends to see the azungu. I think that it's probably even more unusual to see many white people walking than to see them in town.
These three kids came up the hill to the road when they saw me, all of them probably under 4 years old. One yelled Azungu! and the others came running. Most say hello, if anything. These three all said, "give me some money," in the sweetest tone you could ever imagine. I couldn't help but laugh, a. since they may not even know what they're saying, and b. because it was desperately sad.
The other thing that I noticed on this walk is how beautiful the hills are here. We're sort of at the foot of a number of them, and every now and again there was a clearing to the left and this breathtaking view of the hills in the distance. In the foreground there are homes and neighborhoods, mostly brick, some with grass roofs others with solid ones. I was wondering what this small, worn clearing in the grass and a faint trail on the ground was shortly after I started walking and it occurred to me, duh, people live back there. Right. I'm having a lot of these duh/a-ha moments that are so much about re-contextualizing what's around. It's not so much that it's unique, it's just very different, and the patterns, visual cues, etc. don't really translate.
Also, I uploaded a bunch of pictures (more from London than yet of here...I feel a little weird pulling out my camera here). Click the photos tab at the top and you should get there.
I woke up this morning to four part chorus and drumming in the courtyard. I had a weird night’s sleep, mostly due to jet-lag and being completely unaware of what was going on time-wise. I went to bed around 7 or 8pm because my eyes just couldn’t stay open anymore and I couldn’t deal with going into the restaurant for dinner*. I woke up at 3:00 for no apparent reason and couldn’t fall back asleep for a while; finally I did and was mid-dream about something happening at home when I heard this chorus of singing. My first thought was: what the hell is that? Then, where the hell am I? Oh right, I’m in Africa.
More on that later. To backtrack…
We got picked up at the airport by these two guys who I thought at first was a hired driver and his friend. It took me a little while to put it together that one was the guy from the car rental place and his colleague. So they drove us into Lilongwe and we ran a few errands. We got to City Center to find that there was no power--apparently they’re rationing electricity, so it was out for a few hours that afternoon. I bought my cellphone by candlelight, which was pretty amusing. But I also needed to go to an ATM because I didn’t bring a ton of US$, thinking I’d just get it here. I don’t think it ever would have crossed my mind to think that I wouldn’t have been able to go to an ATM because the power was out. Then we went over to the funder’s office which is close to the main offices of the national banks. This part of town was back up so I went to the bank while C met with people at the funder’s office. Then we dropped the guys back at the car place (which is right by MSH, if Emily’s reading this), went to two different supermarkets (one’s 7-Eleven, which is not at all like the slurpee place), got gallons upon gallons of water, and left for Mchinji.
At the store, C clearly knew what she was looking for (like, to buy a bunch of toilet paper, and how much water she wanted); I was totally clueless and just sort of doing whatever she was doing. So she was clearly taking the lead, throwing these water jugs (5 liters each) into the cart, and all the men were looking at us like we were crazy. Why wasn’t I doing this while she stood and waited? Why was she pushing the cart and not me? I picked up on it first at the car place: why was she driving and I was the passenger? Apparently she’d had at least one place not rent a car to her because they didn’t like the idea of a woman driving alone; another gave her a free driver because they didn’t want her driving.
[Begin tangent: I can totally understand why it would seem weird, but it hadn’t occurred to me to expect it. The same thing could just as easily have happened in the US, but I’m never outside New England enough to see it. Anyway, it’s one of those funny things to see in practice—we can have all sorts of symposia on gender this and that, how to engage men, how to improve gender equality in our nice building of white liberals (what is Paul Farmer’s term for this?), but from those few looks alone, I’m reminded of how abstract and heady all of it is. Which isn’t to say that they’re not important conversations—I’m still doing the women, gender and health concentration. I just forget how far they are from day-to-day reality. I’m still unclear how to close that gap, but that’s another conversation. End tangent]
We have a nice drive out, chatting along the way. We pass a few towns, one where it was market day and seeing the throngs of people that gathers. We also got stuck behind a slew of slow trucks (fortunately you can pass), had to honk at a few goats to get them to move, and avoided one already run-over chicken. After a while, I can see the hills in the distance, a sign we’re getting close. In fact, driving on the two lane road and seeing the hills actually reminded me a little of Hawaii. Except no Mustang. We finally get out to Mchinji—it’s a solid hour drive even at like 120 km/h (~75-85mph)—and it’s much more built up than I was expecting, it certainly has more than the other towns we passed. There’s a decent grocery store (one of a national chain) and a bank with an ATM, and a lot more people than in the other towns.
We pulled off and drove up to the building with the study office. The office is a little smaller than my living room with one main desk and two table with four computers total for data entry. The study manager was there and we talked for about an hour about where things stood, what’s next, etc. We’re going to do trainings Sunday and Monday to recap the last phase and start up the next one; the team will start on Tuesday while we’re at a meeting in Lilongwe, and I’ll probably go out with them later this week.
It turned dark just before we left the office and we headed back to the inn. I realized the minute we got out of the car that I forgot a flashlight, which was a silly move, but I can get one here. C asked for a big room, of which there weren’t any, but people in them were leaving in the morning and we could switch then. She was pleased that we were both able to get rooms with hot (read: lukewarm) water. I guess not all rooms have it. You literally turn it on with a switch before you get in, and there’s a cord running into this device in the shower head. Anyway, we got to our rooms, I unpacked a bit, killed a few bugs with the bible, took a shower, and went to bed.
I woke up to the singing and remembered reading somewhere that this happens when people leave here. It's like a serenade and send off. But seriously, it was like a ho-down at like 6:45am. I stayed in my room for a while and finally ventured out once they moved into the dining room. There were probably 20 or so people, including the most adorable baby in a yellow onesie. At a couple of points, the guy who seems to be the manager told me whether they were singing a spiritual song, a song of joy, etc. It was basically a celebration for the sake of it. I can get down with that for sure. Lots of hand shaking, too. Also down with that.
There were a number of Americans there, mostly from Upenn, who are here for most of the summer as well. One did an MPH at BU and one lives in JP by Green St. Small world indeed. The guy from JP has been here a number of times and seems to be quite in the know, so I was happy to hear him talk for a while. Their office is in the hospital, which has recently installed wireless internet. Dreamy. He mentioned that they have training space and are eager for trainings in Epi or Stats; I offered to do a basic stats presentation that I put together for our study team. It’s hilarious to me that I’d be qualified to do such a thing, but I forget that at least at this point and setting, I kind of am. It’s refreshing to watch my Harvard bubble burst a bit.
There was also long discussion about setting up a business keeping hens and selling eggs, as their security guard apparently is interested in doing so. They keep hens here at the inn, so he asked around; apparently you need 50 to start, and eggs go for 10 Kwacha each, so you can easily make 500 Kwacha a day (like $3). When minimum wage is $25/mo, that’s definitely a lucrative venture. I would have no idea what to do with 50 hens, but would be happy to help build the coop or whatever.
I also got the skinny from them on getting around, since I’ll probably stay here once C (and her vehicle) leave. Basically, you can get a bike taxi or minibus into town for like 20-30 Kwacha (like $.02) or just walk it (it's about a 5km, 45 minute walk). Motorbikes are popular here, which would be awesome, but way too expensive and unnecessary for the length of time I’m here. C suggested that I could buy a bicycle for cheap and get in that way. Walking seems fine by me, so long as my schedule gets me back by dark, which I will probably be once the study team is done their stuff. We’ll see.
It’s somewhere between 26-30 degrees Celsius, which is pretty warm as far as I’m concerned. I’m too used to Boston weather to imagine what their summers are like. Apparently in the south it’s much cooler. So I may not be a total sweat monster, but Jo’burg was making me think that it was going to be cooler. Oh well.
I guess the abstract of it all is that I’m here, acclimating, surprised by some things, not by others. It’s definitely not what I’m used to, but there’s a lot that’s the same.
* Side-note: I have the feeling that peanut butter will be my good friend here—I bought some rolls, peanut butter and honey at the store in Lilongwe and had that for dinner. It’s something easy to munch on, and will save the day a few times I’m sure. I had a good laugh at the irony of how I rolled my eyes at a story I heard before leaving about Americans in Sudan who ate peanut butter the entire time they were there while I was shoving a roll into a peanut butter jar…I shouldn’t balk so quickly, I guess.
More on that later. To backtrack…
We got picked up at the airport by these two guys who I thought at first was a hired driver and his friend. It took me a little while to put it together that one was the guy from the car rental place and his colleague. So they drove us into Lilongwe and we ran a few errands. We got to City Center to find that there was no power--apparently they’re rationing electricity, so it was out for a few hours that afternoon. I bought my cellphone by candlelight, which was pretty amusing. But I also needed to go to an ATM because I didn’t bring a ton of US$, thinking I’d just get it here. I don’t think it ever would have crossed my mind to think that I wouldn’t have been able to go to an ATM because the power was out. Then we went over to the funder’s office which is close to the main offices of the national banks. This part of town was back up so I went to the bank while C met with people at the funder’s office. Then we dropped the guys back at the car place (which is right by MSH, if Emily’s reading this), went to two different supermarkets (one’s 7-Eleven, which is not at all like the slurpee place), got gallons upon gallons of water, and left for Mchinji.
At the store, C clearly knew what she was looking for (like, to buy a bunch of toilet paper, and how much water she wanted); I was totally clueless and just sort of doing whatever she was doing. So she was clearly taking the lead, throwing these water jugs (5 liters each) into the cart, and all the men were looking at us like we were crazy. Why wasn’t I doing this while she stood and waited? Why was she pushing the cart and not me? I picked up on it first at the car place: why was she driving and I was the passenger? Apparently she’d had at least one place not rent a car to her because they didn’t like the idea of a woman driving alone; another gave her a free driver because they didn’t want her driving.
[Begin tangent: I can totally understand why it would seem weird, but it hadn’t occurred to me to expect it. The same thing could just as easily have happened in the US, but I’m never outside New England enough to see it. Anyway, it’s one of those funny things to see in practice—we can have all sorts of symposia on gender this and that, how to engage men, how to improve gender equality in our nice building of white liberals (what is Paul Farmer’s term for this?), but from those few looks alone, I’m reminded of how abstract and heady all of it is. Which isn’t to say that they’re not important conversations—I’m still doing the women, gender and health concentration. I just forget how far they are from day-to-day reality. I’m still unclear how to close that gap, but that’s another conversation. End tangent]
We have a nice drive out, chatting along the way. We pass a few towns, one where it was market day and seeing the throngs of people that gathers. We also got stuck behind a slew of slow trucks (fortunately you can pass), had to honk at a few goats to get them to move, and avoided one already run-over chicken. After a while, I can see the hills in the distance, a sign we’re getting close. In fact, driving on the two lane road and seeing the hills actually reminded me a little of Hawaii. Except no Mustang. We finally get out to Mchinji—it’s a solid hour drive even at like 120 km/h (~75-85mph)—and it’s much more built up than I was expecting, it certainly has more than the other towns we passed. There’s a decent grocery store (one of a national chain) and a bank with an ATM, and a lot more people than in the other towns.
We pulled off and drove up to the building with the study office. The office is a little smaller than my living room with one main desk and two table with four computers total for data entry. The study manager was there and we talked for about an hour about where things stood, what’s next, etc. We’re going to do trainings Sunday and Monday to recap the last phase and start up the next one; the team will start on Tuesday while we’re at a meeting in Lilongwe, and I’ll probably go out with them later this week.
It turned dark just before we left the office and we headed back to the inn. I realized the minute we got out of the car that I forgot a flashlight, which was a silly move, but I can get one here. C asked for a big room, of which there weren’t any, but people in them were leaving in the morning and we could switch then. She was pleased that we were both able to get rooms with hot (read: lukewarm) water. I guess not all rooms have it. You literally turn it on with a switch before you get in, and there’s a cord running into this device in the shower head. Anyway, we got to our rooms, I unpacked a bit, killed a few bugs with the bible, took a shower, and went to bed.
I woke up to the singing and remembered reading somewhere that this happens when people leave here. It's like a serenade and send off. But seriously, it was like a ho-down at like 6:45am. I stayed in my room for a while and finally ventured out once they moved into the dining room. There were probably 20 or so people, including the most adorable baby in a yellow onesie. At a couple of points, the guy who seems to be the manager told me whether they were singing a spiritual song, a song of joy, etc. It was basically a celebration for the sake of it. I can get down with that for sure. Lots of hand shaking, too. Also down with that.
There were a number of Americans there, mostly from Upenn, who are here for most of the summer as well. One did an MPH at BU and one lives in JP by Green St. Small world indeed. The guy from JP has been here a number of times and seems to be quite in the know, so I was happy to hear him talk for a while. Their office is in the hospital, which has recently installed wireless internet. Dreamy. He mentioned that they have training space and are eager for trainings in Epi or Stats; I offered to do a basic stats presentation that I put together for our study team. It’s hilarious to me that I’d be qualified to do such a thing, but I forget that at least at this point and setting, I kind of am. It’s refreshing to watch my Harvard bubble burst a bit.
There was also long discussion about setting up a business keeping hens and selling eggs, as their security guard apparently is interested in doing so. They keep hens here at the inn, so he asked around; apparently you need 50 to start, and eggs go for 10 Kwacha each, so you can easily make 500 Kwacha a day (like $3). When minimum wage is $25/mo, that’s definitely a lucrative venture. I would have no idea what to do with 50 hens, but would be happy to help build the coop or whatever.
I also got the skinny from them on getting around, since I’ll probably stay here once C (and her vehicle) leave. Basically, you can get a bike taxi or minibus into town for like 20-30 Kwacha (like $.02) or just walk it (it's about a 5km, 45 minute walk). Motorbikes are popular here, which would be awesome, but way too expensive and unnecessary for the length of time I’m here. C suggested that I could buy a bicycle for cheap and get in that way. Walking seems fine by me, so long as my schedule gets me back by dark, which I will probably be once the study team is done their stuff. We’ll see.
It’s somewhere between 26-30 degrees Celsius, which is pretty warm as far as I’m concerned. I’m too used to Boston weather to imagine what their summers are like. Apparently in the south it’s much cooler. So I may not be a total sweat monster, but Jo’burg was making me think that it was going to be cooler. Oh well.
I guess the abstract of it all is that I’m here, acclimating, surprised by some things, not by others. It’s definitely not what I’m used to, but there’s a lot that’s the same.
* Side-note: I have the feeling that peanut butter will be my good friend here—I bought some rolls, peanut butter and honey at the store in Lilongwe and had that for dinner. It’s something easy to munch on, and will save the day a few times I’m sure. I had a good laugh at the irony of how I rolled my eyes at a story I heard before leaving about Americans in Sudan who ate peanut butter the entire time they were there while I was shoving a roll into a peanut butter jar…I shouldn’t balk so quickly, I guess.
Labels: culture, food, malawi, mchinji, professional ramblings
