My Arrival April 1, 2007

I made it out of St. John’s just in time. The day after my departure on January 20th, the snow started falling like rain and according to my fellow Newfoundlanders it really hasn’t stopped much since. I am visioning in my head the familiar 10 foot snow piles covering every sidewalk and driveway. At any other point in my life, I would have shuddered at this image, however as I sit cooking in the heat of the Malawian sun, I feel that its possible that I could actually start missing it.

 

 

The Engineers without Borders crash course in international development officially ended March 7^th. Six weeks of intensive development training including a myriad of subjects ranging from culture, gender, rural livelihoods to agriculture. During training, I met the 8 other volunteers that are also undertaking year-long placements in Africa ( for a pic of us all check out www.ewb.ca). Because my education background involved mostly engineering and technical industry courses this training was like a breath of fresh air. Clean beautiful air that filled me with a new understanding of the world we live in and expanding my own borders to include the complex, wonderful continent of Africa.

Africa at First Glance
Before I had started training, I am embarassed to admit how undefined and fuzzy my understanding of Africa was. Though I had never been to Africa before, many of the 8 other volunteers had. Because of this much of the training was enriched with the personal experiences of my fellow volunteers especially from those who had done previous placements with EWB in Ghana.

After training and living vicariously through my fellow volunteers that had been to West Africa I began to develop a vision in my head of what Africa could look like. It included people dressed in bright flashy clothing, smiling warmly, laughing, singing, dancing. I expected to be engulfed in dirt from the roads and to be overwhelmed by the chaotic self-organization of the city. My taste buds were craving all of the plentiful and delicious street food. Thus I learned experientially that though we often talk about Africa as if it were one big uniform country, the reality couldn’t be farther from the truth.

 

The People of Malawi.

 

Oh the people. They are definitely not the loud boisterous beings that I expected but more reserved and quieter creatures. No one cat calls and yells out “White person!!!!” like they do in the streets of Ghana. In fact, there is a barrier of hesitancy as the Malawians approach you with a shy, cautious smile.

This barrier however is not hard to break. If you look Malawians in the eye and smile, their faces light up with grins and they become your friends for life.

 

If I had to describe Malawians with one word, I would say “warmth”. In Canada, if you asked a stranger for directions, a person would most likely point you in the right path and if you are really lucky draw you a map. In Malawi, when I ask someone on the street for directions, 9 times out of 10 that person will take me full circle. They will drop whatever they are doing, grab me by the hand, escort me to where I am going and assist me with any transactions or business I may have in that place. They will then ask me for my phone number and invite me to visit their home.

Needless to say, building a social network in Malawi is not hard. Friends are to be found everywhere, the minibus….the street corner….the store…..and any other venue you can think of.

 

The Place

I am now in Blantyre, the commercial center of Malawi and the place that I will most likely be staying for the next year. It is nestled beautifully in the mountains and is miles away from my expectations. The roads are smoothly paved and men in suits are walking down the street. The buildings are modern, not necessarily sky scrapers but 4 story flashy glass buildings. The traffic is well controlled by traffic circles and street lights. There is manicured lawns, flower beds and big gated homes everywhere with large yards.

 

I was really taken aback at first by Blantyre and felt somewhat uncomfortable with the idea of living here. This was not the real Malawi that 90% of its citizen experience on a daily basis as Malawi has one of the lowest Human Development Indexes in the world. I knew that what I was seeing was atypical hotspot of concentrated wealth. It made me feel over-priviledged and unsettled knowing that I would be spending my time in such a comfortable place where I could access all of these amenities when so few others could.

I was relieved when I found Chilomoni, which is a high-density township on the outskirts of Blantyre. I fell in love with its small town community feel with kids running around and playing in the streets. I felt a smile creep across my face as I stood on the rutted dirt roads full of people walking to and from the market with live chickens in their hands.

 

The people who live in Chilomoni have diverse ways of earning their livelihoods. A few commute into Blantyre on the packed minibuses (and I mean packed) that spew out gusts of black smoke. They are the lucky few that have found work with the government, non-governmental organizations or businesses in town. Others travel to their farms outside of the city and grow maize (corn). Many however, I have been told, do not have work at all and struggle to make ends meet. Running water and electricity are commodities found in only some of the homes. There is a watering hole where many line up every morning to fetch water from a mystery pipe from which no one even knows the source of the water.

 

My New Home.

Meet Thomas.

 

Thomas is the first person I met in Chilomoni. He was the first person I met in Chilomoni. After meeting in a chance encounter, he invited me to his home, introduced me to his family and prepared lunch for me. He proceeded to introduce me to half of the town (many of which he is related to), took me through the market and showed me his church.

 

Thomas is a retired accountant who has lived in Chilemoni his entire life. His family of seven lives in a 2 bedroom home. I am now living with the Sokos, a family who is renting the extra house on Thomas’s property. Mr. Soko works for the Malawian Revenue Agency and Mrs. Soko is a teacher at a local school.The picture on the left is of me and the Soko’s only child, a 10 year old girl named Tryness. The picture on the right is of Chisomo (Grace), Thomas’s 3 year old grandaughter. Both girls are nothing short of precious.

Much to my surprise and pleasure, Thomas’s family also has a cat. For those of you who know me well, I think you will understand how excited I was to make this discovery. The family thought I was very strange when I asked what their pet’s name was because apparently they don’t name pets here. Therefore, I came up with the insipid and unoriginal name of “Stripes”. See Stripes below:

Our house is simple, sweet and welcoming. I have been living here just under two weeks and already feel at home. Concrete floors and walls span the whole house and it is capped by a corrugated metal roof. I love it when it rains because the water echoes off of the metal and it sounds like the whole heavens are coming down. I sleep under the halo of my mosquito net and wake up to Gospel music on the TV. I am living in relative luxury in the home of the Sokos. They have running water, electricity and there is four of us in a 3 bedroom house.

 

The Sokos use their television for only two things. Mr. Soko will sit and watch gospel music videos for hours. These videos have an infectious beat (which I am fond of dancing to) and Africans bobbing around on the screen.

The second thing that the Sokos use their TV for (which I find incredibly interesting) is the presidential ceremonies. Every time the president of Malawi travels to a different part of the country, a massive ceremony is held to greet him. The people dress in cloth bearing the president’s portrait and they dance, sing and cheer for him. Since I moved to the house a week and a half ago, there has been no less than FOUR of these ceremonies. Mr. Soko will spend his entire Sunday afternoon watching the ceremony.

 

The Sokos tell me on a daily basis how surprised and over-joyed they are to have a visitor from Canada. They tell me that it is god’s plan that I unexpectedly showed up on their doorstep and consider me to be part of the family. I am an oddity in Chilomoni, there is no doubt about that. I have still not seen another white person in the area yet. There are all kinds of curious visitors gracing our steps. On occasion, I meet young children that have never seen the likes of someone like me and it causes them to cry. This is a little disheartening and I hope in time they will become accustomed to my presence. Tryness and her friends make up for this discomfort however by providing an onslaught of hugs every time I return home.

 

Let’s all laugh at the Muzungu

 

Though I believe my mother did an excellent job raising me (Thanks mom!), I do feel that there was a distinct gap in the domestic skills department. My experiences in Malawi have been especially good at highlighting this. After Malawian women are done cleaning and cooking they proceed to clean and cook some more followed most likely by cleaning and cooking. The first few times I mopped the front walkway of the house, I drew a pretty big crowd both because of the unusualness of the event and because of my ineptitude for mopping.

 

The national dish here is called nsima which is a dough like porridge that is made from maize. It is usually served with a vegetable which they call relish and some sort of meat. Yesterday, I was given the task of cutting pumpkin leaves (similar in shape to romaine lettuce) into small pieces with only a knife and no cutting board…I was completely perplexed. Mrs. Soko had a good laugh at me. She laughed even harder however when she decided that I was going to help her make chicken.

 

The “In-Canada” Brett is pretty well a vegetarian and has a retardedly strong fear of eating animal fat. I also until yesterday, still lived in a fantasy world where meat came in pre-wrapped packages allowing me to dissociate my food from live beings.

 

The journey outside of my comfort zone started when I had to carry a live, breathing chicken home from the market from its feet. I was even more out of my comfort zone when I held the bird as Mrs. Soko cut-off its head. I then proceeded to be even more uncomfortable when I had to cut it into pieces and cook every single part of the bird (everything but the stomach). I ended by tiptoeing dangerously close to my anxiety danger zone when I was required to eat miscellaneous chicken parts deep-fried in its own fat for dinner. I am particularly excited because apparently this tasty little bird will last us another two full meals.