So it goes

Acacia trees stand like curved bone in the tall, tan grasses. A dry breeze flusters the through their ranks  lining our newly cut firebreak. Beginning with the great and wide expectation of a dozer line, the firebreak starts to lose steam, funneling into the size of a footpath, and finally into tired brush toward the end of its circle around Kusamala. I see smoke! Memo sees smoke! My eyebrows raise! Their gaze follows the routine of their kitchen, as if the smoke in the distance is as common as the smoke coming out of their clay oven. I hurry toward the fireline to inspect. Large flames are creeping about a mile or two in the distance, with winds carrying them slowly north-west, parallel to Kusamala. I can see people on a far-off footpath watching before heading along with their business. There is no sign of a fire truck, nor will there be. Brush fires are shrugged off like a disliked neighbor; to go about their own business, unless business happens to be at your doorstep. Despite the dry season, I watch children build fires two feet off the road because dinner still has to be made. Maize fields are slashed and burned as to prepare for next year. Landfills are routinely set on fire, regardless of being surrounded by nine foot tall dry elephant grass. So it goes. And despite, whipping winds, the fire did not come knocking that night.

Two men from the lake came this week for a two day workshop on beekeeping. Daniel, a long-term intern, has been constructing a beehive out of bamboo for the occasion. This, plus the hive already active in the nearby forest, and a newly purchased hive, will make 3 honey producers for Kusamala. We shared meals with our guests at night. They had never eaten with mzungus (whities) before, so we treated them, and ourselves, to panfried pizzas. While heading back to their lake-shore village, we received word that their minibus caught fire, and passengers had to bust out a window for a quick escape. Pierre and Biswick rushed to the scene, where their truck became an ambulance for the seriously injured. They described how looters filed out of villages to take advantage of the mayhem. Thankfully our guests were not seriously injured, just shook up, and so it goes, they caught a minibus home the next day.

Malawians are ever accepting of reality. I too am adapting. Chisomo, acting as a very patient side-driver, has supported me in my efforts to driving on the left hand side of the road. Having only brushed with death twice and scaring the begeebees out of only dozen or so pedestrians, I consider my training very successful. So while free-ranging brush fires, mini-buses bursting into flames, street kids stealing plastic bottles full of our groundnuts, police and inspector payoffs, bicycles heaped with wood, and crazy mzungu drivers may seem a little extreme… so it goes here in Malawi. 

A day in the life

The morning air is chilled and foggy indicating winter is here…in June. Dishes are waiting to be washed, coffee desperate to be made, and Vuvu the cat is vocal for her breakfast. I quickly cram in a morning jog and a bowl of bran flakes and banana before the crew starts filtering in around 7am. Monday morning meetings initiate the week. Staff and interns circle, warming up with a quick song and dance, which usually involves me two-stepping awkwardly in the wrong direction. The week’s schedule is detailed. Last week was ‘Environment Week’ here in Malawi. I innocently volunteered for a ‘clean up’ of the Lilongwe River… in hindsight I will smother such thoughtless altruism. We were issued very white t-shirts that said ‘Earth Warriors,’ wore plastic bags on our hands… to clean up the plastic bags, and face masks to keep from breathing deep the burning trash smog. I think that a half a day clean up effected my immune system more than anything.

Chore teams assemble early morning. I am assigned to ‘seed saving,’ which has included tramping out the staple field, basket in hand, and collecting pigeon pea and tephrosia pods. Random plates and bowls full of seeds and color (rosell, arrow root, cow pea) line the courtyard wall. A gigantic sunflower is in line to be shucked. Casual Chichewa lessons are swapped. After about an hour, we move to our various projects. Having taken direction from the Water Management workshop, I’ve decided to carve out a fruit forest of sorts. More or less, to snake the main drainage to the bottom of Kusamala’s boundary line where in it will flow into a pond I plan on building. Once again, I am resigned to shovel in hand. Hopefully citrus and avocados can be planted along edge, where they will be very happy with a consistent water source once the rains start.

A very starchy, though very delicious lunch is prepared by Memo. It changes daily, tomato and potatoes, various beans and rice, nseema (the staple maize paddy) and cabbage salad. After, I’m feeling very siesta-ish, but opt to cleaning the residential garden pongono- pongono (little by little) while scheming new projects. Most staff quits around 3pm. I might wander down to the village if bread is running low down one of the various dirt paths that curve the most beautiful African scenes… maybe even a bucket shower. Around dusk, interns gather in the kitchen to lend a helping hand and/ or drink a glass of wine. What was once one pot dinners, as gas could not be found for weeks due to a shortage here in Malawi, has now become banquet spreads. Night’s are early, though the projector and fire pit have appropriately lightened our drowsiness.

Happiness and purpose are found in the ordinary day to day… though in a less than ordinary place. To just be content knowing my bananas came from Isaac (who looks and acts like yoda), to watch Vuvu climb trees, to gardening, to learning cilantro and coriander are the same plant, to shucking lima beans for lunch, to mudding beehives, to making passion fruit into salad dressing, to building with bamboo, to vanilla cake and cooking with gas, to ping-pong.

Rush of the Flood

A posted sign reads ‘water is precious’ ignoring the outflow of water streaming through our driveway. A pipe break draining the presidential dam, which has been continually plugged, patched, and forgotten over the years, floods our grounds intermittently. Ironically, Lisa from Lukwe arrived this week to teach us a water management course, at a time when the water had decided to surge violently and snake its way into Biswick’s house. Class switched to emergency mode, only after a ten o’clock peanut butter sandwich break and a cup of sugar with mint tea. All the staff, being dressed very ‘smart’ indeed for the classroom, was unabashed to hike up their best trousers, or else lovely chitenjes, and white shirts, but were also smart enough to switch to work clothes the next day. Down and dirty has never been more true, as most tools here sport caveman club handles that come just above the knee and require the lean-to. Barefoot in thigh high water, we all lined up to hack, muck and channel the flow away from Biskwick’s and into the forest. Needless to say I ended up a bush monkey, but I cannot for the life me understand how white shirts stayed so white!

With all the water works also flowed a most natural connection with the staff. Kusamala trains its workers(and even the night guards) in permaculture, allowing everyone to be mindful and not mindless of the work that they are doing. The women can be intimidating nuts to crack, yet they have easy smiles that relieve and lighten the effort in doing so. Collectively this kitchen staff is called memo, which means ‘memorandum of understanding;’ a reference of bringing food when you go to someone’s house. Maureen is boss lady, and I would rather swallow fire than cross her. Alongside is Rhoda who is kind in the eyes and Sicilia who knows more than she lets on. The men are fun and playful to work alongside despite our worlds apart. Inok is the head gardener and has a grin that melts into gold and patience that exudes. We were excited to find a bow and arrow when doing inventory this weekend and have plans for target practice. He along with Alfred (a village football legend), Joseph (small and bashful), and Sam (such a serious guise) complete the gardening team. Daniel (who can do back flips and spiderman moves up walls), Green (always sporting headphones), and Mike (large doe eyes) make up the implementation team in charge of everything from fixing light bulbs to digging for groundnuts. Biswick is the head permaculture trainer and is strong in spirit and personality. Chisomo is the monitoring and evaluating specialist with a most fabulous attitude, style, and brain that reels knowledge. Then there is Eston who is in charge community outreach but can best be described as head honcho! This is the whole of the Kusamala staff and who I spend my workdays with.

Saturdays are considered half days. Last weekend, we setup for the farmer’s market at the Lilongwe Nature Sanctuary, which was an expat white haven for overpriced trinkets and homemade jams. This past Saturday we assisted in a spring cleaning of sorts, which basically resulted in a junkyard of randoms and a gigantic landfill/ firepit that required a hose on hand to keep it from sneaking into the adjacent grass field. Sundays are considered our off day but have often involved the hustlebustle of in town exploits for our weekly shopping. Corkscrewing market stalls for produce, spending way too much time scanning tables for beautiful chitenje cloths, and holding our breath through the stale supermarket funk for weekly  staples (peanutbutter, bran flakes, bag o’ milk). Thoroughly exhausted we return. Nights are early. The stars are bright. And Vuvu the cat makes for the most excellent snuggle partner.