A future search

The mornings are brisk, with slow muscles under long sleeves, and a light fog lingering low over the residential garden beds we’ve planted to eggplant, chickpeas, lettuce and sorts. A mwadzuka bwanji (how did you wake?) and a cup of coffee start the day that will begin to heat warm and dry as the sun follows route. The staff assembles in the classroom, huddled chilly in 80s track jackets and odd sweater fits. A large chalk-board is center, with the internal and external mission of Kusamala printed across. Molly, our director, is admirably kind and shy in her genuine effort to erase the hierarchical posts that seem so ingrained in Malawian culture; that of bwana (boss) and worker. She describes last year’s annual budget, in tandem with the two new grants just received; how Kusamala will still act, in part, through external aid for the next three years, even extending to a new village with additional staff. Though, she stresses, what’s most important is that there is more time now to become a sustainable center, where the need of outside help is no longer necessary, and a self-sufficient Malawian staff will be able to take Kusamala forward. There is light clapping accompanied with polite nods, shivering, and no questions. Perhaps worker bees believe they will be worker bees forever. Maybe overhead will always be over head. Maybe everyone was just disenchanted with the cold. Despite the awkward silence, an underlying inspiration simmers as the issues and workings of management are consistently brought to laymen’s terms, and staff ideas and concerns are continually encouraged to be shared.

A New Yorker arrived with microscope in tote. She sets up lab in the common room and has enchanted the likes of Enock by designating him escort and camera man. He knows this will be a ‘very good week,’ package included with a fancy lodge stay at the lake, near the site of a new learning center she aims to build. He was completely dazzled upon his return, and proud as a newly appointed chief as he settles back into his routine with a inspired air about him. My own post, here at the center, has been centered on various construction projects. Having just finished cementing a raised garden bed for the kitchen alongside hanging baskets jerry-rigged from pvc pipe, I am planning next to build a bamboo dome complete with benches in the medicinal garden. I feel this bob the builder pairs well with Green’s comment, “She walks like an army man.” While veering away from my initial agricultural expectations, I know moving forward any future search I do is often gone with the wind. So while posts may be placed, or else cold bones are slow to move; while future maybe searching, there is solidity in what we do every day, there are breaks to be found, and slow cold can always thaw with time. And as we dispersed from the classroom we immediately livened walking out into the sunshine. 

Freedom

Independence Day precedes much the same here in Malawi as it does in the States. Both were won from the British, though Malawi almost 188 years and two days later than America, and here too there is a long weekend, outdoor festivities planned, and lots of food. The work-week finishes with me sitting on a second truck load of manure we've collected down the road at Kumbali; a fancy pants lodge, very pinky up, which has even housed the likes of Madonna in all her philanthropic glory. It is run by an very large and animated South African, who also owns the surrounding 650 hectares of land (which equals about 1606 acres), a multitude of Malawian employees (many whom wear worn jumpers and/or butler uniforms), an abundance of farm animals, a dairy, and a ‘cultural village’ that is indicative of the white perspective (especially considering the volleyball court). And not to forget the biggest, blackest, most adorable pup named Beasty. As directed by the Malawian government, a certain amount of mzungu (foreigner) owned land, must be allocated to humanitarian projects, …such as Kusamala, though there is no shame in neighboring it next to a GMO mono-cropping maize giant, Pannar Seed.  With forty-nine years of Independence Day celebrations, Malawians are still struggling to their feet with goliaths still towering above them. And as we bumbled passed the Kumabli garage filled with shiny mint conditions, in a truck that sticks in second and is filled with animal feces, it never seemed more true.

We mzungu interns too played our part, reaping our own customary holiday traditions as we made plans to take our weekend at Lake Malawi. After a two hour drive, passing only about four smoking mac-trucks, we made it to our own private beach-haven (…also owned by Kumbali). The lake looks like the ocean, with Mozambique rising blue and shadowy far in the distance, much like the Channel Islands. There are monitor lizards, fish-eagles, baboons, and monkeys galore! The weather feels warmer, with a delicious balmy comfort and greens and tans mixing tropically. Canoes drift by. Fisherman gear up on shore, as the women wash clothes and children playing nearby. I camped on the beach under the stars; my head toward the sunrise. We of course indulged in the beach laze, as well as the customary barbecue, though sweet corn was substituted with green maize. It was beautifully relaxing and I felt more than relieved to escape the farm for a couple of days. Upon our return there was heated debate as to the football match that had taken place over the weekend. It was a draw between the Green Stars and the Yellows. Joseph asked why I hadn't attended and with my excuse he commented, “I've never seen Lake Malawi. It is very far.” Maybe one day, Joseph will see the blue calm of the lake. Maybe goliaths are not so great.

Word of the day

Trio-ing like a 1950s gangster squad, the implementation team: Daniel, Mike and Green arrive to help clear-cut an area of tall grass to further the fruit forest I’ve recently been channeling. What took me two hours of back and forth experimenting- machete, slasher, and/or khasu (hoe), took them exactly twenty minutes, grasses flying. Impressed, but not surprised, I remarked on African strength. Green, who has the comedic charm of a short Bill Cosby, blatantly attributes this to mavuto; loosely translated this means ‘trouble’ or ‘problems.’ I was confused, but then embarrassed as he went on to explain. “To go and get water, mavuto. To get firewood, mavuto. Money, mavuto. Aye!” His arms up-down gesturing exhaustion.

On Thursday, the ami (mothers) were organizing to mud the rooms, which in Chichewa is called kuzila. Giving me the ultimate stare-down I made no hesitation in joining them in what is considered one of the many womanly duties. A bucket of mud, plus a quarter sand, and a generous amount of water can make poor-man’s concrete. The mud felt soft and warm as we smoothed it thin over the floor. After half an hour it became stiff and coarse. On hands and knees, we then whittled down the grind using beer bottles as our tool. It became the day’s work. My back ached. But after, I was entitled to be called acihmwali (sister).

A football match. The Green Stars versus Kauma. Boundary lines are marked with ash and gaga (ground up maize) that is being pecked away by a couple of straggly looking chickens. The field is huge, but sloping and divoting throughout. It is a playground and meeting center before the game, with kids with shoelace jump-ropes and men gathered round radios. “No thanks we don’t want  a chair… we don’t want to stand out”…yeah right. One guy is playing in his socks, another barefoot, and … yes really… there are two players that are sharing a pair of cleats. Half time score is 0-0. Most players are widely scattered on the hard-packed dirt and skipping potholes like an obstacle course. The sun, dzuwa, is quite strong and there are no clouds, mitambo, to be seen. Enock, our garden manager, as well as the lead coach of the Green Stars, shouts, “Osadandaula,” (Don’t worry!). The Green Stars eventually won 3-0.

As I see women walking home balancing bundles of firewood on their head and babies strapped to their back, I understand. Chiponde means 'to pound,' but it also means 'peanut-butter.' Men haul huge bales of thatch on their bicycles that hang-slant and throws them off balance, people wait on the side of the road for a hopeful ride into town or else jam themselves into overcrowded minibus nightmares, and vendors sit all day in the hot sun to sell a handful of tomatoes. Our tea kettle has been fixed and broken three time already, and the rooster just keeps on crowing. Their strength of body comes from the everyday struggle for necessity (gathering water for drinking, cooking and bathing, firewood, and on top of that, money). Their strength of character is gained through acceptance and an easy smile. Osadandaula Zimachatika, ‘don’t worry, it happens.’