World AIDS Day

No one ever wants to talk about the unspoken word.

HIV. AIDS.

In Malawi, it was once known as the "American disease". Or the "witch's curse". Everyone was afraid to speak up, because they were afraid that they would be accused of being bewitched, of infidelity, or of doing something godforsaken.

But out of this fear, I saw something beautiful happen when watching a group of villagers who were HIV+ care for one another. I remember I visited a few patients' homes with a few others who were HIV+. One was incapacitated and could not move or breathe. I remember being gripped by fear of what to say and what to do. But her friends sought her out, helped clean up her home, brought her water, contributed what little money they had, and prayed for her. They comforted her in the darkest times.

Let's stand in solidarity and fight the good fight. Get tested. Seek ARV treatments. Say no to unprotected sex. Reject discrimination.

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.
Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy.

-Proverbs 31:8-9

Remember the Malawians who are among the poorest in the world.

Remember the orphans.

Remember the girls who are often taken advantage of by the Sugar Daddies.

Remember the people whose stories touched my life: Chikhadzula, Nankuku, Annie.

My article is published online!

Read about my experience online http://www.startwithwater.org/page.aspx?name=featured

Malawi's hospitality

These past few days have been eventful, fulfilling, and tiring. I spent two days in Lilongwe and met old friends throughout my time. I saw Peace Corps staff and spent much time catching up with them. I also ran into another RPCV at a café in the morning and we chatted away. I met up with another Malawian friend whom I met from Duke, Wazi. He’s now back in Malawi working for the Ministry of Finance.

Early the next morning, I had to haul my katundu again back to downtown Lilongwe. It took me about 45 minutes this time. But on the way there, some guy on a bike slammed into my arm and fell. He kept looking at the drops of blood on his hand, then at me, then apologizing “Sorry madam”. Now I have a big, fat bruise on my arm.

I got to Dedza where I did my homestay training when I first arrived in Malawi. Oh, it was such a heartfelt homecoming. As I walked into the village, streams of kids ran around me and followed me to the Odala household. I was awkwardly sitting with about 50 kids staring at me, waiting for me to make a move. Slowly neighbors and friends came to greet me while I waited for my grandmother to come. I finally got up and decided to walk around and just as I did, they said “Amayi is here”. I turned the corner to see her looking for me and when she saw me, she couldn’t stop smiling and saying “Elaine-ee!” She kept saying “Alendo! Alendo!” (Guest! Guest!) and how people told her while she was farming that she had an alendo waiting for her. She kept wondering who she was and was so ecstatic that I was there. After three years, we finally met again. She wanted to prepare me a chicken but I told her I was in a hurry so she made me chips and eggs for old time’s sake.

Then I took a minibus to Ntcheu, which took forever. Because of the fuel crisis, we had to switch to 3 different minibuses just to travel 90 km. But finally I arrived and stayed with a good friend of mine, Isaac Talimire. He used to be a teacher and neighbor at my old site. In fact, he shared the other ”half-house” I stayed in and took such good care of me. This time around, he still took good care of me and was very happy to see me.

I wanted to go to Blantyre the same day but transportation takes so long in Malawi and I didn’t want to travel while it was dark, so I decided to stay with Talimire. The next morning, I was going to Zomba to visit another health worker friend, Andrew Chikhadzula, who had transferred from my old site. Because of the uncomfortable experience the previous day, I wanted to hitch a private ride. But after standing for 2 hours, I figured no one was going to pick me up so I finally took the minibus. On this ride, the minibus broke down about 5 times in one hour because the oil was completely out, so we switched to another minibus. When I finally got to Zomba, I had to take a bicycle taxi to my friend’s house about 12 km away. It was actually kind of nice to sit on the back of a bike and enjoy the scenery with the wind whipping through my hair. His area was much more remote than the last person I stayed with. He didn’t have a door lock; he opened his house with a machete. We ate dinner in the dark and his neighbor graciously offered his place for me to stay since my friend did not have sleeping accommodations for me.

My last stop was at P.I.M., my old site. I left Zomba in the morning, had to get off in downtown Zomba to exchange money since I was running out of money, then hopped back on a minibus. This minibus took longer than I expected getting to Limbe but finally I arrived in Limbe and had to board another minibus to go to P.I.M. But I wasn’t sure where I was going to stay because the administration at the site told my friend (former counterpart), Davie Makanani, that they didn’t have room for me. But my friend graciously said that I could stay with him. He made room in his food storage for me to sleep in where his chickens were also residing. I was really grateful that he went out of his way for me to have a place to stay and took me on his bicycle to the places I needed to go. He even said “A few days is not enough. You should stay 2 weeks!”

I’m really so thankful for Malawian’s hospitality. It’s living in these villages that have shown me what genuine hospitality looks like. My friends, who had little and didn’t own much, went out of their ways to ensure a comfortable bed for me to stay in. I think that some may even have given up their own blankets to ensure that I stayed warm at night. I know it’s not easy to accommodate guests, because you have to prepare their bath water, their meals, and their rooms, but they do it with such willing hearts. It was when they sacrificed for me that I realized how true hospitality really looks like. It wasn’t like they could just roll out a couch for me to sleep in, pick up some McDonald’s for me, and hand me a towel to jump into the shower. They really don’t have much, but they took me into their homes anyway and made me a part of their family. For that, I’m truly grateful for their kindness and graciousness. Even though I’m living the village life, I couldn’t ask for more. This is why they call Malawi "The Warm Heart of Africa".

Goodbye Nkhata Bay *sigh*

These past few days have been blissful, even though I know I really should finish my report. The first day I got there I hung out at Mayoka beach (I was staying at Mayoka Lodge), went into “town” when there was a big football (soccer) match outside the Nkhata Bay Prison and walked around. The next day I went to Chikale Beach (tinier than I thought) where I saw people washing their clothes in the bay. It was kind of funny. Then some guys kept trying to holler at me; I think they wanted to sell me some mj. On a separate occasion, I met some Rastafarians who were trying to get Malawi to recognize their religion and legalize ganja. Then yesterday I relaxed at the lodge, then finally had my butterfish! I’ve met some really interesting people on this trip:

There were two French girls who were cycling through Africa.
Then I met another British guy who cycled from the UK down to Africa.
There were two Belgian guys who had spent 4 months in Central America, now 5 months in Africa, and will spend some more months in Asia.

It’s kinda cool meeting all these people. Only in Africa!

Today I woke up at 5 to take a 8.5 hour bus ride to Lilongwe, the capitol. I lugged about 20 kg of stuff (carrying them front and back) for about 20 minutes trying to get to the bus depot. Why did I let my parents and brothers convince me to bring the “gifts” and candy?! I only brought 2 pairs of pants, 5 shirts, and a skirt. (I bought more skirts here.) But my bags are so heavy! I hope that by the time I return to the U.S., I’ll only have one bag!

Anyway, this bus ride was supposed to be made in half the time. We stopped so many times that I had about four different passengers sitting next to me throughout. One of them kept leering over my shoulder to look out the window so that she could make sure no one was stealing her katundu. The bus was filled with wafts of body odor, usipa (dried fish), and a little bit of feces. The bus hardly stopped for anyone; everyone had about 20 seconds to run after the bus and hop on. A kid had to stop pooping so that he and his mom could get on the bus, otherwise the bus would take off without them. And of course, a true African experience is not complete without the overcrowding buses with reggae music blaring through the speakers.

And now I’m camping somewhere in Lilongwe. :)

Hello Nkhata Bay!

Today I woke up at 5 am, packed up my katundu and left Livingstonia for good. I was sad but I was glad that I was able to see one last beautiful sunrise during my journey to the lakeshore.

Five hours later, after cramming with 16 others in a minibus, I arrived at Nkhata Bay. For the first time since I’ve been here, I was able to touch the lake! And they really don’t call it “Lake of the Stars” for no reason. It’s so beautiful and peaceful. Then, as I was chatting with the owner of a hostel here, out of the kindness of his heart, he offered me a chalet room for the same price that I was going to pay for a dorm! I don’t know why people in Malawi treat me so well. First I got a free ride from the airport to Lilongwe. Then I got this nice 3-bedroom house in Livingstonia all to myself. Then I got a free month of visa extension at the Immigration Office. And now I have a freakin’ awesome chalet. I hope that my charm will keep working ‘till the very end!

Goodbye Livingstonia

I hate saying goodbyes. I’m going to miss Livingstonia. It was a beautiful place to live and I had amazing mornings waking up to a beautiful view. The people here are wonderful too. I had a great cook who made me cakes and stew and empanadas. I had a really sweet toothless night watchman who always liked to chat. Then there were the Fabulous Four I worked with, just awesome people who work hard and are committed to the people. As they bade me farewell, they thanked me for being so free with them so that they could be free with me. They thought that they wouldn’t be able to work with me because I looked like a “little girl” but they realized how mature I was and learned from me.

Sometimes I got so tired of hearing about how our world was being run by politicians who’d divert all aid money to their accounts or how chiefs got corrupted by NGO “hand-outs”. And I got tired of people asking me for money and the clothes on my back all the time. There were a lot of “Give me’s”. It was really encouraging to see that there were actually people who cared about their work and weren’t just doing it for the money. Of course there were a lot of politics (and I had never dealt with so much of it before), but they didn’t let the politics get to them. They just saw it as a mountain to overcome with happy people waving at the other side. :) This was refreshing for me.

And now I’m off to Nkhata Bay for a few days. I was growing weary of staring at the lake everyday and not being able to touch it! After playing at the beach, I’ll head down to Lilongwe and meet up with some old friends. I’m hoping to see my training homestay family in Dedza, another teacher friend in Ntcheu, then some other friends in Blantyre, including one who’s running a street children nonprofit. Finally I’ll go back to my home in Chiradzulu and see all my wonderful friends again, especially the old agogo I so loved. I hope that she’s still alive and strong at 84. I am so excited!

Happy Father's Day!

I thought I’d share my dad’s greatest fatherhood moment.

When I was about 5 or 6, we were staying in Hong Kong and my mom had just left for the U.S. Being the crybaby I was, I was inconsolable when she left. My dad did what any self-righteous inconsolable woman would do: eat at McDonald’s. So he bought me my two favorite foods at the time: ice cream and French fries. That night, I had stomach pains and could not stop crying (again). Concerned, he took me to the hospital and the doctor told him it was simply stomach gas. And it was probably a good idea to stop feeding me ice cream and French fries.

But I think that his greatest fatherhood moment with my brother is so much funnier, because he actually loses a kid.

Anyway, I just wanted to say Happy Father’s Day, Dad!

Polygamy in Malawi

Last week, Tablespoon and I made household visits, because, you know, we wanted to see their latrines and all that fun stuff. We had visited a house with two wives. O.K., so it was pretty common to have two wives. Even my cook has two wives (and 13 children and 18 grandchildren). Then we visited another house with four wives. Four wives!!!! This man, wow, he had four wives. Each of them had their own house, but three lived on the same compound and even had to share the same toilet and bath rooms! The fourth one lives at the lakeshore and doesn’t have to share anything except the man. I asked Tablespoon if it was common for Malawian men to have four wives and he responded, “Even 20!”

Then Tablespoon pointed at me and said, “Mama Ellen, you will be the fifth.”

I retorted, “No, I have to be the first.” No way I’m going to be a concubine!

All I could do was ponder how polygamy thrives here. I can’t remember if I’d met anyone during my Peace Corps stint with four wives… although many polygamous marriages in the south are usually inconspicuous anyway, especially for those who call themselves Christians. But in the north, they still practice bride prices and instead of the husbands moving to their wives’ homes, the wives all move to the husband’s homes. It makes inconspicuous marriages, like those I’d seen in the south, rarer.

But I don’t know what marriage means to Malawians here. It’s usually a process that involves uncles meeting uncles and giving their approvals, that is followed with approvals from the chiefs. In the north, you buy the woman and she moves into your home. Bride prices can usually cost around MK200,000 (about $1333), so that means the man spent almost $6,000 on wives. Not bad considering how much it might cost an American man to date a woman (a BMW might just win her over). If it all ends, the American man is penniless and the woman ecstatic about her car. And if the husband in Malawi dies, then his brother gets her.

But in the south, the husbands move to the wives’ homes, which really, just make it so much more difficult to track the husband’s wives. One of the youths I worked with had “married” two women without each other’s knowledge (and I guess without the uncles’ knowledge). Of course drama ensued as the wives discovered each other and fought one another; a child died from malaria; and he took off with both wives’ money. Last I had seen him was in Lilongwe after I had finished my service, and I could barely look at him. Yet for others, marriage meant “I-got-her-pregnant-and-now-I-will-move-into-her-home-and-she-will-feed-me”.

I told Tablespoon, “If a Malawian man wants to marry me, he has to know that I’m very expensive. I will cost 200 cows, hundreds of acre of land, and at least five nice cars.”

More pictures!

Pictures!

1.5 million year old fossils

Last week, some people and I went on a trip close to the Zambian border. Somewhere between Karonga and Livingstonia at Uliwa, we stopped for an archaeological visit. There was an unexcavated site where old snail shells and alligator fossils still remain. 1.5 million years old all untouched. Some new shells from the lakeshore washed up to the old. The ancient meets the new:

Motorbike Lessons

I’ve been learning how to ride a motorbike the past few weeks and I have to say it’s harder than it looks!

Lesson #1: Turn wider than usual. It seems the slightest turn is not enough on a dirt road, so I have to make wider turns and I stalled when I made a turn once.

Lesson #2: Slow down at every turn. Those darn tall grass can hide vehicles and people well!

Lesson #3: Don't freak out. My counterpart (also my bike trainer who’s a jolly old man and likes to call himself “Tablespoon”) didn’t let me go past 20 kmph until today. He even let me navigate the tricky rocky turns. But at one point, I skidded on some pebbles (those are the worst!) when going downhill and we almost fell but Tablespoon just laughed and patted me, saying that I “was ready” and managed to stay steady without falling. Whew!

Retirement Plan

I could retire like this... in about 40 years. haha I love sitting on my porch, looking across the lake and seeing the silhouette of Mozambique's mountains bleeding into a pale shade of orange and blue. I'd sit with a good book and watch the orange fade as the mountains blend in with the blue. I had a good bite of chocolate cake yesterday with a sip of my orange Sobo. The roosters would occasionally crow and the chickens cluck in my yard. Sometimes you can hear the pounding of buckets in front of my house and the splash of water filling up the buckets with children and women chatting. As the night falls, the sound of cicadas fill the air and then it's just pure silence except for the humming of my refrigerator. Every morning is just as amazing too: the sunrise surprises me with the same beauty every morning and it's too hard to resist taking pictures. It's always quiet in the morning without the sound of honking cars or rushing vehicles. As I walk on the dirt road to the hospital or somewhere else, I would see women carrying bundles of firewood or a block of things wrapped with a chitenje, or women sitting on the side selling mandazis or bananas. The goats would be busy eating the grass on the side with a leash on their neck tied to a nail in the ground. Everyone who passes me would stare at me and are taken back with a smile when I greet them "Muli uli?" It is just too beautiful here and I feel so blessed to be here.

Like I said, I could retire like this.

Is poor without water?

Sometimes I forget what poverty really looks like. I tried not to take all my comforts at home for granted and tried even harder not to take the water I have for granted, but it's hard. As I walked through the villages and interviewed various people for my work, I realized that asking them "Why don't you use safe water?" involves more than just turning on the water faucet. For some, they have to walk miles and miles to get water - and sometimes their closest water source is the river. Some have told me that the people upland don't have latrines, so they defecate in the river or in the bushes nearby. They know the water is bad, but what can they do? For others, even if they get water from the tap, the water itself is not treated. Over half the people I interviewed said they don't boil or treat their water in any way because they lack the money or it's just plain laziness, they said. As much as I want to tell them that this simple task of treating their water can reduce diarrhea incidences by as much as half, I knew that most of them could not afford this method. And so the search continues - many people all over the world continue to seek solutions to resolve this issue. But the good news is that now at least 10 villages will now have access to over 60 water taps where at least the water is not contaminated by feces.

Empanadas

Yesterday I gave my cook a recipe for making tortillas and he ended up making empanadas with the intention of making meat pies! Guess what I’ll be eating the next few days.

I also learned that my counterpart has 13 children and 17 grandchildren. His youngest son is the same age as one of his grandchildren. One of my counterparts has 8 children - 6 boys and 2 girls. "It means you're healthy and powerful," he said, but of course it meant that he had some difficulty providing for his family for awhile. Fortunately, the government has recently started promoting family planning recently within the last few years.

Anyway, hopefully the pictures were uploaded! (Sorry for all the delays but the internet's operating at 54 mbps!)

Some more history on Livingstonia: History of Livingstonia

Livingstonia

(This is the sunrise I see every morning over Lake Malawi)

Welcome to Livingstonia! This mission was named after David Livingstone, a famous missionary, where I can see the beautiful Lake Malawi that Livingstone “found” during his ambitious Zambezi expedition.

My current internship involves the evaluation of a water and sanitation health education grant in 10 villages here. Since diarrhea is the primary cause of death for children under five, water and sanitation are the primary entry points for combating diarrhea and my role is to assess whether the grant’s activities are achieving improved knowledge and behavioral changes in water, sanitation, and hygiene.

Rotary Club and Water for People’s presence here are strong, as they have worked tirelessly to provide a safe water system for the mission and the surrounding villages. The 100+-year-old gravity-fed water system was failing, so Rotary Club stepped in and replaced it with a safer system. With the new system, 10 villages can now have access to over 60 water points. Despite this amazing feat, the challenges here include the battle over community’s ownership of the water system versus azungus’ “responsibility” of the water system, and the privatization of water (whether water should be free or paid for). For 100+ years, the community members had free water and failed to see the necessity of paying for their water, but the Water Development Officer is pushing the community to take ownership of their water system and not rely on the azungus to always provide and take care of the Malawians’ needs.

As for me, I love being back in Malawi. I forget how kind and hospitable the “warm heart of Africa” is. People love that I can speak Chichewa and wear a chitenje like a real Malawian would. I can’t wait to see my friends and family in the south in 5 weeks!

Although the northern and southern regions are similar in terms of cuisine and some aspects of culture, there are some stark differences. The language is slightly different and I can somewhat understand what people are saying because of subtle hints of Chichewa. The northerners are more educated, because they value education more. In fact, universities have higher rates of students from the north than other regions, which is becoming so much of a problem that they’re currently debating passing a quota on admittances of students from the north. It seems that people are also not as poor. Because of the climate and the less dense population, they struggle less with droughts and food insecurity, so malnutrition is less of a concern, unlike Chiradzulu, my old site, which had one of the highest malnutrition rates in Malawi. I guess people are not as poor in the north (relatively within Malawi), so I don’t have as many people begging me for money or demanding the clothes I wear or the things I own. People here treat me nicer too. I don’t know if it’s because I’m coming here in a different context (“I’m a poor volunteer” versus “I’m an aspiring graduate student”), but the northerners treat me with more respect and don’t bother me as much. I always felt like an outsider at my old site, but I think they get so many foreigners here (missionaries, tourists, etc.) that they’re used to people like me.

Even though I look young to them (one man said “early 20’s” hah!), they know that I’m a graduate student and that somehow leverages my status and garners their respect. One of my counterparts told his wife that “there’s a little girl staying in that house and she can’t be more than 20 years” and pondered how old I must’ve been “as a little girl” when I graduated from college. When I told him my real age, he asked if I was serious (I said “yes”) and then told me I was old. (He said I look young because I have “good hygiene” and I’m not married, because, yes, marriage will suck the life out of a woman, he admitted.)

Oh, how I’ve missed you Malawi. It’s good to be home again. J

Zabo Malawi!

And I'm back in Malawi! I'm doing a two-month internship in Livingstonia, Malawi. I went from living at the home of the revolutionary fighter, Chilembwe, for two years, and now I'm living at the home of the infamous African missionary, David Livingstone.

Day one:
I was sitting at the airport contemplating if I should carry my 50 pounds worth of luggages for 5K and wave down a minibus or pay $25 for a taxi or…. I thought I’d ask the Pakistani man sitting next to me what he thought. Long story short, he was a kind man who offered me a free ride and wanted to marry me so I can run his five container and ice block factories in Malawi and Mozambique despite the fact that he has a wife and family in Pakistan. I almost accepted, only because we got so lost looking for the hostel and I would not have survived with 50 pounds of luggages! The first food I ate in Malawi? CHIPPIES! (Fresh potatoes fried in oil. Yum!)

Day two:
Great day of visiting old Peace Corps staff and old friend at African Bible College! I ran into a man with blood all over his shirt and he kept saying, “My wife, she not ok, she not ok.” I asked him what happened and he couldn’t explain. As he walked away, he had a big bandage on the back of his head. I could only wonder.
Some days later:
I'm finally up at Livingstonia after spending two days in Lilongwe, one day of traveling up to Mzuzu, two nights in Mzuzu, and one morning of traveling up to Livingstonia. We trudged through 15 k of dirt road in a Land Cruiser while the brakes were being held together by some rubber and broke at some point during our journey. Now I'm sitting up here at Livingstonia Plateau with a wonderful view of Lake Malawi and Mozambique as the backdrop. I’m living the bwana life with a nice house with three bedrooms, hot showers, running water, my own cook, a night watchman, and nicer things that I’d never owned in my own life before. Plus I have internet through a USB and the university recently just got internet. This is no longer Peace Corps and it feels weird. Too weird. Pictures to come!