Missing Malawi

There are some days when I miss Malawi so much. I didn't realize how much I loved the serenity of the village life until I came home to find everyone running to someplace. In Malawi, I'd wake up and feel the sun rise on my face while the roosters make their wake-up calls. Even during the rainy seasons when the rain would beat the tin roof like a choral of drums, I'd sit in my simple chair and read away living in the bliss of a worry-free life. I miss breathing in the freshness of vegetables and fruits at the market. The hustle and bustle of villagers haggling over prices, men congregating over chippies, children running after whirling tires. But mostly, I miss the children. In my whole life, I have never had the privilege of playing with children on a daily basis. To see their precious faces before my day started at the health clinic was the highlight of my work. They brought so much joy to my heart that nothing America can ever buy for me. And I miss my Agogo. My 82-year-old grandmother whom I'll never see again. Sometimes I wonder how she's doing and what she's doing. There was something remarkable about her strength and dignity that I wanted to have more of in my life. Talking about Malawi in five minutes cannot do justice to the people I've met and loved the two years I was there. If only people had that deeper interest to learn about Malawi, I'd be gushing for days about the things I'd learned and the kind of people I met. But if I can't talk about them, how can I relive my passion for these people and nation?