First Garden Carrot!

It put up a good fight, but I think we all know who came out the victor...

Dramatic re-enactment. Kids, don't try this at home.

Delicious... and nutritious! Remember: beta carotene is good for

the eyes. Whether it's good for the crazy is a whole different question.

Bump, Set, Chambo

Ariel may have mentioned a while back that I’d managed to weasel my way onto a team in the social volleyball league that takes place every Wednesday at The Shack (aka the entire Wednesday night “scene” in Lilongwe). But did she convey the awesomeness that is (are?) the Chambos? No, I’m afraid she did not. Clearly the time has come to rectify this oversight.

When I joined up, back in November, the Chambos were still a B-league team. Great, I thought, competitive but not ridiculous – the perfect fit for my type-A, but haven’t played since high school self. Little did I realize that the team had come number one in B league for the season and would thus be getting a “promotion” to A league come this year.

Our first game started out so promisingly; most of us had made it to a practice, we’d decided to try the tricky but strategically superior 5-1 rotation, and (after a few whiffs, duds, and power-drives to the net) both my serving and hitting were starting to come back. We led by a large margin until 17, then suddenly (maybe they’d finally gotten warmed up) it seemed as thought the other team grew springs in their legs. They were all over the court, guys who couldn’t be more than 5’ 3” soaring above the net to smash spikes down on us as we feebly tried to mount a defense. It wasn’t pretty. Nor was the second game. Chambos, down in two. Still, we didn’t feel too bad: first game of the season, new players, first time in A league, yadda yadda. Next week, we swore, would be different.

Well… we put up a good fight, but once again it was Chambos down in two. Replenishing lost electrolytes with Carlsberg Green post-match, the analysis varied:

“We lost on their serves – have to get them up higher.”

“I think there’s still confusion about the rotation. We need to run through it again.”

“You realize they won the tournament last season and two of those guys are on Malawi’s national team, right?”

“….”

“And we got to twenty points?! Another round of Greens on me!”

Next week…. Chambos: keeping the hope alive.

Slower than molasses in… December

No, I’m not referring to how long it’s taken me to get my first post of 2011 up. There is, in fact, a story. After a relaxing evening camped amidst beachside trees at Nkhotakota Pottery Lodge and some fun time spent learning to throw clay in the dirt-cheap training studio (after five wobbly, heavy attempts I was finally starting to get the hang of it) we headed north… to the future! Or, in this case, Nkhata Bay. Before we got very far, however, I realized we were headed straight through Dwangwa, one of the two sugar plantations run by Illovo, Malawi’s sole sugar producer. How do I know this? ‘Cause we’re gonna fortify sugar, that’s how.

As usual, knowing just enough to get myself in trouble (“Hey – molasses is a byproduct of sugar production! We haven’t been able to find molasses anywhere… I wonder if they sell it at the plant.”) I inveigle Ariel into turning off and we pull up to the plantation gates. Everything seems to be going well; the guard may think we’re crazy but can see we aren’t dangerous and helpfully directs us: “Molasses? Go to ETHCO.” So far, so good. Of course, after driving through the cane for quite a ways (the place is big enough that it has its own bus system and the hypnotically identical maintenance roads that branch away from us are marked with some kind of coordinate coding system to help keep them straight) we get somewhat turned around and end up not at ETHCO, but at something purporting to be the company store. Turns out it is the company store… the store where company employees who forgot to pack lunch/dinner/whatever, can buy water, cokes, and snacks. Most emphatically not a “buy one of our selection of attractive products, made right here” type of company store. Undaunted, we ask directions to ETHCO, explaining that we’d like to purchase some molasses and have been told that’s the place to go. Fortunately the storekeeper, perhaps impressed by the quixotic nature of our quest, hooks us up with a passing regular who is in fact about to drive back over to ETHCO. Follow that car!

Arriving at ETHCO, we are somewhat disheartened (still no sign of the type of company store we’re expecting) but boldly enter and explain our mission to the kindly gentleman at reception. His response: “Oh, I see. Let me call the Finance Manager.” Finance manager?! We try to dissuade him from going to so much trouble, but he insists and begins calling various company officials. Of course, because it is the dead time between Christmas and New Year’s any official worth their salt (or molasses) is on vacation. Eventually fortune smiles upon us and the sales manager happens to walk past, is quickly button-holed by the over-eager receptionist and ends up inviting us into his office.

At this point we’ve clarified that ETHCO is, in fact, an ethanol producing company situated on the plantation because they use molasses as a raw ingredient. As it turns out, the reason we can’t get molasses directly from Illovo is that ETHCO has contracted to buy 100% of their molasses output, which they use in producing 60,000 liters of ethanol… per day. It is increasingly clear that Malawians don’t use molasses, ETHCO, despite having quite a bit of molasses, really doesn’t sell molasses, and there has been a lot of holiday humoring of the crazy azungu going on. Still, we’ve come this far…

After a bit of chatting, our buddy the sales manager begins working the phones, eventually reaching someone in the plant who he assures we need only pang’ono (a little) molasses. Seemingly satisfied by the Chichewa response, he tells us to go back to reception and the gentleman with the molasses will meet us there. Thanking him profusely, we depart.

Back at reception, our buddy the receptionist has just confiscated three spray cans of air freshener from a white collar worker on his way out of the building. Once the gentleman in question is out of earshot we are assured that, despite appearances he is in fact "a baddie." I’ve reached for my book at this point, but Ariel’s natural extroversion draws forth the tale of this baddie (mismanagement, pocketing funds intended for procurement, sleeping on the job…) and the receptionist with a heart of gold who has tried again and again to make him see the error of his ways. It actually becomes a rare and thus interesting example of airing frustrations with the type of petty corruption so many here simply accept as the norm. That said, it’s an example we could have appreciated in a far shorter amount of time.

Eventually, realizing we still have a substantial drive ahead of us and the afternoon is starting to wear on, we seize a pause in the diatribe to suggest a call to the gentleman in production to “tell him not to worry about it if he is busy.” The receptionist gamely takes up the phone and has a brief exchange in Chichewa. “No, no,” we are assured “he says he is organizing the molasses.” Fighting off giggles at the mental image of molasses being harangued by a fiery unionist, we go back to exercising our new-found talent for waiting. A short time later the production manager (a friendly gentleman named Andrew) appears, apologizes for the delay and asks how much molasses we need: “One barrel? Two? I need to figure out whether to stop the lines…” Aghast, we assure him that no, he most certainly does not need to shut down the entire plant's production to get us molasses! We explain (again) that we’re only looking for pang’ono molasses to use in cooking. With an expression of relief (and, one imagines, some internal head-shaking at the craziness of azungu) he assures us it won’t be a problem: “Just wait right here.” Which we proceed to do. Some more.

Finally (an hour and a half into our visit to ETHCO), Andrew returns, triumphantly hands us an official invoice for 2.5 kg of molasses, emphatically refuses payment, and waves us on our way. Victory! The next time we go to Nkhotakota we may just have to pack some molasses cookies and make a little detour...

Form One

January 4^th I start back to school, this time as the “real” teacher for Form One English and Social Studies. There is an initial fracas whereby two student teachers have arrived to complete their practicum and I’m informed that they will be taking my courses. I’m actually crushed. In the two weeks of observing at the school, I came to really like the teachers and the other kids and for the first few hours of the day, thinking I’ll have to start over at a new school, I realize just how much I want to stay at this one. Luckily, a few things are jiggered around and my classes are restored, just in time for the first session sixth period.

Under the guise of getting their names for my mark book (there’s no formal roster, as far as I can tell), I have my students also write down their ages. My “freshmen” range from 12-18 with a wide array of English language abilities, commitment to learning and maturity to go along. A daunting challenge, to say the least.

In the first two weeks, I struggle to establish new routines – being on time and prepared for class, turning in homework, taking quizzes seriously – that currently don’t exist for structural reasons. The bell is an old fire extinguisher canister that a student in Form Two rings according to his own watch, but that may be rung late or early depending on his whim and / or whether the Form Two teachers are running on time. And the fact that the only grade for the entire term comes from the exam papers written in the last two weeks doesn’t help with encouraging attendance or completing homework and in-class assignments. Added to this, it’s been a challenge to come up with creative ways to assign homework that can be done without referencing the text book, which can’t be sent home given that I only have one book for every four students.

Despite all of this, I feel like my classes have thus far been successful and that we’re making progress. In only three assignments, homework quality has markedly improved. And although my student don't bother to study for, and thus bomb, their Thursday vocabulary quiz, I feel confidant that they will study harder the next time. Truthfully, I’m not fully in the zone yet either. I’m still trying to come up with creative ways to work with limited resources, learning to gauge how much we can get done in a class period, getting in the flow of planning and marking so that everything gets done in good time and the right order.

What I love most is the relative innocence of Malawian children. I’m sure in some ways, they are incredibly more mature – it’s not unusual to see six year old girls taking care of their infant siblings, ten year old boys working in the fields, and thirteen year olds routinely get married here. But in other ways, they’re ready to play and laugh and joke and wonder in a way that jaded American freshmen would be hard pressed to get into. I entertain them endlessly by acting out the vocabulary words they don’t know in stories – creeping, howling, reaching, tip-toeing, menacing. I bring in my computer to show them pictures of historical events and they are crammed against each other and the desk in their eagerness to see. I can't even get them stay still to pose for pictures of the blog – check these out and you’ll see the exuberance I’m talking about.  

  

And teaching here, especially Social Studies, has already helped me to feel – even more than I already knew – the western-centric knowledge I have of history. Nathaniel’s been laughing as I’ve dug out some big history tomes from a box of donated books and started reading up on colonialism and the world wars. Now I just need to find a history text book actually written by a Malawian!

Bittersweet

Each of our blogs has the same flow. We encounter funny or unexpected challenges, wait it out, fight it out, or otherwise overcome, and write about it to entertain all of you. And I guess that’s basically how life is here. But I think the glossy blog veneer misses out on the underlying stress of starting over.

Read a little popular science and one learns that a huge percentage of our daily lives isn’t controlled by active decision making, but rather by following learned patterns. Traveling is exhausting and stressful (even when it’s fun) because there are no learned patterns to follow – Which way to the correct train? If I eat that, will it make me sick? Is there a better / cheaper option (how much am I getting ripped off)?? 

Living in a new place includes the best and the worst of this. There are so many more things to learn when actually settling down somewhere, reaching far beyond the travel trilogy of transportation, sustenance and sleep. Daily, I feel minorly incompetent, even though we’re living here. I go on auto pilot, turn the wrong way down a street and get stuck in traffic. I buy powdered sugar at an exorbitant price at the specialty expat grocery store, thinking I won’t be able to find it elsewhere, only to spot the same quantity at ¼ the price in the local shop. I realize the power is off and I can't open the fridge. What can I make? Popcorn! Oh wait...the cooker requires power too. These seem like small things, and all of them could happen in Boston, but the shear number of decisions that need to be made from scratch each day starts to wear.

Added to this, we’re in the be-slightly-careful-what-you-say phase with most of the people we know here. The “we’re new here” honeymoon phase, when people are willing to invite you along for the sake of novelty, is over. But we don’t know people well enough to understand their full motivation, patterns, the nuances of their communication. It feels like middle school – Should I call? Or is that too forward / annoying? Should we be hurt we weren’t invited? Or was it merely circumstantial? I love making new friends in moderation, but it’s tough – especially for a long conversation person like me and an introvert like Nathaniel – to be without the relaxed familiarity of our amazing “we go way back” community.

I guess that for some people the burn of constant newness and this type of intellectual and emotional challenge is what makes them feel alive. I feel proud that we’re surviving here – that in a lot of ways we’ve succeeded in making a good life and (knock on wood) that we haven’t so far created or encountered any disasters too catastrophic – but I feel more worn down than energized by the experience as a whole. 

At least, different from pure travel, when you’re living somewhere, you do get to answer some of those questions and build new patterns.  Pay the water bill? No problem! After my journey to no fewer than three different water board offices during the month of November, I actually know my account number and the office hours and locations. The forex gives us a desk calendar for being great customers (OK, OK, we know everyone else got one too). Car problems? Danny Mora and his sons will help out. Best place to find Tahini? The 7/11, followed by the small shop in the Old Town Mall. There is great satisfaction in being able to help someone even more newly arrived navigate room rental and the bus system.

So we’ll just keep on keepin’ on – trying to expand our knowledge of this place, the culture and our new friends so that the day-to-day becomes easier with each passing month. Next challenge? Locating a decent carpenter and obtaining borrowing privileges at the library. Woot!

Tarmac Tease

If Lilongwe was packed to the gills with holiday shoppers on Christmas Eve, it is a ghost town on Boxing Day Observed. After a weekend so chill we were horizontal, we whip our house, garden and gear in order so that we can set off on a weeklong trip north…only to be immediately stymied. Forex bureau, closed. Multiple ATMs out of cash. Video rental place, still closed. (We’ve already made a special trip to town on Sunday to return our movies to find the entire Old Town Mall locked and abandoned). After leaving a quasi-snarky note at the video store and waiting in a queue for kwacha, we are finally on our way out of town!

The game plan is to make Nkhotakota – a supposedly gorgeous lakeshore town with the dubious historical title “busiest 19^th century slave-trading center on lake Malawi” – the first stop on our journey. There are multiple potential routes, according to our map, but the guidebook claims that the most direct route is a “200 km run along the M7 via Ntchisi, of which only the 30km stretch immediately north of Ntchisi is unsurfaced.”

We hit our first snafu when we miss the turnoff (which is completely unsigned) and continue along the M1 for 10 or 15 km looking for a second turnoff. Maps seem to be amazingly unreliable here, so if the second turnoff exists, it certainly doesn’t look like the “main road” our map advertises it to be. We circle back to take the first unmarked turnoff only to hit, almost immediately, a massive construction project.

They’re not so into doing construction projects in phases here in Malawi. They strip an entire length of highway, then resurface, then lay asphalt across the width of both lanes, etc., such that it is necessary for cars to travel on a dirt track cut in beside the main road for the duration of the road work. We bump along behind an intrepid Toyota Corolla watching for an M7 turnoff that we never find.

Reaching Dowa (which means we’ve definitely gone too far), we ask for directions. A police officer tries to get us to drive to Salima (the main town on the alternate route that we didn’t take), which we know is way out of the way at this point. Luckily, some passengers waiting for a bus put their heads together and direct us back to a minor road we passed some 5km earlier. The road is quite narrow and does not seem in any way like it could be mistaken for a surfaced main highway.

We’re considering turning back when another car comes down the road. Does this road go to Ntchisi? Yup. Just continue straight and we’ll get there eventually. Ok then -- charging off into the wilderness. After traveling about 50km in 1^st and 2^nd gear (thank goodness for the RAV4’s clearance!) we hit a *slightly* larger dirt road and turn North – is this the M7? Yes indeed. Not sure who you got your information from, Mr. Guide Book Editor, but you clearly mailed it in on this one. We finally hit Nchisi, spot a sign confirming the road’s identity, and glory in a brief stretch of pavement before exiting town and hitting the promised 30km of…you guessed it…more dirt track!

Apparently most tourists and expats know better than to take this route because children are endlessly calling out “Azungu!!!” (white people!!!) as we drive past. We reach the end of the M7 and endure about 15 seconds of near panic when it looks like the M18 that we’ve anticipated so long is fully barricaded. Turns out we’ve just reached the edge of the National Park and a helpful ranger gives us some pointers and lets us pass.

The story wouldn’t be complete unless…yes, the M18 through the park were also completely stripped. At least here we’re driving on the packed surface they’ve prepared for paving and we actually make it to 4^th gear a few times. Woot! Clearly, animals aren’t hanging out along the highway so the extent of our wildlife spotting is a family of baboons and the sign commemorating the spot where a local woman was pulled off of her bicycle and eaten by a family of lions. Scenic!

The lodge is about 5mk down a dirt track from the main highway, but we’re old hat at this four wheeling thing by this point and arrive in style at sunset. Check out pictures of the full journey and our stay at the Nkhotakota lodge and pottery studio.