The Crush of Children

No, this isn't going to be another heart-wrenching story of children orphaned by AIDS.

This is an episode that was recalled to me as I was looking back at some photographs.  We had visited a village center and been treated as guests of honor with singing, prayers, testimonies and dancing.  At the end, there was the usual photographing of the multudinous children.  I had the idea to squat down, you know, to be a kid level for some picures with the kids.  Thankfully (for me), I managed to drag down two of my fellow cohorts with me.  Well, we learned very quickly that this might not be the smartest thing to do.

The children, in their excitement not only of having us crouched down and far more within reach to touch and rub or pound our heads and shoulders, but also at having additional photo opportunities,  thronged and surged forward in a crush of jockeying for better position.  We were soon nearly overtaken.  Look very closely at the photo below... You can see me, and just below my left shoulder is one blue eye and the forehead of fellow traveler (and GAIA Board President - eek!) Marty, and then one child away from me to my right, the nearly drowned head (eyebrow & eye, really) of my roommate Nadia.  We are laughing on the outside, but on the inside we fear we are milliseconds away from being trampled to death by  6,000 exuberant village children.

Alas... we did survive. And  - perhaps needless to say - learned NEVER to do that again! (Although it did make for a pretty hysterical picture.)

Whew.

19 September 2010

Being home now for a week, talking to people, casually, about my trip, and looking back over photos, I am aware that this is a journey that has left a distinct impression, and that I think will stay with me for some time. Reliving parts of my days in Malawi through the veil of memory necessarily sacrifices some of the immediate detail, but the impressions have had some time to simmer in the stew that is my head, and I still try to find some context and understanding.

There are the "simple" things - like the sights, sounds and smells of being in a completely different culture on the other side of the world. I thought maybe I’d touch on some of those, as they continue to bubble to the top of the stew.

But then there’s the deeper things - the experience of seeing so intimately into the lives of people so far outside of my own personal frame of reference. It feels odd, false but not really, to sit in my house where I have so much, and know that a world away there is a woman who goes to bed with the sun, because she has no electricity, in her one room, dirt floored hut on a reed mat for a bed with maybe a blanket, maybe only a couple of chitenjes for cover. She may have a husband, or she may be the sole caregiver for her grandchildren because her own children have passed away. She will get up when the sun rises and wash her clothes in the river and spread them to dry on the bushes. She will walk to the local water pump and fill her bucket with water which will have to last her the whole day - for cooking, for washing, for drinking - and carry it back to her hut on her head. She will gather wood for her fire, a large bundle of branches, or buy a supply of charcoal, and carry it back to her hut on her head. She will shave the maize and spread the kernels out to dry in the sun. And later grind it into the powder that will be the basis for the main staple of her one or two meals a day. While she is tending her cooking fire, or sweeping the dirt around her home, she may see a car drive down the narrow, rutted road that she walks to get to the market, to the water pump, to the river, to the village center. And in the back seat are women - white women, azungu - waving to her. And, as she smiles and waves back, what does she think about us?

So... not to wax rhapsodic about all of this, but I did run across a quote (unfortunately, I don’t know the source, so I cannot give proper credit). It helps me keep a bit of a handle on the struggle I have with my Malawi journey: "Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it."

Home at Last ...

Sunday, 12 September 2010

After too many hours on airplanes and in airports, I am happy to report that I am back on Petaluma soil.  I have deliciously showered off over 30 hours of international travel.  Unfortunately, both Nadia's and my checked bags are still apparently sitting in Joberg.  We have been assured they will be delivered - hopefully in the next couple of days.  Hopefully with a minimum of items missing.

Thank you all for "listening" to my travel journal.  And for your periodic responses, comments and support.

Signing Off From Malawi ...

Friday, 10 September 2010

 We have, in the last two days, had the following oh-so-Malawi (/Africa) experience: Our lodge ran out of water for a day. Our office had no electricity for a day. And today the city of Blantyre has no petrol in any of the gas stations. We are lucky this last happened at the end of our trip, or we may not have been able to do all the driving we did to see all of our projects.

Malawi is a country which shares both Christian and Muslim faiths. There are several mosques around. Each day there are the traditional Calls to Prayer, which are lovely and somewhat haunting. Happily, I don’t usually hear the first morning call (at sunup, which is something like 5:30 AM). But each evening, I have watched the brilliant orange-to-pink-to-blue-to-purple sunset and heard the melodic prayer.

We visited a project where GAIA provides micro loans to women, and heard the women describe for us the impact these loans have made in their lives. It was uplifting and enlightening. We heard tales of a grandmother who cares for her orphaned grandchildren and can now afford to pay their school fees. Plus she was able to buy herself a bicycle and rides it proudly to the bank to deposit into her savings. We heard several stories of women who were able to build stronger houses with good roofs for their families. And we heard stories of women who’s husbands work with them in a family enterprise. Story after story included "pay for my children to go to school" and "able to feed my family, even in the time of drought". It was a wonderful respite from the heartbreak of the previous days. But don’t be mislead - these women are still barefoot, living in a remote village, in a hut with dirt floors and eeking out a living. It’s just that they are learning to make and save a little money, which makes a big difference in a life with otherwise very very little.

I’ve been asked if I am ready to leave. The answer is both yes and no. I miss my family terribly. Guiltily, I will admit that I miss my shower (and the water pressure of home). Once home, I think I will miss my GAIA family. It is an outstanding group of folks with whom I’ve been privileged to share this incredible journey. And I will miss the GAIA staff who I’ve come to know and with whom I have so enjoyed working side by side. Alas, I don’t think I will miss the smokey air I romanticized a bit early on. I will not miss the beggars in the street, with twisted legs or hungry bellies. I will not miss the barred windows and doors. I will not miss my mosquito net. I will miss seeing the children so eager to come and greet us, eager and shy simultaneously to touch us. I will miss the delicious harmonies and joyous songs of the women. I will miss learning a bit of Chichewa and surprising Malawians when I try to use it. I will miss the lovely cadence of the English spoken by the Malawians. I will miss the "James Earl Jones" laugh of one of our drivers. I will miss seeing something new and different so many times a day, each and every day. This has been the trip of a lifetime, to be certain. Just remember - if you ever come.... just bring carry on.

As they say in Chichewa.... Bye Bye!