Toilet Interpretations

I'm not sure if I already told you this story but I recently returned to Liwonde Game Reserve and it reminded me of this incident. Last year at Liwonde, I participated in the Game count, walking through the park in grid patterns and counting animals. It is a lot of fun. Part of the excitement is that we camp inside the literal park. The only downside with this arrangement is that we have to use the pool showers and toilets inside the resort. This is only inconvenient because it is not right next to us, the facilities are nice and clean.

One day I entered the bathroom and was immediately assailed with the site of a Malawian woman standing inside of a open bathroom stall. I paused and stared because I was so shocked. This woman was holding up her young daughter so she could stand on the toilet seat and squat, as if this nice porcelain, flush-able toilet was a common pit latrine. I was also shocked that she just turned her head and gave me a small smile, totally unconcerned about my witnessing her and her daughter using the bathroom. I felt amused yet disappointed and a bit angered that this woman and her child were incapable or refused to use the toilet as it was meant to be used. My anger probably came from the fact that I was so happy to be using such nice facilities and was shocked that a woman, in a clearly bwana (upscale) place, would still stick to those traditional actions.

Then I remembered staying at another rest-house and seeing a sign in all the bathrooms,
PLEASE DO NOT STAND ON TOILETS in both English and Chichewa with a lovely picture of a stick figure squatting on the toilets and a few well placed dashes between the figure and the toilet bowl.

Ah Malawi

Hunchback Hero

Every so often you find a person whose story is so incredible it mandates telling. Chitin Dila is just that. He is a hunchback 99 year old Malawian man living in the Mountains of Mafinga Hills in a village called Chisenga.

This man is incredible by the cheer force of his will.

He is defying Malawian age standards and stubbornly continuing to live, probably due to the mass amounts of physical labor he put upon his body in his younger years.

In those days, this man was active in both local development and church. Once a month, or even every week, he would get up and head down the mountains to Karonga, which is located on the lake shore about 130 km away, down several sets of mountains, just to attend meetings. When the meeting was concluded he would turn around and walk the 130 km up the mountains home. When his church was being but, he would haul the colossal roofing timbers from Intalire, about 60 km down the mountain, up to Chisenga to the church site. They say that is how he hunched his back.

Now he is a blind and mostly deaf elder with a barely audible rasping wheeze of a voice. Yet he is still healthy at 99 years old. You can still see him shuffling around Chisenga Trading center going about is business with the aid of one of his grandchildren.

Monkey Bridge

Kara is a health volunteer who lives in Ifumbo. This is a mountainous region in Chitipa that borders Tanzania. All that separates them is a rickety rope bridge called “The Monkey Bridge.” It is only used during the rainy season when the Songwe river is too swollen to cross. During the dry season people cross on ropes, hike their clothes up, or in the case of many men, merely take off their pants. During the dry season the Monkey Bridge falls into disarray. You see, the bridge is made entirely of vines and branches. During dry season, the bridge is not contained to it falls apart. It is also at least 15 feet high.

One Day during the rainy season, Kara or “Kala” as the locals call her,witnessed a common event for the first time, a very drunk villager attempting to cross the rope bridge. Clearly he could not hold his Tanzanian beer too well because he was jerking and wobbling along the bridge, which consequently made the entire bridge sway and held up traffic. Around the time he got to the center of the bridge his alcohol induced 'spins' were made worse by the swaying bridge. It proved too much for him. One extra large wobble and off the bridge he went into the river blow. He was so drunk he could not swim (most Malawians cannot swim anyway but most people tend to have the survival instinct to stay afloat). Bystanders (Lucky for him it was market day so their was plenty of people around) both women saying 'Ala!' and clicking their tongues, as well as men laughing uproariously, had to wade into the water to save the drunk. The very thing that probably made him the laughing stock of the village (It being market day so EVERYONE was around to witness his COSMIC FAILURE) was probably the thing that saved his life.

Ya win some, ya lose some.

Puppy Power

SO in loosing my first dog in Malawi, I gained three. Their names are Red, Jessie, and Malayika. Jessie is the most independent and in contention for most dominant. She often does not come when called and has a way of looking at you like, “What man?” Malayika means Angel in Swahili. She is cuddly and most shy of Malawians. She listens fairly well and is the most dominant. Red is bouncy and all about the attention. She also is fairly good about coming when you call. All three are basically tan, Red, obviously has a red tint to her fur, especially around her head. She also has the biggest ears. Jessie is tan with a tiny bit of black mixed into a line down her back, she also has lighter colored eyes. Malayika has the biggest eyes and a patch of white on the scruff of her neck.

All three of these puppies have a tendency to popcorn when you get too close or they get to excited. Don't know what popcorn means? Think of whack-a-mole with jumping puppies. 4 and ½ month old hyper babies.

Here are some interesting stories involving the babies.

I invented something called puppy mush to fill them up while I was still trying t find someone to cook nsima for them. It is water, flour, salt and vuvu (crushed up usipa fish) all mixed together. I put a plate of that down and watched them attack it, slurping, gulping and occasionally growling at each other though no one wanted to stop eating. It was inhaled in 30 seconds. I got the idea because I was wondering what to d with a cup of flower that had been sitting out for a few days.

I had bought the vuvu at the Wednesday market. I went down all the fish stalls asking for Dagha until I finally found someone who told me that here its called vuvu. Go figure. Anyway I bought a bag of this stuff really cheap and biked it home, but man was it heavy! I put it in my bafa because of the arrangement I have with my neighbor. She comes and cooks nsima in my outdoor kitchen everyday for the dogs. I hide the vuvu in my bafa so she does not need a key to my house. I had just put the vuvu in the bafa than went inside to get a container. By the time I walked the ten feet to my bafa I push open the door and there are three little butt sticking up in the air, tails wagging and heads buried in my vuvu sack. Its fantastically amazing how fast puppies can hoark down food!. Needless to say I had trouble getting the our of the bafa. Pick one up and put it outside, turn around she comes in as you grab the other two...gah! So of course after I got them all out, closed the door and tried to do some damage control, they all whined outside the door like I was the bad guy!

So I had made tortillas, tortilla chips, guacamole and pico-de-gallo. I set out this awesome feast on my table and prepared to stuff my face. Of course the creatures are running around because I had to shut them in my house cause it was dark. After I ate I was going to put them into their room. I turn around and see Malayika standing on my couch, at attention, taring at the table. I decide to watch this pan out. She crawls onto the chair next to the couch and is about one inch closer. She leans out and falls on her face. Take two. This happens to more times and i'm just sitting their laughing. Finally there is a new plan she gets back on the chair and stretched out in a lunge to the bookshelf. From there it is a one two three and she super man dives her front paws out and just barely makes contact with the table. Success! So of course I scoop her up and then collect the other pups to put them to bed.

American Gifts

A little over a year through my service I went home to visit my family. Among the things I brought back were gifts for my counter part Johnathan and his family.
I brought back:
Small soaps, lotions, body washes and beauty items for Johnathan's two wives.
For the girls, they each got a doll of some sort (Barbie, mini cabbage patch) and a stuffed animal.
For the boys (Johnathan has one adopted son and the other is their neighbors son who is always at their house) they got matchbox and army cars.
Johnathan got a bright red shirt with the South Carolina Flag on it. He was so excited he hugged it to his chest before stuffing it down his shirt to protect it. he was terrified that it would get dirty. Abby ran from person to person, holding toy after toy to her chest. She also put on the little mini clear plastic toy backpack with the yellow plastic straps and wore it all day. They told me later that these toys were so amazing because now the kids would have a toy to play with at school during 'play time.' For a school with over 1,000 kids there were maybe five dolls. Just five, you could also imagine the state of those toys.

It was also quite funny to watch the children as well as the adults try to sneak glances up the barbie's skirt and shirt. When I caught them they giggled in embarrassment. Johnathan explained that they saw that the doll had breasts so they wanted to see if it had a 'you know.'

The day after I got back to my site I went over to Johnathan's house to give them their gifts. The looks of awe and joy on their faces was indescribable. They passed around everything and thanked me profusely, smiling, laughing and clapping their hands. Johnathan was so excited about the toys he had to take each one and play with it He was possibly more excited than the children.

When I gave the boys the cars everyone oohed and awed because they had already heard about 'Correen's cars.' Let me explain.
In a package I had received some time ago, there were little cars. I put them in the 'fun box' that I take and put on my front porch when the kids come to visit, its got crayons, paper, some little toys, yo-yos chalk, stickers and more.
When i showed the children the cars, the first to see were Abby, ken and Winston. They literally started screaming, "Gali Moto! Gali Moto!" I took one and pushed it, showing that it rolled. They started shrieking with excitement. They were pushing then all over the porch and on the wooden beams of my gate, watching them roll down, propelled by gravity. They were jumping up and down going, "Correeni! Correen! look! LOOK!"

I wish I could have brought ten suitcases full of things to give them. The warmth I felt at their Pure Joy was one of the most fulfilling moments of my life.

Tuna

No words can truly describe how my overeager, clumsy fingers with dirt under the nails, fumble the tiny single serving packets of mayonnaise and sweet relish that came with the single-serving tuna fish meal probably sent as a joke or and afterthought in a care package.

Relish! Pickles!

Geez, no one can know how much I miss pickles! Thick bread and butter slices for sandwiches, sweet little gherkins on a lunch sampler plate, simply gnawing at a huge dill the size of your forearm. Fried pickles with your beer and spicy chicken wings. A true southern accomplishment. It was those same pickles that created my tiny pack of sweet relish. Unable to open the more stubborn pack (the mayo pack is always easier). I resort to ripping it open with my teeth. I feel victorious as it opens yet im terrified that im going to spill some onto my dirty floor where it is beyond recovery. After squeezing all I can onto my tuna and mayo, I do what I did with the mayo pack, sucked on it til I was sure nothing was left. I did this with the tuna pack as well, but used a spoon.

This is no joke for me, choosing to eat one of my few American meals, lovingly sent by friends and family. I am frozen for several real seconds as I wonder how im going to mix my delicious American concoction. The problem is solved before I have to even truly contemplate delaying consumption, or getting up from my shoddy, broken, repaired and scantily padded chair. I was saved because I spied the clear plastic miniature spoon that comes with the plastic tuna cup. It had fallen unnoticed onto my beach towel that I use as a table cloth. It says Hawaii in black lettering cross the middle. I snatched the little spoon up from the bits of candle wax, dirt, crumbs, and general clutter that constantly haunts my tabletop. There is a radio, battery chargers, a water filter, a little mermaid coloring book my cousin probably thought would be funny, instead it changed my life, matches, a serving tray I broke and glued back together, medicine, vitamins, reading material, question books, letters im writing home, batteries, salt and pepper, a wooden bowl of single serving drink flavor packs and so on. The table is scattered with crayons, random supplies, planners, bags, dirty food plates, and so much more amongst the ruins. But back to tuna. I mix the mayo, relish and tuna together with my mini spoon. To eager to wait, I prop the pack of six small crackers into my lap and tear it open one handed (with the aid of teeth). Halfway through the cup tips. I have a mini heart attack. Luckily it rights and I finish up.

Slowing down I put all the bits of trash into a pile, on top of my planners, a coloring book, pen, petroleum jelly (I dont know where that came from) sharpener, rag pile that is located next to the candle in the makeshift plastic bottle holder I made it, some cardboard and duct tape. I spread the napkin so kindly provided and attack my mini cup of tuna with much enthusiasm. Its gone all too fast. If I ignored my eager, too rapid, almost desperate consumption, and just focused on the taste of the food, the radio currently playing some American music, even if it is slow and semi-depressing music, and pretend the dim candlelight is just a dying light bulb...it was almost like a taste of home. Oh and by the way all of this was accomplished in under 6 minutes and swished down with lemon flavored tea water that came from my bore hole, was water-guarded, then filtered and flavored with a packet of crystal light. I never would have thought I would like or need those....i do.
That too was guzzled down improperly fast. The sweet flavor was so desperately amazingly foreign in my mouth. I paused to force myself not to down all the water and therefore have to pee in the middle of the night. Now im going to eat the mint that came with the pack of tuna. I ha forgotten about it in my zeal to eat the tuna and then record my ridiculous actions.

Then im going to take my candle into my room, curl up on my bed and re-read the Poisenwood Bible until 8 pm when I feel its less shameful to go to sleep. Not like when I was going to bed at 6:30pm...very lame....and a lot of sleep. At least I finished the 2,000page Hawaii, I was so intrigued by it I stayed up til 11pm the other night finishing it! I'm almost ashamed to say that after being in country around 5 months I ave already ready over 20 books.
I have too much time at night and am too fast of a reader I guess. Often I run out of things to read. We all bear our burdens. For now I will continue to ruin my eyesight by reading by candlelight for hours. It prevents my mind from falling into the very dangerous super boredom zone. That’s where the real danger lies.

The mint is neon blue...and its peppermint. 6 months in country and im already overexcited about packaged American tuna and a neon blue mint. Guess thats what happens when your stuck with nsima, rice, and potatoes as your main food source.

Thwump

Ok so obviously I've seen animals killed many times in Malawi. Still, every so often you see something so stunningly grotesque or different that you can't look away.

Early one morning I went to a meeting of my neighbors called The Line group. It was a Sunday, church day in the mornings and market days in the afternoons. So the activity level in my village increased in a manner of different aspects. People were going to church, then hustling to the market to set up their wares at the makeshift stalls constructed of tree branches tied together with local 'rope' make from thin slices of soaked tree flesh. Of course there is also a healthy group of people brewing local beer, made of maize or millet most commonly, and an even larger number drinking....even at 7 in the morning. Sunday is also get drunk day.

At the market you have to show up around 3pm to get the best variety and availability of items, except meat. Animals are slaughtered early in the mornings, so if your too late you won't get any meat. There is normally goat and pig and the pig goes first. Only fat and bones are left by afternoon for the scavenging.

Our meeting had just concluded and most people were eagerly off to prepare for church. Some of us loitered by the building, chatting and finishing up business odds and ends. Our meeting building is a simple thing. Mud brick walls, low ceiling made of thatch, mud benches built into the walls. A few poles down the center to hold up the roof. There is a low mud wall separating the building into two rooms. The whole structure is also overrun with termites. Their tell-tale clay-mud trails snaking up the walls and poles. The floor is compacted dirt.

Our building is right next to the market. Apparently, our building sits right between the market stalls and the slaughtering place. Imagine emerging from a relatively cool, shady hut into the bright sunshine and glancing right to see a fully skinned goat hanging by its neck by a rope suspended by a pole. Its a pathetically small goat. Its head is mockingly furred and normal looking. This actually does not phase me at all, happens all the time. I note there is a pig tied to a pole by its back leg...as soon as the butchers finish cleaning out the goat intestine I know its about to be slaughtered, im not dense. This does not phase me either.
I turn and comment casually to a few of my neighbors, “Pigs are the worst to slaughter, they make so much noise.” Then I proceed to do a very good imitation of a pig being slaughtered. This evokes laughter and agreement in my comrades. Im sure my animated face alone is enough to elicit laughter in y neighbors. We all mill around a bit longer. Some people trail off down different paths. I watched the butchers drag the pig, who at first attempted quite spiritedly to hp away on three legs even though the other was tethered and in a butchers hand. They dragged the pig to the kill site.

I had just set up a meeting with two women who weave banana mats( this happened mainly through hand gestures and me grasping a word or two of chilambia.) Then I was waiting for Johnathan to finish his business with the villagers handling our local savings and loans. This is actually what attracted me to the group n the first place. Their ability to handle, save and recoup money. Malawians are notoriously bad at saving money. In fact I had just had to bail Johnathan out of a four thousand kwacha loan he was about to default on and loose his goats. This is the only time I have loaned out money, and yes, I got it back. Of course this prompted a rather stern and long lecture about good business practices and saving money.

Anyway, back to the story. I happened to glance back at the slaughter area and saw one man standing over the pig, arm raised high, cudgel poised in his hand. Before I can even think to look away, plugging my ears, or really understanding whats happening, the man brings the cudgel down hard, striking the pig on the head. The impact makes an oddly hollow, resonating thwump. The pig immediately goes rigid and falls to the side, stunned. Now im too thunderstruck to turn away. I had never seen the stunning of an animal before. In retrospect it seems a bit more human that merely holding it down and sawing through its throat. In the case of pigs however, I think they just do it to silence the squeals. As soon as the pig is hit the man drops the cudgel and straddles its back, squatting down so its kneeling on all fours and yanks up the head for a better access to the neck. He quickly begins to saw its throat. The pig, clearly stunned, retains the repulsively pathetic impulse to escape and starts t bounce up and down. The man cutting was oblivious, continuing to cut the throat. Grotesquely he looked like he was on one of those childrens animal rides you see on playgrounds, the ones on springs. The second man finally straddles the pigs hindquarters and sits, holding it down and minimizing the bouncing.

I shake my head and pull my eyes from the scene I had inadvertently witnessed. There are three things, many months later I cannot get out of my head when I think of that now, the thwump sound, the bouncing desperate escape reflex, and the immediate stiffening of the pig...woo, just gave myself the willies.

Make Shift Truck

Adam and I were in Chisenga, we needed to get down to the boma because we were heading out the next day to go to Camp Kwacha in Senga Bay (Adam) and Camp Sky in Lilongwe (Me.) We started out fairly early,around 8 am. We get a ride right away, directly from Adam's house in the back of a flat bed about 15 k down the mountain to Chambo. T was quite comfortable sitting on some huge spare semi-truck tires.

We waited at the Chambo turn off for five hours. No cars went by.

We slung shot kids and chased them through the brush. We ate my supply of scones and bananas. Finally a moving truck comes by.

We flag it and get on quick. The guy gets out and lets down the hydrolic lift. Cool. As we ascend and get into view of the back of the truck my first pangs of misgivings began. There was a cloud of road dust that just wouldn’t seem to disperse in the back of the truck, along with two fairly miserable looking Malawians. We get in anyway because, hell, we have been waiting on the side of the road for 5 hours.
Just as the lift goes back into place a regular over loaded, matola cruises past. No big deal right. Were in a ride at least. As we ducked under some ropes and made our way to the front I leaned on the wall....and it gave. I looked down and as we started to move and go over bumps I noticed a good 6 inch gap opening and closing as we drove. Then I turned and noticed that there was a garage door at the back that I assume its purpose was to fully close in the truck. We went over a large bump it flopped dangerously. That’s about when I realized the ropes we had ducked under were actually HOLDING THE WALLS TOGETHER. Awesome.

The worst part however, was the dust cloud. Dust on everything and a thick cloud in the air. All four of us were trying to hold on to our sketchy grips ad cover our noses with our shirts. Not five minutes into the ride ANOTHER normal matola shows up behind us. As we bump along I start to overheat and have to take off my hoodie, not an easy feat standing in the back of a truck that's falling apart and driving down a rutty mountainous dirt road.
Adam struggles to retie the ropes holding the truck together. Im getting nauseous from all the dust, bumps, and the huge keg of gasoline im standing next to. I started to get a headache from the fumes. Not only that but on large curves the barrel would careen towards me so I had to ride the whole way with my foot wedged against the bottom of the container to keep it from squashing me into a corner. Needless to say when we stopped at my village I was ecstatic.
I needed to feed the dogs and get some things. Adam continued on the the boma in that ride. He later told me that the wobbly garage door fell off.
It fell OFF.
As they hit a big bump.

Needless to say I was happy I chose to bike to the boma. Oh and for the next two hours I blew my nose and it looked like blood from all the clay dust. Super

Afternoon Visit

I was lounging in the late afternoon sun. It was almost 4:30 pm, cool enough to sit in the sun and only sweat a little. I had been sequestered in my house most of the day and decided I needed at least a few hours of vitamin "Sun".
I had just taken a bafa, I had planned to bath the day before but forgot to move the bafa with the sun so it was shadowed and cold when I went for it. I had almost lost hope for this day too but at the last minute the clouds broke and warmed the shower enough.
I always leave my hair down after a shower and let it dry naturally. I figure in a day or two it will go into a permanent ponytail until I shower again. I love how in africa my hair has grown longer and developed a bit of a wave to it. I even love its two toned color, sun bleached tips and brown top. There is an interesting fade that goes along with it. Who would have thought Africa would be the place where my hair was healthiest? I guess less washing and forgein products makes all the difference.

So I was sitting on the porch, feeling fresh and clean, enoying the sun, listening to the plink plink plink of some men playing bao across the street. Bao is the game of Malawi, it is a wooden board with two rows of scooped out bowls and a two bowls at each end to hold marbles. The objective to the capture or 'eat' all the marbles in your opponents front row.
I was reading the last few chapters of Paul Theroux's To The Ends Of The Earth, when I heard the dry grass rattle at my gate. I turn my head quick enough to catch a glimpse of a black and white, rather healthy looking cat somersault through a gap in my grass and the post of my gate. Starled or threatened by something beyond my gate, (Most likely a Malawian, or a dog) the cat flipped through my gate but for anyone who knows cats, knows they cannot stand to have their backs to any sort of threatening presence. So in mid air this cat executed what could be described as a roundoff and landed staring through the hole in the gate it had just passed through.

For about a minute I remain unnoticed by the cat.
Finally I shift and the cat fixes me with its slitted yellow eyes in a fairly accusing manner, as if I was trying to sneak up behind him in his own personal safe place. Cats. He glances back through the hole in the gate. Then all very suddenly and rapidly the cat springs at my fence, sinking its front claws into the grass. Standing on its hind legs, it glances through the hole beside it, releases my fence, then pounces through the hole.

I returned to the last chapters of To The Ends Of The Earth

Dead Man Taxi Service

Transport in Malawi is spotty at best. Adam had left a bit before me to catch a ride to Chisenga. I decided to do some shopping and meander my way over to the corner where we wait for cars.

After shopping Adam calls and tells me to haul ass to the corner because the ambulance has just stopped and volunteered to take us to our houses. I pick up my step and hustle it to the corner.

Like so many things in Malawi it was RUSH RUSH RUSH to wait.

We waited around for an hour for the ambulance back. Finally a full ambulance comes back. The driver makes his apologies,

"Sorry we had to pick up some family of the dead man."

....

Yes, we got a ride back to our villages, in an ambulance with a corpse...a corpse wrapped in a wool blanket. That's it...well besides the mourning family...

Does it get much more awkward than than

Watch Your Step!

Every Year the District of Karonga floods. The roads and markets are swamped. People continue to trudge through the mess because its just another day of the rainy season here. Bicycles send up plumes of spray as the cyclists power through the water. People hop from a concrete curb, to a wooden plank, to a brick, trying to avoid the lake of water. In unavoidable circumstance they merely remove their sandals, hike up their clothes and slog through. The government has installed large trenches on the sides of most roads in the places where flooding is known to be worst. These trenches are normally filled with questionable water, murky fluid, trash and a bit of *cough you can guess.

This day the water filled the trenches and the roads so they looked seamless. Luckily Adam and I knew about the trenches. We remain largely unfazed. Our hiking boots are water proof and high enough that we are safe from the water. We walk slowly through the muddy brown water to avoid holes. Adam and I part ways to do separate errands and agree to rondevous in front of the bus depot. My brief excursion was uneventful, but Adam however, was not so lucky.

In mid-step across a trench, an unwary biker nudged Adam at the exactly wrong moment. In a classic hit -and-run scenario the biker speeds off. However Adam was mid-step. In order to maintain balance he needs to put his foot down...Off balance, Adam, His large pack towering over him inhibiting agility, the only way to go, is down the trench.

Instantly he is waist deep in questionable water. It smells foul and now he is drenched. All the Malawian spectators point and laugh.

Wet, angry and embarrassed, Adam approaches me, dripping. I can't help but laugh even though his phone's friend and my camera was in his pocket. Luckily(Months later) it still works. (well except that their is sand in the lens and so it wont open) Luckily I had just gotten a second camera.

Adam goes and changes in the restaurant bathroom. Next we wait in the sweltering mid-day heat for a hitch down south. Adam has his shoes tied to the back of his pack and has to spend the next few days in flip fops. A woman on the side of the road offers to sell us bananas.
"Buy Bananas!"
They are green and rather unappealing. We politely decline. The she points to me and then the baby strapped to her back.
"Have baby", wrapped an no doubt adorable, I have to decline this offer as well.

Bathroom Bonanza

We northern volunteers planned a Get-Together for all new new volunteers coming north. We rented out two houses at the Mzuzu University campus in the main northern city of Mzuzu. We all crowded into one house and were having fun. Volunteers were talking and socializing while other were cooking some food. Lentils, rice and chocolate cake, yum yum! Drinks were plentiful. I sat around and had a pleasant conversation with a new volunteer about the slaughtering of animals in Malawi. She is a vegetarian and very sensitive about the way animals are treated here. I told her it was better than hormone injections, maize food (Which cattle are not meant to digest ad gives then lots of stomach issues) and slaughter houses. Now the Malawian treatment of dogs and cats...don't even get me started on that!

The Tv was on but no one was watching it. It had been turned on more for the novelty of TV than any real desire to watch it. Everyone was having alot of fun. I excuse myself from the conversation to take a bathroom break. If you don't know me, I'm a very fast pee-er. SO in about a total of one minute i'm done. I go to unlock the door and its stuck. The key wont turn. No big deal, nothing works like its supposed to here. So I wiggle and twist the key some more. Then it snaps off. Fantastic. Now im exasperated rather than scared. This is is going to be one of those Peace Corps legends that gets told and retold and blown out of proportion.

All an all the experience was not that bad. I climbed onto the toilet and shouted to some volunteers to send someone to get me out of the bathroom. Jo comes to save me but she is struggling. She shimmies out the key, then finally the key bit.It falls to the floor with a small tinkle. She shouts victoriously that she got it out and then i have to remind her that the door is still locked! I shout out the window again and send Jo my leatherman. She sends t back saying its not working. SO I take it and go to work on the screws on my side. Im basically running the show telling her to unscrew the door handle. Unfortunately the screws are stripped on my side so i can only wait. Finally Im freed.

Of the 25 or o people at the party, maybe four say the incident and no one else noticed! In fact, my boyfriend Adam had been informed of my predicament...and just laughed! Leaving Jo to save me! (By the way the worst part of this situation was that the door was solid, no gap at top or bottom. Also the window was barred, It was out the door or not out at all)

Later on I heard the rumor floating around that someone had got stuck in the bathroom. I just calmly sipped my drink and said nonchalantly,
"Yeah, that was me."

Sling Shot

SO my family sent me a sling shot. I requested on of those cool ones with the wrist support that really make the rocks fly. I figured I could use it to scare of goats...and children from my house;) In my spare time I will have to practice since I'm not so used to sling shots. I got the inspiration to order one because the children make them and use them so I figured they could relate to seeing a American one.

Lets just say the kids think its AWESOME! They were impressed when i shot a dirt clod across the street, up the embankment and hit the front of the house across the way, exploding the dirt clod! Their little jaws were hanging open!

My Counterpart Johnathan knew about the sling shot and thought it was really cool....after he figured out that the wrist brace goes on your wrist and you don't just hold it by the handle sideways and wing it.

Anyway, the next day were are sitting on my porch when we see a spitting cobra pop its head out from the door of the spare room. Johnathan just kinda looks over and says, do you still have that sling shot.

I get up to get it saying, yeah, but if you think you can kill it with that you have got to be crazy. He has never shot my sling shot before, also, the amount of head sticking out from the door is maybe an inch big, and we are like ten twelve feet away.

He very matter of factually scoops up a rock, very very very briefly aims....and just barely misses the snake! I was impressed, needless to say.

The end.

Haha just kidding. I have to go dig around in the house for my spare key I forced my landlord to give me in situations like this. J unlocks the door and goes in to kill the snake. Of course im standing up on the porch side looking over at the door. J kills the snake and sweeps it outside...its still flexing and flipping. Im like J its still moving!

Of course he continues to poke it further out saying yeah, but do u see how smashed u the head is??? Its dead. All I did was shake my head and say,
"You do know that how most people get bit? By thinking they killed it?"
Johnathan just laughs. It is about two feet long and a cobra.

Johnathan says that it spat at him but he was safe because he spit back at the cobra as he was trying to kill it. Malawians believe that if you spit at a cobra while he spits at you, the venom will not find you. BUT, if you look the snake in the eyes, his venom will find your eyes and blind you. I'm thinking....Great a Johnathan and Cobra venom fest just occurred in the spare room.

So I watched the snake writhe and twist slowly as it continued to fade into the darkness of death. As we did so, I asked Johnathan what he does when he is bit. He said first he would make a cut and remove the fang because it continues to release venom. Then, if he gets it out ast, he is fine, maybe just sick for a day or two. After a pause I simply said,

"If I get bit. I would like to go to the hospital..."

Red Eyes

To sum up completely how bad my allergies ended up out of whack, I will tell you a story about my bike ride home.

I was biking from the boma to my house. Not five minutes into the ride my eyes start to burn. Its fairly normal for my eyes to water as I bike, because I have n sunglasses. But this day, it was like a never ending torrent of tears. By the time I got home my eyes were on fire. I looked at myself in the mirror and gasped in shock.

My face was covered in road dust. Two muddy tracks started from my eyes and spider-webbed back to my hairline. My eyes were on fire. Looking in my mirror, my eyes were bright red, completely bright red. Let me tell you, there is nothing stranger than looking in the mirror and seeing no whites to your eyes!

The redness went away in a few hours and so did the burning. But needless to say next time I went to Lilongwe I upgraded my allergy control... unfortunately this means a lovely nasal spray!

Baboons and Bananas

The Escarpment is a set of mountainous cliffs near the lakeshore that one has to pass to go down south from the far north of Chitipa and Karonga. The escarpment is the section of road that causes North to south journies to take so long. If your transport is fast, like a small truck, lanf rover or car, the escarpment is no problem. But in an overloaded matola or a bus it is a torturous, winding, nausea inducing section of road....with stunning views.

One time Adam and I were headed down to Mzuzu. We were on a crowding, creeping bus, going just fast enough to cause motion sickness. It was hot and the packed with unwashed bodies that stank of sweat. Across the aisle from me was a man of indian decent. He was rather dirty himself and stared a bit creepily at Adam and I. Then he started talking. It was hard to follow what he said and small bits of some food he was chewing and rolling around in his mouth occasionally flew at us.

As we climbed the escarpment suddenly he jumped up shouting "Monkeies!" He quickly turned to his bag and pulled out a bundle of small bananas. He ripped a few off and thrust them at me as he leaned over the people in front of us and threw his bananas out the window. To my delight the baboons and vervets scrambled to get at the bananas. Some sat up on their haunches and begged, others ran alongside the bus looking at the windows greedily.

I ripped off a banana and gave it to Adam who had been sleeping and missed the whole ordeal. He absently grabbed the banana as I stood and threw my bananas out the window saying "Monkies!". I was grinning like a fool. Soon Adam stood and threw out his banana. He sat down next to me grinning equally foolishly. "That was awesome," he said.

The indian next to us just smiled and seemed moderatly less creepy.

Women's Laughter

I'm not sure if I ever explained the strange phenomenon which is African Women's Laughter. Alone their laughter is slightly more unique, more free and individualized...but together...

See African Women have this tendancy to laugh together, quite literally, the exact same laugh, same pitch same volume and same length. It's impossibe to convey in writing but I'll still try. It starts off like a normalish laugh, ending in a sigh/exclamation.
"HA HA HA followed by the literal pronunciation of A that fades away AAAaaaa.
Ot if they are shocked/scared/embaressed the A becomes and E.

Tehre is a whole level of communication consisting of just sounds.

E!!!! Is a sound of shock

eeh? That rises in pitch and volume as it is held mean what? or yes?

Ah! AH! AH! is something incredible or disbelieve. ot to be comfuised with Eh! Eh! Eh! which is softer and normally conveys some for of pity.

Oh Ho! is Oh really?

oooO (Again a rise in pitch) is an expression of oh, right or oh really? With more disbelief.

A(Literal) ya! is an agreement.

Ish is a surprised, pain, or grossed out not good sound.

Ah-Ah! is another unfortunate noise.

Harumph is an affirmation or scoff.

The list goes on to encompassed the amazonian african woman's cry to show great joy (Lolololololo!) Unique because instead of la(moing their tounge up and down), they wag it from side to side.

Malawi Beef

I'm up at 4:30 im the morning. It's cold and dark. Adam and I are trudging up the road to Chisenga's trading center to be their at 5am. Adam is making fun of me for making 'breakfast' or a scone a piece, buttered. Go ahead, laugh away chuckle-head, I know you'll eat the scone. Just watch.

We are sitting now under the only street light, the town of chisenga still deserted at this hour. We are supposed to be meeting Willy and Ameen, the two men who run the Hope orphanage. They are slaughtering a cow and Adam is dying to participate an show them the proper way to cut meat. The story of said cow is quite unfortunate. Willy and Ameen's father was out trying to herd the cows. A younge and healthy heifer was in heat and desperatly wanting to find a bull. So she refused to listsn and wandered over to a neighbors cattle. He took her rope and tried to pull her away. She tugged back. He fell. This happened maybe three times before the father got so angry he got a knife and hacked off one of the cow's ears. A few days later Adam and I are standing in the dark waiting to go to the pasture and kill the same cow. Nothing like an angry old man's grudge. I [personally think it was a terrible waste to kill a young healthy female cow who has the potential to give milk and birth just because and old man's pride was wounded.

Adam and I wait around til 6:30am. now adam's mad because he thinks they left without him and were going to miss the slaughter. He heads up to the orphanage to check for them, leaving me in the dark, under the streetlamp, with a knife and sharpener to defend myself...I must have freaked the hell out of people, sitting on a stump, hoodie pulled over my head, sharpening a large butcher's knife. By now some women are starting to walk around, fetchign water and a few men are going to a strange early morning prayer service where they sing one hymn and go home. To them i'm the crazy white girl sitting with a butcher knife in the middle of town. Luckily Adam comes and takes back his knife. By the Time Ameen shows up, he and two other boys are leading the cow. They just went to pick it up, a journy we had risen at 4:30am for and had already missed them. They didn't get to the center till 6:30am. Adam and I are just finishing my 'laughable' buttered scones. Ha, told ya he would eat it.

Except now the cow is going to be killed in front of me. Don't get me wrong, I liek to eat meat and I can even help butcher a carcass, but witnessing the actual death always makes me sick to my stomach. Even hearing it is not good for me. So for the actual slaughter I was serveral feet away, facing the town. Luckily Adam had a wonderfull sharp knife so their was very little sound and it was over quickly. I did not even have to watch them collect the blood from the slit throat into a large plastic bucket. Litterally everything is kept and sold here. Someone will buy that bucket of blood. I turned my head slightly and caught a glimpse of twitching leg and heard a whuffing sound but that was a close as my involvment witht he actual slaughter was. Prior Adam was petting the cow and looking at its chopped off ear. He was like, "Don't you want to come say hi tot he cow?" Of course not, that brief interaction, or even looking at the cow too long would further attach me to it and heighten my nausea. The vet, Mr. Mwiwa, came to inspect the cow after slaughter for TB and worms. Before the cow was killed he looked at the ear and nooded his head saying, "Yes, it has healed quite nicely."
....Anyone else find that a little er, odd?

Anyway, so this is how the slaughter goes, improved greatly by Adam's amazingly sharp knife (Often villagers only have a rusty, dull, wooden handle tied on knife. When Adam's knife dulled, he quickly sharpened i again and gave it back tot he butcher. They used it all day and marveled the whole time.)

The cow's legs are cobbled and a makeshift harness is tied to wrestle it to the ground. It is either on its side or just laying down. Then its head is tighted as tightly as possible to a tree. The rope is looped around the horns to the trunk so the neck is easily accessable. Their are no avaiable drugs or guns to kill the cow quickly. Its throat is cut and the blood collected into a bucket. Nevertheless, their is still a large puddle of blood in the grass. They literally almost sawed the head off. Better to almost saw off the head than not cut far enough.

After this I turn around and start watching. But remain sick for a while. It takes at least 20 minutes for me to put the 'animal' behind and focus on the 'carcass.' In fact I think my nausea faded about the same time the body stopped steaming.

Next the skin is removed. Slits from arm and leg pits to the ankle just above the hooves are cut. Around the ankles, they slit full circle. Then down the center, Across the groin. Then its alot of fine slicing, seperating the fat and musle from the hide which turns into its own butcher's mat and eventually is used to cover the chopped meat. First the belly, then the right side. Then rotate the cow to get to the other side. Milk oozes when they skin the udder.

From the slitting of the throat up to the placing on the butcher's block (A tree and a scale) and throughout most of the day, there are synapse still firing in the muscles, causing uncontrolable twitching.

Once the skinning is over, its time to quarter the carcass. Flies are already hoovering over the area in droves. The ribs are broken down the right and left sides with a panga knife(A large metal machete, in this case dull.) The sound is hollow yet muffled. They fold this back towards the tail to expose the innerds. The sternum piece is broken down later. Each leg is seperated. All of the insides are taken out. The local vet checks each section of cow for disease. This cow was young and healthy however so he finds nothing.

The vet likes to try and make clever comments. Not only did he joke about how 'nicely' the cow's ear had healed but also sassed Adam. When he asked the vet if he knew how to butcher meat and the different parts of the cow, the vet haugtily replied 'of course, they teach us in school'. Yet when Adam asked him where the T-bone steak came from, he had no clue. In fact, Adam had to say, 'yeah, isn't it here near the pelvis with the T-shapped bone...?'

Adam has been talkign through this whole process about the proper was to handle an animal and cut the meat. He continues when we move the meat to the butcher's block and he is cutting out fillets from the legs and the heart. He talks about flank steak, fillets, changing prices due to better portions of meat, proper buthcering, selling meat and bones sepearate...basically trying to enlighten the people. Unfortuantly they are all ignoring him and im the only one listening.

Its the Malawian way to sell meat by crushing up the bones into the meat and selling it together. It helps the sellers cause they sell less meat per KG. It jips the buyers cause they get shards of bone in their meat. Some even tried to argue with Adam, 'No! We like our meat with bones in it!' But its all show and a lie. In fact, Adam took all the meat off a bone and left the bone. Ameen sort of huffed and said no one will buy just bones. So Adam offered to come back and uy it if at the end of the day no one bought it. Someone bought it. how about, TOLD YA SO. When Adam and I buy meat we only uy 'steak', we make then give us a KG of real meat, no bones, no huge deposits of fat.

So as Adam is 'just enjoying' his meat dicing, I walk back to the slaughter area to watch them dissect the stomach. Almost all the organs are still laying back here on banana leaves. Emaciated doogs hoover around, stealing bits that the vet is throwing into the tall bushes and grass. I retrieve some intestine lining that has gotten stuck ont he top of the cushes, torturing a poor dog that wants it but would have to get too close to people and jump to get it. I think that dog loved me after that.

When they cut open the stomach, its filled with bright green, half digested grass. Literally, it was grass halfway digested to Manure. By the way the stomach is about as big a a beach ball, if not bigger and the heart is the size of half a human head. Anyway, the stomach is cleaned out and sold, just like the intestines. They sell every last bit of cow. In fact, only the head was left over that day and sold the next. The tail is even sold and often used in traditional dances and official ceremonies.

Adam and I got a KG of steak and also half a kg of heart. (I should probably mention we were on a meat eating binge because a cow had been butcher the previous day and we each at a half KG of beef that we grilled, wrapped in blankets in the smoky kitchen.) That night I fried up the heart while Adam marinated the steaks first in a rub of salt, garlic and peper, then marinated them in vinegar. Adam then grilled fillets while we sat in the kitchen. Ameen, who is also a welder, made Adam a cool little grill to stick over his three stone fire. We grilled and ate, making happy noises, until late at night. I fell asleep wrapped in a blanket, hoodie pulled up, belly full, sitting in the plastic lawn chair, smelling smoke and grilling steak. Despite what Colorado Mountain man Adam says, it does get cold in Africa.

Rain was gently pattering on the grass roof, smoke was wafting around the low enclosure. The last thing I heard from Adam was a mumbled happy noise. The boy enjoys nothing more than a good steak. I'll tell you, between ridiculous freshness and Adam's cooking, that was some of the best beef I have ever had.

Helmet Safety

Be it known I always laugh at Adam when he shows up at my house in his silver helmet. As my counterpart Johnathan says, "You look like a cyborg!" Which was tripply funny because...how in the world did this man who struggles with english learn the word cyborg???

Anyway, Adam lives in the mountains so its very prudent to wear his helmet all the time. He is always falling off his bike, going to fast down steep slopes or skidding in muddy pathways. One time I was sitting with his counterpat, Daria at her house. We were visiting her for lunch, she was going to make us millet nsima. Adam was going to bring the relish but he forgot and dashed off to the market. When he got their they were out of meat so he bought eggs. As Daria and I sit, I'm feeling a bit awkward (I did not really know her yet) and kept wondering what was taking him so long. Well he was rushing and went too fast down a hill. It curved at the bottom and crossed a small stream. So apparently he went flying over the handlebars, allowing himself to go limp and prevent injury. He told me he distinctly remembered thinking, "I probably broke at least half the eggs." He landed and rolled into the stream, crushing most of the eggs and getting yoke juice all oer himself and his pack. So when he showed up sporting torn and bloody knees, cakes muddy hair, and a coating of dust and dirt we were more than a bit shocked. I always felt a little guilty because i knew he was rushign for me, knew I was feeling awkward getting left at Daria's house.

Sometime later I'm visiting Adam again. We hiked up mafinga Mountain. Origionally we were supposed to be looking for a waterfall, which we did not find and ended up bushwacking up false peaks and Mafinga itself. (Later Adam boasted he found four waterfalls after I left...Super, just super.) Its ironic that Adam has a habbit of saying, "Oh if we don't find/ do ____ then we will just ahve a nice leisurly stroll. Riiight. Thats normally when he turns on the jets and scales an embankment into the scrub or blazed a trail up a random slope. Normally he doesnt think twice, but once in a while he will look back and say "Oh, I said I wouldn't do this right?"
After climbing down the mountain we decide to hold off lunch even though we are both starving in favor of getting food at the market before its too late. We bike around 8 k to Bugalira, Adam's market. Its monday and market day, so the road is fairly crowded with people. Before we set out we stop to chat with one of Adam's village friends. He waves me off and tells me he will catch up. The villager makes an offhanded comment about out helmets. Adam replied with "No, this one is never wearing her helmet." Even though I am wearing my hemlemt (I am in the mountains after all) I remeber clearly thinking, 'Great now i'm going to fall off my bike.' Keep in mind I had just hiked a mountain ok? So Adam keeps stopping and sends me ahead. By the way we had just serviced our bikes which included my front break, located on the right. I'm right handed...relexivly if something happens...We also oiled our chains

I have a tendancy to bike 'crazy' down slope. This is possibly to make up for the fact that I am snail-slow going up hill. Anyway, I'm over halfway to Bugalira and I don't have the road memorized like Adam, I have only been their three times. Also, it was rainy season so creeks and streams were swollen. I am coming down a hill. I see the rains have flooded the road. The curve is very sandy. I remebered thinking,'Oh crap, going this fast I will get wet.' So reflexivly I squeeze my both my breaks. A slight wobble later I'm flying over the handles bars to the left. I'm fairly sure I managed to say "sshh-shit!" somewhere between squeezing the break and hitting the ground. I skinned both palms in a super man dive. My left knee banged first, hard enough for a quarter sized goose egg. I proceeded to rool to my left shoulder, rolling over my bag and continued onto my stomach before my momentum slowed enough and my bag rocked me back to my side. This took maybe 30 seconds total. I remeber thinking 3 things. "Ow" (actually said it out loud too), Karma is a bitch and Adam is going to laugh at me and the amazing fact that the stretch of road I was on was completly deserted. Malawian's noramally come out of the wood work even on tiny backwoods trails. This is could be my dirty little secret.

I'm just outside the market. I get up and push my bike across the flooded section of road. I start to push it up a hill as a matola passes, people come into view ahead, Adam rounds the corner beind and catches up...Then blazes right by me. Hey, not like I was WAITING FOR YOU or anything.As if my walking my bike covered in dirt is not a dead give away. Also, my chain was popped. With a sigh I fix my chain and catch up to him, knee protesting. We don't speak. Eventually I say, "I fell." And he did what? Laughed. Called it. Belatedly he asks, "Is that why you were walking back there?" Then, "You ok?" Priorities man...

I may have made a joke about helmets. I did remeber thinking 'good thing I had a helmet on.' Later, walking through the market he looks over and asks me if all the dirt on my grey/black jeans was because i fell. Yes, Yes it is.

Mulanje Mountain

So even though I believe the North is the best place to be in Malawi, the far south is almost as nice.
:)


We travelled down (It takes three days) to site visit some friends and hike Mulanje Mountain.


The site visit was a little hectic. We Met up with Bri in Blantyre then decided to stay the night at Amy's house. Amy was away but Bri is her site mate and we had permission to stay int he house. We get to the village and trek to her house. We discover that even though we have the key, she has left the spare in the Key hole so we are locked out. Night is falling and we have no where else to go. Amy's night watchman shows up and decides he can get us in. He gets some kids to try and stick their arms in the rather large gap between the door frame and the wall. But no dice. We also feared the kids were going to get stuck. How would you explain that to a Malawian Mother? "Oh sorry, we were trying to break into our friends house and your child had skinny arms?"
So the Night Watchman takes a panga knife to the brick around Amy's door frame. As were shouting "No!" It's already done. He reached in and unlocks the door. All we can do is say "Thanks" and go inside.
Its dark, so we scramble around for candles and find one dinky stub. There is no food in the house and Bri warns us not to fall in the "Big Hole" if we go to the chim. Luckily were so exhausted we just pass out on the floor.

Day One:
The next morning we proceed to climb the mountain. Adam and I are going to Hike for three days, stay at two different huts. Adam is a 'Mountain Man' and doesn't want a porter or a guide. At last we settle for a porter who can 'double' as a guide. We bargain and get this great deal. Then when we are supposed to leave he bails out with our money and sends someone else in his place (Trying to rip off both us and this other porter). We work out the details (which include this dude getting his money from the other one.) He is this young boy who has a steady, plodding pace. He carried Adam's heavy pack and Adam carries my smaller pack. It takes us a full day to trek up the sometimes vertical side of this mountain. Its hot, were all pouring sweat and only munching on some sparse travel food we have. Our water runs out and a few times I stop on the verge of tears hating my life. We make it to the first hut just after dark. We make plain pasta (John (another PCV) has given us the keys to the cabin so we can use the cooking utensils and what not). As the fire is boiling, the watchman heats water for a bath for us and I buy to two dusty fantas that are sitting on the self (just waiting to be drank.) They are warm so I go and put them in the cold mountain creek by the hut. (Hidden of course). The bafa water is warm but not enough and the mountain air is freezing. That night we curl cup in our sleeping bags on two flimsy pads on the floor.

Day Two: This is a hike from one hut to another (So I thought.) Its still dark when we begin our hike. We chew on raw oats for breakfast. In the cool of the morning I feel great, hiking out in front of the others, taking my jacket off (Which Adam yelled at me about cause he said I would get sick from sweating in the cold.) As the sun rises, so my pace decreases. We get to the second hut alot faster than we planned. Now we are at the base of Supitwa, which is like the third highest peak in Southern Africa. Of course Adam wants to climb it NOW. So we drop our packs at the hut and proceed to the base of Supitwa, which translates to "Don't Go There.' Oh...we went there.

Supitwa is mainly a vertical climb up a rock face, you have to scale several peaks to get to Supitwa including circling around the back sides of other Peaks. After cresting and descending we relax in at the cabin. An English family had just recently vacated and a couple were our only company that night. Not that we interacted much, for the most part other parties we met stayed to themselves. Adam and I were 'roughing it' anyway. We only had one porter/guide. We brought very little food and would eat plain pasta, or dry pasta, cooked or uncooked oats and so on. We did not have a lot with us. It was nice however that at eat hut there was a guard or two and most often they stared an hearth fire for us. Helped keep up warm, let us heat up bathing water and cook food.

Day Three:
The next day we head to Bri's site after climbing down the mountain. Going down is alot easier than going up for me so alot of the time I was off bounding ahead, practically jumping down the mountain. We stop at a water fall a few kilo-meters before we reach the bottom of the mountain. Both Adam and our guide strip to their undies and go for a dip. Now I was hot and sweaty but I cooled off sufficiently just sitting there. I have never been very inclined to jump into very cold water. I don't like shocks to the system like that. Anyway, I sat and watched the bags. Of course Adam ridiculed me for not jumping in and I only regretted it a little bit. But the though of hiking the rest of the way in soggy underwear helped steal me to my choice. We drop off our guide and hitch back to Mulanje boma. From there we hitch to the road block at the Mozambique border.

Next we take a half hour bike taxi to her house. Our bikers are sweating, sometimes, standing on the pedals barely moving uphill, almost tipping over. Our huge packs are causing our butts to dig even harder into the racks we're sitting on and cause us to go super slow. Yet Adam and I's bikers are still trying to compete. I cannot be sure but I believe Mine won. Bri has a wonderful view of the plantation tea fields that the south is famous for. Rising up from their vibrant green is Mulanje mountain, shrouded in cloud cover. We enjoyed a day together than hiked back to the Road block and hitched to Blantyre. (making a brief stop in Amy's village to pick up our things).


I could say our adventure ended here...but it didn't really. Mulanje Mountain was done but Liwonde Game Count was just starting.

The Upper Resipratory Infection Nightmare

Ok so I went down to Dedza, which is about an hour and a half south of the Capital city of Malawi, Lilongwe. I was going to go down and do what is called, "The training of the trainers". Sounds fancy right? Not so much, basically this is the Pre Training of all of the In-country (Malawian) Peace Corps staff before a new group of volunteers arrived. The end of February a new group of both health and environment volunteers would arrive. It was my job to give advice to the staff of what to teach, how to teach, goals, what works, what doesn't and so on.

This trip defiantly started out on the wrong foot. First of all I live in Chitipa, the most Northern and Remote area of Malawi. It takes me three days to get to Lillongwe. (Biking to my boma, then a night in Mzuzu, then finally Lilongwe.) My boss calls me about four days before she wants me to come down.

Ok, you know, I'm not that picky so I could do it no problem, throw some stuff in a bag, go to the boma. It would be fine...if only I was at my site. I was still in my district, Chitipa, but I was site visiting a friend, Briana who lives in Misuku. I was doing mud stove building and compost making for her career week. The thing is, Misuku is far. It takes like 3-5 hours to get their depending on transport. The really only way to get in and out is by Ambulance.

But rewind. I packed to go ON A WEEK LONG TRIP TO MISUKU...Not a few WEEK trip to LILONGWE.

I had no razor, my shamppo ran out, no conditioner, no laundry or body soap, I had three shirts (One which ripped on this trip so was useless cause i had no SEWING KIT)I brought a sport and regualr bra but the sports bra ripped...I had limited underwear AND I only had a skirt (Not a good travel Skirt) and a pair of Capris... Those were basically all I had cause I had not intended to be going anywhere after a week at a firends house.

No problem right? I had 4 days right? Well we told the ambulance to wake us up and get me to take me to the boma so I could go to my hous eand repack and ge the recipts and forms I was supposed to be taking to my boss down south when I got the chance. Bri assured me the ambulance never left without her...They left without us. A midnight malaria call had the ambulance leaving around 11 pm. And they left us.

Now im starting to sweat. Because travel in Misuku is sketchy at best. I have no choice but to wait for another ambulance. The worst part, we don't find out till EVENING the next day that they left without us. We were waiting all day for the ambulance instead of trying to find another ride. Luckily the hospital coordinator felt bad so he arranged for another ambulance to pick us up that night. They were in the village over dropping off a dead body (Yes a dead body, in the back of the truck, where they also carry passengers and no, there is no sterilization...this is Africa) Yuck. Anyway, the Misuku ambulance had gotten called tot he other side of Chitipa since the driver is also a mechanic. So they "traded" drivers. I still dont have time to go to my house but maybe I will make it to Lilongwe in time to catch my connecting ride to Dedza.

Bri has decided to come with me for the weekend cause their is stuff she needs to do in the boma. Cool. I hop in the front at around 7 pm and Bri hops in the back with some other passengers. We head down the road for half an hour and find the road blocked by construction. So we have to go back half and hour. Its now 8 pm. Unfortunately the people in the back are sick. Literally. Went we get back to Misuku Center Bri hops out telling me she can't handle it. People were throwing up out the window and one man threw up into a bag that Bri gave him. After throwing up he rested the puke filled bag on her leg. Some leaked and crusty onto her jeans. Needless to say I would have had issues too.

After a few hours in the Ambulance I get to Yotham fairly late. I was so tired I just set up my things and passed out. Around 4:30 the next morning I got up to start Hitching down to Mzuzu.  I did what I tell myself every time not to do. Dont get into the first car. Needless to say I got suckered in (They always say they are leaving JUST NOW) and then I waited 2 hours. They offered me the front seat which is awesome but I eventually got so tired that I just got out and started walking. About 5 Kilometres down the road the same matola picked me up. I insisted on getting the front seat back.

When we get to Karonga there are no buses so I have to sit in a crammed minibus full of sweaty people. Finally I get to Mzuzu, then Lilongwe the next day. I go to the Training of the trainers and have a decent time. However I had horrible bouts of runny nose, coughing, sneezing, the top of my mouth/back of my throat would itch. My eyes itched and burned. I got in contact with my Peace Corps Doc, Doctor Max. He is a bubbly Malawian, and very funny. He makes you feel very comfortable coming to him with your issues. Anyway, He saw me and put me under observation. He put me on Med hold two more times diagnosing me with an upper respiratory infection. He said I would get better with rest. Unfortunatly more and more volunteers kept pouring into Mufasa's Lodge, Making rest impossible. I was embarrassed to keep asking to borrow peoples clothes or razors or shampoo or conditioner. I was sick of washing my clothes in the sink, getting crappy sleep from drunken room-mates. Finally I just decided to go home.

That trip really really sucked. To top it off when I finally got back to my site my dog was missing. Still is. I cant even think about getting another dog. Howie was just too great.

Even now, over a month later I still have those bouts. I think they are allergy and rain related. In the mountains (When I visited Adam) they were horrible. When I was at my site, it was more mild, more on and off. Im just waiting for the rains to end to end my allergy misery now.