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.

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

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!

Silent Observer

Everyday I watch the most amazing women go to work. They are wives, daughters, grandmothers. They are home-makers but at any given time you can see them moving around the village carrying this or that.

Colorful chitenges of every pattern are curled up like cinamon rolls atop their heads. Each woman has a unique way of carrying her load. Some don't use chitenges (only for heavy loads), head tilted or straight, hands up to guide or down. I have seen women so skilled they carry multiply things piled on atop the other on their heads. I have seen a grandma crouch/runnign with a full bucket of water on her head to try and make it home before dark, only one hand on the bucket.

They are impervious to everything burdening about their load. Water drips onto their faces and clothes, whole stacks of trees that they just cut down are bundled onto their heads, so long the ends drag on the ground ebhind them and almost touch in front of them. The loads are so heavy their foreheads are scrunched up in a mass of wrinkles. They carry everythign from suitcases to a foot of sugar cane on their heads.

I've tried some of these and they are definatly an aquired skill. Small bags are fairly easy but firewood bundles are so heavy I can't walk and are liable to crush my neck like an accordian. Large buckets of waters slosh and wiggle with a mind of their own.

So hats, or shall I say buckets off to these hard working, though necked women who carry an entire nation upon their heads and never ever complain about it.

The Milk Man

One morning I woke up and decided to go and get some fresh milk from a fellow villager. I dumped out the ashes of my charcoal burner (on lend from Johnathan) becuase the unseasonably cold night. (It was so cols I was bundled up in underarmor pants and shirt, a hoodie, a hat, in my sleeping bag, under the covers. Now THATS cold...or im aclimated to Malawi weather...) I dumped the ashes down my chim to supress the smell and pests that love to fester in such squallid places. Then I set out for Mr. Simbeye's

The pedals and gear guard of my bike grate against my chain, screamng at me to oil them. I don't even try to shift gears this morning because I don't want to mess with another popped chain. I pass several people and after answering the greetings and shouted "Where are you going?!" 's, I press on towards my goal.

One boy happily calls, "Hi!" in English, very surprising because most children only know 'bye!" Very few know Hello. As he starts to chase my bike, other children shout "Cori!" after the customary "Mzungu!". I'm not sure why they still try Mzungu, they know I won't respond. Its as if they feel the need to declare to everyone, "Yes, see here, I see the white person!" Finnally I turn and bike down the dusty 'drive' to the Simbeye compund.

After I pull into the compound and dismount, I'm presented a rigid wodden chair in the dilligently swept yard. Yet their is a patch of grass and a small tre surrounded by bricks that speaks of good sense and a progressive, agricultural attitude. Very tall, lanky Mr. Simbeye pulls off his cap and greets me shyly. His prominent cheek bones stand out from his almost skull-like face. His eyes look to be developing cataracts. Yet, even though his hair is going greay, his skin weather beaten into leather, he runs off into the fields after his cows. Their young daughter smiles and hides her face from me. Eventually she is too overcome and leaves, too nervous to stay. The elder son of the Simbeye's, so obviously related by his tall and lanky build, comes and sits at the foot of a mud container armed with a screwdriver and cell phone sized radio. Music bleeps in and out as he tinkers. The sound ebbs and flows wether from faulty wiring or bad signal, I can't tell.

Mrs. Simbeye is bent over double, handwashing dishes in front of the smoking kitchen. When she bends, that swarthy, substantial backside, that marks almos all Malawian women, blocks out the rest of her bent-over body. As she ducks into the kitchen, the deep lowing and rattle of cow bells heralds the return of Mr. Simbeye He drives the cow he wants from the herd and to their 'barn.' (A structure with a thatch roof and stick walls.) Mother hens and their cheeping broods of chicks attack the abandoned dishes, hrowing and chasing bits of Nsima. As they clamor over the dishes, some goats wander into the yard. These are promptly chased away with rocks. A bold young goat walks into the house after Mr. Simbeye, who has just taken the milk to put into my container. After a sharp whistle and "Ahsay!", out trots the goat, hooves clack-clakcing softly on the hardened earth.

As Mr. Simbeye hands me my overflowing blue Nalgene, filled with warm, creamy fresh milk, he sits and waits a little nervously. I thank him and produce the required Kwacha. His grin lights up his whole face as he thanks me and scurries inside.

I say my goodbyes, put the milk in my chitenge bag, sling it over my shoulder and across my neck and walk my bike from the yard. I pedal the 10 minute ride home and start my boiling fiasco. Which, by the way ended up with me using parafin soaked matches. Believe it or not, i used the parafin that go on the floor from me knocking the container over. SO I soked matches in it. Waste not want not here.

Spilled parafin + old matches = lit stove.

Clumsy to the end.

(PS I dont use those anymore lol.)

Gobble Gobble

SO...Turkeys

For a single blissful week, there was something in the village more fascinating than me...turkeys.

Most people, especially children in my village grow up and live their entire lives without leaving Mubanga (pronounced Moo-wan-ga). This means most of them don’t go on to secondary school, which is about high school age and many don’t even finish primary school  (like elementary and middle school).

The house I rent is a converted grocery. Right next door is another converted grocery. Both are rented out by my (evil) landlord. The front grocery next door is run by the nephew of my landlord (he is a shy, sweet boy) and behind that they rented the rest of the house to anyone who wants it. SO right next door, literally the building is arms length away, I can stand in my side yard and almost touch both buildings, some new people moved in. They are living their temporarily while they are building their house somewhere else in the village. They probably find me anti social since I fenced in my entire yard, but for me, it is enough to just hear everything that my neighbors are doing. I like my space. Here your home is like your sanctuary.

So now I get to listen to Odie! (What people call when they come to your house to get your attention), screaming, crying children, turkeys gobbling, a large dog barking and for a while, pigs squealing. They must hate me because I told my landlord they could not build a pig pen right outside of my yard and kitchen window. He agreed because I made a few valid points A. In rainy season it would be fetid and stink to high hell B. It is WAY to close to the houses. C. They make a lot of noise. SO no pigs outside Colleen’s kitchen window, yahoo!

Anyway, back to turkeys.

My neighbor’s turkeys are the first turkeys I have seen in Chitipa and maybe only the second or third in country. They are not a very popular animal to own even though it could be great business. These people came from a city and worked for the government so they were more enlightened. However, the people in my village don’t get out much. Therefore, since I had already been in the village several months, I was no longer new but I was and still am fascinating because I’m just different from everyday life. That’s why I have my fence, being stared at and debated is very taxing on your patience and nerves.

One day I heard the turkeys gobbling loudly across the street. It was awesome to open the gate that day, step out and have not a single person turn their heads to stare at me...they were all staring intently directly across the street at the gobbling, strutting, MASSIVE turkeys lol. I laughed at the slack jawed children and equally slack jawed but more wary adults.

Bicycle Dog

Bicycle Dog

 I have always had pets. My family currently has four dogs at the house and I miss my St Bernard mix Annie tremendously. So even though I resisted the urge and responsibility for a year…I recently caved and got a dog. He is now about 4 months old.

His name is Howie, short for Howard, Howard the coward.

He earned this name because when I was visiting Adam in Chisenga we went to Adam’s Village headman’s house, Mwene-Chisenga. Adam’s counterpart, the woman in his village he chooses to work with closely, Daria, has picked out a dog for me. She picked the male that looked like her dog, Ruby. They told me he barks a lot and would make a good guard dog. I didn’t fall in love with him and the little female, who was friendly and adorable, had some infection in her eye. SO a bit disheartened I am ready to call it quits when Mwene-Chisenga says

“What about the other one?”

I’m curious.

“Is it a boy?” It is.

SO next sparks about 20 minutes of awkward waiting while his 20 children chase this small puppy around. They give up so Adam goes out to help. We all watch as Adam and three sons chase this dog through the bush. It gets cornered and a\Adam wades into the bushes and grabs the dog as he bolts. Adam manages to grab it by the leg. Howie starts yelping bloody murder. Then he pees on Adam. Adam brings the pee-soaked trembling puppy out and sets him on the ground for me to see. Unfortunately I always seem to root for the underdog and my heart melted. His brown eyes peered up at me in terror, his short tan fur and two white socks on his front legs was adorable, he was skinny but not mal-nourished.

I picked him. I don’t really know why.

I carried him the few kilometers home in the mid-day heat. He was terrified of Malawians, cars, Mwabi (M-why-e which means ‘lucky’) Adam’s dog, the chain we put him on (which he would spaz out and chew hysterically rolling frantically around like an alligator.)

I’m not going to lie; I thought I made a mistake. He was giving me anxiety attacks lol, and I had had him only a few hours! I thought he was going to hate me forever. Adam said it would not take long for him to love me. I’m the animal whisper to Adam haha. 

Sigh….Adam was right.

I love my puppy and feel guilty whenever I leave him at my house. So coming back from the New Years, island trip, Adam started feeling crappy when we reached Mzuzu and it got worse when we arrived in Chitipa Boma. He came down with severe dehydration and a sinus infection that we were not able to treat for a few days. We waited for a ride but eventually I had to bike from Chitipa boma to my house (45-50min) and get medicine for him. It was bad, I think he should have been hospitalized but the boy fights medicine tooth and nail. I was really worried so even though we needed other stuff I only grabed the meds…and Howie. I felt to guilty to leave him especially since I did not know how much longer I would be away helping Adam.

What to do? The only thing I could. I went to my clean laundry basket.

I strapped an old, previous volunteer donated, forest green Hawaii beach towel that is used as my table cloth, tied it over one shoulder and stuck Howie in the front sling. I biked 45 min back in the mid-day heat with a 3-month-old puppy strapped to my chest. Needless to say that the rural villagers stared, too shocked to do anything. When I got to the boma with the more ‘enlightened people’ they pointed and laughed. Everyone insisted pointing out to me that I had an “imbwey” or “Combwa,’ or ‘Garu’ (all meaning dog) strapped to my chest. So what did I do in the face of this discrimination and mockery? I patted the bottom of the sling supporting my dog, said “Baby” and made kissy faces to my dog.

That’ll show ‘em