Shifting context

Photo courtesy of Mafumu Lodge

It’s 6:00 p.m. when I get back to my hotel room Thursday evening. I’m tired from the long first day in the office, uncomfortable from the heat and the persistent post-flight swelling in my hands and feet, but I’m also hungry. I have the refrigerated block of smoked tempeh that’s traveled with me from Vancouver, and the package of local carrots I bought during the lunch break. As tempted as I am to eat the carrots raw, the traveler’s food preparation mantra is fresh in my memory  Peel it, boil it, cook it, or forget it.

Rather than risk illness, I decide to tackle the carrots on several fronts. First, I scrub each of them with a nail brush. Then I scrape them as best as I can with my Swiss army knife. Finally, I place them in the sink and pour a kettle of boiling water over them, then let them sit for five minutes. Cold tempeh and parboiled carrots make a simple dinner, but simple seems to agree with me right now. The whole procedure takes enough time and energy that by the time I finish eating, I’m ready for bed.

Despite getting a good sleep, I wake up the next morning still feeling tired. When I go to the restaurant for breakfast, I find one of the staff unsuccessfully trying to open the French door entrance. He directs me to another door to the side of the building, and I enter there. After getting my breakfast, I find the doors to patio are also locked, and that no one has the keys to the restaurant doors today. I choose a table inside and settle down to eat. 

Photo courtesy of Mafumu Lodge

Al Jeera news is again playing on the restaurant television, which is how I learn about the shootings at the mosques in Christchurch. The horrifying story with brief updates is repeated over and over again. Yesterday I learned from others in the office that a cyclone has flooded and destroyed thousands of homes in Mozambique and in southern Malawi, and that hundreds of thousands of people have been displaced into emergency relief camps and are at risk. Members of the CARE team, including Laurent, the Cuso volunteer for water and sanitation, had already begun planning and preparing their deployment to that area. As I watch this morning, I see mention of this unfolding humanitarian crisis cross the bottom of the screen, but it’s clearly overshadowed by the violent drama that’s just taken place in New Zealand.

My second workday

At the office, many of senior leaders and staff involved in water and sanitation are busy with emergency response preparations. Meanwhile, I continue digesting the SANI baseline report. While I’m reading, I keep asking myself whether there’s any way I could offer to assist with the response work, but being so new here I have no clear ideas about how I could help. The CARE team seems well organized, and I decide that if they needed unskilled labour, they would ask. I’m also not sure that I’m emotionally prepared to be immersed into emergency relief camps so early in my time here, and while I’m still figuring out how to take care of myself. I may be more of a liability than an asset.

Marine interrupts me to let me know that she’s getting the keys for our townhouse from the landlord tomorrow morning at 10:00, and that Clement is arranging for a taxi driver to bring me over then so that we can both move in. Six weeks after moving out of my apartment, I’m looking forward to finally unpacking my suitcases and getting resettled.

Ground floor view from CARE office building

I’m relieved that CARE staff end their workday at 1:30 on Fridays. Hot and ankles still swollen, a shorter day is long enough for me. Towards the end of it, Clement comes over to let me know the driver is ready for us, and tells me I look very tired. I’m grateful to finally return to Mafumu Lodge.

Small luxuries

Since I have the afternoon to relax and this is my last day at the lodge, I decide that I’ll treat myself to dinner at the restaurant tonight and spend the afternoon outside. When I arrive at the lodge, I walk over to the restaurant to review the menu. Although most of the items are not to my taste, they do feature a Greek salad: “The Classic!” it exclaims. The thought of fresh cucumber, tomato, bell pepper, and oregano along with plump olives and salty feta already has my mouth watering. And the price is MK4,000, which converts to $7.20. I have enough cash, and since that seems relatively expensive, I think the salad must be substantial enough to form a meal.

Next, I go to the office to pay for my last night. I ask whether someone could help me open my patio doors, and one of the women at the desk accompanies me back to my room. She seems amused by my request, and is surprised when she finds the doors are more difficult to open than she expected. After making sure they’re unlocked and then shifting them in their frames, she finally manages to free them.

With a book, my water bottle, and the left over tempeh and carrots, I settle myself on the the tiny patio outside my suite. Other than a few hotel staff and a couple drivers working and talking in the parking area, I’m the only person outside. The patio doors of all the other rooms are closed and draped. The air is warm, the vegetation is lush, and after three days of travel and one and a half days at the office, the luxury of having time to just relax is absolutely delicious.

Photo courtesy of Mafumu Lodge

Very soon, though, I start to feel sleepy. By 3:30, I can barely stay awake. In fact, I’m tired enough that I don’t trust myself to wake up in time for dinner. I set an alarm, and by 4:00 I’m fast asleep.

The alarm wakes me two hours later. It’s twilight. I’d been sleeping deeply — could have kept sleeping all night, perhaps. For a while I consider doing that, but the thought of the Greek salad motivates me to rouse myself, get cleaned up, and dress for dinner.

When I arrive, the only other diners are two men just finishing their meal. The restaurant closes at 8:00, so I expect people here eat early. As I wait for my dinner, I reflect that a salad was not the safest choice. The ingredients are unlikely to have been peeled, boiled, or cooked. I question my selection, but decide to take my chances.

I read while I’m waiting, and look up with anticipation when the waiter brings my order. A few lettuce leaves form the base. Spread on top of these are many slim slices of red onion, shavings of green pepper, a few slim and decorative slivers of seeded tomato, a sprinkling of canned black olive slices, and half a dozen small cubes of feta, drizzled with balsamic vinegar. Nary a hint of oregano greets my mouth.

It’s disappointing, but at least it doesn’t make me sick.

Copyright © 2019 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

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Malawi album on Google Photos

Please note that the views expressed here are mine alone, and do not necessarily reflect the views of Cuso International.

First day at the office

Clement the program manager for the Southern Africa Nutritional Initiative, or SANI Project, is about my height, slimly built, 36 years old, with a broad face and friendly countenance. He greets me warmly when I arrive at the office, gives me my orientation plan, and shuttles me around to introduce me to the other SANI team members. Once we've done that, he takes me to my first meeting. 

Catherine, the assistant country director, a petite woman of about 40 with short, straightened hair brushed back from her face, provides me with a security briefing. Motor vehicle accidents are the biggest hazard, she tells me, so they have strict requirements for their drivers to stay within restricted speed limits. (Motor vehicle accidents are also the most common cause of traumatic worker deaths in British Columbia.) Pickpockets are prevalent in crowded areas, such as markets. And, as one young volunteer recently discovered, if you leave your laptop in a vehicle, it will get stolen — “As it would in Vancouver,” I laughingly reply.

The CARE Malawi office building

She tells me that it’s safe for me to travel anywhere in the city on my own during the day. After 6:00 p.m., however, if I’m outside my housing compound, then I should be with friends or colleagues and have a car or taxi. And while any business-appropriate clothing is acceptable in the cities, dress is more conservative in the villages, and if I go there, I will want to take a chitenje (the local version of a sarong).

Then I meet with Matthew, CARE’s country director, a lean, white British man, about 5’10” and in his late 40s. He’s warm, friendly, and interested in my background and experience. He was promoted last year to the role of director for the East, Central, and Southern Africa region, but hasn’t yet been able to hire a new country director due to funding shortages, so is performing both roles. Over the next few weeks, I’m impressed to observe that, despite the volume of responsibilities he’s managing, he maintains his warmth and interest in people, even though Cyclone Idai has caused he and his staff have to shift their focus and resources to respond to that emergency.

Basic amenities

Of course, eventually I also have to take care of my biological needs. The two washrooms in the third floor office have solid, brick orange wooden doors with symbols for man or woman painted in white on them. When I enter the women’s washroom, I find there is no hydraulic arm to soften its closure. I am frequently at risk over the next few days of banging it much more loudly than intended. 

Inside, there are two stalls with full wooden doors painted the same brick orange. On the insides of these doors are Deloitte posters for reporting ethics issues. The posters list contraventions in English in one stall, and in Chichewa in the other. 

Paper towel for drying hands is on a wide roll suspended from a simple metal stand beside the sink. When I try to use it, I find that it’s as thin as toilet paper and sticks to my hands. After trying this a couple times during the day, I decide that there are better uses for wet hands. From then on, I begin using them to dampen my swollen ankles, and to cool my sweaty neck and brow.

One-ply paper hand towel

A walk to the store

When we break for lunch, Marine takes me to the Spar grocery store. I want to be frugal while I’m staying at the hotel, so have decided to eat the groceries I brought with me rather than buy meals there or at a restaurant. Today I have dates and almonds for lunch. Back at the lodge, I have a block of smoked tempeh that will be enough for two meals if I supplement it with a vegetable.

Turning out of the office parking lot, Marine takes me for a walk along a dirt path through many trees. Here and there are clearings where people are eating lunch at benches beside outdoor barbecues or small wooden food trailers. I wonder what they serve there.

We come out onto a street with a small National Library building and a DHL Courier office, walk down another short street, and cross a busier road into the parking lot of the Spar grocery store.

When we enter the store, a display of green apples is the first thing I notice. I’m surprised, since apples are the one fruit I did not expect to find here. Both local carrots and carrots imported from South Africa are in the open produce cooler along the wall. I choose a package of the less perfect but fresher looking local ones. 

What strikes me as I wander through the rest of the store is that although all the shelves are full, there is very little variety compared to a North American store. Instead, there are rows and rows of the same types and brands of items — of Chombe tea, ACE instant porridge, and either Estrell or Rab’s Classic peanut butter.

A long day

Workstations at CARE Malawi

During the afternoon, I sit at one of the long desks amongst my new colleagues and begin digesting the baseline report for the SANI project. It outlines the research done in four villages to assess lifestyle, diet, gender relationships, and levels of malnutrition and stunting. It’s a long and detailed report, and also my first glimpse into the districts and communities with which this project is engaged. 

While there had been gradual improvements in the previous ten years, when the baseline data was collected in 2016, 38% of children under five in the villages being studied were stunted. Almost 5% of pregnant women and 4% of children under five were acutely malnourished, and 93% of the children were not receiving a minimum acceptable diet (frequency and variety of foods). Their parents fared little better. At the time of the study, people’s diets predominantly consisted of maize and the leaves of pumpkins, sweet potatoes, and other crops that they were growing. Less than half of them would have eaten any other fruits or vegetables, and at most only 25% would have eaten any higher protein foods such as legumes, meat, eggs, or dairy products.

The office is hot, and although I’m sitting beside an open window and have my feet propped on the ledge, the heat has increased the post-flight swelling in my hands and feet. Our workday ends at 5:00, but Jeremy, who was scheduled to drive us, is out running an errand. We work for another half hour before someone arranges a taxi to take us back to Savanna Courtyard and the hotel. I already feel like it’s been a very long day.

Copyright © 2019 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

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Malawi album on Google Photos

Please note that the views expressed here are mine alone, and do not necessarily reflect the views of Cuso International.

Morning

I wake up at about 4:00 a.m. Lying in bed, I hear a man’s voice in the distance begin singing a gentle but penetrating chant in another language — the morning call to prayer. This is the first time I’ve ever heard it. It is, indeed, beautiful.

I get up and do a few exercises on my new yoga mat. My hands and feet are still swollen from the flight, even though I slept with my feet raised on pillows. I hope that the exercise will help relieve that. As the sun rises, I start to hear birds — chatty, melodious, querulous, proud, insistent — a small orchestra of sounds. Some, like the doves and roosters, I recognize.

When I arrived at the hotel, one of the first concerns I had was whether I could drink the water. I found a small bottle of water in the little fridge, so drank that to start. But I absolutely don’t want to be reliant on bottled water while I’m here, and I have no idea whether the tap water was safe for me to drink. What is the alternative? Before I went to bed, I boiled tap water in the kettle, put it in my water bottle, and left that in the refrigerator over night. I’m grateful to have that this morning

(Later I learn that while tap water in Lilongwe is chlorinated, there was a contamination problem late last year, so boiling it is still advised.)

After getting dressed for my first day of work in Lilongwe, I walk across to the restaurant building and enter through open French doors. There to greet me are two women standing behind a table with hot serving trays and a griddle for cooking eggs. On another table against the adjoining wall are coffee, tea, and covered platters of cold food. 

I’m pleased to discover slices of papaya and watermelon, and also get two fried eggs with baked plantain and a few pieces of roasted potato. I take my breakfast through the simple dining area where other guests are eating and watching a news broadcast, and find a table on the patio facing the garden. Another man is seated at the table next to me, absorbed in reading something on his laptop as he eats. A laptop case, open briefcase, and stack of papers suggest he’s here on business.

I was told to expect someone to pick me up at 7:30, but when I come out to the parking area at 7:20 with my briefcase, ready to go, a very friendly man approaches me, introduces himself as Jeremy, and tells me he’s been waiting. Am I late? This is not the Africa time I expected! I go to get into the passenger seat of the Toyota Land Rover, but find (as I did at the airport) that I’m on the driver’s side. Jeremy laughs, and asks whether I’m ready to try driving here. I grin, and I walk around to get in the other side.

Jeremy drives down a couple well-treed streets, skillfully dodging the potholes, past a long brick wall with “Korea Garden Lodge” painted repeatedly along it, and pulls up to a gate in another brick wall. He honks for the security guard to open the gate, and we drive into Savanna Courtyard, pulling up to the first in a row of small, red brick townhouses. Jeremy honks again, and Marine and Jonathan, the other Cuso International volunteers working at the CARE office, emerge from the house to join us.

Jeremy parked outside Flat #7, Savanna Courtyard

Savanna Courtyard is two rows of brick townhouses in an L-shape set on one side of a circular driveway, with a large brick house in the middle. The first row of townhouses, on the left as we drive in, are one-story two-bedroom dwellings. Those along the row at the back are larger two-story units, each with a small balcony on the second floor. Outside each townhouse is a dark green or blue water tank atop metal scaffolding. There are rough, crabgrass lawns and many trees. Somewhere in this complex is the townhouse where I’ll be living.

Copyright © 2019 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

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Malawi album on Google Photos

Please note that the views expressed here are mine alone, and do not necessarily reflect the views of Cuso International.

Mufumu Lodge

The security guard opens the large, metal gate to Mufumu Lodge, and McNaughton drives us through, parking in front of a set of six long, parallel one-story buildings, each a row of suites. Mufumu means "chiefs" in Chichewa, so this is Chiefs' Lodge, McNaughton explains.

The office at Mufumu Lodge

On the other side of the driveway are two buildings, each the size of a small one-story house. One of these is the restaurant, and the other is the office and laundry. The simple buildings let the surrounding lush, well-groomed greenery take prominence. Lawns, trees, and green gardens fill the rest of the grounds.

One of the hotel staff comes to unload my suitcases from the trunk and backseat of the old blue Toyota Corolla. I walk over to the office to check in, unsure what arrangements have been made, and hopeful that CARE or Cuso have already paid for the room. Unfortunately, that is not the case, and payment is required in advance. 

They only take Visa. I only have MasterCard. The room costs more than I have in cash. In the end, I give her all the kwacha I have, and let her know I'll be here for two more nights. She gives me a receipt indicating that there is payment outstanding. Since the bank machines only dispense a maximum of MK80,000 (about CA$144) and the room costs MK75,000 (CA$135), for the next three days I have to make a daily transaction.

The suites at Mufumu Lodge

When I enter my suite, I find a kitchen cabinet on my right with a sink, microwave, and small fridge. Further inside, there are two queen-size beds, an armoire, television, desk, and armchair. The far wall has patio doors that open onto the green space separating the row of suites I'm in from the next row.

The furniture is all made of dark, heavy wood. The floor is tiled. The bedding is beautiful, soft, clean, white cotton with feather pillows and a top-quality mattress. I have a large, tiled bathroom with dark, wood panels, and a glass-enclosed bathtub and shower. Except for the dark, heavy wood and inviting patio doors, it is very like a hotel room I might have stayed in on a business trip back home.

My room

When I try to unlock the patio doors, however, I can’t manage to get them to open. The towels are very well worn. I had promised myself a long soak in the bathtub, but the plug doesn’t work. Bedraggled and already tired, I settle for a shower, and, for the first time in three nights, crawl into a real bed.

Copyright © 2019 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.

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Malawi album on Google Photos