“So that’s what those blisters on my side are. Thank goodness I’m not allergic to mangos.”
I’ll leave it to you to search for pictures of this lovely malady (although I’m sure whatever you find online will be worse than what I experienced). Impetigo is very old disease, a highly contagious bacterial infection, most common in hot, humid climates and among very young children who have hot, humid places on their bodies. Where did I contract it? I can’t be certain, but an afternoon three days ago comes to mind.
 |
| Motel Paradise |
My CARE Malawi colleague and driver Geoffrey and I are inspecting a MK12,000 (CA$20) room at Motel Paradise in Blantyre. We left Lilongwe early this morning to drive five hours south to Blantyre so that the people in the immigration office here can collect my biometrics and (I hope) finally issue me the temporary residence permit I applied for almost seven months ago. We arrived at the office shortly before noon to be told that today is a half-day for them, and we would have to return in the morning. So now we’re looking for a place to stay within the range of our per diems.
 |
| The bar at Motel Paradise: Geoffrey and the bartender were the only people I saw here. |
The other lodges and hotels we’ve seen so far have been well out of that range and priced in American dollars. I was cautiously optimistic when we found Motel Paradise. To me, it looks to be in the upper end of Malawian business trip accommodations I’ve stayed at in the past, and much roomier. But Geoffrey is eying the worn and faded bedspreads with concern. “Could you change those?” he asks the man showing us the rooms. From the man’s response, it’s apparent that they don’t have anything better. The motel looks to have been built in the late 1970s, and nothing about it seems to have been updated since then. Including the bedding.
 |
| The Bed (which was pretty comfortable) |
That night, I slept on top of the bedspread and under a mosquito net with a fan blowing, too hot and tired to strip off the unnecessary blankets and sleep between the sheets. Today, I’m imagining a hot, tired mother setting her crying, sweaty-bottomed baby down on that same bed at some point in the past, and wondering whether that bedspread was my downfall.
But if I have bullous impetigo, that means this has nothing to do with the quantity of mangos I’ve been eating (some of them collected at Motel Paradise itself from beneath their many Indian mango trees). What a relief! And, fortuitously, because of an out-of-control skin infection 18 months ago resulting from sand flea bites while on a three-week sailing trip, I happen to have a tube of the exact antibacterial cream a doctor would be likely to prescribe. It’s a remediable ailment, and another new experience of life here.
 |
| Indian mango trees outside my room -- so big you can see one hanging! |
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Now that I’ve lived in Malawi for nine months, I feel much more able to handle the day-to-day challenges that arise. Things that seemed strange, new, and mysterious when I first arrived have become more ordinary, if still exotic. One evening, I came into the kitchen to find a small, eight-centimeter-wide tarantula sitting in the gap between the stove and the cupboard. It was calm, and so was I, as I found a glass to put over it, took a couple photos, and then put it outside.
That doesn’t mean that things don’t still catch me off guard and surprise me: It just means the things that do are even more remarkable than those to which I’ve become accustomed.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
In October, I felt comfortable enough to volunteer to make a business trip by myself to interview some of CSONA’s members about their experiences of the benefits and challenges of being part of a district-level nutrition alliance. I got a ticket for a coach bus that travels between Lilongwe and Blantyre, and figured out where I needed to disembark partway to get a mini-bus to Liwonde. I looked forward to staying at a lodge beside the Shire River that I’d seen on previous business trips, and eating beans and stewed pumpkin leaves at The Baobab where we’d eaten before.
 |
| The Baobab Restaurant in Liwonde |
I’ve come to like the feeling of being snugly tucked between fellow mini-bus passengers – people with children, babies, large bundles of goods to sell at the market, on their way to and from work or visiting family members. Most of us don’t know each other, but we help each other get in and out, hold each other’s young children, move our feet to accommodate a giant bag of maize or bundle of motor parts shoved under the seats. We have a shared interest in getting wherever it is we’re going, and that simple common goal along with an ethic of kindness creates a quick comradery. My fellow passengers have made sure I got off at the right place; handed out my lunch bag, WorkSafeBC laptop case, groceries, and backpack; helped me find popcorn and groundnuts to sustain myself during a long trip; and scolded a vendor into giving me two extra cabbages when they saw that I’d paid too much for one sold to me through the window during a brief stop.
 |
| A clothing market as seen from the mini-bus window |
But as we approach Liwonde on this trip, it’s suddenly apparent that all is not well. Charred wood, some still partially aflame, flanked by three large stones barricade the road. A few hours earlier, this would have been more impenetrable. Fire has consumed most of the logs, but the young men at the barricade are still intent on stopping us. They shout at the driver, and try to wave us down.
The driver, though, is having none of this. He barrels through the charred wood as if driving over a large speed bump, not even slowing. As he does, the men at the barricade move to the side and begin to throw rocks at us. One hefts a particularly large rock with two hands and takes aim. We scream and duck as he launches his missile. I imagine the bus window being shattered, people being hurt.
The mini-bus is rocked by the impact, but keeps moving. The rocks have only hit the side of the bus, already so battered that the damage would be unnoticeable.
We raise our heads, and look back at the men still shouting at us. The bus driver gives voice in Chichewa to his opinion about the highwaymen. I don’t understand most of the words, but I do understand the tone and sentiment. He says the men are trying to extort money from people, impose their own road toll. It was scary, but thankfully their intention was to intimidate, and not physically harm.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
 |
| Azungu Restaurant in Balaka (azungu means "foreigners") |
Around noon the next day, I’m in Balaka, a hot, dusty market town, population 36,500, about half an hour from where I stayed the night before. I'm sitting by myself in a large meeting room on a green plastic lawn chair at a heavy wooden table waiting for my next interviewee, who is 30 minutes late. I’ve tried calling and texting him, but no answer. He may have run out of phone time and data, and forgotten our meeting.
To pass the time, I check my WhatsApp messages, and text a woman I recently met in Lilongwe to ask about a nutrition program she’d mentioned.
When she learns I’m in Balaka, she texts, “I hope you have found oasis at The Art House, Malawi’s best kept secret.” “No, I have not,” I reply. “Please say more!” Her response intrigues me.
Fortuitously, The Art House is located very close to my next meeting site. My interview no-show proves to be a gift. After calling to confirm they’re open, I pack my things, walk out to the road, and find a bicycle taxi.
 |
| Cycling by bike taxi through the residential roads of Balaka |
Eighteen years ago, Tamara, a young fabric artist from Oregon, joined the Peace Corps, and came to Balaka for a two-year placement. Before those two years ended, a fellow volunteer and Italian chef, Andreas, convinced her they should get married and make Balaka their permanent home. The Art House is their creation.
And what a complete contrast it is to the rest of Balaka, and to everything I’ve experienced so far in Malawi! I enter the gate to find a small garden courtyard with lemon trees. To the left is a large, two-story stucco house; to the right, a matching one-story three-walled stucco building with an open-air restaurant. Tile work paves the steps and floors; beautiful, large paintings adorn the walls. I could be in France or Italy.
 |
| The Art House Restaurant |
As I admire the artwork and architecture, a server comes out from the kitchen to greet me. There’s no question about what I will order: One of their specials today is ravioli verdi ricotta e spinici.
I seat myself – I have my choice of tables – and the server, a lovely Malawian woman, brings me a glass jug of cold water. You have no idea what an amazing treat this is. I boil water every day to have drinking water. The alternative, which I avoid as much as possible, is to buy bottled water. To be given this quantity of clean, potable water in a restaurant… I make a point to drink as much as I can of it, and fill my water bottle.
Soon after, in true Italian style, she brings a wooden board of antipasto: a homemade pickled vegetable that I don’t recognize, but that tastes delicious; toasty hot, crusty little buns; beans, freshly sliced tomato, and cheese – yum!
It's good that I'm hungry, because the main course is still to come -- a plate of giant green ravioli topped with a rich, dark tomato sauce. I cut into the first one, revealing the delicious ricotta filling. Scrumptious.
 |
| Ravioli verdi ricotta e spinici |
After this feast, well saturated with water, I visit the washroom. With the exception of the lodges where I stay, once I’m out of Lilongwe, almost all the facilities are pit latrines. But this is a real washroom: clean, tiled, and like everything else here, beautiful – probably the most beautiful washroom I will see in Malawi.
 |
| The washroom at The Art House |
Clean and sated, I poke my head into a little studio workshop that opens off the restaurant. Here, I discover an array of elegant handmade cards and cotton textiles for sale. All are made locally by village women, obviously under the direction of the artist who lives here.
And here is the artist now. Tamara, who I spoke to earlier on the phone, walks into the studio and greets me. We chat about how she’s employing the village women in her enterprise, and she tells me about the reforestation projects she and her husband are also leading in this area. Planting trees is one half of the equation, but can't compensate for the rate at which wood is being removed. Collection of firewood for cooking is a daily activity for most women and children. By building more fuel-efficient brick cooking stoves, villagers can cut their firewood need by two-thirds.
Meeting North Americans and Europeans like Tamara and Andreas who've decided to settle here makes me reflect on the different ways of being in a place. Tamara's and Andreas's education, wealth, and privilege set them well apart from the local population. There are many in that position who retain that distance. They, instead, have invested in their relationships with villagers, and use what they have to provide some benefit to the people so deeply rooted here.
 |
| My room in Balaka |
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The next afternoon, I'm back in the same meeting room sitting on green plastic lawn chairs with Elizabeth, Hannah, and Ellen from the Coalition for Women Living with HIV and AIDS (COWLHA), and with Robert, the program manager for Positive Steps, where we’re meeting. I'm interviewing Elizabeth about her experience of being a member of the nutrition alliance for this district. Although much better than my Chichewa, the women's English is rudimentary. Robert has saved the day by translating for us. Since the electricity is off this afternoon, it was easier for him to put aside his work to help us.
 |
| With Elizabeth, Robert, Hannah, and Ellen |
After gathering some basic information, I ask Elizabeth what brought her to do the work she does now. She tells me it’s because she herself was found HIV+, and she wanted to work and help other women in the same situation. She’s been doing this work for fourteen years.
She tells me that until three years ago, she and her colleagues didn’t understand the importance of nutrition. “COWLHA was only teaching us to have a balanced diet,” she tells me, “without going deep. Nutrition wasn’t a serious thing for us. Then CSONA began working in the Balaka district. I attended their four-day nutrition advocacy training, and brought what I learned back to my colleagues.”
Before the training, no one was talking about nutrition in the villages where they worked. Elizabeth and her colleagues got enough money to make some laminated cards with pictures of Malawi’s six food groups. “We formed a district committee,” Elizabeth says, “and began facilitating the education of people living with HIV and AIDS on importance of getting nutritious food. We travel long distances to these villages to provide civic education about nutrition.
“The joining of CSONA has brought a very big and positive difference,” she continues. “Now the people in those villages make gardens, and have more nutritious foods. HIV+ people have been tremendously helped to live healthier and longer.”
I’m surprised and impressed that Elizabeth used what she received during a four-day training to make such a profound difference in people’s lives. She and her colleagues are probably some of the most vulnerable of the vulnerable. Before they acquired HIV, they may have turned to sex-trade work or had unprotected sex due to poverty and misogyny. Yet they’ve taken their tragedies and dedicated their lives to the wellbeing of other women in similar situations. Ironically, as a result of their diagnoses, they have perhaps found employment, gained an income, and established a social support network that wouldn’t have been available to them before.
Thinking of the many difficulties that have likely been part of these women’s day-to-day lives, I’m curious what they consider the biggest challenge in their work.
“The biggest challenge is the funding,” Elizabeth tells me. “Since our last project ended, we don’t have money to pay for transportation. Even communication is difficult, because we don’t have money for airtime or WhatsApp.” She says that COWLHA was renting a house under a gender-based violence prevention project, but when that project phased out, the owner took over the building again.
“How do you cope with these difficulties?” I ask.
“Now we meet at Ellen’s house, and store our books and resources at Hannah’s,” she replies. “We walk where we can, and work with the people there. Maybe there will be funding sooner or later, but the need is always here. Funding comes and goes. Whether there is funding or no funding, we still keep on working.”
Seeing what Elizabeth and her colleagues manage to do with a few days of training and some homemade flashcards, I feel humbled. How many of us who have more could say we’ve made this big a difference?
 |
| With Clement Chiwala, executive director of Positive Steps, another remarkable local HIV/AIDS organization doing much with very little |
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Every day here, I see people doing their best to survive and make a living. Some of these people are driven to threats, violence, prostitution, and even to injuring, marrying off, or prostituting their own children. Sadly, of course, survival isn't the only motivation for greed and cruelty. There are many examples of people at all levels of the socioeconomic spectrum engaging in corruption and self-serving activities.
And here also, maybe more than many places, there are many examples of those with the heart and the means, no matter how little, who use what they have to benefit the lives of others. These stories are less dramatic, but just as deeply woven into the fabric of this country. Being in Malawi is experiencing all of this, side by side.
Copyright © 2020 Lynn Thorsell, All rights reserved.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
See more: Malawi album #4 on Google Photos
