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| Canadian volunteers with our stylin' driver Jeromy (in cap) |
With the guidance of Clement, our Southern African Nutrition Initiative (SANI) programme manager, we volunteers are driven to tailor Mireille Yama’s, where our zitenje are transformed into skirts, a dress, a men’s shirt, and a cap. On the day of the event, all of the CARE Malawi community congregate on a grassy area just off a main street. At least an hour is spent admiring each other’s outfits, all made from the same material, taking many photos with smartphones.
Finally, the police arrive to escort us, and we begin our parade. Clement leads the procession from the back of a pickup truck, calling through an electronic bullhorn chants that we echo in unison.
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| Marching and dancing with assistant country director Catherine |
After the march, we’re all driven to a huge, lush, private park, rented for this occasion, where we’re seated at tables under a large, white tent awning. Even in the shade, it’s still hot. Through the speeches and presentations of the afternoon, I notice many of my neighbours seem as sweaty and lethargic as I feel. Just when I think that the only thing I want to do is lie on the grass and sleep, the dance music starts again and we’re all summoned to our feet. And it works! I’m surprised how quickly my energy revives, and how joyful I feel after these breaks.
When the SANI team is called to present, I feel shy. I’ve only been here a few days. I don’t even know the names of most of the team members, and it’s a large group. So I stay seated, and I notice the other Canadian volunteers do, too.
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| Cuso International programme manager Fana, fellow volunteers, and CARE Malawi staff |
Mark, the monitoring and evaluation lead for the project, announces the SANI team will perform a dance for everyone. Thank goodness I'm sitting down! Drum music starts and the team in front of us begins a rhythmic line dance, lightly stamping their feet in unison and swaying in first one direction, then the other. Mark grabs the microphone again. “We’re missing our international colleagues!” he shouts, and waves to us.
Reluctantly, the five of us get to our feet and join them, sidling into the back row. Our Malawian colleagues are smiling, welcoming us, encouraging us, laughing, showing us how to move. In the midst of our work with extreme poverty, food insecurity, malnutrition, and gross gender inequities, there’s a great deal of joy here.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Before I left Canada, some people commented that the people they had met in African countries seem to be happier than North Americans are. I've wondered about that. According to the UN Happiness Report, Malawi falls 150th of 156 countries, just below Syria. While many other African countries rank higher, for optimal happiness, Scandinavia, Canada, Australia, and Great Britain seem like the places to be.
That's not surprising when you think of the things that people here have to worry about. Over a million people in this country experience hunger and under-nutrition at least annually. About 20% of the population is unemployed. The vast majority of the remainder are subsistence farmers, or working for extremely low wages, with little to no buffer when times are hard. People are much more likely to die at a much younger age, partly because of the hazards they're exposed to, and partly because of the very poor quality of health care that's available to them.
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| One of many coffin workshops |
But if it's not happiness, there's still something that feels very different here. After I return from a road trip, my roommate and I have a long chat about our experiences of the week. She comments how people here and in other areas of Africa frequently ask, “Tilitonse?” (Are we together?) or affirm “Tili limodzi.” (We’re one.) Airtel advertisements proclaim “This is how we do it.” and “Tilikhonko” (We're here with you.) There is a friendliness, a welcoming, and often a remarkable energy and vibrancy that I have rarely experienced before.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
On the other hand, the problems I see here are so big, systemic, and seemingly intransigent. Sometimes I’ve gotten so focused on the bigger picture that I lost perspective on what I’m realistically able to do. I’ve gotten overwhelmed, and stepped back to find myself planning some huge intervention that is way, way beyond the scope of my authority, role, or capabilities – trying to move a mountain.
In February 2020, as I get closer to the end of my time here, I find myself focusing more on, “What can I do that will be most helpful?” It’s usually not glamorous: applying the new CSONA brand to old PowerPoint files; translating stakeholder interview quotes into a presentation or newsletter story; updating people’s personnel files. But I’m also getting to see the tangible results of the work I’ve been doing so very slowly. The more I let go of my ego and just go with what’s needed, the more appreciation my Malawian colleagues express.
After a stormy monsoon one night, I’m sitting on the doorstep on a still beautifully rainy morning with my laptop on my knees, watching drops fall on the big, beautiful mango trees in front of me.
To my left are 40 1-litre milk and juice cartons, each with a mango seedling sprouting in it. In a couple weeks, they’ll be gifts for village children when I have a sponsor's visit with Plan International. I’m thinking of how daunting it seems to go from being that tiny seedling, really just a little stick with four or five leaves, to one of these giant mango trees in front of me – the time, energy, nutrients, and rain required to make that transformation. Yet many of these little seedlings will, I hope, make that journey, moment by moment, day by day, year by year.
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| Mango seedlings beginning to sprout |
Thinking of that, I feel calmer about my journey over the coming year and years; that I can keep letting it unfold and adjust course as I go along. It makes me think how each of our journeys is uniquely our own, and at the same time a very small contribution to something much bigger; how we are held and nourished by our environments, within a place of care.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
I thought I would be able to end on that note, but the past few days brought rapid change. This year's March4Women, CARE's signature event, is first postponed, and then cancelled. On Saturday, March 14 I host a farewell luncheon at my flat. As I'm visiting with my last guest late in the afternoon, I receive a text message from Fana, our Cuso International programme manager in Ethiopia, asking me to check in with Charlene, the Ottawa-based travel advisor.
I had emailed Charlene the day before confirming that I had made my own travel plans, and would be leaving Malawi on March 28. When I call her now, though, she says Cuso is bringing all Canadian volunteers home as soon as possible. I can either change my tickets myself, or cancel them, return the cash-in-lieu, and she will book something for me.
Monday morning at 7:30, I am at the Ethiopian Airlines office to re-book my tickets. The agent tells me the only seats they have before the weekend will cost an additional US$3,000. Even if I wait until the following Monday, I would still have to pay another US$900. Ouch!
I cancel my tickets and call Fana, feeling much less certain about being able to handle this situation myself. Tuesday evening, Charlene lets me and my remaining fellow volunteer know we will be departing Lilongwe Thursday morning, and arriving in Toronto Friday evening with long stop-overs in Nairobi and Paris (but of course there's no possibility of leaving either airport). That's still 12 hours shorter than the three-night, three-day journey I took getting here.
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| The mosque in Old Town |
My last few days in Malawi are precious to me. Each morning seems particularly beautiful: the birdsong, the trees in full foliage, the early morning light on the Old Town mosque as I have my last cycle to the CARE office Monday morning. That same Monday, after lunch and one last stop at the post office, I cycle to the CSONA office where I leave my bicycle for my colleague Joseph, who has bought it. Joseph is in the field this week, and Bessie is in Blantyre for her graduate studies. I won't get to see them before I leave.
But the rest of the team are working on a grant proposal together in the conference room. I break the news that I am leaving Malawi in only a day or two. They're shocked, and Jimmy even cries. I collect some hugs, and then we start taking photos. After a few minutes, they're teasing each other and we're laughing again. I go to clear my desk, repack my things now that I don't have the bicycle with which to transport them. Then I join them in the conference room, tying up lose ends as they continue working on the proposal.
At the end of the day, we're all reluctant to say good-bye. Danstan asks the guard to take more photos of us outside together. Kettie turns on her car radio, and our photo shoot transforms into a dance party.
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| Faith, Kettie, Mike, Jimmy, Emmanuel, me, Blessings, and Danstan |
Although we've known each other a short time, my few Malawian friends make a point to come see me at least once more: my hiking buddy, Lulu, a lab technician at Kumuzu General Hospital with a master's degree in medical biotechnology; retired archaeologist Matthias and his wife Sinnia, who is a talented tailor; my Chichewa teacher and dear friend Shupe (the hardest good-bye); and Vafa, a vibrant spark and fellow cyclist, who comes by twice to pick up donations for the UN refugee camp where she used to work.
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| With Lulu |
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| Saying farewell to Matthias and Sinnia |
Since we don't leave until Thursday, I'm able to follow through with the arrangement I had made with Plan International to meet the girl I'm sponsoring here. As with many things, this turns into an adventure in itself. Sponsor liaison Constance (who has worked for Plan Malawi "her whole life" she tells me), photographer Chawanangwa, and driver Nelson pick me up at 7:30. We drive 90 minutes to the Plan International office in Kasungu, where I'm welcomed and oriented by Christopher, the district manager. Then we, along with what seems like all of the Kasungu office staff, pile into two SUVs and travel narrow dirt roads for another half an hour ("Is this even a road?!" Constance exclaims at one point) to reach a remote village. Along the way, we stop so Christopher can show me a village health clinic, school, and teacher's housing that Plan has built for the community.
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| With Plan Malawi staff visiting a village health centre built by Plan (Christopher on the far left, Constance on the far right in blue) |
When we reach our destination, about twenty villagers greet and welcome us to their meeting place. The men sit in a semicircle of very simple wooden benches under three trees. The women and children sit across from them on the ground, also shaded by a separate small grove. Half a dozen wooden chairs with padded cloth seats form part of the men's semicircle. I'm introduced to a woman and her son, and invited to sit on one of these chairs, the two of them on either side of me.
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| Being introduced to Grace and her son |
But where's Mwaiwawo? I'm confused. I notice the Plan staff have stepped aside to confer with their volunteer in this community, a lean, middle-aged man wearing a black golf shirt. Christopher calls me over.
Recently, he tells me, most of the sponsors they expected have been canceling their visits. I'm the only one who's been able to come. Unfortunately, the volunteer mistakenly cancelled my visit, and kept the arrangements for the person sponsoring this child.
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| Photo with villagers (Notice that the men all stand in the front row, and the women, save Mwaiwawo and her grandmother, stand behind them.) |
After explaining this to me, Christopher and the volunteer announce the error to the villagers. Christopher uses this opportunity to talk with them about the coronavirus, warning them not to be too eager to get gifts from their relatives returning from working in South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Tanzania, and to wait two weeks before seeing them. The villages have already heard of this virus. "It's worse than HIV," one elderly woman declares. "At least with HIV, one gets four or five years. With coronavirus, one only has days."
After they've made their apologies, we climb back into the SUVs and drive the half hour back to the tarmack road, and then out to Mwaiwawo's village. The volunteer has preceded us on his motorcycle to warn them of our coming.
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| Mwaiwawo presenting me with the highly valued gift of a chicken |
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
COVID-19 adds another layer of vulnerability for people who are already incredibly vulnerable. Over 9% of the adult population has been infected with HIV/AIDS. That's one million people whose immune systems are already compromised, and at higher risk from this new disease. Wealthy people have good, private health care, but the other 97% of the population rely on health care provided by government, which is already strained, inadequate, and propped up by international volunteers and contractors. Many of those same volunteers and contractors are now being repatriated during this global crisis.
The evening before we depart, we receive a security alert from the CARE Malawi operations manager. There's been violence in the Mzimba district. A rumour is circulating there that people from Zambia were coming there, sucking blood and "gassing". In panic, people in Mzimba attacked the police station, believing that police officers had arrested the vampires and were harbouring them.
To someone in North America, this situation probably seems incomprehensible. I've come to understand the extremely poor quality of the public education system here, and that old stories, told around the evening fires, capture people's imaginations. At a time like this when rumours are circulating of a virus that's not yet here, but has afflicted every other country in the world, killing people within days, anxiety and fear make people susceptible to other rumours and stories, too, and give people something tangible against which to "defend" themselves.
We outside of Malawi are not that different; some of us have been lashing out in fear recently, too. The only difference is that these Malawians have never had the even the most basic education and privileges that you and I take for granted.
The day before our departure, I go next door to Korea Garden Lodge to leave a key for someone to pick up. The reception staff are wearing face masks and latex gloves, with bottles of hand sanitizer on the counter. At the airport the next morning, the newly built international wing is now open. There are now real check-in counters with luggage conveyors, and a set of official immigration kiosks. Cleaning staff are masked, gloved, and meticulously disinfecting the washrooms. There are still no paper towel or hand driers, but full bottles of dark purple liquid hand soap sit beside each sink.
Mukhale bwino, Malawi. Please stay well.
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| Youth at a nutrition advocacy training in Nyunge village, Karonga district |
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Reference
World Happiness Report, Wikipedia
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