And to All a Good Night

The first Christmas spend away from 96 Amigo Lane, away from California, away from America and away from my family and friends.  A new experience, a new corner of the world, a new culture and a new way of celebrating.

ETHIOPIA. 2011/2012.

Details, pictures and stories upon my return to Malawi.  Until then a MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL,  I love you with everything I have.  

I'm Lauren Michelle, I Smile so Well

It’s funny.  I was playing indoor soccer tonight in the gym of African Bible College, a local college with exceptionally nice facilities as compared to other public institutions in town.  The five-man (actually 5-woman) teams were a mingling of Malawians, students, professionals and ex-pats from various corners of the world.  The point of significance was not the hodgepodge of nationalities but more so the age of the players involved.  Girls in high school, age 14, looking spritely and brimming with energy up to the oldest player-Me. Age 30.  Generally, teams are selected based on the color of the t-shirt people wear and as luck would have it all of the ‘veteran’ players (not necessarily experienced but older) were placed on the same team.  Kickoff happened and it seemed to be young vs. old(er).  

There was a moment when I was subbed out and simply observing the game progress from the sideline.  Our team had maintained possession and had better vision on the court, which meant a lopsided score in our favor (Not that anyone was really keeping score because the games are always friendly). One of the young girls of 14, who looked more like 12 with a baby face and an infinite motor, had possession of the ball and was dribbling down the court.  Our defense was slow to retreat so the goal was all but wide open.  She took her shot and made it.  You could see her chest visibly swell with pride.  A small jump, followed by a fist pump and an audible, “Yesss”.  Keep in mind the score was a lot to a little and there had been no ‘touchdown dances’ prior.  Her moment was short lived but the celebration brought a smile to my face.  Her enthusiasm and competitive spirit actually reminded me of me way back when. 

My imagination whisked me out of the gym and into George Deklotz stadium, under the lights of Las Lomas High School.  Back then I was confident with my athletic ability, which might have teetered on arrogant if not for the lightning fast midfielders that kept me humble.  I had an energy and attitude of invincibility that made that time in my life so naively special.  To be perfectly honest, I still feel an air of invincibility however that feeling is fading with the knowledge of the impact an emergency would have on my family and friends.  For this reason, I take myself a little more seriously although I will never allow fear to keep me from pursuing the life I feel destined to lead.  Not going to happen. Sorry Mom and Dad. Base-jumping is still in the cards some day…OK, back to the story. 

As I giggled to myself and watched the young players work I reflected on my years since my own high school days.  In hindsight, I realize that I have grown up.  I have grown up A LOT.  I guess I have not changed, so much as grown to become more of myself.  I believe my journey to this point has been an indescribable adventure chalked full of highs and lows, although I must admit that the positive events have far outweighed the negative ones.  Never ending family support, teaching moments, opportunity, connections with people and places, giving back, love and education.  Experiences that have built me up and broken me down and created the person I am today.  I am not admitting to adulthood here but there is such a vast contrast between myself then and myself now.  That said, I know I don't always make the best decisions (my stubborn pride and that little voice inside my head screaming, "Do it" often muddle my ability to do so) but the most important thing is that I have no regrets.  This little moment in the gym tonight brought all of this awareness to the forefront and continues to make me smile as I write this.

Bits and Pieces

To have a long pinky nail here in Malawi is to have an elevated status.  The nail does not serve a purpose, as many fiends used it in the hay days of the 60s and 70s, but it is more to show others without saying a word that you do not do manual labor.  To do manual labor means you are constantly using your hands and digging in the earth, which would not be possible with an extended fingernail. 

Flame and Frangipani Trees blossoming now in Lilongwe

Garbage collection happens in various neighborhoods throughout Lilongwe but is not a practice happening everywhere.  The solution and general rule of thumb is to dig a large pit in your backyard, burn anything and everything that will disintegrate, melt, dissolve or otherwise send ozone destroying fumes into the atmosphere then throw the rest in the pit to wallow for eternity.

During Mango season, one can purchase close to 30 mangos for $2.  They are sold by the bucket load so a vehicle is necessary to transport the heavy cargo back to one’s home before they become too ripe.  The proper way to eat a mango is by tearing into it like you would an apple.  Bite through the skin, spit in out and enjoy the juicy orange flesh inside.  Always carry floss on your person because the stringy fibers will no doubt get stuck in your teeth like a stubborn popcorn kernel.

Mango 'stall' on the side of the road out of Senga Bay 

There are precarious footbridges constructed out of medium sized branches and nails that span across the Lilongwe River separating the produce market from the clothing market.  To cross one of these bridges to visit the clothing market there is no tariff but to make the return journey one must first check for bridge trolls, walk with great caution not to fall through the fractured gaps, then pay 20 MK to the toll taker as if the experience couldn’t have cost you some broken bones and a swim in the muddy waters below.

In area 18, by what is known as, ‘the stage’ men jog around with crockpot looking dishes made of plastic.  When cars or mini buses slow down near to them, their jog breaks out into a feverish run so that they may sell the product inside of the dishes.  Sausage.  Ahhh street meat.  All will tell you that the product inside is 100 percent meat however every local knows that soya products are cheaper and often sausage stuffers will concoct a sausage looking thingamajig with part meat, part soya, part parts.  You never know what you are going to get but you can guarantee it will be salty.

Malawians love sugar and salt, “too much.”

In the latter part of November and December everyone anticipates the beginning of the rainy season here in Malawi.  The 85 percent of the country involved in subsistence farming are busy preparing the ground with a spade attached to a short wooden club that acts as a multipurpose tool.  The earth is turned over manually and formed into neat and tidy rows with elevated mounds of dirt for irrigation purposes and to prevent flooding of the seedlings.  Maize feeds the country along with some variations of tobacco and cotton for export as well as beans, tomatoes and cassava.  Women and men are bent over their plots of land working away with sweat and blood to subsidize their diets as well as their incomes.  Tractors are a rare commodity and are reserved for large scale farming operations owned by the government and wealthy land owners.  

A 'teaching moment' on the beach-Yes that is a beer in my hand

Female condoms are distributed in camp however the purpose for which they are intended is never realized.  Instead, the inner ring made of a soft plastic is separated from the overflowing waterfall of latex and then used as a bracelet adorned by men, women, girls and boys alike. Pretty.    

To be fat in the African sense is to be healthy and strong.  It does not in any way have the tainted perspective of the Western World where people would take offense to the pudgy adjective.  -“You look fat!” –“Why, thank you…”

JRS has formed a social football team that plays on Saturdays against various Malawian social teams and NGOs.  We are currently 1-2-1 on the season with premier league aspirations.  Often I am the only female on the pitch trying to give ‘us’ a good name but the foot speed and raw talent out there is hard to match up against.  What is important is that we look really good in our uniforms and have fun doing it.

The JRS team

In the Rwandan and Congolese culture it is considered impolite for women to whistle at any time.  This practice is reserved for men only and I am told that women who do whistle do so because they want to be like men.  I learned this little factoid only after whistling at a colleague from far off in camp.  When we discussed the cultural relevance in class today I was amused to find out that out of the nine women in my class, only one could actually, physically whistle.  All five men could.  It was then that I whistled like an angelic bird and we all had a good laugh.  Note to self-no more whistling outside of the house.

I brought home a small tree/plant and we decorated it with random items from around the house to celebrate the beginning of the holiday season and an upcoming Christmas.  It is imperfect and resembles Charlie Brown's feeble tree but that is why we love it.  For your information that is a chitenje tree skirt.  Our tree will be planted in the front yard upon my return from adventuring in Ethiopia over the holiday break.  Merry, happy times all.    

        

      

Protein Rich

Termite season has officially begun!  For the past two days, while recovering from some kind of stomach illness, I have not eaten anything of substance until this evening when I was riding my bike home through a swarm of termites and I swallowed a few unlucky ones that flew into my mouth when I was forced to breath.  This year’s termite season kicked off yesterday with a bang when, after our first heavy rain, the sun came out and hundreds upon thousands of winged termites came spewing out of their conspicuous earthen chimneys.  The bright pink sunset illuminated the skies and provided a perfect backdrop to admire the spectacle.  People in my neighborhood were outside, as always, being entertained by the gathering display. The termite’s iridescent wings flapped so furiously through the air that they created a euphoric halo around their small, yet substantial buggy bodies.  After flying freely in the warm night air the termites then drop their wings and are forever forced to scuttle around on the ground below. The sheer magnitude of termites flying through the air was impressive (in an ‘Armageddon’ attack of the locusts kind of way) as was the river of wings littering the ground after the metamorphosis. 

Throughout this time of year locals wait patiently with hand-woven nets to catch the insects flying in mass droves out of their colonies.  They fry them up and eat them with a dash of salt for a protein rich, nutty snack.  During my ride home tonight I attempted to dodge the darkened clouds of termites with little success, getting pelted in the face and across my body.  As gross as this may sound I was really trying to fight back a smile from my face.  Why was I smiling you ask (or perhaps you weren’t asking because you already know I’m crazy)?  Well, I realized at that moment I had arrived in Malawi at the end of the termite season last year.  This time around I didn’t have 101 questions to ask about the wild phenomenon because I already knew the answers.  I was in no less a state of awe this second go round but I had the knowledge and that warm, cozy feeling of familiarity slapping me in the face with their wings.  Perhaps I should get myself a net…