tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30667490334123185052024-03-13T01:03:51.081-07:00Thoughts From Inside the Giant DomeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-58896088161692575052012-02-23T11:44:00.000-08:002012-02-23T11:44:19.033-08:00The Story of One Young Man<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>668</o:Words> <o:Characters>3812</o:Characters> <o:Company>Boston College</o:Company> <o:Lines>31</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>7</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>4681</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">This is not just any story and this is not just any young man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This story starts in Burundi where a 1-year-old baby is forced into the arms of another young mother because both of his parents have been murdered by the national army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The baby boy is too young to comprehend the gravity of the situation or the affects it will have on his life but he is hungry and cries to be fed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Violence in Burundi causes the young mother to flee the country in search of safety and security.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She flees to Tanzania and to a refugee camp where the young boy will grow up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At age five he is separated from the woman who has taken care of him and becomes the responsibility of another man whom he will live with for the next 5 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there the man will disappear, likely to South Africa, in search of work and a better life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boy, alone, scared, waits for the man to return as he was told to do. He sleeps anywhere he can rest his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He suffers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually a family leaving Tanzania take the young boy, now 10 years old, to the Dzaleka Refugee Camp, a place they are promised has a better future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is here, in Dzaleka, where the boy will spend his formative years sleeping on a straw mat, concerned about the source of his next meal, schooling when possible and finding refuse in football games and model wire trucks made of old fermented beer cartons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">His family of circumstance stand by him just until their own biological children start to eat their way through the food rations provided.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The parents reach a breaking point and force the boy to choose between quitting school to earn an income or living alone and unaccompanied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With wisdom beyond his years, he choses school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, independent, his knowledge and determination are his strengths that keep his head above the water as he treads to find a different path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I met this boy in his 18<sup>th</sup> year, having spent 17 years of his young life living according to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) and the local governments willing to house refugees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the developing countries that provide for a majority of refugees around the world posing the obvious question: “Why is it the poor countries that take on a lions share of the burden when it comes to taking care of asylum seekers and refugees?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not in our backyard we say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not in our backyard.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In a session just last week I was speaking to this boy who has become a young man with far too many responsibilities and stress for someone his age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is a most genuine spirit with good intentions and a modest courage that speaks louder than his tenor pitched voice ever could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without rations for the month of February he is scraping by on one cup of pourage per day provided by the primary school where he is a student.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A 19-year-old 8<sup>th</sup> grader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Language barrier, war and basic need have kept him from school across multiple academic years and his grade level, given his age, represents the dire struggle this boy has survived through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am proud to know him and humbled to realize that there are people living in this world that can prevail despite such tragedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our session that day never felt like a session between counselor and client but more like old friends getting to the nitty gritty about life’s priorities, hopes and dreams, and the questions and uncertainties that still plague us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">At one point in the conversation he disclosed that there are moments when he is physically present in the classroom yet his mind wanders and emotionally he finds himself with his head buried in his hands, “I have no family, I am hungry. I feel sorry for myself.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite my battle to hold back my eminent emotions they still got the best of me. My eyes reddened and welled up with heavy tears that seemed to be drawn from my eyes with exceptional gravitational force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No young man should have to be deal with this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As an old friend would, I attempted to provide some hope. “I have never felt sorry for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see in you a strong young man that has continued to overcome, has continued to fight and has made something of himself and for himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are more powerful than you know.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that familiar smile that begins at the outside corners of his gaunt cheeks, he replied simply, “WOW.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exactly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sentiment Exactly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">When I see his dark eyes gazing from behind his mysterious expression I find myself smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This young man has made an impact on my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His journey has inspired me and enriched my time here in Dzaleka.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one short word he managed to sum up his story in a way that other words cannot. WOW.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment--></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-62368138413380426542012-02-08T12:23:00.000-08:002012-02-08T12:43:02.253-08:00Cranky Pants Loves Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I’m in one of those moods. One of those moods when I don’t feel like talking to anyone, preferring to turn my back on most everything and be alone with my thoughts. I can’t put my finger on why exactly I have landed in this despondent state but non-the-less I am here. I know the gloom will pass in good time but in some weird way I don’t mind wallowing in this 'Debbie Downer' mood. It makes me feel grounded, knowing that everyone has their bad days. As bizarre as it is, these moods turn me into a contemplative intellectual. I brood over various things that have been on my mind, reflect on my life and the people in it and ask the hard questions. Once I get tired of the philosopher in me I go back to being my enthusiastic self who thinks out loud even while others are listening, takes great pleasure in sunsets, makes wishes on stars, sings off key, laughs when it may be inappropriate and respects kids who play in the dirt.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">When I am in one of these seldom dumpster dispositions I can count on thoughts of my classroom and the individuals in it to lift my spirits. So with that, I would like to introduce you to a group of people I have been privileged enough to spend the last year of my life with. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">They are men and women ranging in age from 25-66; asylum seekers, refugees and a local from the Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda, Burundi and Malawi. Everyday they are eager to learn about our coursework as well as tangential gems of wisdom that seem to sprout up and grow into teaching moments. A description of my students based solely on their nationalities seems distant and unfamiliar when my intent is to show you the warmth of their personalities and the uniqueness of their spirits. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">More specifically, they are a guitar maker, a pastor, a grandfather, an entrepreneur, a mother of six, a nurse, a community leader, a volunteer, a head counselor, a survivor, a storyteller, a quiet soul, an extrovert, a thinker and then there is me, the token Mzungu. We are all individuals whose fate has brought us together to learn, laugh and share time. <o:p></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6IjjEjaBI6_OTqDOD32fXmojY02FC1j1edN2Ru-gwtpAiIIVK4_qGSZ4bf-BPnnW4gG-phcvT9qVDjubsjQ65lumqtnV2wUDt0sTSrga0QBeIBImajMVpPSL7J2RaSBj2IFmCZLuPagNK/s1600/P1010318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6IjjEjaBI6_OTqDOD32fXmojY02FC1j1edN2Ru-gwtpAiIIVK4_qGSZ4bf-BPnnW4gG-phcvT9qVDjubsjQ65lumqtnV2wUDt0sTSrga0QBeIBImajMVpPSL7J2RaSBj2IFmCZLuPagNK/s400/P1010318.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Community Counseling Track Students </td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">My students are amazing human beings that have taught me more than I could have ever expected about myself and about what true priorities are. We have shared secrets in the sanctity of each other’s company, built trust and companionship, exposed our weaknesses, asked honest questions and responded with sincere answers. Over time we have become a unified group coming to understand each other’s idiosyncrasies and building off of each other’s strengths. Academically we are learning about rapport building, clear communication techniques, Cognitive Behavior Therapy, Depression, symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, stages of trauma and recovery, counseling perspectives, self care and therapy especially focusing on people living with HIV/AIDS, unaccompanied minors, older adults and people with disabilities. During each and every two-hour session we learn something new and I am able to tuck a life lesson into the back of my brain to be cherished for later.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I was recently pondering the concept of student to teacher reciprocity and I came to the conclusion that our scale is mostly lopsided. On a daily basis I am thanked for my contribution but I feel my students need constant reminder that it is, and always has been my great pleasure and privilege to work alongside them. I have explained that they are the reason I get up in the morning to walk 25 minutes through the rain to the office. They are the reason I travel one hour in a cramped Land Cruiser to get to camp. They are the reason I can look back on the last year and smile my crooked smile. <o:p></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZ7pGvHRtGgUSWMYWBU1Rsr8loUoevRIb2rwrkvImBYg7R4b9uR9DK_LRXe_szrValag_zWCg2bHMPwPm35vN_xh_RpOP124q3v-xGIFm44Plxd0k-IhSbvShFvOVGs-YpXcOIeBRjiEV/s1600/P1010386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZ7pGvHRtGgUSWMYWBU1Rsr8loUoevRIb2rwrkvImBYg7R4b9uR9DK_LRXe_szrValag_zWCg2bHMPwPm35vN_xh_RpOP124q3v-xGIFm44Plxd0k-IhSbvShFvOVGs-YpXcOIeBRjiEV/s320/P1010386.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Play Therapy Session</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">There are moments in the classroom when I can see people making connections between theory and their work. Their eyebrows raise, their mouths tilt slightly open and the light bulbs inside their heads not just goes on, but beams with understanding. At these moments I usually rise to my feet to drive the lesson home but more so because I can't seem to contain my excitement. Their realization is my proudest moment. Their accomplishment is my accomplishment. My students are always so grateful to be learning amongst a population that is mostly and forcibly idle (According to Malawian law refugees are unable to gain legal employment, which manifests itself into boredom, frustration and restlessness often multiplying the risk for mental health issues). <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">The other day I walked in on a serious study session before our class even started. My learners were questioning each other, nodding, clarifying and reaching a new level of comprehension. When I realized what was going on around me my eyes watered up and made the extra hours of preparation, lesson planning and photocopying all worth it. "This makes me so happy you have no idea." Their work ethic and initiative fills me with a sense of satisfaction. I am able to measure my success through their progress. Based on their growth and accomplishment I would say that I have, and am, making an impact. My days are long and despite the occasional ‘no good, very bad day’, when I get into that cramped Land Cruiser to go home I know that my privilege is going toward a greater good. Sometimes on the ride back I am stressed out from the demanding schedule, other times my brain checks out and I can’t seem to form proper sentences, still other times I laugh uncontrollably out of sheer exhaustion, but always, ALWAYS, I am happy knowing I get to do it all again tomorrow.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPUDcrfB0KXwlZordaqr70l-qF54MDqjR0BUPOh1NeTDn8yEXWP3S0s94WtZ_EI-FAGVjctVcrEkjaANNJ4NZT9v74afgcSzMuGd74OSGrSEwojlYIvsSAKWf5wYsXru9ojQx0__X_GlW/s1600/P1000862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPUDcrfB0KXwlZordaqr70l-qF54MDqjR0BUPOh1NeTDn8yEXWP3S0s94WtZ_EI-FAGVjctVcrEkjaANNJ4NZT9v74afgcSzMuGd74OSGrSEwojlYIvsSAKWf5wYsXru9ojQx0__X_GlW/s320/P1000862.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">As the time slips away faster and faster through my fingers while I prepare to leave I realize that most of the ‘goodbyes’ will be just that. Good bye. I am struggling with the idea of such a permanent and abrupt ending but I don’t think time could possibly dull the memories only enhance them. The thoughts will occupy small parts of my mind and huge parts of my heart. I have made sacrafices to be here but the work has made it all worth it. It is not a sacrafice I would be willing to make forever and I suppose as our program wraps up, now is as good a time as any to leave though I am not completely convinced. Truth is I have no regrets as I return home except for my failure to learn Chechewa (AND French, Swahili, Kurundi, and Kirwanda). I would not change a thing though. Not even the perpetual broken window at HEM, the leaking roof or the boldness of the odd toilet flies. Not the power cuts that made making copies impossible or the rusty red mud that got crusted in between my toes during the rains. I would not change the afternoon water fights with Clotilde or take back the random embraces from children infected with ringworm. If I had to do it all again I would keep the grit in my rice that almost cracked my teeth and still listen intently to the never ending stories of needs and struggles that could not be satiated. I would not give up the warm greetings in the mornings nor the search for toilet key number 6 nor the inquisitive stares at the bore hole. I would not modify the limited lunch menu selection of rice, beans and chapatti or beans, chapatti and rice, nor the need for three interpretations of the same English phrase so we can all be together. I would not change having to hunt down masking tape to uphold lesson plans or having to sit on dirt floors to hold counseling sessions in cold, mud brick homes. I would not change the days I left with tears in my eyes from heartbreaking stories nor distant shouts of from excited children None of it. I wouldn't change a thing. My experience has been painfully perfect. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Dome's Favorites: Some quotes I pulled from email correspondence with my students (some of which may be the first ever email they have ever composed).<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“I hope and believe that you are all sarounded by Angles who will guide and protect you in every step you make.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“Good morning .I am very happy to have an opportunity to write to you<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">even i do in late.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">I appreciate how you teach us very well in spite of the crying of my<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">child.Now I am doing my job very well because of your teaching.Thank<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">you again GOD bless you.” [*breast feeding babies are always welcome in class.]<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“It so good to wish and be in touch with someone you have been with.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">the chance of life i expect it in : education, friends and membership.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“When you are experiencing those down days, can you take a picture of their progress? It is very real. It has changed them. Honestly and truly your impact has made such a difference in their lives” –my supervisor <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-82155738789038359582012-01-15T02:12:00.000-08:002012-01-15T06:16:59.158-08:0049er Faithful<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Kickoff was set for 11:30 p.m. Malawi time and there I was at 11:25 scrambling to get 107.7 The Bone Radio Station from the Bay Area to feed me audio from Candlestick Park. A video feed from an online link was unreliable and the clock was ticking until game time. My previous attempts to befriend any American diplomat with access to the Armed Forces Network (AFN) failed and my plan b and c were quickly becoming dire. In the end Coach came to my rescue and was able to set up her Skype video so that I could watch the game via video chat from her living room in Pacifica. *Thanks for sharing a beer and some time with me buddy.<br />
<br />
For four hours I sat at my small dining table watching a 2x2 inch picture with poor, pixilated quality and next to no audio. The painful reality of what I had been reduced to in order to watch this playoff game became inconsequential after the first three scores of the game were all owned by the 49ers. As time wore on and the Saints took their first lead late in the fourth quarter my anxiety grew and sitting down no longer became an option. On a quarter back draw to the left Alex Smith ran 28 yards to the touchdown. To counter, Drew Breeze hit his receiver over the middle and he rumbled 66 yards for the score. I bit my nails till there was nothing left. I swore like a sailer who had been at sea for months. I screamed out loud despite my housemate sleeping soundly in the next room. Ultimately, when Alex hit Vernon over the middle for the final score I was stomping my feet on the ground and pumping my fists as if I had made the catch.<br />
<br />
Nine years I have waited for this moment of shining redemption. When you are a diehard fan, staying up until 3:30 in the morning and watching fuzzy figures on a small computer screen is the sacrifices you make. After all watching your team and their 'lights out' defense become divisional champions is a feeling too sweet to miss.<br />
<br />
To have been at the Stick for our glorious win in the final seconds of the game would have been that much more incredible but knowing we will live to see another Sunday is good enough for me. <br />
<br />
Fellow red and gold lovers have this to say about the win: <br />
<br />
-"Speechless" exclaims Brian Caughell<br />
-"Unreal" says Courtney Coster<br />
-"It took years off of my life" shouts Raymond Camahort <br />
<br />
"Who's Got it Better Than Us?"...NOBODY! Thank you Coach Harbaugh </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-83373461516717847232012-01-11T11:24:00.000-08:002012-01-11T11:24:12.069-08:0013 Months of Sunshine in Ethiopia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>2030</o:Words> <o:Characters>11571</o:Characters> <o:Company>Boston College</o:Company> <o:Lines>96</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>23</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>14210</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Some say that Ethiopia is a clash of cultures between the traditional Orthodox Christian and Muslim worlds but I would say it is more of a wonderful blend of both worlds passionately intertwined and brimming with roasted coffee beans, traditional drum beats, vibrating shoulders, Amharak language, pungently sour injera, ancient monasteries, roaming livestock and a beautiful, loving people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mingling of traditions that washed over me during my two weeks of travel throughout Ethiopia was like nothing else I have ever experienced in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUZAnluPtTft9eyR0Bh2A4on2ScEKiiEgdWJCJ9m0DdR2rPnEYtJ8J53ZmL8RNFHFsZr1fyqP73idK83SsbDvRpZ9y3LI1wAbkZX4GS5SmDovobnXwFi2Z9e1dl4LLE9vhh-VE4MbieWY/s1600/P1010208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUZAnluPtTft9eyR0Bh2A4on2ScEKiiEgdWJCJ9m0DdR2rPnEYtJ8J53ZmL8RNFHFsZr1fyqP73idK83SsbDvRpZ9y3LI1wAbkZX4GS5SmDovobnXwFi2Z9e1dl4LLE9vhh-VE4MbieWY/s320/P1010208.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mango, Avocado & Papaya Juice</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Our itinerary was set for a breakneck speed but did allow for a few days of relaxed nothingness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We flew into Addis Ababa (Meaning New Flower) on the 17<sup>th</sup> of December only to turn around and catch our connection to Lalibela the very next morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From Lalibela we took a puddle jumper to Gonder and traveled by bus up to Debark and to the entrance of Simeon Mountain National Park featuring Ras Dashen, the highest peak in Ethiopia at 15,157 feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there we were on foot covering beautiful trail until we reached Chenek Camp where we were picked up on Christmas day to travel by 4-wheel-drive across rocky terrain back to Gonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From Gonder onto Bahir Dar on a 10-hour cramped mini bus then back to Addis Ababa en route down to Awasa, south of the capital, for a new year’s celebration lakeside under the stars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come New Year’s Day we were back to Addis Ababa flying back to Lilongwe on the second of January to start work on the third day of 2012.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All this in 17 short days. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuF5-Act0sGLypak3lXG_sDwrF2AFRFJswsfoZKKWMc_eZMNdFTmfDHkKm_HSecanc5N5Xg4iXDDpyR32v7oDcdbCZ12os-QjAhc9eFrjnmUDUGr342XBIPye6wDCqm0XdBzmMlVk1puM3/s1600/P1000903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuF5-Act0sGLypak3lXG_sDwrF2AFRFJswsfoZKKWMc_eZMNdFTmfDHkKm_HSecanc5N5Xg4iXDDpyR32v7oDcdbCZ12os-QjAhc9eFrjnmUDUGr342XBIPye6wDCqm0XdBzmMlVk1puM3/s320/P1000903.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Take a deep breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was able to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now for the colorful details that will give you a glimpse into the world of Ethiopia and the incredible destinations we visited. I hope the colors of my limited pallet can paint a vibrant enough picture to do the country justice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51nu8bgE6GVNGT2QDDHSsW_GmrcQUpLabbcXkKGSVONjMP7H_snOZGIWQ0IKWxgaXFap9Z7T_dg437dmVOP8S4ijjU0YWI0h_wkxJjFe8_Xo_QKqtN44OlAkCBNPzDU8KCqKFyCBWTxi6/s1600/P1000917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51nu8bgE6GVNGT2QDDHSsW_GmrcQUpLabbcXkKGSVONjMP7H_snOZGIWQ0IKWxgaXFap9Z7T_dg437dmVOP8S4ijjU0YWI0h_wkxJjFe8_Xo_QKqtN44OlAkCBNPzDU8KCqKFyCBWTxi6/s320/P1000917.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Lalibela.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A town set on top of mountainous plateaus resting at elevations close to 8,600 feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A town differentiated from the others due to its two storied brick houses perfectly round with thatched roofs coming to a thimble shaped closure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What makes the place so well renowned is the rock-hewn churches carved from solid pieces of rock that date back to the 12<sup>th</sup> century.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The churches are still places of worship today and if one rises before the sun one can watch robed monks spill out of the stone entrances, shoeless and silent, just as they did hundreds of years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lalibela was named after King Lalibela (Meaning Honey Eater) who ruled Ethiopia for over 40 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honey and bees are still a cherished commodity in the town where locals extract the sweet nectar from fresh honeycomb to make tej wine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The highlight in Lalibela for me was sharing a coffee ceremony in the small home of a local man, his mother and sister.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0W6YnYkNl7rwbef-68px_YkSKaYATIUR1A7A4-qrwpdM8Lc2eGEpzkLBcibqRfz4gG75bXjnNPqvquFIwRTwr8fRx1OtUe2kH5MKIOopaj7eSW_RJ-elf8j3HPthyphenhyphenSkQBJwdISinhWw38/s1600/P1000948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0W6YnYkNl7rwbef-68px_YkSKaYATIUR1A7A4-qrwpdM8Lc2eGEpzkLBcibqRfz4gG75bXjnNPqvquFIwRTwr8fRx1OtUe2kH5MKIOopaj7eSW_RJ-elf8j3HPthyphenhyphenSkQBJwdISinhWw38/s320/P1000948.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">The coffee ceremony:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can tell you from experience that two White girls traveling through Ethiopia are magnets for kind locals and crazy nut balls alike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the former named Sisay invited us into his home to share in a traditional style coffee ceremony with his sister and mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I had to guess the age of his mother based on the wrinkly skin clinging to her hallowed cheek bones, her cloudy eyes staring into the distance and the brittle skin around her arthritic hands I would wager 80 to 85.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it turned out she did not know the year of her birth, as it was not officially documented back then, but given the season she was born in and the events of that year she was able to give me an age range between 60 and 65.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rings around this woman’s trunk were highly deceiving to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life in a high-density Ethiopian village proves to take its toll on the body to say the least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the other side of the spectrum his sister had a beautiful caramel colored complexion, light green eyes and a delicate face that if ‘discovered’ could easily grace the cover of Vogue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVa1xn8ALtCmPU5_CLv-PHnP3OZqlz-Wp72tf_Dg6Y_C6jSWgfl7n14n03XbuBvINeivpU8iNcg5cQSpKJCSz21PB0T30hDnCpxWyXJQ9KTPUgVrjm95pABfhTj2r-L2xeHV_kP-oL189v/s1600/P1000988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVa1xn8ALtCmPU5_CLv-PHnP3OZqlz-Wp72tf_Dg6Y_C6jSWgfl7n14n03XbuBvINeivpU8iNcg5cQSpKJCSz21PB0T30hDnCpxWyXJQ9KTPUgVrjm95pABfhTj2r-L2xeHV_kP-oL189v/s320/P1000988.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Coffee Ceremony</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">We took seats atop cushions on the ground which, I was sure, converted into sleeping mats come sundown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was happily surprised to find out that in the village neighbors share a running water faucet, consistent electricity and the tasks required to ferment the local beer for an afternoon happy hours of sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Progressive I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Below our feet on the cement floor laid newly cut grass and red poinsettia flowers that created a beautiful display for the 12 ceramic cups that nestled into a wooden tray on top of them. The sister placed freshly picked coffee beans onto a large iron saucer that was shifted by hand over a hot charcoal flame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the beans lost their moisture they cracked and fizzled sending an aroma into the air that was so rich I could almost taste it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beans were then placed in a mortar and pestle and ground to a fine powder while a ceramic kettle was placed over orange burning coals raising the water temperature inside to a rolling boil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the beans were ground they were measured with an experienced eye and dumped into the kettle blending strong and earthy goodness for the freshest cup of coffee I had ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I added a teaspoon of sugar to my cup because everyone else was doing it but in the back of my mind I felt like the sugar might somehow taint the perfect concoction that had been labored over for the past 25 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t, BUT if you were to jump off of a bridge I would too <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The flavor was rich and nutty with a noticeable strength that lifted my sagging eyelids from lack of sleep. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx43184X41ozusJuragApMeUpG2QTNzJSq5zogtbkRT2mgRZlQtiJkGjMAJtKjRpr_P8Xw0t3BWxm6kjcbWKy8q3tpyJ8jxwLgkRQ44168jGZBk19iAB988swup3eM_lHIeAdBe2d6G2ti/s1600/P1010036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx43184X41ozusJuragApMeUpG2QTNzJSq5zogtbkRT2mgRZlQtiJkGjMAJtKjRpr_P8Xw0t3BWxm6kjcbWKy8q3tpyJ8jxwLgkRQ44168jGZBk19iAB988swup3eM_lHIeAdBe2d6G2ti/s320/P1010036.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Streets of Debark</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Afterward Sisay’s mother and I sat down to have a chat only the obvious problem was she spoke Amharak and I spoke English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amharak has no relationship to any Latin based language therefore forming the sounds with my mouth proved extremely difficult let alone uttering the basic greetings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the language barrier I felt as if we took an immediate liking to one another and when she began to show off her tattoos I was captivated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traditional designs resembling parallel railroad ties adorned her chin stretching from ear to ear. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her name in Amharak was emblazoned on her left forearm and more designs, that had at one time been intricate but were now bleeding into her wrinkled skin, were lining her shinbones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I pulled up my shirt to reveal the tattoo of my gnarly old oak tree her eyes lit up and at that moment we bonded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though my body art was not designed to attract men as hers were, in that instant we were simply an old woman and a young woman sharing the special meanings behind our tattoos while marveling at the rare circumstances that brought us together on this fateful day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quite a scene and a memory I will never forget. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcnxR4JsZQmcS_G9vsBlRqj91yeKRhk128g-_0_rzbx2bkdmd3r6Y957rHTkPa-qwArjsdk8n8BWj2j6wbWYDqHYulKpOKh1j-5V3WMvdo6R_N8WAQT1hFuMsfV907-_Uwky8THTlbHWd/s1600/P1010010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWcnxR4JsZQmcS_G9vsBlRqj91yeKRhk128g-_0_rzbx2bkdmd3r6Y957rHTkPa-qwArjsdk8n8BWj2j6wbWYDqHYulKpOKh1j-5V3WMvdo6R_N8WAQT1hFuMsfV907-_Uwky8THTlbHWd/s320/P1010010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Gonder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Viola and I took Gonder by storm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No sooner had we arrived in town had we met an Ethiopian and Israeli man, who both became a part of our travel plans for the next few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We visited Debre Birhan Selassie Church and relished in the 80 cherub angel faces smiling down at us, drank exotic juices from avocados, mangos and papayas that were as colorful as they were delicious, ate giant circular plates of injera smothered in shiro, doro wat and garlic infused meat tibs, drank macchiatos for six Birr (17 Birr=1$/US), flew around on 3-wheeled motor bikes known as Bajajs or tuk-tuks in other parts of Asia and Africa, stopped in small doorways and storefronts to admire jewelry, taste locally brewed fire also known as alcohol and dance to the melodic drumming of local musicians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0iLSxncfQ_obmviSp3q6Fek6_1aCNYCfUHMc_HNck40witTSCt-jVD-DLxwLCxrWugizOULaEkNmLjVg5RNFftDAZ3WS1D7S3Gyb7L5D1iroMvLvY2DVzgFVnja9e-y9SpQEZYMy34Gj/s1600/P1000949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0iLSxncfQ_obmviSp3q6Fek6_1aCNYCfUHMc_HNck40witTSCt-jVD-DLxwLCxrWugizOULaEkNmLjVg5RNFftDAZ3WS1D7S3Gyb7L5D1iroMvLvY2DVzgFVnja9e-y9SpQEZYMy34Gj/s320/P1000949.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">The highlight for me was sharing in the company of the locals and visiting a traditional tej bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are awkwardly familiar with the scene already.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indiana Jones walks into a poorly lit establishment in a foreign land on the other side of the world in search of a grail or an arc or some historical relic owned by Jesus Himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the hazy air clears and Indy comes back into focus all the locals have taken notice of the strange man in their presence and an awkward silence hangs in the air until the clanging music and banter resume just as monkey brains are enjoyed at the dinner table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Gonder our Indiana Jones moment came when we walked into a traditional tej bar and all of my senses were joyfully overwhelmed with curiosity and intrigue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Red and yellow bulbs shed light onto colorfully woven rugs, hanging cowhides, spiraling mountain goat horns and large wooden drums.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A steady beat and the rise and fall of a woman’s voice filled my ears, potent incense engulfed my nose and burned the back of my throat, the tej wine caused my mouth to pucker sending a warm trickle of magic down to my stomach, my hand gripped the smooth beaker shaped glass holding the fermented wine and my eyes soaked up the energy that came from the crowd of fun seekers, old friends and working women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-5XTEivnEsoo4Mlw2KP79FpjlekL_wa315uOIxDp36dluHhbB15HmLVxGxeWSaPM5XT5LzxEZY34x-36kW8U6Qx4ua70yNLlPgN46TrNpvMmXR8Y0Khg9gj_LGHzvLoFX9hUc9_7JlmR/s1600/P1010162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-5XTEivnEsoo4Mlw2KP79FpjlekL_wa315uOIxDp36dluHhbB15HmLVxGxeWSaPM5XT5LzxEZY34x-36kW8U6Qx4ua70yNLlPgN46TrNpvMmXR8Y0Khg9gj_LGHzvLoFX9hUc9_7JlmR/s320/P1010162.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Highland Kids Selling Handy Crafts </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Taking in the scene was so entertaining that it occupied my brain’s capacity and ability to socialize with the rest of our group of Ethiopians, Spaniards, Englishmen, Judeans and Germans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I finally snapped out of my daydream the thoughts that were racing through my head came spilling out of my mouth in rapid succession. “Look at them, can you hear that, did you taste this?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as I was thinking about the people I would love to be in the company of in addition to those surrounding me I was called up by the musician to dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An invitation I realized I could not turn down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The traditional style of dance performed by the locals is all done with the upper body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shoulders take on a life of their own, bouncing and vibrating to the beat in unison as the torso undulates in a circle provoking other dancers to shake more furiously to the music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The audience took notice when I was able to mimic the professional dancer in front of me but more so I think because this ‘Faranje (foreigner) had rhythm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My shoulders bounced along, arms akimbo, eyes fixed on my partner. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drum beat on, the crowd cheered and questions came from the audience, “Where did you learn to dance like that?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mzhFiMy0qGqKIv2wdPJXve7iuWPcRAI4zZuXGIdPgz9VyC4FudUwvnQ6zDsgl7BbaQx3AXw_rst-C8vYGq08pN9fNDT6Cp0cYzr8ls_2vVRbQ3N1hPEM-T9vOc9EZaf0_G-n1XGVO7IN/s1600/P1010076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mzhFiMy0qGqKIv2wdPJXve7iuWPcRAI4zZuXGIdPgz9VyC4FudUwvnQ6zDsgl7BbaQx3AXw_rst-C8vYGq08pN9fNDT6Cp0cYzr8ls_2vVRbQ3N1hPEM-T9vOc9EZaf0_G-n1XGVO7IN/s320/P1010076.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scissor Kick</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwPeFOByX2svJyzjLcMINbW_OQ2uO9cj9ugMTUy-LAxOWwAsiAT_prY7fAe5kRcxnm-YouupmIsRFMFCt0paxrQKKmxgCO3CBrUXsNasZoaaqynA8zyynODMLELCo4y2B6eOqZ_qTpXIJA/s1600/P1010043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwPeFOByX2svJyzjLcMINbW_OQ2uO9cj9ugMTUy-LAxOWwAsiAT_prY7fAe5kRcxnm-YouupmIsRFMFCt0paxrQKKmxgCO3CBrUXsNasZoaaqynA8zyynODMLELCo4y2B6eOqZ_qTpXIJA/s320/P1010043.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">The Simeon Mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Breathing in pure mountain air, basking in warm rays of sun light by day, shivering to the bone chilling cold by night was just what I needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Traveling the same trails as local villagers over steep escarpments, through rocky river beds, past troops of Gelada Baboons and up to mind blowing, awe inspiring peaks allowed me to reconnect with nature and relax a part of my brain that had been wrapped up in work for so long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Christmas morning nap on a grassy bluff with 360* views of the park made for a good start to Jesus’ Birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was affected by the altitude, which kept me from attempting the final day’s summit, but some time for reflection and appreciation apart from the group was fulfilling nonetheless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time posing with a Kalichnikoff assault rifle while asking for peace on earth was another cheerful Christmas day activity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not being on Amigo Lane made the Christmas season different from any one previous and in all truth made it less festive, as if a piece of me was missing yet I was still filled with a sense of joyous satisfaction that only a rambling heart can experience away from what is comfortable and familiar.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPzrWIdx_msEtNe4qiVhsrYUzKagNO-9GVl0YTGSvYnNVXd9dGT8q6LfyuoZVSd5igJO_o1huqV39mIBK9XyB-EXOn03LfddO34w08qvGDQE5CKP0snJ6PvWCE43FD730dpgVMzERcHmCX/s1600/P1010095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPzrWIdx_msEtNe4qiVhsrYUzKagNO-9GVl0YTGSvYnNVXd9dGT8q6LfyuoZVSd5igJO_o1huqV39mIBK9XyB-EXOn03LfddO34w08qvGDQE5CKP0snJ6PvWCE43FD730dpgVMzERcHmCX/s320/P1010095.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gelada Baboons<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYj6wPNqSSYxZ-T_vKzTtN7lQfNZyYEJXdKwbMzQm68yz5waE4CQkWdeu4-lGnUFj_7D639arGPVp1q81ooD-HkBMC8hu1UY9Vq_dzr9KX6Cr0helMx3xg4lPMr_q3We3F-Iq9DsfC9Fc/s1600/P1010063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXYj6wPNqSSYxZ-T_vKzTtN7lQfNZyYEJXdKwbMzQm68yz5waE4CQkWdeu4-lGnUFj_7D639arGPVp1q81ooD-HkBMC8hu1UY9Vq_dzr9KX6Cr0helMx3xg4lPMr_q3We3F-Iq9DsfC9Fc/s320/P1010063.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mule Men Driving Mules in the Simeon Mountains</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bahir Dar:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The source of the Blue Nile, the islands of Lake Tana, the 14<sup>th</sup> century Monastery Kidane Mihiret, Goofy Danny and his older hawk-eyed traveling companion visiting every country on the map, an offer to visit the Danakil Depression free of charge, my first visit by the diarrhea devil (despite my frequent occurrences with diarrhea over the years I never seem to spell it right on first attempt), stick wielding guards beating back minibus operators in the hectic depot, more dancing and more general enjoyment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No hippos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCK-NmkNuuWMBE44FVCUQ4k0o8G0t_I1KJKuB2a1o11RKxmX53zKS3GneWdvTlcE6Az0VY4zcL-KgyBxVVbSTvePoz9EXNEuzQgum1AkDIb3QbODInn5FvEyixoYZ4pwuuWiVo_4a3Yk0e/s1600/P1010159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCK-NmkNuuWMBE44FVCUQ4k0o8G0t_I1KJKuB2a1o11RKxmX53zKS3GneWdvTlcE6Az0VY4zcL-KgyBxVVbSTvePoz9EXNEuzQgum1AkDIb3QbODInn5FvEyixoYZ4pwuuWiVo_4a3Yk0e/s320/P1010159.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Awasa and the New Year:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The foreigners in Ethiopia on January 1<sup>st</sup> were the only ones celebrating the New Year, consequently because they(we) observe the Gregorian Calendar and not the Ethiopian Orthodox Calendar which will be celebrating 2005 come September 11<sup>th</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As one woman put it, “You are seven years younger in this country.” What a nice perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A warm welcome from Viola’s cousin made Awasa seem soft around the edges, relaxed and immediately familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her cousin Melanie is living in Awasa and working as a schoolteacher in one of the local villages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was her cousin along with a smiley local Rasta and10 young Germans who rented a minibus to take us to Lake Langano. Viola and I tagged along and smooshed in between couch cushions, fleece blankets, overstuffed backpacks, bags of random food items, gallons of water and 24 flailing arms and legs all excited to celebrate the dawn of the new year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The enthusiasm was made that much more intense because we all were chewing chat, a locally grown plant whose juices have an upper affect on the body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While it doesn’t taste good, actually more like bitter dirt, the affect is quite nice, leaving one absorbed in deep conversation, awake and ready to attempt anything and in a mellow mood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAVG_25UX0YbEMsgckftc2p-00PySIOkrS4vizyNd_AqR2dfOTzp_ptfoaB516it2ttlk94YB47GDWX0cEpxMtUjapcoWysQx8AuyDn0r6P2sxnv2xSz6umTTpV2wTnVFk4aTppvOGhfy/s1600/P1010251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAAVG_25UX0YbEMsgckftc2p-00PySIOkrS4vizyNd_AqR2dfOTzp_ptfoaB516it2ttlk94YB47GDWX0cEpxMtUjapcoWysQx8AuyDn0r6P2sxnv2xSz6umTTpV2wTnVFk4aTppvOGhfy/s320/P1010251.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awasa and the St. George Cethedral</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">The highlights for me were five simple pleasures: 1)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Getting to roast raw dough over the fire on sticks, like smores minus the chocolate, a treat known to Eastern European’s as Stick Bread. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listening to Lynard Skynard’s version of ‘Simple Man’ at high volume , singing along and feeling every word as the artist intended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>3)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sharing the greatest events of 2011.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reflecting and looking back over our year and letting the group in on our cherished moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Even t</span>he scout looking after the camp participated. He stood up, chest swelled, to share that not two weeks prior he became the proud father of twins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two baby girls that changed his world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>4)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sleeping under the stars in the Southern Hemisphere. 5)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Swimming in the sweet milky colored lake New Year’s Day and basking in the warm sun, toes dug into the sand with a good book in hand.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktynMMVqTzGoul53Zjrq8bVuWQ4CVsAeWX0MN8gqXoNJD1_woTXmw7BU8FW406ckYASEYJQD0-z_l4Sxk7t_JhKUTS9W3gffB443ALkOwX-s1tGvxeywGSA1Ql5zqvTplOyCOAXxU5Uho/s1600/P1010260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhktynMMVqTzGoul53Zjrq8bVuWQ4CVsAeWX0MN8gqXoNJD1_woTXmw7BU8FW406ckYASEYJQD0-z_l4Sxk7t_JhKUTS9W3gffB443ALkOwX-s1tGvxeywGSA1Ql5zqvTplOyCOAXxU5Uho/s320/P1010260.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Viola and I on our way to ring in the new year</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5RkjPv5qBxEilDmeEXiyW8XganKGkJZN66hOOvuC5kxtDhEkiNHEEuLDOeqCF9CSYoMJDovV25EgRr0GhcIOFBcvaNg82IcGXMxbH2UBJBi6UPpD9Xi2GXoh9N83HTWIG4BgZbG_ui3W/s1600/P1010276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK5RkjPv5qBxEilDmeEXiyW8XganKGkJZN66hOOvuC5kxtDhEkiNHEEuLDOeqCF9CSYoMJDovV25EgRr0GhcIOFBcvaNg82IcGXMxbH2UBJBi6UPpD9Xi2GXoh9N83HTWIG4BgZbG_ui3W/s320/P1010276.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Ethiopian Sunset</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">If I measured the length of the 17 days we spent in Ethiopia by the amount of mind-expanding cultural experiences I would say it was closer to three months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time the wheels of the plane touched down in Lilongwe everything had turned green and grown wild over night due to heavy rains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked into my same old house yet it felt as if it were for the first time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The new perspective on the world was my first sign that our </span>adventure was a good one.</div><!--EndFragment--></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-74063529951946214512011-12-25T09:00:00.000-08:002011-12-25T09:00:05.656-08:00And to All a Good NightThe 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. <br />
<br />
ETHIOPIA. 2011/2012.<br />
<br />
Details, pictures and stories upon my return to Malawi. Until then a MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, I love you with everything I have. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-36944320094197570922011-12-16T01:24:00.000-08:002011-12-16T01:24:29.832-08:00I'm Lauren Michelle, I Smile so Well<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">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). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-32987496354312798022011-12-09T07:14:00.000-08:002011-12-09T07:14:01.363-08:00Bits and Pieces<div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPinZ6BRpjyhQr2G5STCRWAA6D6YGe8vfZnAnzeClbAJOWhZcUhvhtID5fseiq4VMh7aKvcNYpKPdj1AzE5J6CQyPv4TLJeSTUROVKUUzQ_81kRt5Rx-8GGHAriP8pz5kfez4IvJ2ibPcQ/s1600/P1000389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPinZ6BRpjyhQr2G5STCRWAA6D6YGe8vfZnAnzeClbAJOWhZcUhvhtID5fseiq4VMh7aKvcNYpKPdj1AzE5J6CQyPv4TLJeSTUROVKUUzQ_81kRt5Rx-8GGHAriP8pz5kfez4IvJ2ibPcQ/s320/P1000389.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flame and Frangipani Trees blossoming now in Lilongwe</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikHwqqI8MrDC7vO5LxtDHEoytpDS11T2eBpV-Mro2EJ_ZuKszsdnthuZP_EzXm6on15_QHtKkoskmmptoEaEcw0Aev3C6e1mNdTBZFTt3SYiRDgc7AhQjS-16jn1SDy2zbcfEPRgfkcEBA/s1600/DSC05317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikHwqqI8MrDC7vO5LxtDHEoytpDS11T2eBpV-Mro2EJ_ZuKszsdnthuZP_EzXm6on15_QHtKkoskmmptoEaEcw0Aev3C6e1mNdTBZFTt3SYiRDgc7AhQjS-16jn1SDy2zbcfEPRgfkcEBA/s320/DSC05317.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Q8c_gGE5699ilsYUS3Wi6Eycstll4U8YTlRLfYDOtkYQujGCgb-I9aCdfe941MyuxCiLl8ipEpMQ4HBjXMJsKoFQxiwIpG_GwPIYxJ-CVc41ilFDy8B4eKml8RFp6Ay9Yvn64mYoZ7Gj/s1600/P1000775.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Q8c_gGE5699ilsYUS3Wi6Eycstll4U8YTlRLfYDOtkYQujGCgb-I9aCdfe941MyuxCiLl8ipEpMQ4HBjXMJsKoFQxiwIpG_GwPIYxJ-CVc41ilFDy8B4eKml8RFp6Ay9Yvn64mYoZ7Gj/s400/P1000775.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mango 'stall' on the side of the road out of Senga Bay </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Malawians love sugar and salt, “too much.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawlHO_bg3ETf7jXYDRoceITOrhkSKmjtVTYnau2x0DBurr9RGXEy54L0dFgWCqjxO76HIWQZNFLAfJWWS-WSznxJW8qNy10eR3rhl3cH1N4tW_42hlnwBCaA7QCcivgLi5xx9v7PsNiUu/s1600/P1000743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiawlHO_bg3ETf7jXYDRoceITOrhkSKmjtVTYnau2x0DBurr9RGXEy54L0dFgWCqjxO76HIWQZNFLAfJWWS-WSznxJW8qNy10eR3rhl3cH1N4tW_42hlnwBCaA7QCcivgLi5xx9v7PsNiUu/s320/P1000743.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A 'teaching moment' on the beach-Yes that is a beer in my hand</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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…” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXRCLq9-Zhvzn6hOImNLbjkd6YouR0aapW5kU0Ca45NZ6EA8e5wCoNf5ica7b0610bOFtv1Ht854mAg4VWiVqAdA4q71FCMbRGt8bKLveRGOozFdr3Mzc6O0rAmcHpTlXS00ankGiHVXm/s1600/P1000485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXRCLq9-Zhvzn6hOImNLbjkd6YouR0aapW5kU0Ca45NZ6EA8e5wCoNf5ica7b0610bOFtv1Ht854mAg4VWiVqAdA4q71FCMbRGt8bKLveRGOozFdr3Mzc6O0rAmcHpTlXS00ankGiHVXm/s400/P1000485.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The JRS team</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">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.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtNfF5FqPYCY_cySD1TN9zGxQ2A24iyC_8-YL_daQNL5-BrFmkUaKg72nwJuiaSpmBHWvXM5CsmMadA_SXf-xE2w43LfX-yhoeqBqqEYkVkYEHQw_XVIdnh4_YlN999BCevDUAWRxzd9w/s1600/P1000808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCtNfF5FqPYCY_cySD1TN9zGxQ2A24iyC_8-YL_daQNL5-BrFmkUaKg72nwJuiaSpmBHWvXM5CsmMadA_SXf-xE2w43LfX-yhoeqBqqEYkVkYEHQw_XVIdnh4_YlN999BCevDUAWRxzd9w/s320/P1000808.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>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. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-1584162428669744792011-12-01T07:06:00.000-08:002011-12-01T07:06:41.898-08:00Protein Rich<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>320</o:Words> <o:Characters>1826</o:Characters> <o:Company>Boston College</o:Company> <o:Lines>15</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>3</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>2242</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Termite season has officially begun!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bright pink sunset illuminated the skies and provided a perfect backdrop to admire the spectacle. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Throughout this time of year locals wait patiently with hand-woven nets to catch the insects flying in mass droves out of their colonies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They fry them up and eat them with a dash of salt for a protein rich, nutty snack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As gross as this may sound I was really trying to fight back a smile from my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why was I smiling you ask (or perhaps you weren’t asking because you already know I’m crazy)? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, I realized at that moment I had arrived in Malawi at the end of the termite season last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time around I didn’t have 101 questions to ask about the wild phenomenon because I already knew the answers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps I should get myself a net…</div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-88801248846518024232011-11-28T22:26:00.000-08:002011-11-28T23:57:56.647-08:00The Rainy Season Begins yet the Country Runs Dry<div class="MsoNormal">A Malawian National Newspaper Press Release dated 11/15/11:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"Periodic shutdowns and rationalization of production for the bottling plant and the brewery. Carlsburg Malawi would like to inform all valued costumers and consumers that our factories in Lilongwe, Blantyre and Mzuzu will experience periodic shutdown of production occasioned by unavailability of imported raw materials like concentrates, Carbon Dioxide, crowns, malt for beer and glass bottles due to erratic availability of foreign exchange.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As a result, it has now become necessary for Carlsburg Malawi Ltd. to rationalize its production program. The management of Carlsburg appreciates the efforts and support rendered by Commercial Banks, the Monetary Authority, Carlsburg A/S and Press Corporation Limited to manage the challenges posed by foreign exchange shortages. However, despite all these efforts, if the situation does not improve, including normalization of fuel supplies to ensure availability of diesel for our delivery and distribution trucks, supply of product will become more problematic during the festive season.</div><div class="MsoNormal">The management of Carlsburg wishes to apologize for any inconvenience caused."</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">-Abel T. Chanje.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Translation= Shortages of beer and gin are eminent. <br />
<br />
We work hard with the expectation to play hard. This 'inconvenience' looks to pose a problem of grand proportion for the masses. Who is it that I speak to about turning water into wine? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-23509100841718713852011-11-14T09:53:00.000-08:002011-11-14T09:53:26.747-08:00Palibe Petrol<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>654</o:Words> <o:Characters>3728</o:Characters> <o:Company>Boston College</o:Company> <o:Lines>31</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>7</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>4578</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Sometimes when you look back on hardship, the situation, at one point dire and difficult now seems manageable and relatively painless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is as if the passing of time has cast a warm rosy picture on your memory easing up the seriousness of the circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have heard many times that those with the heart of a champion, particularly adventurers who summit extreme mountains, maintain that their last climb was challenging but not the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">ultimate</b> test of will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This mentality gives them the motivation and resolve to climb the next great peak even when their previous experience was gut wrenchingly grueling and physically demanding beyond what they thought humanly possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">So that I remember the vivid reality of the current hardship occurring in Malawi I want to reflect upon the situation here and now and document the gritty details.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In short, the industry of Malawi does not produce enough goods for export, minimizing the amount of foreign currency they receive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a shortage of foreign currency Malawi has limited buying power outside of their borders restricting the government’s ability to purchase everything from fuel to various necessities from overseas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This has caused a crisis of growing proportion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the gas station cars line up bumper-to-bumper in haphazard rows, colorful jerry cans of assorted sizes hold the place of men waiting to fill them, crowds swell in hopes to get their hands on fuel to either fill their empty tanks or sell the surplus on the black market where prices are grossly inflated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gas guzzling trucks, motorcycles, even the occasional ambulance wait for hours on end without proceeding through the line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The period of waiting and hoping begins long before the fuel tankers have even filled the underground reservoirs of the station. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A rumor or hot tip has led masses of cars to different station locations and there the games begin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait, hope, wonder, sweat, become aggravated, infuriated, get lucky or go home empty handed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK13Zhc10EwGnE7jUH1HWPpnu8agVUmYn1fcQLwtKQre-AdZJfy25y769AB7yMvRpwuW05xS4N9oTG7b-z7tuvUd49MYIKjg6O22DXpRFktmtdCAeCoOe7bT75eyUnpWUdDYqJIByA8NiB/s1600/P1000085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK13Zhc10EwGnE7jUH1HWPpnu8agVUmYn1fcQLwtKQre-AdZJfy25y769AB7yMvRpwuW05xS4N9oTG7b-z7tuvUd49MYIKjg6O22DXpRFktmtdCAeCoOe7bT75eyUnpWUdDYqJIByA8NiB/s320/P1000085.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Solution </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On many levels this process is sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I use the word sad because it seems appropriate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For one, Malawians have come to accept this crisis without murmurs of civil demonstration or marches on the capital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The government, in early July, quelled any plans for future protest by shooting live rounds into demonstrating crowds and killing 12 people in Mzuzu, four in Lilongwe and three in Blantyre.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The second reason for my use of the word sad is because while thousands of citizens wait in long lines hoping for fuel, the economy of Malawi is unable to progress and slows down to a crawl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Trucks cannot make their deliveries, construction workers cannot get to their job sights, the business and industry sector, though only a small fraction of the economy, cannot support entrepreneurs and new business, ambulances cannot travel to emergency situations, mini bus drivers lose time and money, farmers cannot produce and the ripple affect causes increased prices for everything from bananas to baskets distressing even the most remote villager and malnourished child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The situation here is bound to get worse before it gets better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a relatively wealthy and able ex-patriot living here I have the economic means to keep the crisis at a comfortable distance from my own life but I am unable to shoulder the burden for my fellow brothers and sisters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not a proud time nor is it a pleasant time to realize all of these things after reflecting on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I often ask myself if Malawi has the means to ameliorate their situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am hopeful that they can and will but am often uninspired by the corrupted efforts of some of their complacent politicians taking away the voice of the people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>News from the ‘Occupy’ Movement happening simultaneously in the US has made headlines here in Africa. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Images of protesters voicing their concern and demanding change on Wall Street and in corporate America has made me look at both situations and compare both versions of democracy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one picture on the web an American man holds up a sign in front of a corporate building, “Sorry for the inconvenience, we are trying to change the world here.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If only Malawians could raise those signs, speak up and be the impetus for their own change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I somehow doubt that news of the crisis here in Malawi has made headlines across the ocean but it does not mean people here are not suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can only hope that the solution looms somewhere on the near horizon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also hope I don’t get expelled from the country for writing this. Others have... <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-77530490825794438072011-11-03T23:45:00.000-07:002011-11-03T23:45:58.524-07:00A Piece of Land Surrounded by Water<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>1003</o:Words> <o:Characters>5720</o:Characters> <o:Company>Boston College</o:Company> <o:Lines>47</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>11</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>7024</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">We headed north even with the knowledge that there was no fuel at the pumps and we would have to hunt down jerry cans of gas on the black market to get back home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the 5+<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>hour journey from Lilongwe to Nkhata Bay the 20-liter jerry can in the back of our car had been heating up to a low simmer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we arrived and went to manually fill up the empty tank I discovered all too late that the fuel had expanded and was waiting to send a forceful spray of gasoline all over my face once the lid was opened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first toxic fuel shower!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Campisi thoughtfully wiped my face with 1 ply toilet paper we had laying around in the back of the car and we moved on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had survived the poorly paved roads with various hazards including oblivious goats, car chasing dogs, overloaded bicycles, drunk villagers, matola trucks full of locals and cows pulling wide and cumbersome carts of maize so a little fuel to the face seemed a piece of cake.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcfAWWL6oCwEHOYn4fh3VRgdNcFnXj_LUzjhzLtwifZKe5Pax9Ar9oEffCV3DLKt9AsJSWHrGGXliVtfGXqjJHnPDgtvvAQPq2Er8o1xQMdHqWwPmTo0oGjbz-pGVbROBz4KNoygHlP-1/s1600/P1000179.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMcfAWWL6oCwEHOYn4fh3VRgdNcFnXj_LUzjhzLtwifZKe5Pax9Ar9oEffCV3DLKt9AsJSWHrGGXliVtfGXqjJHnPDgtvvAQPq2Er8o1xQMdHqWwPmTo0oGjbz-pGVbROBz4KNoygHlP-1/s320/P1000179.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To no surprise our booking was ‘lost’ but that only meant a free upgrade to a cozy little cottage overlooking the lake with en suite shower and toilet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Karen, Campisi and I settled in and let the waters of Lake Malawi wash off the sweat, dirt, diesel and stress that had been accumulating on our skin and in our chests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day we were off to Likoma Island, a 6-hour boat journey away on the infamous Ilala Ferry that maneuvers around Lake Malawi between Mozambiquen and Malawian ports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ferry ride itself was to be one of the highlights of our adventure, more specifically the loading and unloading of all its passengers and contents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Picture a nice and orderly procession of people moving politely on and off a dilapidated three-story ferry to a smaller taxiing boat in a highly organized fashion with pleases and thank yous being exchanged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now forget all that because this process was absolute chaos and savage madness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThh2YpGoSEP8h-tfts0h8PNbvptq3U0frTvApc1e2RV9Hxowark2Pzp4l2l3hKHkdHgkfcWEz2J17q1dZH6wC0UiR1uSKHN-XTQCAWOWxMZn5ROm2c0hIET_GxzAPjBZb2574CQfziFma/s1600/P1000142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThh2YpGoSEP8h-tfts0h8PNbvptq3U0frTvApc1e2RV9Hxowark2Pzp4l2l3hKHkdHgkfcWEz2J17q1dZH6wC0UiR1uSKHN-XTQCAWOWxMZn5ROm2c0hIET_GxzAPjBZb2574CQfziFma/s320/P1000142.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">We had the luxury of staying on the top deck of the boat with enough space for walking but once we had to unload we were met by bags of cement being floated over the top of our heads, women with babies carrying boxes of chickens too wide to pass through the narrow hallways, coolers full of who knows what, backpacks jabbing you in the chin clattering your jaw and various people forcing their way through the mob with sour body odor and bony elbows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The crowd’s steadfast and confident attitude pushing its way forward was surprising to me seeing as half of the people on board could not swim and despite the rising waters around them they continued to take risks and throw themselves and their belongings on board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We arrived safely on the beach by some small miracle and the help from random strangers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWy_Y-jCNPhKMDQoNzgg9TG5Z_Nc_hF-v3ugrrdWrhfqCdb-f6koo9iPICHAsdWPyuTU8gxFQNz4i6K0ljKSCO0IXXC80c81PEmmcnanbdl6XEgsw86v2QW3EVsbBgJ1ifL2-5FlKqVtW1/s1600/P1000160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWy_Y-jCNPhKMDQoNzgg9TG5Z_Nc_hF-v3ugrrdWrhfqCdb-f6koo9iPICHAsdWPyuTU8gxFQNz4i6K0ljKSCO0IXXC80c81PEmmcnanbdl6XEgsw86v2QW3EVsbBgJ1ifL2-5FlKqVtW1/s320/P1000160.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sunset over the island plus a few beers gave us a pleasant head change and sunk us quickly into relaxation mode and into bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next morning we awoke to bright sunshine and clear blue waters with nothing to do but swim and play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took my ‘zero responsibilities’ seriously by swimming, eating, napping, eating, drinking and moving at a pace likened to that of a sleepy sloth- A nice reprieve from the constant flow of work, never ending ideas for new initiatives I want to tackle, workshop presentations, support groups, assignments and clients.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The biggest problem we had during our time on the island was when the electricity would fail and we were forced to drink partially cold beers and shower in the dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">On a day when we were particularly motivated we took a small wooden boat to an island the size of the Walnut Heights Elementary School Auditorium, a stones throw away from the shores of Mozambique.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The group went snorkeling while I took my first opportunity to scuba dive in the deep waters around the island.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hundreds of different varieties of fish, sheer rock drop-offs into the blue abyss below and a rock carving that looked vaguely like a hamburger estimated to have been carved 2,000 years earlier by natives asking for protection from the Lake Gods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first weight free, freshwater dive was great despite the absence of corals and plant life of any kind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being in the silent depths of the water with silvery iridescent bubbles rising up around me and floating to the surface is so peaceful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvcjlye7howpenqQ4hAoF8TKeGXXb_9eo-WHZYSuta7FCqOCbOylctPfuj71IcSELkjC-5coGdHr1b-gdm6hMrvXi92y-mFz6Q-SrRxPfnjD1QmodL9gGsNMp33z64VkjHMWD9cGzrPpXO/s1600/P1000195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvcjlye7howpenqQ4hAoF8TKeGXXb_9eo-WHZYSuta7FCqOCbOylctPfuj71IcSELkjC-5coGdHr1b-gdm6hMrvXi92y-mFz6Q-SrRxPfnjD1QmodL9gGsNMp33z64VkjHMWD9cGzrPpXO/s320/P1000195.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That night we treated ourselves to dinner at one of Malawi’s high-end destination lodges: Kaya Mawa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Starting off with a basil and mozzarella fritatta, followed by a peanut and coconut curried pork accompanied by snap peas and basmati rice and to finish a vanilla, lemon custard served warm from the oven with a sprig of mint.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is possible that only two or three of the words I used to describe our dinner exist in the Chechewa language and it is also possible that there are only two to three chefs in this whole country that can prepare it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The meal, on the sandy beach of Lake Malawi, under the stars in the light of glowing lanterns and candles was wonderful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a celebratory last meal on the island and the wine served in oversized wine glasses gave us a happy high that continued on until morning as we prepared to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the reality of ‘Malawi Time’ it was not until late that night that the Ilala arrived into the Bay of Likoma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pants rolled up and bags in hand we moved steadily down the beach until it was time to make a mad dash for one of the small ferrying boats in the shallow waters.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCgGlg_K-OypQ3Edz37cTQhblW9vXMOdy3Cu8B_FKfSCnjue-wAjgpB_eOT6Erwg-DUahAp6q47ThWKSk3_HMsYXdz_k7HhCrmE5v_aZXNFX-zPW8CpaCZHZ9xHGH2kY9pYGT9vQ3w9n2/s1600/P1000253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxCgGlg_K-OypQ3Edz37cTQhblW9vXMOdy3Cu8B_FKfSCnjue-wAjgpB_eOT6Erwg-DUahAp6q47ThWKSk3_HMsYXdz_k7HhCrmE5v_aZXNFX-zPW8CpaCZHZ9xHGH2kY9pYGT9vQ3w9n2/s320/P1000253.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">People from every direction swarmed the boat like twenty-one-year-old drinkers raiding a bar for the first legal time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The pushing and shoving created a feverish atmosphere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People hurled themselves over the sides overcrowding the boat and prohibiting the 15 horse powered engine from moving outside of the shell shaped cove.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to tell people that bricks don’t float but no one bothered to listen because their bags of fish were going to make it on the Ilala come hell or high water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sticking together tightly our group of mazungus formed a united front and stormed the small wooden boat as one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted there was no electricity in the town to literally shine a light on this scene but it will remain in my memory a brightly colored comedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A story of teamwork and struggle that included fish scales cutting my bare feet and grease from hot blaring engines smearing my legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEdLNLAIJNbCKyqC4CA4y-YIeOojr0gy9HYVsopj0hpSh6RU1GuQSeFG7SbRbF_zNs4dDwJfkzkdR6TfFIsP1cddKQztnaTk2_KrYymOO5Q0Ydo2gAhJVTER06GztOXUUTe97HGFk86RL/s1600/P1000263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibEdLNLAIJNbCKyqC4CA4y-YIeOojr0gy9HYVsopj0hpSh6RU1GuQSeFG7SbRbF_zNs4dDwJfkzkdR6TfFIsP1cddKQztnaTk2_KrYymOO5Q0Ydo2gAhJVTER06GztOXUUTe97HGFk86RL/s320/P1000263.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">On the top deck of the ferry we slept like babies up until the time our sleeping pills wore off and the blazing hot sun stripped away the darkness and left us sweating in the midday sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The boat trip was only the first leg of our arduous travel back to Lilongwe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterward we had to hunt for fuel on the black market with a price inflated to four times its value at the pump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t have gas splash up my nose and onto my face so paying the high prices for the essentials seemed like a good idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Likoma Campisi got her first glimpse of the beauty of Malawi and the very next week she would have the opportunity to see the beauty of the people I work with in the Dzaleka Refugee Camp.</span><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-6104671825530398192011-10-07T04:32:00.000-07:002011-10-07T04:32:19.231-07:00The Definition of Dedication<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>761</o:Words> <o:Characters>4341</o:Characters> <o:Company>Boston College</o:Company> <o:Lines>36</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>8</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>5331</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">I stood humbly in front of my students, fellow counselors and life long learners and all of my apprehension and nervous energy was replaced by a feeling that there was no other place for me to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being back in the classroom and teaching again was like putting on a pair of cozy sweat pants after a long cold day in your work clothes. It felt right like it was what I had been waiting for. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my students, a thirty five year old woman from Congo, came into the room and sat down quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes opened wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not expecting to see her face for at least another few weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had given birth to a healthy baby girl not 6 days earlier and here she was, sitting at the table, pen in her right hand and infant baby in her left hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WOW! Nothing was going to stand in the way of her attending our first day of class together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her eagerness and dedication to learn was so inspiring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My eyes couldn’t hide my happiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Illumine had given me a brand new definition of dedication. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I work to the best of my ability, I can only hope to be in the same ballpark of her devotion and enthusiasm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am determined to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My motivation is in front of me every day, asking questions, learning new concepts and thanking me graciously after each lesson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My students are so proud and even more amazing!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb4_FN_TrNtRhYC8QAWPtphpmzH0DKH7FKuRLS6X7YVBUpQ6T71SKOipb5PVBztMaXt5rKEqQ-TU9e0J5TnaW8C5CrD70as7NCiZkCRyfNunGJtNuo21LNj-ld8jMHpUNcUxKOp07uLs5Z/s1600/IMG_3720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb4_FN_TrNtRhYC8QAWPtphpmzH0DKH7FKuRLS6X7YVBUpQ6T71SKOipb5PVBztMaXt5rKEqQ-TU9e0J5TnaW8C5CrD70as7NCiZkCRyfNunGJtNuo21LNj-ld8jMHpUNcUxKOp07uLs5Z/s320/IMG_3720.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There has been various times during my return to Malawi that I have begun to notice changes in the way locals perceive the world around them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are very small changes, but changes non-the-less.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A while back I was speaking to a dear friend about the movement of an inchworm and despite their slow pace they still inch along, their progress undeniable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same can be said about the transformation happening in Malawi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Painfully and sometimes torturously slow, but steady. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just this morning I was riding my bike to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having a woman, much less a white woman, behind the handlebars of a bike is a rare and unusual sight here in Lilongwe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the opposite side of the street a father was walking with his young daughter of about six years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At his side was their leashed dog and on his back, in a Western styled baby carrier, was his child. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For visualization purposes I should mention that this family is white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took notice of three Malawian men in front of me pointing at the family, laughing and shaking their heads in good spirits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I deduced from the scenario that they were 1: intrigued to see a white family walking down the street, not driving a car, and 2: perplexed to see a man carrying a baby on his back (A means of carrying babies only used by African woman).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They saw me quickly approaching on my bike and we met each other’s gaze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pointed to the family, whose foreign practices were being mocked then pointed to myself in a joking way and the bizarre sight I must have been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I threw my hands up in the air, “Crazy isn’t it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They pointed back at me and then again at the family while shaking their heads and smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all shared a good laugh about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is this crazy Malawian world coming to when white men are carrying babies on their backs and white woman are riding bikes to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We inch forward.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The other day I was sitting in the back of a mini bus trying to protect the bag of a dozen or so tomatoes on my lap from getting smashed into a saucy oblivion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was people watching and eying a particular old woman in the front of the mini bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was staring down a young man who had entered into the van wearing a professional style of headphone on his ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked at him with an expression on her face that seemed to say, “Ahh, kids these days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What will they be up to next?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She shook her head while smiling at the same time almost in awe of the younger generation in Malawi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The youth now days are buying up mp3 players, checking facebook on their Smart Phones and joining the 21<sup>st</sup> century in technology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The older generation is taking notice.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BbniZpVYPyEDNncAyv3Hd6byz9hA4Khvso-dxbOXZshIGhPqkD5BKgQEq7wsxqfvEe7c2J_cFG8yjOPkDQjjWX_dG2mBvqQ4Mr2KiPiWgZss-fKf0U3N71nKw-CIN2eZTPsYEQHRE6Sm/s1600/IMG_3700+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BbniZpVYPyEDNncAyv3Hd6byz9hA4Khvso-dxbOXZshIGhPqkD5BKgQEq7wsxqfvEe7c2J_cFG8yjOPkDQjjWX_dG2mBvqQ4Mr2KiPiWgZss-fKf0U3N71nKw-CIN2eZTPsYEQHRE6Sm/s320/IMG_3700+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">This week in our community counseling course we have begun a module in computer learning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As an adult (well, at least according to my age) I have taken for granted the fact that I grew up in an age of computers where power point presentations, finding prized items on eBay and using the Internet has been second nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With adult learners who have <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">never</b> had <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">any</b> exposure to computers I have quickly come to realize that it is not only a challenge to use a keyboard but also to locate the fine motor coordination to operate a mouse and double click on a link.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to our current level we may as well be painting Mandarin Chinese characters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday we attempted to open the World Wide Web and conduct our first Google search.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That all began after I explained what the Internet was, what an address bar does, what a search engine is used for, what a website gives us and every other technical term that have been a part of my vocabulary since my childhood discovery of our first Apple II GS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Patience and a grip on the mouse that is not as stiff and rigid as a corpse makes things easier for us and in the mean time we laugh out loud often and inch along. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is a revolution my friends and the revolution will not be televised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a part of something larger than myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something truly great. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Dome's Favorites:</u> After exploring every possible way to watch my 49ers play football I discovered that 107.7 the Bone, my new all-time favorite radio station, based in the Bay Area streams live broadcast of all the 49er games. Without power cuts and the entire neighborhood online slowing down our connection speed I can listen to the games. When I heard the live feed come through and my roommate saw the look on my face she began to realize just how important American Football is to my life. I can't describe it enough but by seeing my face and hearing me yell at a computer she is catching on quickly. Thank you Cathy for faining interest in my, ahem, our team. Your support has been dually noted. </div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-18618798764941229902011-09-19T11:54:00.000-07:002011-09-19T11:54:33.820-07:00No Coke For YouYou know things are desperate when you cannot find a bottle of Coca-Cola anywhere in Lilongwe. Southern Bottlers of Malawi is used to mass producing the habit-forming, heavenly nectar by the truckload but distribution has stopped. Apparently we have a Coke shortage because there are not enough bottle caps being made to keep up with drinking demand. No bottle caps, no Coke.<br />
I thought it was bad enough that people are forced to line up for hours to fill their cars with gasoline but now this...Unbelievable. Laughable, yes. Funny, NO. I have been denied my daily afternoon guilty pleasure because Malawi has no bottle caps. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7TbQFu18yDJfL969YkEt3AtvKSIvoFwsUmM7ylwqcbU73MHrMex7nd2Z0EPmAAHWYbjwAubsFNFOrMJOGa9F4LTC0y1l8BvFjRISWCSuJpMASUQZs1VuaIFX0nDELMCFKRDWjfs0mbUi7/s1600/390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7TbQFu18yDJfL969YkEt3AtvKSIvoFwsUmM7ylwqcbU73MHrMex7nd2Z0EPmAAHWYbjwAubsFNFOrMJOGa9F4LTC0y1l8BvFjRISWCSuJpMASUQZs1VuaIFX0nDELMCFKRDWjfs0mbUi7/s320/390.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture was taken before the 'Great Coke Shortage of 2011' when Coke was available to the masses </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Please send help immediately in the form of tiny tin tops to P.O. Box 31711, Lilongwe 3, Malawi :)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-43222226746176763532011-09-14T23:24:00.000-07:002011-09-14T23:24:53.996-07:00Some Sport and Some Dancing<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>573</o:Words> <o:Characters>3268</o:Characters> <o:Company>Boston College</o:Company> <o:Lines>27</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>6</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>4013</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">It was only two days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well really only about 24 hours and some change that I spent by myself, cleaning, writing, reading and pondering the last two months while envisioning the next six.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I had a moment of silence for those lost on 9.11.01 I no longer wanted to be silent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had been inside my own head and I wanted to tell someone <b>something,</b> even if it was of no importance at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing as NFL football starts today I decided to pump up the football I brought (did you doubt me?) and walk out my door to introduce our guard to a new game called football, American style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Awkward push passes and a few drops later we ended our game of catch and I got the urge to take a run and become better acquainted with my new neighborhood.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I had been around area 6 before to visit refugees locked up in Maula Prison a short jaunt away from my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fact that prisoners are being detained so close to my new home doesn’t bother me in the least seeing as most of them are wrongfully imprisoned for various reasons from petty theft to not having documents on their person when approached by a policeman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I traveled down the potholed pavement for about 100 yards until it became a single lane dirt road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was there that I stopped to watch a group of young boys kick a plastic bag ball around with forceful precision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Once I stopped</span> a group of about five girls called me over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, I waved them over and the small group of five girls swelled to nearly fifteen girls running in my direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They surrounded me and in broken English we introduced ourselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t tell you one of their names after about one minute but we did agreed to play a game of netball once I could retrieve the soccer ball I brought.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t know the first thing about netball but I learned quickly and I figure I had some advantage because I was one of the only people with shoes on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seven girls a side and we were ready.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shooters stay in the offensive zone, defensive players don’t leave the back court and there are a few positions that can roam through two zones but not all three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pass the ball, don’t run with it, shoot at the independently standing hoop and score a point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Got it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Balls were tossed, passes were caught, winds blew, dust swirled, foot faults occurred, points were scored and high fives were given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to hand it to them, I had never seen a group of 14 players and another ten onlookers come together so quickly for the most sporadic game of netball I have ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted the first game of netball I have ever seen but that is neither here nor there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Amigo Lane, where I grew up, there were the Garber’s, the Hoffman’s and the Healy’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we wanted to get a game of that magnitude together it would have taken arranged play dates and a hope and a prayer that we could get past the mean old dog Sasha that separated the top of the street from the bottom in order to invite more kids to play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rural village 1, Suburbia 0. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When the game ended they all enthusiastically insisted that we do some dancing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some sport and some dancing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes perfect sense when you think about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No really, keep thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, I was surrounded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘When in Rome’... I followed their lead and shook my butt with the rest of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thunderous claps, a song they all sang together and taking turns shaking it in the middle of the circle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of these young girls could shake their hips in ways that would make Shakira look like a slouch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No kidding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am sorry for the Shakira reference, that is so not like me, but there is no better way to describe the hip popping, gyrating, amazing rhythm that seemed to live inside the souls of these girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And to think this is a modest country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shook my white butt and everyone erupted in laughter and boisterous encouragement for more.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Needless to say I have a date with about 15 or 20 local girls/women ranging in age from 7-25 next Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe they can teach me more of that dancing.</div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-5693337264568038152011-09-10T03:41:00.000-07:002011-09-14T23:18:46.872-07:00I Am Back<div class="MsoNormal">Just days ago I was looking out onto a beautifully green golf course, tucked away amongst the gnarly old oak trees of the Napa Valley with champagne in my hand. Today I sit at my familiar old desk in Lilongwe. The same desk I used for six months throughout my internship while completing my Masters degree in social work. The desk must have originally been an architectural drafting desk because it sits at a sloping angle toward me that leaves deep creases in my wrists from typing along the sharp edges. The annoyance of the creases is almost a welcomed familiarity, as was the lack of power last night, the ten minute wait for my email to load, the stares on the street at my pale skin and blue eyes, the rust colored dust swirling around the bald tires of mini buses loaded with Malawians and barefooted kids watching, wondering and waving. I am back. Back to the reality of life in the developing world. Back to Malawi. To say it is a vast difference from the wine country of northern California or the wide beaches of southern California is an understatement, but that is what this is all about. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I walked up to the gate of work yesterday morning the ‘Samosa Man’ was waiting outside with a tray of hot samosas, a truly wonderful sight to return to. Hugs, smiles and kind words from my colleagues greeted me at the door and just like that I felt myself falling back into the routine of life here. I typed away waiting for the power to return and the Internet to function so I could prepare myself for work on Monday. The thought of returning to camp on Tuesday causes a swell of happiness to rise in my stomach and make tears fall from my eyes. The emotion is intense. Involuntary. It lets me know unconsciously just how much I care about the people I work with and just how badly I want something better for them. I am trying to harness this rejuvenated energy and vigor for I know I will need it over the next six months. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As for now, I am settling into my new place in area 6 of Lilongwe just a hill and a footbridge away from my old place in area 14. There is no logical explanation to the way the neighborhoods are numbered here but I admit it does leave me guessing and often confused so I guess it does serve some purpose. Cathy, my new English roommate, has left on a work trip to Ghana and South Africa for the next two weeks giving me the opportunity to leave my bags and materials everywhere around the house without feeling too guilty. The place is smaller than my last house but feels more like a home with proper couches, drapes that cover the windows, (suppose that is what drapes do by definition but at my last place I McGuivered some drapes that not only let light in but were not long enough to cover the entire window), ceiling fans, a two person dining table and a solar powered Queen Elizabeth that waves her hand side to side throughout the daylight hours when the sun is high in the sky. Thank you for the six inch waving queen Cathy, now let’s have some tea and crumpets. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To be writing again feels good. Thank you to all the supporters and people who encouraged me to continue to do so while I was home. Hear that Mom, ‘home’-in California<span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span>. I am off to run errands, pick up vegetables at the open-air market, hunt for soymilk, browse Ikea and buy cleaning supplies. That is all true except the Ikea part. Did you really think Malawi had an Ikea? I am in need of a small shelf for the bathroom, something that can hold a few toiletries made from anything from plastic to metal to wicker, I don’t care. When I asked around for where to get anything that remotely resembled that, people were at a loss. A shelf? Seriously? Oh Malawi… </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-11662956644647760882011-07-10T08:31:00.000-07:002011-07-10T08:31:28.610-07:00Fugee Football<!--StartFragment--> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Over 100 Rwandese, Burundian, Somali and Congolese people lined the soccer pitch last weekend to watch a game between JRS and a team comprised of refugee soccer players.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was told I would finally get to play some soccer after months of asking I didn’t realize my first match back would be in front of such a crowd and against such a team of organized and conditioned men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a little intimidated, well maybe a lot intimidated, because as soon as we pulled up a mob of people surrounded the car and all eyes were focused on us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chaos was escalated when I pulled the extra large team jersey over my head sparking every man in camp to look my direction and ask curiously where I was going and if I was going to play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am going to the football field and YES, I am going to play.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to being the visiting team on an unfamiliar field, a colleague and I were the only two female players which gave us a sense of duty and need to represent for women everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My feet were tired and my head rang from late night escapades on the dance floor just hours earlier but that was no excuse so I put my game face on and trotted out onto the field.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnt2m8QSwVjmsWTKL-XxpoDO19QYSbPPzDXJCDot3Z5MhjnWDNrcXwXE2e-mwrXZi3HcnCsaVam-Nijcj1z_gMx24ptj2e4y5TlP4gOuxckoxpiuYKMdSI5Bh0BGLVUMUWEihNt3jeHAE/s1600/DSC_3286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPnt2m8QSwVjmsWTKL-XxpoDO19QYSbPPzDXJCDot3Z5MhjnWDNrcXwXE2e-mwrXZi3HcnCsaVam-Nijcj1z_gMx24ptj2e4y5TlP4gOuxckoxpiuYKMdSI5Bh0BGLVUMUWEihNt3jeHAE/s320/DSC_3286.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Not even a few touches on the ball for warm-ups and the whistle blew starting the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Typical to Malawian style, we kicked off a hour after our scheduled start time but no one seemed to mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most everyone’s fitness level held up through the first half and while some players had better ball control and passing skills than others our team of pasty white expats held their own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever the ball came into the vicinity of Clotilde or me the masses of people would hoot and holler with excitement, not familiar with seeing women on the football pitch. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By pitch I mean a large area sloping left to right fraught with ditches and uneven terrain, where in place of any green grass lay a rust colored dirt that was exceptionally good at staining our socks and shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the whistle blew at half time my mouth felt like the Mojave Desert at midday and my eyes had to squint to block the swirling dust from entering but I felt remarkably great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our team formed a huddle on the sideline joined by a large contingent of refugees who filled in around us, shaking hands, nodding heads, cheering, supporting and bonding with all of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids peered up at us and shoved their way through the pack to get a good spot amongst the players and onlookers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adults patted our backs, teammates gave pep talks and I was observing all of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Living it. Loving it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The energy of the circle surrounding us was so positive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The newly found fans were impressed with the play, entertained by the game and pleasantly surprised that Clotilde and I were heading, clearing, passing and defending alongside the men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Our spirits were high going into the second half only down one to zero given that we expected the score to be much more lopsided in favor of the home team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Watching the game from the sideline at the beginning of the second half allowed me to listen to the comments coming from the crowd and shake hands with many of the kids I work with that showed up to watch the spectacle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The opposition changed up their plan of attack in the second half with the addition of a new striker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The striker was the same man that owns a restaurant in camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same man that I sit down with on most afternoons to talk life, soccer and coaching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing Shabani outside of the restaurant and in his element on the field gave me a good feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cheered his name, clapped loudly and gawked at the size of his soccer hardened calves. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVZkS7kXkKDUG28j9KiPxCYecYr1WShZAU0MATHkdzyrT5L7T_3bVSJqda7p3UsNsmKU9e6n_xkVSM9514GQGs9E5mQ7RS_7SDZaLboryQrmID79VFRLAlL5t4d3eE-_y414YXJUWcwvY/s1600/DSC_3348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIVZkS7kXkKDUG28j9KiPxCYecYr1WShZAU0MATHkdzyrT5L7T_3bVSJqda7p3UsNsmKU9e6n_xkVSM9514GQGs9E5mQ7RS_7SDZaLboryQrmID79VFRLAlL5t4d3eE-_y414YXJUWcwvY/s320/DSC_3348.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8K_5yQYe5ogkv1Eip7nyWTgPgTzlTVwHjqft3BWHfvPG0PNnHnr99tm8c6SWfdOyDQMTMWcFe6klw4Pd3EBlz6ghvKcpxsI89scQM7727PcIONc-2zy-IEjOYXFgmK5iatC-vcNV4Imxr/s1600/DSC_3336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8K_5yQYe5ogkv1Eip7nyWTgPgTzlTVwHjqft3BWHfvPG0PNnHnr99tm8c6SWfdOyDQMTMWcFe6klw4Pd3EBlz6ghvKcpxsI89scQM7727PcIONc-2zy-IEjOYXFgmK5iatC-vcNV4Imxr/s320/DSC_3336.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At about the 70<sup>th</sup> minute a ball played in off of a corner kick squirted across the mouth of the goal and one of my teammates managed to put a knee on it sending it past the goalkeeper, who just so happens to be the interpreter I use every week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elation from the crowd, hugs, high fives, celebrations and a tie score.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a few minutes left in the game I was playing left striker and a ball came across the middle and I had my opportunity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if I could hear the crowd holding their breath waiting for my next move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cocked back and struck the ball with solid force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a second the ball hung up in the air and was headed toward the left upright of the goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slow motion anticipation. More screams. Even more wide-eyes. Another deflection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The final whistle. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbvdhqJFt7gJp-nCWV2m_zHRTOVAgFpOgDq9cpVKZNac4CkJ3APM6M6Y5Exw2ztVYh53ErVSop0s4aN-DaYVyth9ErgGtsf9l82roO9Yx_BaxuMYsF1VRknji_5zbqGt6_BITCXdTUiqT/s1600/DSC_3355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifbvdhqJFt7gJp-nCWV2m_zHRTOVAgFpOgDq9cpVKZNac4CkJ3APM6M6Y5Exw2ztVYh53ErVSop0s4aN-DaYVyth9ErgGtsf9l82roO9Yx_BaxuMYsF1VRknji_5zbqGt6_BITCXdTUiqT/s320/DSC_3355.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ending the friendly match in a tie seemed the perfect way to close the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had worked hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sweat caused the dust to cake on our foreheads, our uniforms were dirty and everyone had a smile on their face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We met in the center circle to shake hands and congratulate the other team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone showed great sportsmanship and I noticed a newly found respect in the eyes of many of the opposition, not to mention my coworkers who had been apprehensive about letting me play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Small children came running up to hug us and get in on the action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adults shook our hands and I felt like part of a wonderful and supportive community of people sharing a moment of comradery and oneness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made me imagine the pride and unity a player must experience when they are part of a World Cup team uniting countries from all over the world through sport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2-VYh0RU7SCwfJxTp9tsxTDy0nfpCpT58CbyXyPmvYPfERU4_yEkTdjhKFJeDQNLVr67Qc6EJ5VVh9KtOLjcYwK5CZ9YnvMNVX8itfOjSBMsoF6L3kilYhu1WLwrEDgJtEStYIgwJsbc/s1600/DSC_3293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2-VYh0RU7SCwfJxTp9tsxTDy0nfpCpT58CbyXyPmvYPfERU4_yEkTdjhKFJeDQNLVr67Qc6EJ5VVh9KtOLjcYwK5CZ9YnvMNVX8itfOjSBMsoF6L3kilYhu1WLwrEDgJtEStYIgwJsbc/s320/DSC_3293.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A young girl I estimated to be about nine or ten approached me afterward hiding her eyes from mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiled timidly and reached out to shake my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had been watching the match and saw me walk off of the pitch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pride swelled up in my chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I came to the field that day for no other reason I would have come for that handshake from that young girl that seemed to say, “Girls can play too.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We challenged a lot of stereotypes and gender roles that day and had a good time doing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe that playing in the ‘fugee football’ game made us all part of a team much larger than the 22 that walked out onto the pitch. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Later in the evening I got to watch team USA dominate a sloppy looking Columbia team in the first round of the women’s World Cup soccer tournament in Germany.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m feeling that sports fever rushing through my veins again and it brings back glorious memories of teams past. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few sore muscles and numerous dirty boogers the next day were oddly pleasant reminders from the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-72395378521081205532011-07-04T01:05:00.000-07:002011-07-04T01:05:29.558-07:00Inspiration From All Directions<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Yesterday after the birthday crew had all gone back to Lilongwe I decided to stay behind by myself at the lake to do some reflection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have always enjoyed time on my own to listen and address some of the thoughts that run around my head at Olympic speeds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The free time plus freshly cut papaya fruit at an arm’s reach, Lake Malawi next to me, bougainvillea blossoms surrounding me and local kids running through the water in what’s left of their faded underwear in front of me is a great creative bubble in which to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inspiration comes from all directions here. Even the beer rushing down my throat seems to send warm incentives to my stomach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Firing on all cylinders I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPN7oSaaixwPtLB68DmpCDj8NM3WB9190ZN053UEJDr7-QQ6tiCHzHCLfkBwZzDqmFo4cIyKK24fVUgnHFbhtLc5HX84CG3Oa6Fry0dOz-h1P73APP9yX1yhzHKU3zpRyDaxM3FdCOUjuK/s1600/DSC04108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPN7oSaaixwPtLB68DmpCDj8NM3WB9190ZN053UEJDr7-QQ6tiCHzHCLfkBwZzDqmFo4cIyKK24fVUgnHFbhtLc5HX84CG3Oa6Fry0dOz-h1P73APP9yX1yhzHKU3zpRyDaxM3FdCOUjuK/s320/DSC04108.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Twenty years from now when my memory has shoved all of these wonderful moments deep into the back of my brain matter I want to be able to read these entries in hopes they will send the memories hurling forward into recall inciting a satisfying and joyful state of nostalgia. Dear future self, you’re welcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Justice would not be served if these brilliant memories were simply stored away in the cabinet that is my brain without first sharing them with all of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope my words can embody the spirit and life of this place so that you can be here with me to experience this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to tell you about ten things all at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to tell you about how just last week I was sitting in front of a support group graduation with all of the adolescents from my group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all walked in wearing clothes you know were saved for a special occasion, finely pressed with charcoal heated irons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I addressed the group and sat down to listen to a young man give a speech we had practiced together the day before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nervous beads of sweat were forming on his forehead and although he struggled to get some words across he did a great job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He delivered the speech standing in front of a bright window with sunshine flooding in around him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he moved from that place I could still see the outline of his body, like when you stare at the sun too long and dark spots appear on the inside of your eyelids that you can’t get rid of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only did the celebratory moment leave marks on my eyes but I knew it would leave lasting marks on my memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2X38k1SrhePe8Fu4WV9t8kwGoLYqz-5Pa_v8ngUekIicL4jVCAbva7vJvWieD-k8NAUL4ABInQ58a4Uk0aA22KFIgOMtnYrpAZDXd34ia0ADbUHIhfPzFg7kslLj9VnXD-Eu_rxXFvmk/s1600/DSC07140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2X38k1SrhePe8Fu4WV9t8kwGoLYqz-5Pa_v8ngUekIicL4jVCAbva7vJvWieD-k8NAUL4ABInQ58a4Uk0aA22KFIgOMtnYrpAZDXd34ia0ADbUHIhfPzFg7kslLj9VnXD-Eu_rxXFvmk/s320/DSC07140.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want to tell you about the full moon eclipse I saw last week as our volleyball team lost yet another game under the lights at The Shack Bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to tell you about the traditional, provocative dance I was taught, the same one village girls are taught before they become married women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to tell you about how much mental energy is required to design a community training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before you can even begin to put pen to paper you have to consider the language: Kirundi, Kiswahili, French, Kirwanda or English, the culture, the gender roles, the age appropriateness, the existing tribal conflicts, whether or not the audience is literate, the power and influence of religion not to mention the 70 different churches and mosques in camp and <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">then,</b> and only then, you can start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to tell you how for my birthday one of my colleagues from Rwanda made me a necklace out of beads only to show me three days later the cuts it left on her fingers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You are worth it,” she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to tell you about the government induced fuel crisis that has people angry and cars lined up for days to fill their cars up with petrol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to tell you how gratifying the feeling was when I saw the expressions on the faces of the refugees when I told them I would be staying for six more months and how big and crooked my smile was when they started to joke around and call me professor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wouldn’t dwell on it but I would want to tell you how I feel the need to do 107 different things all before I leave with work and living and future stuff and to keep it all straight I have created an intimidating and stress inducing to-do list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I had even more time I would tell you in great detail about how, for the next six months, I will be teaching a course with the ‘Higher Education at the Margins’ or HEM program about psychosocial counseling and case-management to various stakeholders and refugees in Dzaleka while at the same time counseling and facilitating trauma trainings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would take the time to tell you that every year on June 20 the UNHCR celebrates World Refugee Day and how I told myself that World Refugee Day and my 30<sup>th</sup> birthday falling on the same day is more that just a coincidence but designed by fate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would tell you that a fellow ginger and friend of mine that I find to strangely akin to me has asked me to move into her quaint apartment and I have a great feeling it will work out so well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would tell you all of these things so you could get a small glimpse into my world and I could express to you just how much your support means to me and the work I am doing and will have the fortune to continue to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOqqoCYx3GXxNj2AYOlPoPvv459T754o5tTwAZK2x9Pi-ZNtpFvdTqcACfd1iBqS86AKZotygYO6hfEr6Dpn-9wWj3vGbFNhL7oqkcSsf3Ygr0rNfeRJI8HZxxOu-yZyU02fDNHDvVfidz/s1600/DSC07227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOqqoCYx3GXxNj2AYOlPoPvv459T754o5tTwAZK2x9Pi-ZNtpFvdTqcACfd1iBqS86AKZotygYO6hfEr6Dpn-9wWj3vGbFNhL7oqkcSsf3Ygr0rNfeRJI8HZxxOu-yZyU02fDNHDvVfidz/s320/DSC07227.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">DF:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every morning I wake up, get ready for work and walk out the door shortly after 7 a.m. to take the 20-minute walk to the office over a footbridge, along a dirt path and out of area 14, beside the main road and into area 47, Sector 3 across from a string of bars known as Bwandillo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During my first days of travel to work many months ago I did not know the most direct path so I attempted various routes to find the quickest way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days went by and I began to recognize the same group of young local woman passing by me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a few weeks they became familiar faces and we began to wave to each other in passing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As more time wore on we began to vocalize a Chechewa good morning plus a wave. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last week as I walked alone down the paved road passed the Jehovah’s Witness compound I made a breakthrough with the group…High fives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, on this sun shiny morning I saw my girls from afar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the light in my eyes I could only make out the brilliantly white teeth on their grinning faces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I too found myself smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we approached one another they spread their arms wide and we had our first good morning hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine hugging strangers in the States for no good reason at all other than to wish them well on their individual journey’s to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once they started to raffle off a conversation in Chechewa and I had this dumbfounded look on my face we realized that we could not communicate with one another beyond the general greeting but who needs verbal language when you have hugs?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy76v1ytZZcRZhLkHyg98cxD1qXll9LOdRveUdoLrbKuS1DN8-oMehLBJJwJ8qIKJYklAe0SfItpOCOkucXhFq2zIWgfxcvptcD_-Ns6mhmG-Mazbgit7v2H1qvceiPFo6mkSGA0If7qgU/s1600/DSC07230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy76v1ytZZcRZhLkHyg98cxD1qXll9LOdRveUdoLrbKuS1DN8-oMehLBJJwJ8qIKJYklAe0SfItpOCOkucXhFq2zIWgfxcvptcD_-Ns6mhmG-Mazbgit7v2H1qvceiPFo6mkSGA0If7qgU/s320/DSC07230.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-17697047663886218882011-06-19T23:03:00.000-07:002011-06-19T23:03:35.849-07:0030 for 30<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It’s Monday, June 20<sup>th</sup>, 2011.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today is the 60<sup>th</sup> anniversary of International Refugee Day and my 30<sup>th</sup> birthday (I believe this is more than just a coincidence).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The United Nations High Commission for Refugees has recognized June 20<sup>th</sup> as the day to commemorate the courageous people across the world that have been forced to flee their country in fear of persecution for reasons of race, nationality, religion or political affiliation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I will have the opportunity and fortune to celebrate with the refugees and support the ongoing commitment to help them realize their rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It should be a birthday unlike any other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Just two days ago someone asked me where I thought I would be at 30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I opened my mouth to say something but realized I didn’t have an exact answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In reflection, my mind started to quantify my life and take stock of what I have done, where I have been, lessons I have learned and most importantly relationships I have built.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even now, I can’t answer the question entirely but I can say that I am so very happy with my life’s journey thus far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy with what I have achieved, people who I have surround myself with, places I have gone, experiences I have had, decisions I have made, risks I have taken and work I have dedicated myself to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realize more and more that it’s not so much about where I thought I would be at 30 but the incredible path I have taken to get here. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Over my 30 years on this globe I have come to understand some facts of life, been given some pearls of wisdom, had some epiphanies and discovered some lessons to live by…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"></div>1. When you tell someone you forgive them, mean it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holding grudges can only lead to more pain.<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Grampy Healy holds the title for best Mickey Mouse pancake maker<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Being a ‘pretty girl helper’ is the best job to have as a kid<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Getting told you throw like a girl is a compliment<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Coming in second place in an invention convention two years in a row motivates you to work harder<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Making kids run the mile on Friday is not a horrible thing, no matter how much they tell you it is<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Being a part of team sports is one of the greatest gifts you can give to a kid<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Only the Sheriff can make house calls to Amigo Lane<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Don’t buy your 16 year old a Volkswagen<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Being able to say your best friends are the same friends you had in grade school is something to be proud of<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Karma says you should pay the bridge toll for the stranger in the car behind you every once in a while (Fastrak is not an excuse)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Always celebrate the little things in life<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>In a diehard’s book, a fair weather fan is not a fan at all<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Work hard, play hard<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">15.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Send kids to summer camp<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">16.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Jiff Extra Chunky Peanut Butter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Enough said.<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">17.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Learning to ride a bike for the first time without training wheels is one of the single best feelings<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">18.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Taking five years to graduate from college is not only okay but a wonderful idea<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">19.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Live by the ocean at least once in your life<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">20.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Live outside of your native country at least once in your life to see how others do it<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">21.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Learn a foreign language<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">22.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Sunscreen not baby oil<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">23.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Guinness tastes better in Ireland<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">24.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Spending time alone is good for you<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">25.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Exercise and floss your teeth every day<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">26.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>No book can teach you more than experience can<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">27.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Underwear is often overrated <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">28.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Everyone loves Betty Cookies. Everyone!<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">29.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>There are few views better than that from the top of Mount Kilimanjaro<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">30.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Keep a secret.<div><br />
</div><div>LOVE ALWAYS!!!!</div><div>L<br />
<!--EndFragment--> </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-24774642259314907732011-06-06T07:24:00.000-07:002011-06-06T07:24:47.862-07:00Set the World on Fire<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times;">“Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things and no good things ever dies.” </span>-SR</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Hope. Ask many, dare I say most, refugees and they will admit that they have all but lost hope for their future. I have sat down with many people to have heart to heart conversations about the topic of hope. It can be so simple, yet in the context of a refugee camp it can be so very complex. How can one have hope for the future if there are no job opportunities or prospects for higher education? Civil war, gender based violence, political unrest, persecution and the most ferocious brutality that makes you question the very soul of humanity has driven these people away from their homes and into refugee camps. They have fled their respective countries <b>hoping</b> for a brighter future complete with freedom and safety. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Parents hope to raise families where opportunity lies, where children can grow up to be doctors and lawyers and men and women are not reliant on handouts from others but instead on their own conviction and hard work. If there is no foreseeable future beyond surviving today where does the hope lie? As an internal optimist I have always encouraged hope and positive energy but my message often falls on deaf ears here in Dzaleka. This is understandable when I consider the troubling truth staring me in the face. Very few refugees are resettled and an even smaller number are given higher education scholarships to universities inside as well as outside of the country. During one of these intimate conversations one man spoke up with certainty in his voice, “Africa holds my destiny, I don’t.” From the time I spent with him I came to the conclusion that what he meant was that resource poor Africa has already decided his fate. It has been engulfed in war, raised corrupt dictators, forced people to leave their homeland, denied democracy, complicated investment, thwarted infrastructure and business and hindered education for all. Africa has set him up to fail. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times;">Without touching on the consequences of colonialism, the cost of Africa’s and the international community’s actions has prolonged the vicious cycle of helplessness, reliance, poverty and suffering. The hardest pill for me to swallow is that many youth in camp are not able to hold on to the idea of hope. Nothing breaks my heart more than looking into a child’s eyes knowing they have given up on themselves and their future. I know that every child harbors that flame of curiosity and imagination that if given oxygen can set the world on fire. When I dig deep I believe the source of my love for working alongside youth is their ability to hope and dream despite the challenges of their reality. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times;">With the odds stacked against us we persevere. I for one refuse to give up hope for a brighter future. I want to help supply the oxygen and not deplete it for I believe that no good thing ever dies. I believe that is why so many people in camp are religious. If faith in their god is the only place they find solace and answers to their problems then let there be that belief in a higher being that can provide comfort, consolation and dare I say it…Hope!<o:p></o:p></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALbzC91_FTeYyllQxuOrsnx58Q0jSDWCLzdL7Gu0wISiMMTI-EDhto90v1q6RBChOk4blL0ed80HLpFK3snfTyiuvrBnXP8OpFlIYbtBPJZCzULiYmVxtGHLJ4bDprJAZzBcqUFGF02Ns/s1600/DSC07031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALbzC91_FTeYyllQxuOrsnx58Q0jSDWCLzdL7Gu0wISiMMTI-EDhto90v1q6RBChOk4blL0ed80HLpFK3snfTyiuvrBnXP8OpFlIYbtBPJZCzULiYmVxtGHLJ4bDprJAZzBcqUFGF02Ns/s320/DSC07031.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Futbol at sunset in Dzaleka Camp</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBoLogroII3nFl72ff-xf51mErrDoJ3eYKYTTZaKlxBVko8Wnxu1TkUth5gOd5vXF62S6Kl4NarC4y4gkGsCBxBfLw-6I6Qm1g_b1JOhg-KY7KnmCrBL5FncKqPW0OVL5ltG7N7uXGP5-/s1600/DSC07002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBoLogroII3nFl72ff-xf51mErrDoJ3eYKYTTZaKlxBVko8Wnxu1TkUth5gOd5vXF62S6Kl4NarC4y4gkGsCBxBfLw-6I6Qm1g_b1JOhg-KY7KnmCrBL5FncKqPW0OVL5ltG7N7uXGP5-/s320/DSC07002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times;">DF: Doggy Dip Days in Lilongwe. What is doggy dip you ask? Doggy dip is a designated day every week when all of the dogs in the city are rounded up and taken to a central location where they are bathed by their owners/hired help in a pool of flea treated water. Dogs of all shapes and sizes are marched down to the dip, some willing, some not, some hostile, some not and then plunged into the pool. You know it’s doggy dip day when all the leashed dogs are violently shaking water from their coats and are wet to the bone revealing their wiry frames. Clean, tick and flea free doggies, thanks to the Lilongwe laws mandating doggies to dip. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-57822637928517500662011-06-03T05:46:00.000-07:002011-06-03T05:46:22.880-07:00Reasons & Seasons<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><u><b>Top 10 Reasons Why You Don’t Show Up to Appointments in Dzaleka Refugee Camp:</b><o:p></o:p></u></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">10)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are waiting at home for the camp police to show up to file a report about a break in or another crime committed against you </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">9)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are suffering from Malaria </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">8)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is food distribution day and you need to be present with your ration card in order to receive food <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">7)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You must attend a funeral and spend all day mourning with the family </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">6)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is Tuesday (market day) and you are going to buy and sell produce, second-hand clothing and various items to earn an income</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">5)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are called by UNHCR to conduct an initial resettlement interview</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">4)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have to travel to the big city in order to be seen by a specialist not available in the camp clinic</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">3)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have to go to the clinic/hospital in camp (this could be a reason to miss consecutive days because the wait can be more than 24 hours)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">2)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A friend or relative is sick and needs your assistance (watching their child, repairing a roof, fetching water or otherwise) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">1)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea of time and day is a business minded orientation to the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crop cycles, sunsets and weather patterns are better indicators of time and day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are scheduled appointments anyway? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><br />
</u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Seasonal Crops of Malawi <o:p></o:p></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">January:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mango and Pineapple</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">February:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Avocado, Irish Potato, Peas and Tomato </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">March: Onion, Maize, Okra, Termite and Tomato</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">April: Carrot, Ground Nut, Tangerine, Apple and Tomato </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">May: Sweet Potato, Pumpkin, Gourds and Mice</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">June: Papaya and Plum </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">*The rest I will find out soon enough…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGK037Rld-cEZ2kZAbIO95ongp2DvWSZLsw4vtjSwdE_k8HFdSKbBAmkKBVuLkadurXdiQF2uphCxugR4bduhXZ9bIja8r8SdzqhXLyCMKhd8DNv-SK5kXjTdNiAS6sA4G592LkT2Uo67c/s1600/DSC07047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGK037Rld-cEZ2kZAbIO95ongp2DvWSZLsw4vtjSwdE_k8HFdSKbBAmkKBVuLkadurXdiQF2uphCxugR4bduhXZ9bIja8r8SdzqhXLyCMKhd8DNv-SK5kXjTdNiAS6sA4G592LkT2Uo67c/s320/DSC07047.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">DF’s:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A family in my neighborhood has a small shop in front of their house stocked with various household items and other food stuffs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People go there on occasion to pick up bread, eggs or rice instead of having to go into town to the larger groceries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shop owner purchases bread from a local market called ‘Peoples Cash and Carry’ aka PCC and sells it to us at a slightly higher cost for convenience sake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the past three weeks we have picked up loaves of bread, as always pre sliced by a machine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may have all heard of the saying, “That is the best thing since sliced bread,” well the slices of bread from the PCC more resemble chunks or slabs of bread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There will be uniform slices amongst double or triple wide slices in the loaf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems that for weeks the blades in the slicing machine have been missing or broken and they continue to produce oblong pieces of bread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps they can’t afford to replace the blades, maybe the parts are being imported from another country and have not arrived yet or quite possibly no one cares enough to fix it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either way the next time you go to use the saying, “That is the best thing since sliced bread,” think of Malawi and understand that sometimes sliced bread isn’t that great and it surely isn’t perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise because oober fat hunks of bread require more peanut butter and more PB is always welcomed.</div><!--EndFragment--> <br />
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-65216293529765711582011-05-30T23:34:00.000-07:002011-05-30T23:34:58.917-07:00A Golden Ticket<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">I snuck into the ceremony late and took a seat in the front on a bench with just enough room for both of my cheeks to squeeze onto.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my left, sitting in front of parents, relatives, friends and supporters were all of the World University Services Canada (WUSC) graduates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These individuals earned the highest marks in secondary school, went through a competitive interview process, passed intensive English courses and were lucky enough to receive acceptance into the WUSC program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The students being honored have been granted full ride scholarships to Canadian universities plus a golden ticket-Canadian citizenship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The student’s faces all exuded an eager happiness not often found on refugee faces that can otherwise be prematurely aged by the difficulties of camp life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dressed in their best attire they were prepared to accept certificates representing months of hard work and an opportunity to begin a new life in a developed country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were entertained with traditional and modern dances, poems, songs and speeches from various guests of honor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The moment everyone anxiously awaited was the announcement of the university and location where each student would be placed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the first student was called an eruption of excitement filled the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mothers and fathers rushed forward along with other students to surround the graduate and celebrate this defining moment in their lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Film cameras flashed, people were picked up off the ground and small children flailed about in delight not exactly understanding what the commotion was all about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Student after student was called and the overwhelming emotion in the air brought tears to my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing the change that awaits them in a few short weeks was hard for me to fathom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8AUO7T3Gq-bVaWpHJve4bsP2sFI4WWPL7XvC-RXECrslihtEaTi6RPqohcn_vrlqb0nBA6v5htddOmPX8aOyEsFM9Iz9AM9JjOvabUDhUmynAJjZkY7ugF2GogW2n6jCgeUgfud9BwXQI/s1600/DSC06705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8AUO7T3Gq-bVaWpHJve4bsP2sFI4WWPL7XvC-RXECrslihtEaTi6RPqohcn_vrlqb0nBA6v5htddOmPX8aOyEsFM9Iz9AM9JjOvabUDhUmynAJjZkY7ugF2GogW2n6jCgeUgfud9BwXQI/s320/DSC06705.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Moving from the boreholes, dirt floors and pit toilets of Dzaleka Refugee Camp to a place where snow falls, good health care is universal and elevators take people to the top of skyscrapers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No longer will they be faced with waiting for food distribution days, weathering tribal animosity and asking UNHCR for permission to leave the camp premises.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead they will receive some of the best education the world has to offer in a democratic country where their potential can be realized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, they will embark on this journey without their families or relatives and be forced to adapt to a foreign culture while all the while keeping up with the demands of academia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It will be one of the most challenging experiences of their lives where they will undoubtedly feel the weight of responsibility for the family members they left behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the long preparation process, which included cultural and life courses, they have no idea what truly awaits them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be in the presence of such a celebration and to witness the life altering change taking place for these students is a memory I will carry with me for a long time to come. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOd-GSLEiWZDIja610fluV-xA_ckxrMcAqF-aCUy9jOdzDF-2oLBXaUU1l-esQTLApVJrQb-_pfjAjzW3HcVrzP5atLEaOUOYqUNfM80t6AftLNu_ht7q2FymOmvPTwMr81tEDp0zNuLS-/s1600/DSC06710.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOd-GSLEiWZDIja610fluV-xA_ckxrMcAqF-aCUy9jOdzDF-2oLBXaUU1l-esQTLApVJrQb-_pfjAjzW3HcVrzP5atLEaOUOYqUNfM80t6AftLNu_ht7q2FymOmvPTwMr81tEDp0zNuLS-/s320/DSC06710.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">DF: It’s food distribution day at camp which means families will be eating well tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most have already sold off a portion of their food items in order to purchase soap for washing clothes and other nonperishables to sustain the household.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some this means a few extra Kwacha in their pockets, perhaps enough to purchase winter jackets, socks or closed toes shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For another small number of people today means enough disposable income to buy beers and/or barbequed meat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The men who have this luxury are all drinking beers standing outside of my regular lunching spot opposite the butcher’s window and boiling potato pot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pull back the lace curtain from the doorway and walk in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No electricity again today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sit next to a woman drinking a beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This may not seem like anything out of the ordinary to my readers but to see a woman drinking a beer in public at camp is a BIG deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing as it is food distribution day she is indulging in a drink and a lunch out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A rare and, I’m sure, well deserved treat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I offer her one of two goat meat skewers I am eating she declines. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured she might like to wash down some meat with her beer but I figured wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I didn’t know was that she had already ordered six skewers of meet the size of half of a goat and was going to eat like a queen. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I see the mass quantity of meat placed in front of her and the small smile of satisfaction growing on her face I couldn’t help but feel like I insulted her in some way with my offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We make eye contact, I shrug my shoulders, we both laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Touché.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I am growing to like food distribution day just as much as everyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-70816109015385484122011-05-26T03:00:00.000-07:002011-05-26T03:00:14.949-07:00The Place That Cannot Be Found<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Having slept for only three hours the night before I was feeling surprisingly strong and ready to attempt the assault up Mount Mulanje and Sapitwa Peak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing at 3,004 meters (9,849 ft.) Sapitwa Peak is the highest point in Malawi and the highest in sub-Saharan Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We met our guide just outside Chiradzulu in what I thought was a very small town consisting of one main road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t convinced that the man standing in front of us was our guide because he had on a collared button down shirt, pleated slacks and a pair of dress shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed he was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said that because he was to meet us in the ‘city’ he felt the need to get dressed up and present himself well downtown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So humble are the people born and raised in the villages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We climbed into the mini-bus destined for the base of the mountain with our sleeping bags, food, cold weather gear and water in tow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sleeping 'in', travelling to the meeting point, gathering last minute items and being at the mercy of public transportation meant that we started off late at around 2:30 p.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with a cloudy head and despicable math skills I was able to deduce that we would be hiking in the dark in order to reach base camp five hours up the mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No regrets. Dancing the night away was well worth having to hike in darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>At the beginning of our trek we walked past small villages where children came rushing out to wave, dance and yell out the all too familiar chant of ‘Mzungu’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the climb we marched into densely wooded forests, over granite boulders, under canopies of trees, through tall overhead grasses and up trickling waterfalls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daylight ran out and we hiked on by the light of the full moon and the small torches we had with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By torches, I mean flashlights (it seems that English English has inundated my vocabulary).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hour after hour of demanding exercise drenched my hair with sweat and sent a wave of exhaustion through my body challenging my physical and mental toughness (as all worthwhile climbs do).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, no great accomplishment is ever painless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forced my brain to stop pondering the two Malawian job offers I received earlier in the week and concentrate solely on my breathing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97tslwMMl6MSHpvAiMraG37ses-L5bwLMy5SamJ1ZldfBeqfA7IVDWf6-uMXlGc6IPAAG4wd_CIkD184FpWrXtSrWMo_JcHmcNiw0VCSAWOdprnb3HjfY_KhbUjbrVAhh_UttXFZYfikn/s1600/DSC05605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh97tslwMMl6MSHpvAiMraG37ses-L5bwLMy5SamJ1ZldfBeqfA7IVDWf6-uMXlGc6IPAAG4wd_CIkD184FpWrXtSrWMo_JcHmcNiw0VCSAWOdprnb3HjfY_KhbUjbrVAhh_UttXFZYfikn/s320/DSC05605.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve, Melvin and Me</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After the steepest accent was over we arrived at a flatter section of trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The moonlight reflecting off of the white granite rocks surrounding us made the final portion of our walk quite peaceful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My legs were trembling and it was a struggle just to put one leg in front of the other but by the time we reached the hut and the smell of cedar and campfire filled my lungs I was smiling and reveling at the day’s accomplishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were spoiled with a basin of hot water to wash up and a huge heap of spaghetti before being sent to sleep with fresh cold air sweeping through the one room hut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I awoke the next morning with chilled bones and tight hips but I was ready to eat the hard-boiled eggs and peanut butter toast waiting for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To see the mountain’s peak in the morning light brought about a new sense of purpose and excitement to the hike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We filled our water bottles straight from the cascading stream alongside the trail and were on our way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before my second wind kicked in my breathing was heavy, my heart pounded and I fought to keep pace with our guide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My calves yearned for a flat surface but there was no reprieve from the steep granite slabs until we hit the rocky trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We traversed through caves and over large rocks until we reached the tippy top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that elevation there was a noticeable climate change sending a brisk chill through the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the clearing beyond the rocks was a 360-degree view of the vast valley below us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The contrast of the blue sky and the white billowing clouds made for a perfect scene from which to view the summit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had reached the top of Sapitwa Peak, translation the place that cannot be found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Locals believe the peak is haunted by spirits that prohibit climbers from reaching the summit. Not only did we reach the top but we also returned in one piece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is after we rejuvenated with a high carb lunch and a nap nestled amongst the green grasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3Fn9LShyphenhyphenTAmBz3ircAeHxhdwnXFofm0JSDfFDspnRaEDd6JxwOX8YR9rgpL_AcTcWGdFg5tCR7oXz5z1thVhTc2nXpECclqL-pq4tDgByCjHmmki35lnLDUvCmIrXxpRq20GChzi-FW-/s1600/DSC05637.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3Fn9LShyphenhyphenTAmBz3ircAeHxhdwnXFofm0JSDfFDspnRaEDd6JxwOX8YR9rgpL_AcTcWGdFg5tCR7oXz5z1thVhTc2nXpECclqL-pq4tDgByCjHmmki35lnLDUvCmIrXxpRq20GChzi-FW-/s320/DSC05637.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOilS6EnIOi8PYIon89prYBZh5jeVK1LyR6d6T3Y2xkqZxII0kY0P8J6rvPjzA0mnMsICtRYGFhVBVbtDEQnqzVW5EsSmJoekc3e-8bMUwOw3_kfyv0l61P-7awgwLrHiu5zbmzrMpZ30/s1600/DSC05651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXOilS6EnIOi8PYIon89prYBZh5jeVK1LyR6d6T3Y2xkqZxII0kY0P8J6rvPjzA0mnMsICtRYGFhVBVbtDEQnqzVW5EsSmJoekc3e-8bMUwOw3_kfyv0l61P-7awgwLrHiu5zbmzrMpZ30/s320/DSC05651.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A wise businessman had lugged a crate of beers up to base camp and when we returned from our strenuous hike the sight of cold beer delighted my eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A 33 percent price markup was a small price to pay for enjoying happy hour on the deck of a cedar wood cabin while staring at the view of the villages and valley below at sunset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After dinner the weight of my eyelids sent me crawling into my sleeping bag beside the firelight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never mind that it was only 7:30 p.m.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the mountain rules of time don’t apply, you sleep when you are tired and you eat when you are hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come 5:02 a.m. we were up, stretching our sore muscles and saying farewell to the watchman and his son who stay on the mountain full time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another five hours of knee torturing descent down the mountain and we returned successful and triumphant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We celebrated the conquering of Mount Mulanje with the sacrifice of a local chicken served boiled with slabs of nsima.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hitched a ride in the bed of a pick up truck and meandered back to town alongside tidy rows of tea plants flourishing on the base of the mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sUDbIEfw4hO-OumDfbcdgIRYNIpmUiz7yXtURh046KMPAX-4fmVuUW0J_iT-7eU2cNqStl5X21hyphenhyphenf6dZ6l-X2JbxkIBKlWo3Szd5Hc95OlvcpixIERYvJAZA4445zmq4KyQhf1FCMGXi/s1600/DSC05714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9sUDbIEfw4hO-OumDfbcdgIRYNIpmUiz7yXtURh046KMPAX-4fmVuUW0J_iT-7eU2cNqStl5X21hyphenhyphenf6dZ6l-X2JbxkIBKlWo3Szd5Hc95OlvcpixIERYvJAZA4445zmq4KyQhf1FCMGXi/s320/DSC05714.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mulanje Tea Plantation</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As wonderful as the climb and the views were it could not compare to the news I received on the bus ride home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the sun was setting and the full moon was already looming on the horizon my phone rang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Pig?” “Pig!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cody McBride Swine Amason Flores on the other end of the line, on the other side of the world gave me the news that she is pregnant with their second child!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart lifted up in my chest and I could not deny the perma-grin that took over my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thomas is to be a brother!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love you Pig, can’t wait to cuddle with that belly of yours. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Dome’s Favorites</b>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Packed away in my suitcase from the States were small ‘grow capsules’ that resembled large medicine pills but were something magically different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once placed in warm water these capsules transform into small sponges in the shape of 16 various farm animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A good friend gave me these unique gifts so I could pass them along to children in camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What she or I did not expect was the amazement these capsules would provide to all the adults in camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After using them with the children word spread that I was in possession of ‘growing animals’ so everyone demanded a demonstration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before our staff meeting this past Friday we gathered around a small Tupperware of hot water and I took bets as to what animal might possibly emerge from the compressed capsule.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fingers pointed, stakes were claimed and everyone was overly enthusiastic to get in on the action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made a selection and dropped the enlarged pill into the water as15 pairs of eyes looked on in awe as the gel began to dissolve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly the spongy innards began to push against the walls of the pill until animal parts began to take shape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s a horse”, “I think it’s the sheep”, “What is it?” “Wait, wait…”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The smiles turned to laughs, the hoots became hollers and the cheering grew more and more boisterous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked around and saw every adult in the office engulfed in a euphoric sense of childish play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And finally…“It’s a DUCK!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Queue applause).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Note to self: Grow capsules=AMAZING fun for ALL ages!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-19967523814148476202011-05-18T23:33:00.000-07:002011-05-18T23:33:10.422-07:00The Township of Dowa<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Before arriving here in Malawi my naïve belief about Africa was that it would be delightfully warm throughout the entire year and not get very cold. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now that the wet season has ended and the land is preparing for six months with absolutely no rain, the long, hot days are giving way to extended nights and cooler temperatures. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the days are still warm and sunny the evenings are relatively cold so the locals have begun to purchase winter jackets in the clothing market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The open-air market consists of stand after wooden stand of piles of second-hand clothes and locals bickering over prices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you need a slingshot, a handful of cat food, a machete, a pair of plaid red pants, a six-shooter belt buckle, a piece of Obama gum, a rice pot, an 80’s prom dress, a plastic bag of water, a boom box, miscellaneous scraps of fabric or spare car parts then the market is for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a thrifty eye one can find everything and anything under the sun, complete with the strong stench of body odor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s never the same and always good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Moving now from the markets of Lilongwe to the cooking huts of the village… </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you were to walk into a room that burned your eyes and bled your lungs of all their oxygen you would probably walk out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except if this room was your kitchen and you had the responsibility to cook for your family every night on an open fire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forced myself to sit in the small cooking hut enclosure breathing only the air coming in through the inadequate ventilation door but my will to stay long was fleeting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The proud woman inside was cooking up a pot of nsima, to pair with the fresh chicken we had brought home from camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I say fresh I mean just hours earlier we traveled in the matola truck with two live chickens resting on the dashboard and then carried them home by their scaly little legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As these chickens were losing their battle to a panga knife three of us were winding our way up the mountain that creates the backdrop for the township of Dowa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dowa is a quaint village complete with courthouse, barbershop, water tower and open-air market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsE6U-OQVc7HbZhlEnq0kawzXry7iQKkl4RXkPrMPEncGie7pJdfgauRc31801iFinRZB_0SiUW2PbdDnwlv12DxWHP83ExKAIhgoLUpsKMT19Zfffoh5-7X-GwzmCeL2gJNhCMFqSE0u/s1600/Photo+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUsE6U-OQVc7HbZhlEnq0kawzXry7iQKkl4RXkPrMPEncGie7pJdfgauRc31801iFinRZB_0SiUW2PbdDnwlv12DxWHP83ExKAIhgoLUpsKMT19Zfffoh5-7X-GwzmCeL2gJNhCMFqSE0u/s320/Photo+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The sun was setting quickly over the thatched roofs, cornfields and drying tobacco huts so we hurried up the uneven terrain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was feeling motivated to run despite having slept for very few hours the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had been one of those nights where the conversation was intense yet liberating, complicated yet comfortable and the time was sped up into the wee hours of the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now the warm pink hue of the setting sun was casting a peaceful light over the valley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We listened to the echoes of children playing, dogs wailing, roosters crowing, old brakes chirping and engines revving. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the top I looked out across Dowa, took the fresh air into my lungs and was paralyzed in a momentary trance of peace and harmony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElXg7mk7tV5OYaOvoV-BW2Jtw_B0LvB9HVlS1SkeNQWLn3CPHsEJCPYcBE-vEu2yTqbqe3INV8mK1nY9MgISbppL8Pm1z1hYukl5oIha2vNHIh_KcdGqDvPOsK7nBn6-F2fJbbIILS-6Z/s1600/DSC05264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElXg7mk7tV5OYaOvoV-BW2Jtw_B0LvB9HVlS1SkeNQWLn3CPHsEJCPYcBE-vEu2yTqbqe3INV8mK1nY9MgISbppL8Pm1z1hYukl5oIha2vNHIh_KcdGqDvPOsK7nBn6-F2fJbbIILS-6Z/s320/DSC05264.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Just hours earlier we had left Dzaleka and the curious faces seeing us off. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jessi, the only mzungu (white person) to drive a matola truck over the rough roads to Dowa, captured more than a fair share of stares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hair blowing in the wind out of the top of the flat bed truck and the smell of the country bringing back nostalgia from Lake Tulich made me smile a silent, no one knows how happy I am right now, smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A cold shower, a home cooked meal and a visit with Mama Phiri, Papa Phiri and the family made for a wonderful night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The earthy, chocolaty smells of drying tobacco leaves in the next room were welcomed, as was the stretching by candlelight and spontaneous laughter before bed. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The heavy eyelids I carried around the next morning were worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spending the night in the village below a sea of stars unaffected by the lights of the city and getting a glimpse of life in Dowa was perfect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are the moments that make me feel connected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Connected to Malawi, to the people and to this place. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every moment is a chance to experience something new and something genuine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel so very fortunate to be here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjji-RMPwn0WIr5VCYvMJ1I91GyiMFXY8cf5ufbq-QHBFc3hfo01oIFQ8crELBMR3mU4Cc1QeRARt3jvU_gitKfR9NAnbL7pWZOEiJStDH1PEEjsCAOoi7Gk7Ay4Iyjs5HNtmNK0pqWSlio/s1600/DSC05271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjji-RMPwn0WIr5VCYvMJ1I91GyiMFXY8cf5ufbq-QHBFc3hfo01oIFQ8crELBMR3mU4Cc1QeRARt3jvU_gitKfR9NAnbL7pWZOEiJStDH1PEEjsCAOoi7Gk7Ay4Iyjs5HNtmNK0pqWSlio/s320/DSC05271.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Dome’s Favorites:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During ‘truck talk’ (the sometimes brief, sometimes profound dialogues we have in the Land Cruiser truck to and from camp every day) I found out that years ago it was an official policy for children entering the first grade to be given an ‘arm to ear’ test whereby they were asked to place their right bicep against their right ear and reach their hand over their head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they were not able to touch their left ear, they were not able to enter into the first grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This policy was initially enacted because parents had no official record of age so arm growth was the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">precise</b> means by which students were admitted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he was a boy a colleague of mine was held out of the first grade for two years and forced to stay at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He confessed to crying many days because he had to watch his long-armed friends go off to learn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Classic Malawi, organized and official.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-83254721019902879832011-05-09T04:15:00.000-07:002011-05-09T04:15:37.974-07:00Part Deux<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Pay good money for someone to send you hurling over a 200 foot gorge?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes please.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as soon as we signed our lives away we were strapped into a harness and sent repelling down the basalt cliffs that line the gorge carved out by thousands of years of rushing water from the Zambezi River.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first couple of activities were mere warm ups for what was to come later on in the afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We repelled down a vertical cliff, launched ourselves onto a zip line spanning the stretch of the gorge and prepared ourselves for the gorge swing/fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jessi and I decided to jump tandem on our first attempt at the beastly swing for moral support and motivation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were strapped in tight to two separate harnesses then tethered together at the ankles and back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To the edge of the platform we crept, inch by laborious inch, moving as fast as the safety rope would allow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We placed our toes on the solid cement slab and left our heels dangling off the wall. 3…2…1…Go!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instant freefall, silence, clenched teeth, stomach in your mouth, wind in your hair, adrenaline pumping, heart beating, EXHILARATION!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the free fall ended and the line caught us, a sense of relief that we didn’t fall to our death came over me and loud screams came flowing out of my mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes please.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Five jumps later I was content with the adrenaline flowing through my veins and was feeling fatigued from the vertical climb out of the gorge and back to the platform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a side note, you know you are in Africa when the extreme sports outfitter you entrust with your life offers you beer with lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes please.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cheers!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXOK56yxzMvvdI4YqHOlx6_Wc9Ca8yE66t5-Wg6IwNClj-6iWvsla8WhPNVg28cfzYJBi1Ml8HUMmwfTj2oVYK8HjSOTNqeGpToWBGMlJjIV3dhPUB2489Fhaop9zS5qv0VQclXnZZUUo/s1600/DSC03780.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXOK56yxzMvvdI4YqHOlx6_Wc9Ca8yE66t5-Wg6IwNClj-6iWvsla8WhPNVg28cfzYJBi1Ml8HUMmwfTj2oVYK8HjSOTNqeGpToWBGMlJjIV3dhPUB2489Fhaop9zS5qv0VQclXnZZUUo/s320/DSC03780.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBIyp7abWWdSMP36nhnqITB5YOHJnBmRaroFk2FbBdRi3QPbTePlfs0ojsEAMP-WoacVVLp9-qodbgw2Zr2fwyp5syN4bnyn5rZAsSbUNfnjYGEcU2L9wk4PPgRUvHAE8UmXrLos0QsH3/s1600/DSC03781.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBIyp7abWWdSMP36nhnqITB5YOHJnBmRaroFk2FbBdRi3QPbTePlfs0ojsEAMP-WoacVVLp9-qodbgw2Zr2fwyp5syN4bnyn5rZAsSbUNfnjYGEcU2L9wk4PPgRUvHAE8UmXrLos0QsH3/s320/DSC03781.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSDwRouvBQeOAIWsrrnAOBMeQDXskfx2aQe8srAokvhFvnIYW6YmneEf8sZtcMzH1E_-QsqoJ7jeR1r8KStfr09CBV7Rm1kUbcDUjLIb4VFuYQhkJU94U5o17uGwuvBuklt1bmCb_k1J3o/s1600/DSC03782.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSDwRouvBQeOAIWsrrnAOBMeQDXskfx2aQe8srAokvhFvnIYW6YmneEf8sZtcMzH1E_-QsqoJ7jeR1r8KStfr09CBV7Rm1kUbcDUjLIb4VFuYQhkJU94U5o17uGwuvBuklt1bmCb_k1J3o/s320/DSC03782.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Feeling pretty good about ourselves we headed back to Jollyboys Hostel only to shower, get dolled up in a matter of minutes and head back out the door to catch the setting sun from the deck of the Royal Livingstone Hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marble floors, palm trees, pristine white walls, overstuffed leather couches and fountains all wrapped up into a five-star hotel and placed on a stunning piece of property feet from the banks of the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sundowners with fancy cocktails, the kind that come with decorated swizzle sticks, and good company will always put a smile on my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>[Yes shorty I have lots of pictures of the sunset].<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>The next morning we set out to search through the hidden treasures at the local craft market.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bone necklaces, carved iron wood masks, African queen sculptures, painted canvasses, whittled salad tongs, beaded sandals and every handmade curio stretched out before us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One could spend hours wandering through the shops, negotiating prices, admiring local handy work and hearing stories of the symbolism behind the crafts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, that is exactly what we did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bartering and trading items is also a welcomed form of payment so by the time I relocated my friends I saw grown men wearing articles of clothing, hair ties and head pillows that not hours earlier my friend wore on her back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I returned with some amazing items and with stories of the sweat and toil that went into creating my purchases, not to mention stories about soccer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find I can always make friends anywhere in the world just as long as I can banter about soccer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGhZtczBwVhE1xAQATP2ZMRT8hCH6kt-rpACh8z2h-BqdOAVyPz1WzxdT4PTuSUIvmDnPJplmSmlRXLTgoVy9S1XtkRPQhSSB9MnRJHJjxZOj0f5zYBsjgt-Z97Dpx_Jeema3IjeUiSE0/s1600/DSC05540.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGhZtczBwVhE1xAQATP2ZMRT8hCH6kt-rpACh8z2h-BqdOAVyPz1WzxdT4PTuSUIvmDnPJplmSmlRXLTgoVy9S1XtkRPQhSSB9MnRJHJjxZOj0f5zYBsjgt-Z97Dpx_Jeema3IjeUiSE0/s320/DSC05540.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And just like that it was Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friday meant we would be leaving Livingstone and the home of Victoria Falls to return to Lusaka.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It also meant our trip would be coming to an end sooner versus later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without super powers to slow down time, I accepted our fate and climbed onto a bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a slight hangover and slaphappy giddiness hilarity ensued over the next six hour bus ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brain was conversing with Jessi’s so we didn’t have to talk much to communicate but when we did open our mouths it was either to eat fried chicken and nsima or to make fun of one another for the lack of creativity in our dumbed down speech.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Insert inside joke here: “Female? Over 50?...Sister Michelle?”)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>When we arrived back in Lusaka at dusk the women in the bus station selling chitenje were still around.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chitenje is a multi-purpose piece of fabric material detailed with African designs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every one has its own unique pattern and color and with the selection of a particular chitenje you can catch a hint at one’s personality and flair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Chitenjes </span>are used by local women to sling babies over their backs, carry heavy loads, clean up messes, provide warmth, make clothes and everything in between.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I selected three specific prints to my liking to make some skirts, shoulder bags and aprons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterward, back at our lodge we got into more eating and our first fresh Zambian samosa taste test.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I had to be the judge I would say that the Zambian style samosa pales in comparison to that of our Malawian samosas, but maybe I’m just biased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next morning we woke up before the sun, wiped the sleep from our eyes and were at the bus terminal by 4:30 a.m. for a scheduled 5:00 a.m. departure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bus company preceded to over load the bus with car engines, mattresses, people, boxes of clothing, bags of maize and some bicycles as we waited for all the passengers to arrive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time we pulled out it was 6:30 a.m. and although I was voicing my discontent loudly I could not be heard over the man reciting bible verses at the top of his lungs. I was tired, cranky and hungry and subjected to bible readings for the first 30 minutes of our ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ahhhhh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frustration can be funny sometimes though and after about an hour it was but those first few moments were painful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose not as painful as the woman sitting on the floor in the aisle for the 14-hour bus ride so I guess I should stop complaining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Skip ahead to Monday morning and the Labor Day holiday back in Malawi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The goodbye party for Jessi was planned for that afternoon and the two other party planners and I went around town arranging the details and picking up the necessities aka beer, meat and samosas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beer bottles in Malawi are refilled and thus have a return deposit attached to them so we brought our empties in exchange for fullies, stopped by the butcher and chased down the samosa man with our samosa GPS tracking device.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Five crates of beer, 10 kgs of meat and 50 samosas later we were on our way to a delightful day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was laughter, local music, dancing, random neighbors, barbeque, story telling, ‘poop’ hats, roses and merriment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What wasn’t so merry for me was coming to the realization that Jessi would be leaving Malawi for good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the past three and a half months I have gotten to know this wonderful person who possesses a courageous spirit and infectious energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jessi has shared her genuine passion for life and for her work with me and I feel fortunate that our lives crossed paths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Thank you Jessi, I am going to miss your sunshine. </span>LA!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_lQXAjd6aKr3blcGT65xdwXt1rzug_vjXaVVljc0tKoJPLTuQsRpXe4Hh7PJR84nbapTdI7sDOgW51A-g0Y8S_1CujPCu8Gnf6s0ioxdq6fev1WZ9BpZepJujLaChsHW5cdkEPtx5Jdvq/s1600/DSC05552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_lQXAjd6aKr3blcGT65xdwXt1rzug_vjXaVVljc0tKoJPLTuQsRpXe4Hh7PJR84nbapTdI7sDOgW51A-g0Y8S_1CujPCu8Gnf6s0ioxdq6fev1WZ9BpZepJujLaChsHW5cdkEPtx5Jdvq/s320/DSC05552.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Domes Favorites:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if I were the Road Runner trying to dupe Wiley Coyote, I threw a banana peel onto the sidewalk in the path of my friend Alex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as in the cartoons every segment of peel went up, spread wide and landed as if by parachute on the ground in front of her oncoming foot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sure she was going to step over it but the little devil sitting on my shoulder wanted her foot to tread on that peel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched the comedic scene unfold in front of me in what seemed like slow motion and when her foot slid across that slimy peel a fit of laughter fell over me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was able to catch herself with a quick hitch step, which was good because I didn’t want her to fall to the ground (I know I’m evil but not malicious).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took me 10 minutes to calm myself down, wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes and breath regularly again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Looks like the Road Runner got away with one this time.</span> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beep Beep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09348441053637450919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3066749033412318505.post-21077917251585021052011-05-06T02:08:00.000-07:002011-05-06T02:08:32.993-07:00This Road Leads to Victoria Falls…PART I<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><u>The Plan</u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Friday, April 22</u>: Depart for Lusaka, Zambia at 6:00 a.m. (13 hour bus ride & border crossing).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arrive at Lusaka Backpackers. Meet Mr. Nedders. One dancer, one would-be thief and two concerned friends.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Saturday, April 23</u>: Walk through the streets and markets of the capital of Lusaka. Eat dried caterpillar. Dance.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Sunday, April 24</u>: Depart Lusaka for Livingstone, Zambia (6 hour bus ride). Indian food Easter dinner.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Monday, April 25</u>: Visit Victoria Falls, one of the 7 Great Natural Wonders of the World.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Tuesday, April 26</u>: Depart Livingstone for Chobe Park, Botswana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Safari tour.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Wednesday, April 27</u>: Safari Drive in Chobe Park and return to Zambia. Funky fajitas.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Thursday, April 28</u>: Repel, zip line and jump off of sheer cliffs above the Zambezi River. Drinks at sunset beside the Zambezi River at one of Livingstone’s five star hotels.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Friday, April 29</u>: Barter, trade and buy African curios.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dance. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Saturday, April 30</u>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Depart Livingstone for Lusaka, Zambia (6 hour bus ride). Too many laughs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chitenje galor. Eat dinner with a bazillionaire. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Sunday, May 1</u>: ‘May Day’ Depart Lusaka at 5:00 a.m. (make that 6:30 a.m. African time) for return to Lilongwe, Malawi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Monday, May 2</u>: Track down Samosa Man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Celebration for Jessi’s goodbye (tio nana) party in Area 14 Big Sister House. <u><o:p></o:p></u></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><u>The Details<o:p></o:p></u></div><div class="MsoNormal">For me traveling to any new destination is always full of excitement and eager energy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A 13-hour bus ride could not take that away from me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we finally arrived at our lodge I was delighted to find a beer selection that did not include Carlsburg Green.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over a few drinks we met the man, the myth and the legend only to be known as ‘Nedders’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not that he had particularly great stories or a quick wit about him, it was more his wobbly gait, goofy smile and greasy mop that made him central to our conversations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>In the morning we set out to wander around the streets of Lusaka, past rivers of plastic bottles, black market dealers, food vendors, stylish Rihanna want to bes and ripe fruit stands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>[Side note: As I write this entry the power has once again been cut from all residences to conserve energy, so I type by candlelight and find it comical that my roommate is forced to eat a dry piece of bread for dinner due to a lack of cooking power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The novelty of not having electricity has not been lost on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now to continue…] The city of Lusaka, as compared to Lilongwe, has better infrastructure in the form of paved roads, streetlights, banking systems and overall business and organization, which one might say has both positive and negative aspects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keen to spend a little Zambian Kwacha I stuck my ATM card into a Barclay’s bank to withdraw some local currency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In front of the ATM I made harmless jokes about the machine eating my card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did one of my signature dance moves expecting money to be counted and delivered but before I knew it, my card was ‘captured’ not to be spit back out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laughed in disbelief and kept on laughing because in the end I accepted a little help from my friends and moved on. ATM machine, 0-Me, 1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that fiasco some newly assembled locals toured us around the city and later on showed us a good time in the active dance clubs that are the spirit of the Zambian nightlife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe track 17 or track 34 is my favorite.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>A six-hour bus ride, some nsima and a sausage roll later we were in Livingstone and sporadically swimming with all of our clothes on trying to help a grown man learn to swim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Easter dinner was spent passing naan bread and tikka massala at a delicious Indian food restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were no colorful eggs or chocolate bunnies involved but that was a welcomed variation to the American version of a Christ rising celebration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The very next morning we would find ourselves at Victoria Falls or Mosi-o-Tunya (the Smoke that Thunders) as the locals call it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The 38,430 cubic feet of water that flow over the falls every second creates a cacophony of booming sounds that can be felt in the hollows of your chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just being in the presence of that amount of water as it plummets 360 feet to the Zambezi River below is awe-inspiring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The APA formatting, paper writing, social worker in me wants to cite the previous facts about Victoria Falls but it is my creative being that tells me to bury the citation nerd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first glimpse of the falls spread smiles across each and everyone’s faces, both young and old, toothless and topless, native and foreign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The force of the water spilling over into the gorge below created a cloud of mist and rain so thick that the falls themselves were only visible in short bursts of clarity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> It is documented that on average the mist rises 1,300 feet above the falls and can be seen from over 30 miles away. </span>The sun shining above mingled with the water to create an angelic rainbow halo over the falls and set the perfect backdrop for wet, glorious pictures thanks to a waterproof camera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To revel in the natural power of the water and the energy it inspires makes one feel alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Worth every minute of the 19 hour journey.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSmz6n3H3R6OBZLBw9C2ugMAq2PlUBuvM_b3MeVFpE5TvPd2yyoq06Xsg6sjHDPmEu0wP3pQjFFNgOev0u7fl2zZ73rcG4Itx3EPzxhWJ7yb8JplhLaMXV88zmjI0rzN47YXw2g5GgUQX/s1600/DSC05333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSmz6n3H3R6OBZLBw9C2ugMAq2PlUBuvM_b3MeVFpE5TvPd2yyoq06Xsg6sjHDPmEu0wP3pQjFFNgOev0u7fl2zZ73rcG4Itx3EPzxhWJ7yb8JplhLaMXV88zmjI0rzN47YXw2g5GgUQX/s320/DSC05333.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXuil2Kt67TJReLEmlmEi-XoTbRJMl0eoy8XQ2BmFVnWEzN_Ta37dLxkQHUT_OBy6pzMQyI2zn4OgUAR1NDGFdCd1-eIkcPtzwZVtgKeHQwEmWb2tVStp7NIGoCvlLGZsphdRjXycO5Aip/s1600/DSCF5471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXuil2Kt67TJReLEmlmEi-XoTbRJMl0eoy8XQ2BmFVnWEzN_Ta37dLxkQHUT_OBy6pzMQyI2zn4OgUAR1NDGFdCd1-eIkcPtzwZVtgKeHQwEmWb2tVStp7NIGoCvlLGZsphdRjXycO5Aip/s320/DSCF5471.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Being only a short jaunt to the border of Botswana and Chobe Park, a reserve with one of the largest concentrations of game in all of Africa, was too tempting to deny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A double decker boat ride down the Chobe river gave us a different vantage point of all of the animals that drink life from its waters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We could see elephants, hippos, crocodiles, gazelles, cape buffalos and kudus all looking for their next meal along the banks of the swift flowing river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again on land and in the safari vehicles Mutu, our safari guide, drove us into the park.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No quicker had we entered the bush had I spotted a dung beetle rolling a perfectly sculpted piece of elephant poop through the sand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my last experience in the bush the one element I missed was the dung beetle and now here it was, right in front of me in all of its glory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The flawlessly round ball this beetle was able to sculpt out of dung in order to feed its young was nothing short of shitastic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My enthusiasm sparked a riveting conversation about excrement that was interrupted so marvelously by a herd of elephants not feet from the truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wrinkly and harsh looking skin clung to the broad shoulders of mama elephants, baby elephant calves dug into the sand mimicking their mothers movements, papa elephants scooped water into their mouths with their wily trunks and all appeared content.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All those except the adolescent male elephants who had taken a disliking to our presence and flared their ears wide and stomped their blockish feet on the ground to display their dominance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mutu did not seem concerned, but their proximity to the vehicle and their pure size and strength had me a bit apprehensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As they say, ‘all’s well that ends well’ and when the orange sun was setting on our day it was indeed all-well AND then some with a cherry on top.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLQX6E5YMfJF1biFDb3Xy0TpUXuD8fVJRlMdhTCgYkKnjqVPkRV17-tAYfnyrkcGMavQgoMoZlF_g0ROk2zpA7-jAIzb3cic7G6z60QUYkucZ-uj6aGkhNl-42VbB4mdgB_siXx42YWZb/s1600/DSC05406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLQX6E5YMfJF1biFDb3Xy0TpUXuD8fVJRlMdhTCgYkKnjqVPkRV17-tAYfnyrkcGMavQgoMoZlF_g0ROk2zpA7-jAIzb3cic7G6z60QUYkucZ-uj6aGkhNl-42VbB4mdgB_siXx42YWZb/s320/DSC05406.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69A4z70tdyQQUFJ2CjEl9MRFTpFHnAz7r2aGmC3wKeq5qz68quOmOO1Om94gmsTUB6Ft8_l56Ez5zIxU2DqkYl1v72wS3A32N7196hTnR4hd-Ybp2u26jETjCZOmJLK7kJ0Gs8ZXDz-do/s1600/DSC03437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh69A4z70tdyQQUFJ2CjEl9MRFTpFHnAz7r2aGmC3wKeq5qz68quOmOO1Om94gmsTUB6Ft8_l56Ez5zIxU2DqkYl1v72wS3A32N7196hTnR4hd-Ybp2u26jETjCZOmJLK7kJ0Gs8ZXDz-do/s320/DSC03437.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>A semi-circle of chairs surrounded by meticulously placed tents made up camp for the night and gave me a warm sense of cozy as we sat under the stars in the middle of the Botswana bush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over a campfire and some boxed wine we heard a tale of an Englishman who rode a bicycle 360 days from northern Alaska clear down to Tierra del Fuego, Argentina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The adventure inspired a pinky swear and a promise of future bicycle escapades of our own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you for that James, I shall be reading your book.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>Waking up to an African sunrise and laughter caused by the regurgitation of the previous evenings shenanigans is a great way to start a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pride of lions woke up to the rising sun as well and we caught views of them despite how well the yellow grasses camouflaged their fur.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A 47-year-old man and veteran safari guide with a gravelly, baritone voice the likes of Barry White told us that Chobe park is home to over 112,000 elephants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed the perfect place for my friend Alex to fulfill her childhood dream of viewing elephants up close and personal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We left having seen everything we could have wished and with me owing Jessi around eight sodas for lost jinx duals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did NOT lose that double jinx in the truck-I mean it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be continued…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3U0MKUu2HUjM5oN04mTWixfxVPCVZQlSaLwOjDg-GMJ3BiKUm8A3t89aiq_y83aDEZXCY0ACgjHg3YZFAGBXhStoHs0X3M6ZouVdQalgVJQse-paTNwDgpw_JkV2IUAHAC1j6MVFnODlv/s1600/DSC05491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3U0MKUu2HUjM5oN04mTWixfxVPCVZQlSaLwOjDg-GMJ3BiKUm8A3t89aiq_y83aDEZXCY0ACgjHg3YZFAGBXhStoHs0X3M6ZouVdQalgVJQse-paTNwDgpw_JkV2IUAHAC1j6MVFnODlv/s320/DSC05491.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>The second installment of “This Road Leads to Victoria Falls” will hit stands shortly so until then I leave you with this thought:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just because the site of goat carcasses being strung up to eat, borehole water-pumps producing water, massive baskets loaded with tomatoes balancing on heads and hole in the ground toilets have become common place I will never think it usual or take for granted the random hugs I receive from children in camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is nothing ordinary about having a child, innocent and curious, covered in dirt and dressed in tattered clothes, run at full speed then realizing just in the nick of time they are headed straight for you as they leave the ground in a superman style leap to embrace you with innocent abandonment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rate at which we spin around makes me feel intoxicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Intoxicated not so much with dizziness as with great happiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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