The Wrinkles In My Brain

The ten of us sat together in silence in the back of the Landcruiser.  The story telling and sporadic laughter during our drive home from camp had ceased.  Our ears were intent on listening to the BBC radio broadcaster interviewing Liberian citizens pleading for help from the international community.  From what we understand now, President Gadafi has been sanctioning government air strikes on peaceful Liberian protesters.   Government sanctioned murder?!   

Since I arrived here in Malawi the BBC has been a constant murmur in the background of most conversations at work, in the car and at home, always keeping us up to date on happenings around the world.  It seems the latest news to report from around the world has been about revolutions, government overthrows, mass protests and the sick and dying.  Has the news since my arrival been of more epic proportions or is it just that I am making a conscious choice to listen and be more aware? 

A dear friend of mine just said to me, “the more I learn, the less I realize I know about the world.” Well put.  Her words sum up my sentiments exactly.  I feel I am gaining a unique understanding about far corners of the globe while adopting a new perspective on life, yet despite this knowledge or maybe because of it, I feel so very naïve. 

Every day I learn more and more, so much so that I feel like my brain might just double over with wrinkles yet I still have so much to discover.  This past week the kids in my Standard 7 (7^th grade) support group taught me a thing or two about our cultural differences and similarities and although my jokes may fly straight over their heads and my intention may get lost somewhere in translation, a smile seems to be universal.  One such example that made me giggle in bed last night: 

Me: “Hello, hello!  I’de like for you to introduce yourselves and tell us an animal that best represents you and why.  I’ll start…My name is Lauren and I think a dog best represents me because a dogs is a loyal pet and I believe I am a loyal friend” (This was simple enough right?)

Messy: “My name is Messy. I am a refugee.  A goat because the meat is delicious.”

Perfect!  Goat. Yes.  I was having fun already.  I knew the group was destined to go well after the kids generated their very first ground rule, which was, “Love each other.”  Simple, yet profound.  Again, perfect.  Note to self: 1) Convince the kids that there is so much more to them than being a refugee and although it is a part of who they are it is not what they are.  2) Ask rain gods to hold off on the down pours during our group sessions because it is impossible to hear each other when the rain echoes off of the corrugated tin roofs of the classrooms.

Speaking of classrooms, one classroom lesson from Boston College that will be forever emblazoned on my brain is that of sustainability, sustainability, sustainability.  Well Professor Lombe and Professor Brennan sustainability is when JRS starts an initiative to train eight men and women, refugees, in the basics of counseling.  Armed with the power of their own experience and some central therapy skills they will take on their own clients, run support groups and maintain the psychosocial program in Dzaleka Camp far beyond the existence of JRS.  If I had a dime for every time one of my BC professors said the word “sustainability” in class I would probably be able to fund a new counseling center.  If only… 

I have been here in Malawi just about one month.  It was two short months ago I left Boston, yet the snow and sound of bells ringing on the Heights of the BC campus seem almost foreign.  The pace at school was similar to that of the Cooper in the fast lane of Highway 5.  Life here is slow yet I feel it is still challenging to catch up with all of the new stimuli.  Its as if my life has been accelerated to a crawl.  The circumstances are hard to explain but living it is easy and I am finding so much pleasure in the work I am doing.  Now to find some good friends to satisfy my social thirst, I mean calendar.        

And the moment you have all been waiting for…

Dome’s Favorites:  Coming so close to scoring a goal surrounded by nine little boys playing defense.  Had it not been for the three inch circumference of the ball made out of rolled plastic bags and some rubber bands I might have gotten a real foot on it and sent it through the uprights.  It is hard to pick between that moment on the pitch and another moment outside of the primary school buildings so let the official record show there has been a tie.  I was waiting for a colleague when a young boy, no more than nine or ten years old approached me.  I was expecting the usual greeting I receive from younger students whose English is limited. “Hello, how are you?” or “How are you?” or even the unusual“ How are you?” So I was prepared with my automatic response of "Well, thank you. How are you?"  

What I got:   Boy: “Madam, madam!  I would like to ask you a question.”

Me: “Yes hello, please do.”

Boy: “I would like to know the importance of polysaccharides?”

You never know what you’re going to get around here but laughter is a definite. 

All my love…     

Guilty Until Proven Innocent

St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, a splendid and fitting name, is about a 40-minute walk from our house so we set out early to arrive on time. The warm morning sun beat down and gave warning that the day would be hot, a nice reprieve from the balmy and wet mornings we had during the week.  When we arrived I estimated the congregation to have been around 250, all of which were dressed in their Sunday best.  Sunday best amongst Lilongwe citizens falls on a wide spectrum, ranging from satin pink dress shirts and matching skirt ensembles to warn thin t-shirts and chitenjes, ironed to look their finest.  As the service went on, I think I was able to decipher three words the priest said: Jesus, Christ and Amen.  The other proclamation I understood was about taking responsibility for our actions and that was only because it was expressed in English and not Chechewa, the official language of the 8:30 mass.    

I may not have understood the words but there was a great sense of community and faith in the church as the young girls, dressed in brightly colored matching dresses, danced and sang down the aisles and past the pews of local Malawians.  I was definitely the only pale person in the church but I felt welcomed, especially by the smiles I received from the children.  I didn’t take the offering of the body of Christ but I have never been a deeply religious person just someone looking for a way to connect with the people and to celebrate the small things we are granted every day. Never mind if the way I normally do that is at the pub. 

The past week in Dzaleka was very busy.  One of the men, a refugee in camp, reminded me how lucky I was to be busy, “You deserve to be busy” he insisted.  “Most of us in camp don’t have purposeful things to do and therefore are only here to be called refugees.”  Amongst an eventful morning it was a comment I tucked away, remembered and thought about later.  We held individual interviews for over 100 male and female adult candidates interested in joining the weekly support groups.  The groups were selected and it was agreed that I would facilitate a group of young Congolese women to be interpreted from English to Kiswahili.  The language barrier will have to be yet another obstacle for the women to overcome and for me to get used to, but I have faith we will rise above it.  In addition, I was able to sit in on a support group among the high school kids. I look forward to starting another group within the school so that I may be surrounded by all of the youthful energy and shenanigans.  Just in a little over an hour of participation in the school group I came to observe that the youth here in Malawi are a very respectful bunch.  They refer to one another as friend and have been disciplined to stand up when they respond to a question or have a comment.  I find it an endearing gesture.  Lastly, I was able to meet up with my two clients and hear more about the lemons they have been dealt.  I hope there can be lemonade in the near future.

As far as the connections are going, I am optimistic yet still unsure how the community counselors, comprised of refugees, have taken to my presence in camp.  I am attempting to build rapport and understand the world they live in but I don’t know if they are ready to let me in or reciprocate the feelings quite yet.  This could be a misjudgment due to my insecurity in a completely new environment, still not completely confidant with my clinical skills, but my experience and knowledge are slowly persuading me otherwise.  These things can take time.

On Friday afternoon after the all staff meeting and weekly chocolate fix, I had the opportunity to visit some inmates seeking refugee status in the Maula prison within area 15 of Lilongwe.  We walked through a rod iron gate encircled with tangled barbed wire and had no problem entering upon registering as JRS staff members.  We spoke briefly with the man third in charge of the facility and passed through a crowded prison yard packed with inmates.  Some wore all white uniforms that were of great contrast to the men wearing dingy street clothes.  The difference was that the prison, as overcrowded as it was, did not have the funds to outfit everyone.  We were able to visit with five prisoners serving time for various misdemeanors and what seemed like offenses unworthy of jail time.  This was my perspective anyway until I came to understand that in most African countries, people are ‘guilty until proven innocent’.  Hmmm?! We heard about the struggles one faces within the confines of the prison and it was difficult to walk out of there seemingly helpless to offer them any answers to their problems.  We were however able to provide them with support, recognition and accompaniment which can sometimes provide hope in a hopeless environment.     

At the end of the day it’s almost nice to feel my eyelids grow heavy, knowing I am exhausted and have worked hard.  It gives me reason to justify the Coke per day I am drinking. You can’t beat a Coca-Cola from a glass bottle in the heat of the day.  When Coke advertisements say, “Open Happiness”, I believe them.  The Coke is one way I am rewarding myself and the frosting on the cake is the gratification I get from wearing flip flop sandals every day. “I love you black rainbow sandals, my feet feel so at home in your company”.  Hopefully soon I will also be able to indulge in cereal as another way to self-care but the hunt for soymilk continues.  Few shops carry it but they are “out of stock” and have been for two weeks now.  Maybe I will find soymilk in the same place I may find a variety of food besides the Malawian staples of rice, tomatoes, green beans, bread and peanut butter.  Don’t worry about me though because they offer chunky peanut butter and I don’t miss meals.  A girl just wishes that some Mexican people would wander into Lilongwe and set up shop, that’s all.     

This week’s DF (Dome Favorite) runner up was the brilliant rainbow I saw peek out from behind the papaya tree in our backyard and gleam across the sky. It would have been my first choice had I found the pot of gold and dancing leprechaun at the end but for now it takes second place to my first sighting of a 49er jersey.  A man was wearing it just outside the old town market where every item from the American 1970s kitschy era can be found and sold. I celebrated inside, let out a faint “Sweet” and smiled to see the 49ers being repped in Malawi even if they have no idea who the 49ers are. The jersey looked to be from the late 80s or early 90s. Number 51.  No name on the back but I suspect it might have been a Ken Norton Jr. jersey.  I was at the last game Kenny played at Candlestick Park but it just so happened it was Jerry Rice’s last game in a 49er uniform as well.  Kenny Norton was left in the shadow of the all time great but not today though, as I send a shout out to Kenny Norton and the cowboy, smash mouth linebacker that he was.

Always love. Love always.

Giant Snails and Fast Ants

As we passed over the uneven dirt road that led to the Dzaleka Refugee Camp I tried to subdue any preconceived notions of how the camp might look.  I wanted to go in without judgment or assumption but my rowdy imagination wouldn’t allow it as it drew pictures of permanent and transient housing structures surrounded by a definitive border and people waiting around for the hours to pass.  When my knees bumped hard against those of my colleague in the back of the JRS four-wheel drive vehicle, I was startled out of my daydream and back into reality.  In fact, there was no perimeter around the camp and to an inexperienced eye one would not know where camp ends and the local villages of Katubza and Besera begin.  Brick and cement buildings with corrugated metal roofs spread out across the land and no temporary structures exist. 

The United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) is located near to the JRS offices and to the primary and secondary school buildings.  In 2002 JRS became an implementing partner (IP) in the Dzaleka Refugee Camp alongside the Red Cross, the Ministry of Health and the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Malawi.  The four IPs coordinate services under direction from the UNHCR and collaborate together to help refugees realize their inherent rights and gain resettlement.  In an ideal world this is always the case but nothing or no one is perfect. The white and blue UNHCR flag flies high above the small rectangular yard that is surrounded by a barbed wire fence.  Indeed people are waiting around busying themselves with small talk of family and the day’s happenings.

My first week in camp brought about many new experiences for me, including being introduced to two of my future school-aged clients, tasting Nsima, a corn meal and staple of the Malawian diet and planting acacia trees alongside 2,500 school children.  Most importantly, I had the opportunity to meet the newly selected community counselors, made up of all refugee volunteers.  I will learn from their rich experiences and in return try to impart as much of my clinical knowledge and training to them to make the work sustainable beyond my departure. 

In only a few short days I have listened to bits and pieces of people’s stories describing the burdens they carry and the pain they feel in their hearts.  It helps me to bring to life all of the research and reporting I have done about international genocide and war.  The true destruction of war tears apart the social fabric and in its wake leaves death and emotional wounds that are all too real in the lives of the Dzaleka refugees.  Despite the intensity and the difficulty the therapeutic work will continue to bring, I find myself eagerly awaiting the real work to start. 

The JRS team has been supportive. They seem to be torn in all directions with work to be done but the mission is clear and the energy positive.  I hesitate to form a complete idea or opinion about the happenings in camp as I have yet to complete my second week in country but I am hopeful that I can contribute to the already strong and able team who continue to do good work.  I am also hoping that the refugees will allow me to work alongside them, listen to their stories and support them through their pain toward a place full of hope and faith.  Time will tell. 

There does not seem to be an appropriate transition from that emotionally loaded topic so I will just dive right into a much lighter subject.  The black house ants here in Malawi are faster than those in North America.  They look the same in size and color and in all intent and purpose they are the same but these ones are so damn fast. I am not kidding.  You can't try to smoosh them under your finger without planning a stealth attack and striking with calculated accuracy. No plotting and they will get away.  That and the snails here live inside much more ornate shells as compared to their North American counterparts and they are about 10 times larger. Ball up your fist and imagine that is the size of a snail here, a manly fist at that.  Now stick out your pinky finger and imagine that is the size of the turds they leave behind.  Not only can you slip on the bodies of these babies but you have to be on high alert not to slip on the poop they leave behind in their sluggy tracks.  Exciting stuff!  So much to see here in Malawi and I’m just getting started.

Over the weekend I accepted an invitation to Lake Malawi for a nights stay on the shores of Salema.  It would have been hard to pass up my first look and first dip in the worlds 9th largest lake that was described by some of the first explorers as a lake that is as far-reaching as the sea.  The locals now know it fondly as the lake of stars for its brilliant reflections of the sparkling stars above.  A hike, a nice view, a meal by the shore, a stare down with an owl, a skip with some monkeys, a float in the fresh water, some long conversations and some new friends.

And now, in closing I would like to start a little segment to my blog that I will call Dome’s Favorites (DFs).  It will be my favorite thing or part about the day.  Large or small, seemingly meaningless or outrageously significant, Dome’s Favorites will document it all.  So…Today’s DF is the random hug I received from an innocent kid that was simply curious what my skin felt like to the touch. It reminds me just how wonderfully naïve children can be and how they lack inhibition and the ability to hold back their impulses. Refreshing!

Lots of love to all of you and I dare you all to give hugs without reserve or inhibition. 

L