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.
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