Red Out Loud

I am watching Grey’s Anatomy. My dog is hanging off the side of the couch. We have a new friend joining us this afternoon, Molly, a 2 month old Sheperd mix. I am excited. I am meeting Joanna today, some time soon, to get pictures from her. We shared and have a total of, well who knows, thousands or so. I have not kicked my jet lag, every evening at 10pm I get exhausted, I am starting to sleep later and later, but still feel like I am getting no sleep at all. Going to parties and shows is really weird, I never thought a social gathering would overwhelm me, but it is. I miss Malawi and I keep remembering this weird dream I had there (Malarone induced, I am sure) about leaving midtrip, returning to NYC and then feeling this an urgent need to get back to the village. I kind of feel that way right now. Shocked by the feeling altogether.

Leaving behind a developing Country

We handed the waiter our credit cards and he looked at us with disappointment. “Our credit card machine is down. Credit card machines have not worked in Lilongwe for 2 weeks.”

The restaurant, Buchanan’s, located just in the heart of City Center was set outside, candle lit, a lagoon surrounding the outdoor seating area. The menu was set with more options than usual and when Joanna and I saw this were relieved. Maybe there is a taste of America here in Lilongwe. It was not that we craved an American style food, no, the food in Malawi is delicious (at least I like it, Joanna does not like the oil), but we just thought, now, this restaurant, this looks efficient. Low and behold, and this is NOT a complaint, the drinks had to be gotten from the restaurant next door, the food we ordered came with fries instead of the baked potatoes we asked for and when the bill arrived, though we had, in fact, checked in advance, our credit cards could not be taken. The table next to us, full of two couples and their children, South African, offered to pay our bill, assuming I am sure that we were under prepared little tourists. The gesture was unbelievable, but we opted to drive to the ATM machine instead and take out cash, yet again. Raphael apologized. His words were, “we are still a developing country.” As if he could apologize for this. As if it was something to apologize for at all. How can you judge a developing country. New Yorkers, I am at great fault for this, walk around with a head held high, all things right at our finger tips, the slightest glitch, the slightest wait, sends a New Yorker reeling. I have learned great patience here, or at least felt very annoyed at times and REMINDED myself to feel great patience!

Eventually, we arrived at the ATM, took out exact change to pay our bill and returned home to finish packing and spend our last night at Area 49.

On the way home and still now I think of what it means to have spent this time living in this developing country. Every country at one time or another has been “developing.” You cannot judge or presume to know more than a developing country. You can help, you can share.

Flashes of the my experiences are ingrained in my mind as I prepare to depart this country. Just as scenes of New York penetrated my mind when I arrived here, spurning a yearning for home, each time I close my eyes now I have a vision of the village, a specific child, mama’s smile, diana’s giggle. I miss it, I miss them. It all resides in these moving pictures that I see with each blink.

How long will it take until these visions subside, lighten, move from behind my eyelids into my heart and then my brain, then an album and a little lock box I pull down from the shelf from time to time. Im not sure that it ever will, like the memories of other life moments that I have. THis feels different. My fear is th that they will forget me, after 6 weeks I have learned so much but much of what I have learned is that 6 weeks is not enough time.

I don’t think I knew just what it meant to be a developing country, when I chose Malawi, from ideas, to people, to education, to technology. This place is shifting, it is a country in transit. I learned that even in the village, where a gentle shield of glass protects a very ancient, sacred and simple way of life, seemingly untouched, even the village wants to learn, to grow, to move forward.

I also saw just how hard it is, like reaching in a bowl of mixed marbles, deep and dense and then trying in that same bowl to arrange the tumbling marbles by color. It feels almost impossible. Along the way you must accept difference, alternate ways of living and figure out how to help without infringing. Never accept defeat.

That is Malawi, this country with difficult sense of time, lack of logical systems, now working credit card machines, unpaved streets, where school is not mandatory or even made a priority for some.

But there are beautiful people here in this country, joy, smiles, innovative ideas who desire more. Whose pride of their country is strong but who know there could be improvements. They are people like Blessings, Raphael, the school teachers and mostly the Benesi family who taught me the true sense of responsibility to community and to being open to new ideas while maintaining tradition, so rich and so vivid.

That is how you grow, one person at a time. I am so curious to see the future of the center, our heartfelt classroom, our children, the teachers, the Benesi family and this country as a whole.

I know that my time in Malawi is not over. It can’t be. We have hardly brushed the surface, and I would like to return. I hope to return. Knowing now what it means to work with a developing country such as this, that it is not molding a people, rather sharing ideas to inspire growth. Consistency is key. It is something I want to keep a part of my life, and plan to as I embark on future endeavors.

Jumbled up photos and an unfinished blog entry! Enjoy! More to come Saturday. Then, I think, that will be all from me for a while! Love.

February 15^th – February 24^th

 I am writing to you on February 25^th, 2010. Tomorrow, I will board a plane and after 6 short weeks, that according to Mr. Benesi, felt like 6 short hours, I will leave this beautiful, warm country behind, stopping first in Johannesburg and then JFK. I will be returning to my dog Charley, to my parents, to my friends, to my high heels, my make up, my eye phone, my blow drier, my days packed morning, noon and night, drinks, lots of them, music, parties, some semblance of a clock and being on time. I will return to my regular old life. Many of these things excite me. What kind of New Yorker, and I am a true New Yorker, would I be if I was not excited to blacken my lids with eye liner and go out partying with my friends? Or share a fancy meal at Per Se with my amazing parents on Sunday night (or get a facial, massage and body wrap Sunday morning-yay!)? Or snuggle with my sweet dog (yes, she will be sleeping on the bed this week)?

Still, I am devastated.

Saying goodbye was more overwhelming than I expected.  I have spent some of the downtime on this trip thinking hard about what actually got me here. What, in true Deena Goodman fashion, made me raise my finger to my forehead with the bright idea that I should spend 6 weeks in a small village in Malawi with a family, while I nurtured and nourished the village’s nursery school, hoping to achieve a change in their current programming. What was it? I have been a publicist, promoter, producer, talent buyer, singer, songwriter, actress. One I was a Project Manager at a Executive Management firm, that was not me, but it was closer to me than this. My friends looked at me and said, “what?” “YOU are going to Malawi to volunteer?” “Make sure to get pictures of you living the village life, I gotta see that!” And, the truth is, why wouldn’t they be shocked by my decision. Pictures of who I was before this trip flash across my mind and, hell, I was hardly even a teacher! Aside from my work with the kids from Women in Need and Beginning With Children (work which has greatly inspired me), I really spent none of my life teaching. How would I be so presumptuous as to assume I could come to Malawi and work with a school that for the most part was not really aware it even was a school?  Was this some selfish excuse to get away? To say I was doing good, just to do it?  I know that is not it. I know that my work with the kids in NYC until this point really inspired me to want to learn about kids in other countries, under different circumstances, but circumstances in their essence that have the same reason for promoting a stand still. I knew I wanted to work with little ones who, otherwise, would have no exposure to certain things, things as simple as the idea that school could be a consistent activity and as complex as the idea that these kids could grow up and be something, do something. But I don’t know I was truly prepared for the journey I was embarking upon.

First things first, I had Joanna.  With a pro by my side I knew the planning side would be executed efficiently.  Secondly, I had me, I am not afraid of much, so jumping in and executing with Joanna would be no problem. We had the children, who at first came in droves to the center, though tapering off significantly, as the novelty of the Azungos (white people) wore off, but the core group emerged and we had wonderful, talented kids to work with. Also, we had a challenge. Teachers with great potential, but who suffered such serious exhaustion and lack of inspiration that they would be our work, our project.

So, in fact we had our work cut out for us. And, yes friends, those of you who were shocked as I was by this big decision, my quick move to leave home for longer than I really ever have to live a foreign life, I survived. I did more than survive. I want to stay longer. I want to continue my work. Having only really learned the inner workings of the village, how to communicate with the heads of the village about certain changes that need to be made, I feel there is so much more work to be done. But alas, tomorrow we leave. And I truly hope and know that one day I will return.

This initial reflection brings me back to Monday of last week, which is actually the beginning of the end of my account for those of you actually reading this little blog!

Joanna and I spent a long weekend at Area 49, returning Monday, with excitement, for our last full, 5 day week in the village. Raphael drove us to Mphata, the village adjoining Mcongamira. Similar to the Nazareth School we went to the week prior (Maggie’s school), this schoolhouse was simply a straw hut with a bamboo structure and straw roof. A warm welcome sign had been colored on a piece of the graph paper we had doled out in the meeting on the past Friday, seeing this sign, I had no idea what lay inside. I thought it was so great that they used even one piece of paper of the material we had given them from the center. When we walked into the school, the room, the shack, I was taken aback. Ameena and Cremencia, the teachers, both carrying babies on their backs through class, had taken time through the weekend to do their best to emulate the classroom we created at the center. Traced animals, colored in hung on the wall, our day, month and activities charts hung on the walls, as did the alphabet and numbers. Ever once in a while I would say to Joanna after class at the center, “What are we really doing here? Do you think it is even slightly possible that these teachers will implement any of this when we leave?” Here we were stumbling upon the answer. One meeting, not even a visit to the school yet, and this teacher had implemented our ideas, our suggestions. They were so proud of this classroom.

Through class I sat on one of the wooden chairs they brought out for us to observe and watched a teacher full of as much energy as Maggie (plus a small baby on her back at all times) jump around the classroom and teach the kids. We helped her implement free play groups, though it was as though she hardly needed help at all. The Benesi’s told us later about Ameena. She had a lot of potential as a young student in primary school, she dropped out, married a muslim man, converted and popped out 4 kids at a very young age. She is very popular in the village and with the children, she is smart and it seemed like what the Benesi’s were saying was that her potential could have taken her further than teaching nursery school. I am not sure. What I do know is that she teaches with real passion. I was inspired and felt like seeing that she took in some of our suggestions, seeing the suggestions improve the class, actually made me think, this trip DOES make sense, we do, even little old me (NOT an actual teacher), have something to offer here.

The end of the class brought porridge for the children. Before we came here, the data that Goods4Good gave us, which was mistaken, was that the nursery schools we would be working with had a strict feeding program. Each day at 11am the children were given porridge. This was meant to a) nourish the starving children, of course but b) Inspire them to come to school altogether. Of course, I think I have mentioned, that at the school in the center we have seen porridge about 3 times total and it was only because mama came down to the center to make it and dole it out. It was a big deal for us to see the children fed at this school at Mphata for 2 days straight. And along with the energy of the teachers has much to do, I am sure, with the disciplined behavior of the children at the school.

The rains came in during this last full week. We were pretty fortunate with the weather through this “rainy season.” Well, selfishly fortunate. aka we did not have to walk through pouring rain even for one day to school, which we feared. There was sun almost daily. Now, here they call this a drought, so it was ACTUALLY NOT lucky, but in terms of school, it was. Things ran consistently. I had not realized that, in fact, when there is rain, often times the school will just not open at all. The teachers may not show up to the center at all and if kids do, they show up to an empty, locked building. And this has become acceptable. Last Tuesday it POURED through the early morning. Over night and into the early morning Joanna and I were lulled by the heavy drops hitting the tin roof, stirring the little rats who live up there. A combination of scurrying rats and heavy rain lulled us into uneasy sleep. We knew when we woke up, that school would get a late start. We are aware that these children are not armed with the ponchos and rain boots that we are. We were leisurely with our time and at 8:15am put on our rain gear and made the muddy trek to the center. The rains had lightened significantly, though it was still raining. Those who were outside to do work in the fields, walked barefoot with hoes in hand. There were very few children, or people in general, in sight. We arrived at the center to a locked door. Disappointed, we returned to the Benesi home. Mama let Diana know she was not surprised that the children and teachers were not at school; it was raining, after all! This was truly foreign to Joanna and I. Never had we skipped a day of school for rain. Here we were. I did not know whether to feel frustrated or accept this. We felt frustrated, even taking into account the fact that walking long distances in this weather is very hard on the kids. The teachers themselves did not even show up to wait for them. It was a rain day!

The way attendance works here, is that there is none. Kids can just show up for school, that is why, sometimes there are large classes, sometimes there are small classes. Cracking the attendance problem has been one of our main focuses here, but almost impossible to fix. The porridge incentive was the first attempt to bring children consistently, only that is so inconsistent, it is impossible for that to be the ultimate tactic for getting children there. A roll call almost does no good, I will say that every day that we were there teaching there was a new child in class, a regular child who had gone missing, some kids only come three days a week, if they feel like it. Divintina missed last Thursday because she was kept home to do laundry with her mother. And it is actually therein where the problem lies, which is what Joanna and I learned, possibly a little too late. A majority of the parents have very little motivation to send their children to school. I can still remember, vividly, my mother driving me to and from school, carpooling, shuffling back and forth, between school, work and school again. I went to school because it was expected of me. Simple as that. Then it becomes your life, you love it, you hate it, you want to go, you want to skip, either way, it is a disciplined activity and it is implemented. Of course, we attend schools with rooms and supplies and things like principals and school nurses and lunch programs and such. But, it starts at home. Your parents want you to go to school. At least, my parents did. Other parts of our country are another story, but of course that is for a different blog. Anyway, we let this rain day go, we returned home a bit dejected, got back to reading whatever novels we had with us that week and waited eagerly for class the next morning.

This past Monday, the first day of our short last week, we were picked up late by Raphael. We were planning to go to Maggie’s school again, the Nazareth school, but we lost about an hour and a half. By the way, it is not uncommon here in Malawi to be late. VERY late, with no regard for the lateness. To an edgy New Yorker, this can feel incredibly frustrating. I am an edgy New Yorker and in many cases where Raphael has been not just 15 minutes, but 3 hours late to pick us up I have gotten very frustrated. They call it Malawian time, I call disregard. Ah well, it has sort of become a running joke that we have gotten used to, but it will certainly keep me very aware of my schedule once I get home! Anyway, losing that hour and half Monday morning (to cleaning the car, by the way, cleaning the muddy car, right before driving through the muddy village), lost us time with Maggie’s class. We decided that would be ok, we would visit the center instead, we only had 3 more days with them, we thought.  Raphael drove us to the center, the rain had stopped and low and behold not a teacher or student in site. Second RAIN DAY! Extraordinary disappointment. We got a ride back to the house and let Mama know about this. This time though, we had an idea. Late the week prior we were walking home from school with Rebecca, another one of the Benesi daughters, a teacher herself. The village heads were having a meeting. Mcgongamira is the name of the village head we know. He called us over and we sat and met the village heads. There were female village heads as well. Seeing this meeting made me think, THIS is how we can communicate with the village. Maybe this is how we can work on this attendance issue. We had not been introduced or invited to be a part of this aspect of the village system. This was what we had been looking for.  And perhaps, had we been more aware of it, sought it out, we may have been able to achieve more. That may just be me, always thinking, there could have been more done. I don’t know.

Upon returning to the Benesi home, disappointed, we chatted with Mama, who also hung her head low about the whole thing. I said, we need to have a meeting with the Village head, the chief, he needs to know this and we need to fix this problem. Mama just hopped into the car with Raphael, within 20 minutes Chief Mcgonamira and Elaine, one of the teachers, also the secretary of the CBO Tiyambe Nawo, showed up for an emergency meeting. With 2 days of school left we finally figured out how to make some headway. We let the chief know the problem. He explained that there used to be designated officials who would go house to house to let parents know that they had to send their kids to school. He was not sure how that dissipated, it was not surprising and he and Elaine said they would try and reinstate it. I said, lets go tomorrow! This broke the motivation. Both Elaine and the chief said they would have to schedule it. I can only hope that they do, since we will not be here to help, I still think it will be one of the only ways to put a heavy hand on school attendance. 

We learned that Tuesday, the following day, was actually our last day of class. We had the impression it would be Wednesday. In a way it was good to get through class not realizing we were actually saying goodbye to these children. It might have made class more difficult. Instead we treated the day as any regular day, dancing, playing, watching the kids. What was extremely exciting was that when we arrived in the rain, Metze and Elaine were there! Door open, classroom set up with Bamboo mat, waiting for children, who were all late due to the rain. BUT, they were there, the school building was not locked, the school was not dark, they waited. And the kids trickled in! Starting with two lone students and ending up with close to 40 by class end, we were able to show the teachers that if they did in fact come and wait for their kids, there would in fact be school. No more Rain Days!

The better part of the day was that the teachers displayed more energy and creativity than we had seen the entire time. On Friday of the prior week we sat down and had a meeting with Metze and Elaine. Rebecca was there with us to translate. We had a very disheartening day in class that morning. Metze sat on the side, Elaine led the class with very little energy. It was devastating to us, on one of our last days, to feel like these teachers just did not want to be there at all. The class was smaller than usual and in a way that is a welcome relief, seeing as a small class is the size of a regular class by American standards, which means that the teachers have an opportunity to work with an easily controllable group of children. Still, they stood, motionless, unmotivated. This made me so nervous. Was this what we had accomplished? A pretty classroom, new materials and two teachers with a building within which to work who simply did not want to be there. The meeting was not harsh, but it was straightforward. At first, I could tell both were offended, feeling as though we were judging them. Their faces read sadness, but so did ours. Through the meeting we were able to communicate our motivation. We knew they were not lost causes, but needed, in no other terminology, a fire under there little butts! The end of the meeting was full of hugs and assured understanding. Rebecca confirmed my fear that they had felt disappointed, but that they understood.  Tuesday, we saw that they did in fact hear us. Metze pulled out mud clay! Elaine sung to the children with zest! They engaged the children during their free playgroups! It was like watching a true transformation.  It was a funny realization. The truth was, I did not know exactly what I was coming to do in the first place, but here, right before us, it had materialized. A pretty classroom, new materials and two teachers who seemed to be enjoying what they were doing. This made for a class, though dwindling in attendance, of children who were having a great time.

Just as I was looking forward to the following day, our last day of class, Metze started the goodbye song and made an announcement that she would see the children in 2 weeks. TWO WEEKS! I knew the primary school children were on a break from school (they only go to school for a total of 6 months here in this country), but I had no idea why there needed to be a break for the village pre school. We were aware that the attendance dwindled through the weeks of vacation for the primary school kids. Their little siblings wanted to skip school if their older siblings were off. I had no idea there was an official TWO WEEK vacation for them! So that was it! We said goodbye, right there, like ripping off a band-aid, I hugged Divintina. She had arrived at school for the last hour, but she was my girl. I felt so connected to her beautiful smile, her giggle and she was just so smart. The leader, the girl who stood in the venter of the room and commanded attention, but it was inspiring attention. Devilish at times, still inspiring. She is a child that to me shows potential. She is a child I will think of always, wondering, did she make it? Did she make it to primary school? To secondary school? She, the niece of the village head, who also skipped school to do laundry, but the girl who answered each questioned asked of her with zest and intelligence, will she move forward?

We gathered for group photos, we snapped them. We hugged. There were no tears yet. I am not sure they even understood that we were actually leaving them. That in 2 weeks, we would not be back, we will have simply left them with a school house decorated with pieces of our hearts and two teachers who hopefully still felt as inspired as they did the day we left. The children ran us home, following us, calling to us, holding our hands, all the way to the top of the road, where regretfully we had to tell them this was it, the end of the road. We could not say “Tiuana Mawa!” See You Tomorrow! We just had to tell them, this was it. Some lingered, watching our silhouettes disappear, some scampered off, some screamed “BYE!” “Deena, Joanna!” “Joanna, Deena!” That was it. Goodbye, kids.

That afternoon Joanna and I took our last walk through the village. Once the choir had dissipated, so sadly, Joanna and I took to taking long walks. We would often end up at the center singing with the large group of children or we would walk through the village center, to the adult school, through fields of maize, past tobacco stands, tables of stinky fish. Sometimes we would be followed by kids, sometimes we would not, just waves or simply ignored. Tuesday would be our last go. We walked directly to the center of the village, the main road, so to speak. Joanna videotaped as we walked, children called after us, some followed us, fascinated by the camera, urgently calling to have their photo taken. Adults also begging for a photo, confirming their existence. Mid walk, we ran into Chief Mcgongamira, smiley, assertive man, he grabbed us for photos, showed us his Dowe (Green Maize, nearly matured Maize, edible treat as the growing season nears its end, particularly for those waiting for any morsel of food through this time, which can be a time of heavy starvation for those who have not rationed correctly).  He took us on a tour, our final tour. We followed him, he introduced us proudly to people we ran into along the way! We ran into Jifisi! My favorite chief. Mama’s stepfather, he is an older man, I assume in his 80’s, he is always overjoyed. Somehow, simply overjoyed. Smiling, laughing, he is my village grandfather. Jifisi (which means Hiyena) joined us for a walk. They took us up the long road to the adult school, taking place in afternoons at the primary school. The students are adults I have told you about, students who want to learn to read and write for the first time in their adult lives. Sitting on a dirty floor in a primary school house with two rooms, they learn. Men sit on one side of the class, women on the other. The teacher was excited to see us again and we greeted the class. We left soon after, the children can be a distraction as they pour into the classroom from the small doorway. Jifisi led us out and away from the school. I found DIvintina, happy to be able to say goodbye one more time, the children ushered us, yet again, to the path leading to the Benesi’s. Goodbye one last time. Joanna lingered. I am not great at goodbye. I waved. I turned. I walked. I could hear their voices lingering. Calling. And I knew, it was very likely that I would not many of them. Ever again. That was that.

I have not told you much about the rest of the Benesi family. We had the chance to meet two of their daughters who no longer live with them.  Rebecca was first. She came to visit us at the house during our last week. We were looking forward to meeting her one year old son. I love babies, Joanna is obsessed, so we waited eagerly. We had no idea what was in store. A baby afraid of everything and everyone, who cried incessantly the entire time he was with us. He was particularly afraid of us, the white ones, who looked like complete strangers to him. Often times, through that week, we had to sit in a separate room. In a way, it was sort of a bummer to spend the last three days of the week sequestered so as not to stir up the baby. That said, Rebecca did come to see us, she herself was a pre school teacher and she wanted to join us for class. She came for 2 days of class, the two days of class that were sort of lowest in attendance and energy from the teachers, but still she was able to see what we had done, what we were working with and also help us translate to the teachers. We were sorry to see her go at the end of the week, we were not sorry to say goodbye to Benji, sweet boy, but very attached to mama, the crying became grating.

We were also able to meet Martha. Yesterday, after tearful goodbyes in the village, we drove Diana and Mama out to Likuni, a very impoverished town. A town, versus a village, it has electricity and running water, but in a way seems more impoverished than the village, certainly dirtier. The garbage piles high, the shacks are all very close to each other, the smells of cooking food emanate and mixes together with burning garbage to produce a stench that is not pleasant. Still, we arrived at Martha’s home, much larger that the house in the village, at about 3 pm. We sat in her sunken living room with Mama and Raphael and Blessings. Martha did not have much to say to us, her son and daughter, 5 years and 2 years old, who we had been looking forward to meeting, were very shy with us and followed their mother and their Auntie Diana into the kitchen. We listened to mama chat away with Raphael and Belssings about things involving the village and Tiyambe Nawo, getting down to business, so to speak. She is married to the chair of the CBO after all. We understood nothing, but Raphael explained every once in a while and we tried hard to partake in the conversation, after what was already a very draining day. I could hear rustling in the kitchen and knew then, we were not getting out of this visit with food first. I cracked the door open to the tiny kitchen and found Diana and Martha boiling Maize and Malawian pumpkins. One of my favorite treats here. I helped Diana bring it down to the living room and, even though our visit was no more than a hour (15 minutes in Malawian time), we were fed. Ceremoniously, just as it is described in the bible, families revere their guests, with a warm reception and always food. We ate and had to be going. This was our time to say goodbye to Mama and Diana…I think I will write more about that later. 

Yet here we are, at the goodbyes. As the short week neared its end the end was imminent. Tuesday we had a meeting with the teachers; a final meeting with the 5 teachers from the three schools we had visited. We bought them small packages of cookies, it is customary to give a snack to your visitors after all. Joanna and I prepared packets of lyrics and the daily routine. We made signs to use to brainstorm ideas. Together we discussed the successes they had in class, the questions they had, we sang nursery school songs, reviewed lyrics, discussed energy, attendance, hygiene, enthusiasm, we laughed, played with Maria, Ameena’s little baby, who was very vocal that day. By the end of the meeting, Diana, who was there to translate, asked the teachers if they had any comments or questions for us. Elaine, very slowly, in her thick, high-pitched voice, spoke to us in Chichewa. She let us know that she was grateful to us, that she was sorry for their shortcomings, that they learned so much from us, that she wished us a good journey and that she would remember us forever. I think the way that Diana reiterated what she had said in English, with such emphasis on the “we will remember you forever” part just hit me very hard. Would they remember us? How soon would the memory become distant in my mind? Would it? Would we return? Would we ever get to see the progress? The children grow up? There was a finality to it that was very overwhelming. I cried. And, I think I wrote in the beginning of this blog, that I really do not cry often. The culture here is made up of very strong people who do not express themselves emotionally, I think it was funny, touching, but funny for them to see me cry. They sang for us and ushered us out and promised us traditional dancing at the function then were preparing for us the next morning.

Mama let us know on Monday that there would be a function for us on Wednesday; an official village function to say goodbye. She took great care in planning it with the rest of the women in the village. Timing was confused a few times, first it was rescheduled for Tuesday, the re-rescheduled for Wednesday, afternoon, than morning, so by Tuesday night when I called Raphael to try and get him there at 9 am, the official, final time, he assured me he would be there, but I had a feeling there might be a Malawian timing issue. There was. At 10am we were still waiting for Blessings and Raphael. They had a lot of work to do this week and I had a feeling that the early morning might be hard for them to swing. Mama wanted us to wait for them, no matter how long it took (halfie one, even, as she says) because she wanted us to be driven there like the arrendos (visitors) that we are and to feel the women dance us in from the car. We gave up on that at about 10:15am and walked there instead with Diana as our usher. How appropriate. I wanted to walk, it was our last walk to the village. Once we got there, Diana had us wait as she called to her mother. The women came rushing out singing traditional welcome songs and ushering us is for dancing. They do a lot of circle dancing here in Malawi. Traditional circle dancing always reminds me of Israeli dancing, which reminds me of my community at home and of my own community’s history. My grandmother lived in a small village when she first arrived in Israel at 16, though it was a downgrade, to say the least, she was so happy to be out of eastern Europe and “safe” in Israel, with her father and amongst the people of her community. I wonder if it is the same safety that these village people feel amongst their community, traditions and ceremonious way of life.

Once the dancing commenced, we sat. The Village heads sat on chairs in the front facing the crowd of women who sat on bamboo mats on the floor. Diana sat with us on chairs and Elaine and Chief Mcongamira made speeches; kind farewell speeches full of gratitude and hope that we return. They constantly express worry about their shortcomings, which I found so interesting, I felt the same way, I hoped they understood my own shortcomings, wishing I could stay and do more. My sentiments when I spoke were similar. Grateful for welcoming us into their community, sharing their way of life, their school, their children and being so open to sharing ideas. Chief Mcongamira said one more thing that meant a great deal, he noted that Joanna and I showed no fear, we walked through the village and did not discriminate who we connected to, shook hands with, hugged, we simply opened up. I was touched that he noticed that. This is not something I have to make an effort to do, of course, if you know me at all, you know I talk to anyone and everyone, common language or not. If you know Joanna, you know she hugs a lot of babies and kids. We just love people and we fell in love with these people, these children. To hear him say this to us, was very touching. The rest of the function involved skits, choir, songs and dancing. Raphael and Blessings arrived for the closing remarks, made some remarks of their own and we were off.  I clung to the moment, danced a little extra, did not want to rush to the car, but it was now noon and we had to get to the Benesi house. They had prepared a huge lunch for us, of course. The women danced us right into the car and sang as we drove away. Again, overwhelmed, I cried. All the way back to the house. Our time in the village had come to an end. Though I did not know many of the names of these women, I had come to know their voices, their faces, their warmth, through their visits to the house to see Mama, passing them on the street, working with them in the classroom. I looked at each woman’s face and wondered what might happen to them as they moved on with their lives, what might happen to me and deep down knew, this was the last I would see of many of them.

“And now its time to say goodbye to all our family.” (anyone else watch the Mickey Mouse club)?!

This would be the hardest part of our journey yet. No small bed, no latrine, no rat crawling next to my arm, no amount of heat or dirt can overshadow the sadness I felt saying goodbye to this family I had come to know so well and love so much.

Much of our afternoon and evening time was spent reading while here in the village. It was downtime, we were not able to do all of the housework the family did and a little separation every day was good. Plus, Joanna and I both love to read, so we took advantage of the time. I have read 7 or 8 books while here. I did not read that many books in all of last year. Embarrassing, I know. This last short week we did not do any of that, we sat outside, ok fine, I finished the last 75 pages of my book using some down time here or there, but for the most part we stuck outside with the family, the girls, Kevin, Patricia, Martha and Bertha, Mama and Diana. We helped prepare food, we watched Mama at work and actually cooked entire dishes on our own. It was a lot of fun to work and spend time with the family, absorbing our last few days fully. Monday afternoon we spent a couple of hours crafting home made cards using construction paper and markers, writing long heartfelt notes to Papa, Mama, Patricia, Kevin, Bertha, Diana and Martha.  These would accompany our small gifts and be words that each could hold on to.  Tuesday afternoon, after our walk, we sat outside peeling potatoes and this was our chance. We brought out the bracelets we bought for Kevin, Patricia and Martha and the necklaces me bought for Diana and Bertha and handed them the cards. Of course, Diana and Papa had to translate the cards for each of them but I could see Bertha out of the corner of my eye open her eyes wide. For Patricia, Kevin and Martha, I wrote roughly the same thing. These kids mean a great deal to me, we bonded and I wished them the very best, the desire to grow and learn and that they not forget me. 

For Bertha it was different. I wrote her a long letter. To leave was to abandon her. Having lost her mother at a young age, Bertha was strong but also sensitive. In our time there she got “sick” quite often, she cried and the family poked and prodded her for it. Lovingly, but still. If anyone can understand feeling sick and expressing it, it is me. I wondered if her sensitivity had to do with the loss of her mother at a young age or the fact that her father lived right on the same compound as she did, but communicated very little with her. It could also have been her age. Who knows? But I felt a great deal of compassion for her, as much as I felt for her jubilant laughter, I felt for her tears. When we parted on Wednesday, we cried and I think she was probably the hardest one to leave behind.

I have so much more to write, but little time today. Please check back again on Saturday. The goodbyes are the most important part yet and I do not want the description to suffer for me rush. There is still mama, papa and of course, my sister, Diana.

In the meantime, I prepare to depart. We are headed to dinner with Blessings and Raphael, to thank them for the taking such good care of us. Today was, appropriately so, very rainy and this break is a much needed one. The house in the orphanage can become quite lonesome.

I leave Africa and I leave a part of my heart here. With the children, with the family, with the land, with the animals, with the simplicity, with all of it.

Before I left, my mother joked about what I should do with my downtime here. She said, write. Write about love. She thinks it is hilarious when I talk about romantic love and dating in Mahattan. And really, in my case, it is pretty much just hilarious.  She was only joking, of course, but the truth is, I have learned love. Not romantic love per se, it is just Joanna and I here, after all. But I have learned about love, how to love even when you cannot speak to the person, how to open up to children, hold them and feast upon their laughter, how to live in very different conditions and still be happy and become close to a family that has changed my life. I have learned to love from afar, to yearn for my friends and for my family; to love something as delicious as a boiled pumpkin and as heartbreaking as an orphan child. The people of Malawi love, they are warm, they are simple, they reach out to everyone who crosses their path, with diligence and with respect. They love, even those they do not know. They are curious and want to learn, to be seen, known, to exist. I will carry these people, these memories, this family in my heart forever.  

I will write more on Saturday.

I miss you guys and really can’t wait to see my friends and family.

Goodbye!