Red Out Loud

1-19-10

We left Consol Homes at 11:30 am and headed towards the Goods For Goods office, comprised of 2 desks, one round table and two laptop computers. I ran for the available computer, Joanna gladly abided, she is well aware of my e mail addiction and she was smart enough to enable her blackberry internationally, so when we have service, she has e mail. I checked for any sign of life from home, New York, feels centuries away. I e mailed my favorite friends, checked in with Stefan about Charley and sent a quick e-mail off to my parents. I actually miss them more then I thought I would. Even just a few days later, the culture change makes home not only feel far away but also actually feel as if we’ve been away for years. Joanna and I update our blogs and head off. Raphael had taken us for a quick bite and grocery shopping. We bought the Benes family rice, cooking oil, pasta, bread, peanut butter and a case of water for ourselves. We would not show up to our host home empty handed. Food is the best gift you can offer, even to the Benes family, described to us as the Trumps of the village. Together the four of us drove our packed pick up truck through the town of Likumi, crowded with people walking the streets, teenagers coming from secondary school carrying books, some wearing uniforms, adults walking right down the middle of the street selling all kinds of things from bags of water to live chickens; we saw beggars (as you will find in any city) walking right up to the truck begging for money. We stopped at Raphael’s home and met his son Kingsley, he tuned a guitar for me to bring to the village. I am not sure why Goods4Good had any impression that I played guitar, but it was a lovely gesture. Kingsley is studying music, so I left the guitar with him and he promised a jam session in the coming weeks. I look forward to it. We headed back on the road, the small roads of the town eventually turned into open roads, lined on each side by fields of maize, women and their children heading into the fields to farm for the afternoon. We reached a stopping point and were stopped because the Malawian soldier wanted to talk to the “visitors” or rather the White People who were in the truck. That was us. By the way, I am white. Did you know? It has not been pointed out to me quite as many times in my life as it has on this trip and it becoming ever apparent that I do in fact look quite different to these people. A few miles later, we turned off the main road onto a dirt road and drove for many bumpy miles through fields of maize, peanut fields and fields of pumpkin leaves. I do not do well on bumpy rides and anyone who has ever ridden a cab with me through Manhattan’s rush hour knows, I have to sit in the middle and I hold on for dear life. This was no better, however the scenery was far more beautiful. Green everywhere. Lush, green fields, bright blue sky with floating white, cushy clouds and trees of all shapes. Mountain far in the distance, stood tall and strong, just like the women walking by, in their traditional chitenges (wrap skirts), babies tied to their backs, baskets or buckets propped on their heads. Men rode by on bikes. All of them stared. A car driving into the village was apparently not a regular occurrence. Finally, we arrived at the Benesi compound. Huts scattered about, their house, with pretty windows, whose frames had carefully been painted blue, was two huts in. They have a two-bedroom home, cozy and quaint, about the size of my apartment in New York, perhaps quite a bit smaller. We dropped our bags off in the home, by bags I am referring to the two packed back packs we brought, our duffle of linens, two full duffels of school supplies and our two sleeping bags. It took up the majority of the living area. We hopped back into the truck for the ride to the Community Center, located at the other end of the village, Mr. Benesi, our host father, joined us for the ride. As we drove through the village, it became quite apparent to me that the living conditions were much rougher in the village than they were at the Benes compound. The tin roofs turned to straw roofs, the animals became more scarce per family, children ran the streets, some sat in dirt playing, mothers sat on mats on the ground preparing food for dinner, others just sat. Not every family in the village has saved quite enough food for this last season, so they eat little. We pass through two small huts that act as the market for the village, each holding eggs, vegetables, even toiletries, available for purchase. We pass a tearoom, used as an escape for many of the men in the village, money spent here instead of on food for their children; behavior commonly frowned upon. The two “market” huts mark the road to the community center, the truck passes a few more huts and a water pump and we can see it in the distance. Once parked, the women of the village usher us out. Mrs. Benesi leads the pack. They sing and dance and virtually carry us into the community center. Their voices carry farther than any voices I have ever heard and they sing traditional songs in Chichewa. And I cry. Happy tears! And I don’t really cry much, but it’s overwhelming. In New York, music means something much different to me, though obviously it means a lot, performance, audience, precision, who’s who, cover, no cover, guarantee, door cut, money, bars, fun, friends. It does draw a community together but the music is entertainment, it is a shared passion, it is a communicatory tool, however it has a beginning and an end, a set time and a closing time. This music was different. It was just an outpouring of emotion, of welcome, of joy, the vehicle for their elevated emotions. There was no start or finish, the movement matched perfectly. No inhibition, just overflow. We dance with them. I do not dance often, just as I do not cry, but no one is judging, so I jump in and let go. Only love in the room. I am introduced to Mrs. Benesi’ infectious giggle at this moment. Little do I know it will have a place in every conversation we have from that point onward. Eventually we all settle, Raphael and Blessings seat us at the front table, we are in the one room community center that also acts as the Nursery school classroom. The women sit on a mat on the floor, the men, most of whom are the chiefs of the village, sit on chairs on the side of the room. The introductions begin. I do not understand a word of them. One woman and one man, I believe a chief and a wife of one of the chiefs welcome us in Chichewa, introduce the villages “key players” in Chichewa. All I can do is smile and make eye contact. I certainly cannot understand a word they are saying. Blessings and Raphael explain as much as they can and before I know it we are introducing ourselves to the crowd who, I am sure, understood as much of what we said as we understood what they said. We are asked to unpack our duffels of supplies, they watch closely and quietly, we tuck them away into the closet full of unused supplies and move on. Still smiling we are ushered out, back to the car, but Joanna and I opt to let others take the ride. We walk back, our first walk from the center to the Benesi home, about a half-mile. This will be the first walk where we are followed by a gaggle of children. There has not been a walk since where at least 15 children have not found their way to our path. They call out to us. Azungo! Azungo! “white person, white person.” We fascinate them. It is not an insult; it is just their way. They giggle the entire way. People in Malawi laugh, a lot, at almost everything. It is infectious, it is authentic and it wraps around you. I can’t remember laughing like this in New York. Too many things to distract you in America to lie back for long enough to smile as brightly as these people do. Back at the farm, and that is what it is, with its goat pen, chicken pen, open fire pit, kitchen and cow pen, we sit in the small living room and eat raw peanuts. Joanna even ate a few specs of dirt. Oops. Blessings and Raphael stay for a bit, make sure we are settled in our new digs and are off. The Benesi’s show us to our room, we are eager to see where we will be sleeping. Joanna is too tall to fit through the door without bending down; I have no problem because I am shorter than most people. The room is small, possibly 5x5, high ceiling, cement walls and a small 1x1 window. They have made the bed for us, so kindly, we set our sleeping bags on top of the bed and drop our backpacks, the room is for sleeping only, no room to hang, and that is ok. Mr. Benesi sits in one of their plush chairs. They have an entire dining room table and 6 chairs as well as a living room set (2 love seats and 2 chairs) all in their living room. The walls are lined by lace and the curtains have been carefully hung up to block the mosquitoes even when the windows are open. This is where we will spend most of our time in the house. We catch up. Mr. Benes speaks English very well. Mrs. Benes follows but will not speak much English, she teaches us Chichewa sayings. Their daughter, Diana, speaks beautifully and she becomes our sister almost immediately. Diana is gorgeous, inside and out, we will not survive our experience in the village without her. At 23 years old, she spends time between the village and her sister’s home; she graduated from the technical school in Lilongwe and is able to fix cars. Not too many cars in the village to fix, she works by her mothers side, cooking and taking care of the home, seems to me that many weekends she spends with her sister and her husband in another town. She is bright and delicate, but she is funny and we have a lot to talk about. I can see it is important to her to make us feel comfortable in her home and that means a lot to both Joanna and me. We joke that her name is Deena and Joanna combined=Diana! She wears a wig over her hair that has both brown and red twists in it, the color of mine and Joanna’s hair. That night Diana and Mrs. Benesi (who we have been told to call Mama and she calls us her daughters) prepared an awesome Malawian meal of Nsima and relish. Nsima is a maize based carb, in place of pasta or rice and alone is pretty plain. The relishes they make are vegetable and sometimes egg based, at least for Joanna and I, since we are both vegetarian. The first night it was green beans and chopped tomato sauce from scratch with egg in it. On the Nsima it was delicious. Mr. Benesi fed his cows and goats and ate dinner with us, we ate together and I felt perfectly at home. Bedtime is early in Tiyambe Nawo (ps that is the name of this village), after dinner Mama and Diana chatted with us in the living room and then showed us to the latrine, for our first go at the “ladies room.” Yes, we held it in until now. The latrine, oh, how do I describe the latrine? The structure is brick, with a tin covering, it is about 2 feet by 2 feet and it STINKS. The “toilet” is made of brick and cinder blocks and creates an elevation over what is really just a whole in the ground. I would not dare sit on it, but wonder if people here do. There is a covering you lift off of the “toilet seat,” the bugs fly around you, you hold your nose and you do your thing. I went first. And I won’t pretend it was not awful. It took about 4 days to get used to it and we left on our fourth day, so I am not sure if I am used to it or just happy to have left it behind for the weekend. The first night we opted out of the bucket bath, ew, I know, but we had no idea what to expect, we were too tired to emotionally deal with whatever it was the “bucket shower” was, so we used our highly wasteful cleansing wipes and called it a night. Little did I know the bucket bath would become one of my favorite parts of my day; another 2x2 brick structure, the bucket shower is complete with chair for your clothes, bench for yourself (I did not sit on it, obviously) and a bucket of boiling water. You take a cup, or your hand, and you pour that hot water all over your body. When I tell you, I am hot and dirty here, that is an understatement. It is hot and I sweat and we sit in dirt with the kids, so we are DIRTY. This bucket of water stands as the most refreshing thing, with our meals a close second, that exists in our day. I cool off instantly and I can see, yes, I can see it, the dirt slip away. There is something very natural about it. Back to the first night…I am not sure I did our room justice. Before I describe our “bedroom” to you, I want to claim my upmost respect for the Benesi family, for all that they have, for their gloriously natural way of life and for the way they have taken us in. I have grown, in four days, to love them. That said, the house and the village overall cannot help from being dirty, it is a farm after all. When my friend Ilana (who visited Malawi in the past) warned me that I would be dirty and I would just have to deal, I am not sure even she knew just how dirty I would be. This stands for the bedroom. A clay floor, dusty cement walls, a tiny window that must remain closed at night and rats running across the roof (inside and outside) made for a very, frankly, frightening first night. The thing about me, as most of you know, is that I laugh through things. I am fortunate that Joanna does too. We did what we could to spruce up the room, or really the bed rather. Joanna got an amazing video of me putting the mosquito net we brought from home along the walls using the nails that were in the walls and our hair ties to hold it up. We covered our bed with a flat sheet, then a fitted sheet, our sleeping bags and then top sheets, though there is hardly a need for any kind of blanket in the bedroom, since it is hard enough to breathe through the heat that sat on top of us like a ton of bricks. Joanna had a harder time sleeping than I did, but in general it was pretty rough. Though how could we complain? Diana slept in the living area right outside our door on a mat on the floor, she seemed perfectly comfortable. Complaining about little things has not left me entirely, but I will say, I think about the things I say a little harder here. This first night tested my durability and I think that for both Joanna and I this was a challenge, but we succeeded and we came out of it the next morning as happy to be there as we were when we arrived the day before.

1-20-2010

Much of the day before was repeated on this day. There is routine in the village. Their way of life takes much more effort than ours does; there is ceremony to everything that they do from cooking, to eating to farming. Life is simpler and so their days are taken up by the same routine daily. For Joanna and I there was one new activity, the most important. School. Diana walked us through the village at 8 am all the way to the center, where Pre School had begun. There were about 30 children in class. Class: a chalkboard that is nearly impossible to write on, a teacher, her booming voice and a mat that all 33 children sit on. They were reciting their abc’s as we walked in. Joanna and I sat down on chairs and watched, but within 10 minutes the teacher, Metze, looked at us and asked, with her eyes only, “what’s next?” We jumped in. I got up and taught them twinkle, twinkle little star, from that point on it would be a mix of improvising and outlined schedule and lesson planning. Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes, story time, colors, numbers. After class we chatted with Metze for some time. The language barrier is more frustrating for me than it is for Joanna. We tried to talk about our intentions, what her plans entailed and how we could work together on getting this class together. Diana showed up towards the end of the conversation and helped us to translate. Metze is tired, she works hard but you can see she is committed to growing as a teacher. She has an enormous smile, a command over the kids and booming powerful voice that rises above their high-pitched, robust giggles. We left with Diana and walked back to the house. She had prepared a full lunch for us, as big as the meal the night before. It was delicious. Joanna and I spent time writing in our journals and then helped with dinner. Cooking is an intricate activity, major process involved, as I’m sure you can imagine. There is no electricity, no running water so there are no stoves, ovens or sinks. They do have a room they call a kitchen that is attached to the area where they have the open fire. The kitchen has a table where they do some preparation and also many dishes. There is a large bucket of water that they fill directly from the well and this constitutes a sink. They bring a smaller bucket of this water out into the central area and wash their dishes with it. The fire pit is another small brick enclosed structure; there are short footstool like benches that you sit on while you cook the food. Mrs. Benesi wrapped us in chitenges (authentic wrap skirts) before we entered the cooking area. I sat right down next to Diana and watched her carefully peel tomatoes that had been boiled, cut onions, slice eggplants and crack eggs. She did this all over the open fire. It is hot and smoky in there and I had to take a few breaks from inhaling the smoke, but together we cooked fresh tomato sauce and eggplants fried in eggs and rice. The Benesi’s try to wait on us hand and foot, you have to be very aggressive about helping and being a part of the preparation, but once Joanna and I stuck ourselves in there it became a joyful, team effort.

1-21-10

I have nearly written you a seven-page essay about what was only our first week in Tiyambe Nawo. So let me pick a couple of key things from our first Thursday in the village. We woke up to a breakfast of tea and peanut butter sandwiches, unwillingly used the latrine, washed up with all kinds of wipes we brought along with us to the village, created more waste, purelled our hands and headed to school. This would be the first day we would walk alone through the village to class. We walked alone for about 5 minutes before a herd of children formed behind us. Being white helped to bring another 20 kids to class, who otherwise would have skipped. My, the joys of being a strange, white person. Diana had given us a bag of popped corn to bring along for the walk and this helped attract the children as well. I gave a kernel to each child; they were psyched. We arrived for class and immediately Metze sat down and wanted to watch us do our thing, we had not yet had the chance to decorate the classroom, hang up the official schedule or prepare the toys and materials for the children, so we had to wing it yet again. We sang, danced, played ring around the rosie (this was a very difficult game for them) and went over our numbers and ABC’s. I can see how easy it can be for Metze to wing these 3 hours each day instead of dealing with putting a structure in place. Joanna and I took a break during class to examine the supplies closet that included our supplies and also the supplies that had accumulated over the years. The supplies they had, puzzles, toys, books, crayons, markers, papers, blocks, pads of paper and more had accumulated so much dust from lack of use, I was nearly brought to tears yet again. Was this to be the fate of the supplies that Joanna and I lugged across the world to this small village? Why had these supplies not been used? It was devastating. We pulled out large pads of paper and began creating signs for our play stations and pictures to decorate the wall. I pulled out unused markers and a huge pack of grid paper and quickly came up with a drawing game for the kids, they drew circles, squares, rectangles and triangles; many had no idea how to open the markers at all. But like little sponges they absorbed the lesson and at the end I had beautiful pictures to collect. Little, obedient, smiley creatures, so eager to hear anything Joanna and I have to say and so determined to impress us. After class Metze insisted on staying so she helped us create number and animal pictures. She helped us translate the English words for the animals into Chichewa and was eager to go over the schedule of the day, which we had translated into Chichewa before we arrived. Before coming to Malawi I was afraid the teacher we would meet would feel encroached upon, like we were trying to fix her or tell her what to do, but Metze wanted to learn, she wanted help with her classroom, having her a part of the reorganization of the classroom was so important, and she was so willing. All guilt that I felt washed away and I realized we were a team; together trying to better something. Eventually Metze had to leave to prepare lunch for her daughter and get ready to farm for the afternoon, I was hot as HELL in the classroom, so Joanna fixed the closet up a bit more and I took the soccer ball out to play with the little boys who were peaking into the classroom. We started with two little boys and eventually some teen age boys stopped to join us, far better soccer players than I, as you know, I am not athletic, I stepped away and watched them play. I knew the soccer ball would be a hit and it was. What a great way to connect to the older kids in the village. After lunch at the Benesi’s Joanna and I snuck away for some time on our own. We sat in their living room and wrote in our journals and napped. It is hard to get used to living in another person’s home and stealing time for yourself, but they are very willing to give us space and I am sure appreciate the space themselves. Later in the afternoon as the day was cooling down and after our bucket baths I heard Mrs. Benesi calling my name. Only in Chichewa would she call for me to come out here, which I did not understand, so Diana popped her head in and told me to come outside. Bethe, the Benesi niece, wanted to dance for me. Bethe was very shy at first. She and her sister live on the Benesi plot with the grandparents, their mother passed away years ago and I believe their father lives somewhere in town. Bethe had a hard time even making eye contact with us. It was only the night before that she opened up a tiny bit by dancing on her own for us in the living room after dinner. I used my iphone to play some Malawian music I had downloaded from Melissa and this was our connection. She opened up through movement and her body moves beautifully, precise and elegant. She and Diana both showed us Chichewan moves. It was amazing to feel her open up and want to connect to us. On this afternoon, the day after, she had gathered her sister and her adorable little cousin Kevin (who is a girl) and two other young girls to have a late afternoon dance party with me. When I saw this, I quickly called Joanna out to see. They did song after song and dance after dance and eventually performed a wedding play for us. We danced with them in the circle with very little inhibition, so not like me, when it comes to dance. The mothers of some of the children joined in and Mrs. Benesi eventually showed us her stuff. I have never laughed so hard in my life. There is a lot of laughing here.

1-22-10

This was our last day in the village for the week. Joanna and I were at our wits end with the simple lifestyle. Though we loved most of it, we were both in dire need of a shower and real toilet and even a break from being “on” with the family and the people in the village. I am sure they were too. We had very little sleep in our suffocating little room and we were tired. Before being picked up we had school and a soccer game planned for the afternoon. So we walked to school, through the village, picked up kids along the way and for the first time ran the class with the schedule that Joanna carefully came up with before arriving in Malawi. It was not easy at first to command attention from the kids, they understand little of what we are saying, they are very excited to have us there and they are HUNGRY, so quieting them down is not easy. It took quite a bit of effort, but we managed to have 3 groups circulate 3 of our 5 stations, including Social/Dramatic play, Block building and Reading. They began to pick it up and our hope is that eventually the groups will flow from station to station. This will take quite a bit of work, but we will do it. Metze loved the alteration to her routine. I am very excited to implement it this coming week. In the afternoon we worked with Mrs. Benesi on some terminology that would be helpful to us in the classroom. Things like: “get into a circle,” repeat after me,” and most important, “SILENCE.” Mrs. Benesi assured us she would join us for class this coming week and help cross the language barrier, even though she herself refuses to speak much English, Joanna and I both know that she understands. We look forward to the help. At 2pm Bethe, who has quickly become my favorite along with Diana, joined us for afternoon soccer. She, Martha, Patricia and Kevin walked us to the village. We picked up another 30 kids along the way who wanted to play with the Azungos (white people), so we had our soccer game made. Barefoot and hot, the children kicked the ball around, played soccer and then net ball (something akin to Rugby, not that I know a thing about Rugby). Raphael arrived at 2:30pm to pick us up. He was on time, which was a thrill, if you know much about Malawian time, you know that it usually runs about 2 hours behind. We took the ride in the pick up truck back up to the Benesi compound to collect our things and said goodbye to the family. We said goodbye as though we would never see them again. Hugs and waves and exchanges of affectionate Chichewan sayings. We grabbed Diana, hopped in the car and thought individually of the showers that awaited us, almost more exciting to me than checking my e mail. We dropped Diana off in town, happy to give her the ride. Raphael drove towards the Shoprite where we picked up food for the weekend and wine, lots of wine. We stopped at the office to check mail, lots of junk mail, some work related mail, which I was happy to skip over and some e mails from friends. WRITE ME MORE PEOPLE! I miss you! Raphael brought us to Area 49, to the orphanage we are staying at. We could hear the girls doing their Rosary, we grabbed the key to the house we stay in here and unpacked our bags. I repacked mine for the village right away. It was a funny feeling, I was so eager to get home for a break, space, fresh clothes and a shower, but I already began to miss my family. It was so quiet here, the girls here are not bonded to us like the children and adults of the village. It is now Sunday as I write this to you and I am very excited to head back to the Benesi house tomorrow, food in hand. We will tuck away for 4 days into our 5x5 room and one night I think Joanna and I will try and cook an entire meal for them, no help. Ok, maybe a little help, I have, after all, never started a fire from scratch before. Over the weekend we did our laundry in the laundry sinks and hung them in the sun to dry, so fresh smelling. I took many showers. We did yoga together. Joanna is an amazing teacher (Yoga and children!) and we cooked together. Sauteed veggies, yogurt, oatmeal, peanut butter and nutella (I insisted on the nutella, of course). It was very relaxing. We read a lot and wrote these long letters to you people. Hope you dig! I leave you with a final anecdote. And I left it for the end, because it was the funniest of the week. My Joanna, whom I have grown to love within this first week together, she is elegant and strong and she is a wonderful teacher, dutiful and organized. She commands a classroom with grace and the children LOVE her. She loves babies. All of them. I coo at the baby goats, she coos at ever little baby girl or boy we see. She is funny, she laughs and she has an edge that keeps the humor in every experience we share. Well, on the last night, we finally were able to muster up the courage to walk to the latrine in the dark on our own. We walked, equipped with head lights, tissues, wet ones, fabreeze and hand wipes to the latrine. I let Joanna do her thing first; then I went in. There is hardly room for one person in there, let alone two. Mid-toilet use Joanna started screaming and backed right into the latrine, while I was in there, using it, skirt down blah blah. Her arms were flailing and she was screaming, “Hyenas, I see Hyenas!” She was so consumed by the eyes she saw coming at her from the dark corners of the compound that she lost all awareness that not only was she using this smelly latrine as protection from these alleged hyenas, but she was using it as protection while I was going to the bathroom. I called out to her, “get out! Get out! Its just the dogs! Just the dogs!” Neither of us had the wherewith all to gather why the other was freaking out, eventually I pulled up my skirt and shooed the dogs away. Dianna came running out to us as if there was some sort of emergency, by then Joanna and I were hysterically laughing, emerging from the situation, both unscathed. Poor Diana and poor the rest of the village, who I am sure we woke up with our screams. Oh, Joanna. My special friend. Really looking forward to the coming week and the weeks following. Will update you as I can. Love you all and really do miss you! Visions of Manhattan cross my mind almost every time I shut my eyes. A different world, but one I miss a great deal and can’t wait to return to. Stay in touch!