I couldn't NOT share this little tidbit of African culture with the world. So ladies and gentlemen, let's turn the conversation to magic.
In the last 4 months I have overheard here and there talk of black magic; people trying to explain away bizarre occurrences as the work of some nefarious individual with supernatural powers. I wrote it off. Only in the last few days did I realize how fully society at large, at least in Malawi, has incorporated this into their belief system.
Read on, and you'll discover that what you actually believed was a myth your whole if is reality. Magic does actually exist!
Today was the first day that I struck out on my own in the refugee camp. I've decided that I want to see people face to face much more often instead of just poring over their case files in my 7th floor Lilongwe office (where office = broom closet, of course). Halfway through the afternoon I ended up in a pastor's house, packed wall to wall with 4 other people and, of course, pitch black (weird!!!) Through an interpreter he began to tell me about the problems his wife was having with her health. "She's a cripple," he said. "We've been to the doctor and have tried traditional medicine but nothing works." And then without batting an eye, he explained that clearly the cause of her "handicap" (which the medical report listed as arthritis) was the use of black magic by assailants unknown. Looking up, my smile was met by... perfectly normal expressions on everyone else's faces, not the mischevious grins of good humoured refugees I was expecting. "Wait a minute, is he serious?", I thought. Yes, he was. About a minute passed in which I tried to divert the conversation away from spells and black magic. Failing that, I admitted that "Mzungus don't believe in magic," to which they laughed and laughed... Oh how they laughed!!! "Of course you don't believe in magic," said the pastor in a manner that was a mix of pity and all-knowing-ness. "You are a white man." Poor, uninformed me.
Later that afternoon at the office my supervisor offloaded onto me what was surely not one of his favourite cases. I still have no idea what to do about this one so input is welcome. The gentleman in question and his wife showed up at our door unannounced with a rather large problem: he was being accused of witchcraft. And although nobody is burnt at the stake in Malawi, suspected witches are from time to time murdered by an angry mob. Fascinating for me and you as readers, but not exactly the best news for the witches.
The details of this case are pretty straightforward really. Refugee living in another town has a thriving business. But of course that has nothing to do with his business acumen, don't be ridiculous. It's obviously because he's using a spell to draw cash directly out of the surrounding shops, GOD, it's obvious! This would be quirky and funny if it was just a few jealous shopkeers and their shenanigans. But this belief is so widespread that not only did the local newspaper print the 'facts' of the story, but the city council passed a decree that he had to leave the area by June 30th. Get outta Dodge, sucka! Now this guy can't live anywhere in Malawi because the whole country knows about his dark secret.
Finally, the best for last... Today Les and I noticed a newspaper clipping on the wall of the office we're stealing this week. The headline reads: 'Man gets 5 years for using magic plane'. Haha wait let me take a minute to laugh again.... HAHA... ok, done. This cheeky character tried to beat the system, but as in all happily ending stories, a group of drunk people saved the day. The accused (picture in the article naked, sitting on a curb and covered in dust), was apparently traveling from point A to point C, but while at point B ran out of money. So unable to pay for public transportation, he decided it would be a good idea to whip out his magic plane. In a crushing twist of fate, however, he just so happened to fly over a house that had strong magical protection and he fell out of the magic plane. Thankfully he landed basically in front of a gaggle of drunks who promptly reported to the police this outrage and the man was sent to jail for 5 years. No, the newspaper was not running a satire; magic is treated with the gravest of seriousness in this country, even by the courts!
I've never believed in magic until now. You learn something new every day! Now if you'll excuse me, I have a magic bed to jump into.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Comments
Comments on my posts are always welcomed and appreciated. I do read all of them. I just figured out how to allow the posting of anonymous comments and have enable that setting, which means you don't need a gmail account to post.
Now that it's so easy I expect a flood of comments!
Now that it's so easy I expect a flood of comments!
Today's events
I'm happy to report that new photos are up (sorry, I know it's been a while).
Today we spent the day sorting through files and intervieved two new cases here at the office. Friday is a half day so we don't go to the camp. The first man brought in his daughter, a beautiful little eight year old who was all smiles as she bounced around in her chair in the conference room. He told us in half broken English and half French that his little girl had been raped by a 23 year old local man who has now fled the country, and whose family continues to harrass him. Later in the day I had the responsibility of telling a single mother with 8 children (4 of whom are orphans) that she has essentially no chance of being resettled to a new country, which means she will be stuck in limbo in the camp for who knows how long. These meetings are not pleasant, but I'll keep doing this work as long as I think i'm improving someone's life.
Today we spent the day sorting through files and intervieved two new cases here at the office. Friday is a half day so we don't go to the camp. The first man brought in his daughter, a beautiful little eight year old who was all smiles as she bounced around in her chair in the conference room. He told us in half broken English and half French that his little girl had been raped by a 23 year old local man who has now fled the country, and whose family continues to harrass him. Later in the day I had the responsibility of telling a single mother with 8 children (4 of whom are orphans) that she has essentially no chance of being resettled to a new country, which means she will be stuck in limbo in the camp for who knows how long. These meetings are not pleasant, but I'll keep doing this work as long as I think i'm improving someone's life.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
First days at camp
Three days on the job down, and they have been more than eye opening. On Monday Les and I 'rocked up' (my new fav term) to the Kang'ombe building, the tallest in Lilongwe, at about 12 stories. Being back at work after 6 months of doing 'nothing' is a strange adjustment for me, although it feels great to again have a bit of routine and structure, and of course a purpose. The day started around 8:15 by settling into 'our' new office (yes, i'm using a lot of single quotations - the frequency of things not being what they seem justifies it), which is actually an office we are borrowing while some guy is on holiday. Of course we were only told that after we completely rearranged his office.
Half of the agenda that morning involved trying to communicate with the office manager whose personality you might say is intriguing. Instead of creating our computer accounts the week before, which I mistakenly assumed would have been the logical thing to do, I was told that I needed some sort of form, that of course this individual didn't have, and the only way I could get it would be to bother the head of the mission (aka the top guy in the office, who recruited me.) Thankfully this gentleman is a great guy and didn't hesitate to email off the document to the secretary who then informed us that it was the wrong form. To make a long story shorter the rest of the interaction involved her arguing with the boss, proceeding to tell us that we now didn't actually need the form (which I asked her to repeat twice), later returning to our office to again ask for the form. Her other notable feats in the last few days include maintaing a 100% initial refusal rate to each of my requests, sending me through 5 different people to get the requisition form to borrow a laptop, ultimately producing the form when the boss forced her to, and disappearing for at least 50% of the day.
Around 11am on day one we headed to the Dzaleka refugee camp, which is about a 45 mins drive outside of the city. Things were pretty lively. People that weren't just hanging out were lined up for either food rations or identification cards. Being the only whites in the area, we got a lot of attention from the very friendly residents, all of it cheery and positive. What struck Lesley and I about the camp was its permanence. I went with an idea of plastic sheeting and tents and chaotic rushing about. Nope - none of that. The camp looks a lot like any other rural African village. Brick houses with thatched or metal roofs, a market with fresh fruit and vegetables, a hospital and a police station. And just about everyone is smiling! Although in a way this was a nice surprise, it paints a bit of a grim picture - there can only be this kind of permanence if the refugees are there for a damn long time. While some leave after a matter of weeks on their way to greener pastures, many we spoke with had been camp dwellers for 2, 4, 7 and even almost 20 years.
As we got to dig a bit deeper, however, we started hearing about unspeakable atrocities. The first gentleman we interviewed fled from Burundi after being persecuted because he refused to join a political party that was responsible for trying to exterminate an ethnic group. He was kidnapped and taken with 200 other prisoners from his home. While in transit, the soldier-kidnappers surrounded the group and opened fire, killing pretty much everyone. He escaped only by lying still for 3 hours until the coast was clear. Now in the refugee camp, he fears for his and his family's safety because he is among members of that same political party, and his wife is an ethnic Tutsi, the group the party was trying to exterminate. His wife was raped 3 weeks ago and Lesley and I were the first people he has told since then. She hasn't been to the doctor for an HIV test or the police to report the incident. Outrageously, there is a stigma associated with being raped that somehow translates into the community looking down on this woman, and even blaming her for what happened. Not to mention the police are corrupt. So what do you do?
We spoke with a woman who laughed and joked with us for a few minutes before telling us that her whole family was killed in the Congo. Yesterday we interviewed a man whose relatives were beheaded and who showed us the scar from where he was attacked with a bayonet. This morning had to make a stop so that the Red Cross guy in our truck could check up on one of his cases. Walking up to the house, we met a woman of about my age sitting on a blanket, with a baby and a 6 year old boy lying next to her. The woman made no eye contact with anyone but it's clear that she's given up hope. She is infected with HIV and now has tuberculosis. Her baby is not eating well because she can only have formula. Breast feeding is too dangerous if you're positive. Her son stared off into space and moved little as we were told that he was sick with malaria. He hasn't been to the hospital for treatment yet because his mother can't walk anymore. Their house is bare.
All I wanted to do was pick that kid up and take him to the hospital. But I was told by the Red Cross guy to forget it - he would call for a car to pick him up and take him in today. I didn't see him make the call. And besides, you can't take a kid into the hospital unless he's given a bath.
Heavy.
Ok, on a lighter note, today at the camp was an 'open day', which involved presentations to build awareness and education about rape, HIV/AIDS, hygiene, to give out awards, etc. It was all done on the very traditional African model with drums and dancing and some pretty hilarious skits, including African Jerry Springer. Les and I were given honourary seating and got to hit the microphone a few times and hand out some prizes (umbrellas, thermoses, shirts). Although we didn't get any interviews done today, which was our purpose for going to the camp, we did have about 1,000 people learn who we were and we're getting a pretty good orientation to how things work. So far we haven't done much that I would say is truly productive, except for maybe some filing back at the office, but we're learning quickly what the needs are and who to speak with about various problems the refugees have. I'm absolutely sure that in the next few days we'll be able to do something really meaningful. I'll speak about it then!
Half of the agenda that morning involved trying to communicate with the office manager whose personality you might say is intriguing. Instead of creating our computer accounts the week before, which I mistakenly assumed would have been the logical thing to do, I was told that I needed some sort of form, that of course this individual didn't have, and the only way I could get it would be to bother the head of the mission (aka the top guy in the office, who recruited me.) Thankfully this gentleman is a great guy and didn't hesitate to email off the document to the secretary who then informed us that it was the wrong form. To make a long story shorter the rest of the interaction involved her arguing with the boss, proceeding to tell us that we now didn't actually need the form (which I asked her to repeat twice), later returning to our office to again ask for the form. Her other notable feats in the last few days include maintaing a 100% initial refusal rate to each of my requests, sending me through 5 different people to get the requisition form to borrow a laptop, ultimately producing the form when the boss forced her to, and disappearing for at least 50% of the day.
Around 11am on day one we headed to the Dzaleka refugee camp, which is about a 45 mins drive outside of the city. Things were pretty lively. People that weren't just hanging out were lined up for either food rations or identification cards. Being the only whites in the area, we got a lot of attention from the very friendly residents, all of it cheery and positive. What struck Lesley and I about the camp was its permanence. I went with an idea of plastic sheeting and tents and chaotic rushing about. Nope - none of that. The camp looks a lot like any other rural African village. Brick houses with thatched or metal roofs, a market with fresh fruit and vegetables, a hospital and a police station. And just about everyone is smiling! Although in a way this was a nice surprise, it paints a bit of a grim picture - there can only be this kind of permanence if the refugees are there for a damn long time. While some leave after a matter of weeks on their way to greener pastures, many we spoke with had been camp dwellers for 2, 4, 7 and even almost 20 years.
As we got to dig a bit deeper, however, we started hearing about unspeakable atrocities. The first gentleman we interviewed fled from Burundi after being persecuted because he refused to join a political party that was responsible for trying to exterminate an ethnic group. He was kidnapped and taken with 200 other prisoners from his home. While in transit, the soldier-kidnappers surrounded the group and opened fire, killing pretty much everyone. He escaped only by lying still for 3 hours until the coast was clear. Now in the refugee camp, he fears for his and his family's safety because he is among members of that same political party, and his wife is an ethnic Tutsi, the group the party was trying to exterminate. His wife was raped 3 weeks ago and Lesley and I were the first people he has told since then. She hasn't been to the doctor for an HIV test or the police to report the incident. Outrageously, there is a stigma associated with being raped that somehow translates into the community looking down on this woman, and even blaming her for what happened. Not to mention the police are corrupt. So what do you do?
We spoke with a woman who laughed and joked with us for a few minutes before telling us that her whole family was killed in the Congo. Yesterday we interviewed a man whose relatives were beheaded and who showed us the scar from where he was attacked with a bayonet. This morning had to make a stop so that the Red Cross guy in our truck could check up on one of his cases. Walking up to the house, we met a woman of about my age sitting on a blanket, with a baby and a 6 year old boy lying next to her. The woman made no eye contact with anyone but it's clear that she's given up hope. She is infected with HIV and now has tuberculosis. Her baby is not eating well because she can only have formula. Breast feeding is too dangerous if you're positive. Her son stared off into space and moved little as we were told that he was sick with malaria. He hasn't been to the hospital for treatment yet because his mother can't walk anymore. Their house is bare.
All I wanted to do was pick that kid up and take him to the hospital. But I was told by the Red Cross guy to forget it - he would call for a car to pick him up and take him in today. I didn't see him make the call. And besides, you can't take a kid into the hospital unless he's given a bath.
Heavy.
Ok, on a lighter note, today at the camp was an 'open day', which involved presentations to build awareness and education about rape, HIV/AIDS, hygiene, to give out awards, etc. It was all done on the very traditional African model with drums and dancing and some pretty hilarious skits, including African Jerry Springer. Les and I were given honourary seating and got to hit the microphone a few times and hand out some prizes (umbrellas, thermoses, shirts). Although we didn't get any interviews done today, which was our purpose for going to the camp, we did have about 1,000 people learn who we were and we're getting a pretty good orientation to how things work. So far we haven't done much that I would say is truly productive, except for maybe some filing back at the office, but we're learning quickly what the needs are and who to speak with about various problems the refugees have. I'm absolutely sure that in the next few days we'll be able to do something really meaningful. I'll speak about it then!
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Best news I've heard all day
Well I'm in a shit-eating-grin kind of good mood today on account of the news Lesley and I got this morning. We had a meeting with the head of the United Nations High Commission for Refugees in Malawi yesterday, and some of his staff. It was a meeting to 'get to know us', to talk about what the organization does, and to see if we would 'fit' into a role.
It didn't seem to hurt our chances that everyone at the office was in business attire and I was sporting sandals, jeans, a shirt that showed off my 14 chest hairs and a 5 day beard. It turns out that because we're both so lovable, they want us. Sweeeet. What does this mean? Essentially, we're both working in a refugee camp of over 8,000, mainly Rwandans and Congolese. In all of the possible scenarios that I imagined vis-a-vis volunteer work, I could not have envisioned a better outcome. I am ridiculously excited to have the opportunity to do something that matters greatly to me.
Although we're likely going to be flying by the seat of our pants, working wherever the need for that day is, in general I will be doing case work, interacting directly with the camp residents. Tasks like investigating alleged cases of say, a Hutu harrassing a Tutsi (the two main ethnic groups in Rwanda that don't like each other very much) or seeking out people that might be eligible for scholarships in the US. Lesley will also be working in the camp, working with committees of refugees that deal with women's issues. For example HIV/AIDS education and teaching job skills. Did I mention I'm excited? I was born for this shit.
Well, we're off to sign the paperwork now, and to find a place to rent. Tomorrow, it's off to the lake for a weekend of fun in the sun; one last getaway before we get knee-deep into the chaos. Love it.
It didn't seem to hurt our chances that everyone at the office was in business attire and I was sporting sandals, jeans, a shirt that showed off my 14 chest hairs and a 5 day beard. It turns out that because we're both so lovable, they want us. Sweeeet. What does this mean? Essentially, we're both working in a refugee camp of over 8,000, mainly Rwandans and Congolese. In all of the possible scenarios that I imagined vis-a-vis volunteer work, I could not have envisioned a better outcome. I am ridiculously excited to have the opportunity to do something that matters greatly to me.
Although we're likely going to be flying by the seat of our pants, working wherever the need for that day is, in general I will be doing case work, interacting directly with the camp residents. Tasks like investigating alleged cases of say, a Hutu harrassing a Tutsi (the two main ethnic groups in Rwanda that don't like each other very much) or seeking out people that might be eligible for scholarships in the US. Lesley will also be working in the camp, working with committees of refugees that deal with women's issues. For example HIV/AIDS education and teaching job skills. Did I mention I'm excited? I was born for this shit.
Well, we're off to sign the paperwork now, and to find a place to rent. Tomorrow, it's off to the lake for a weekend of fun in the sun; one last getaway before we get knee-deep into the chaos. Love it.
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