These ones are decent. Enjoy
Independence Day - Malawi's 44th celebration of kickin' out the colonists
Vilankulo - Finally, the sea
Bazaruto Archipelago - paradise just off the coast of Vilankulo
Showing posts with label malawi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label malawi. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Fun Malawi Facts
Malawi is a hella-intriguing country when you start to peel back a few layers. It makes me wonder what else I would have discovered in my travels had I spent longer in one place.
Fact: A few weeks after I arrived in the country, a coup plot was foiled. If Malawians weren't so darn nice the country might have descended into anarchy! OK perhaps that's an exaggeration. The papers are accusing the former president of orchestrating the government's demise, but more probably than not it was just a ploy to throw the guy in jail, eliminating some uncertainty in the next election.
Fact: "It's not uncommon for Malawi to go 8 months without rain." I stole that from the water conservation note posted above all the sinks at our hostel, but I'm assuming its true. I've been here for 2 months now and I haven't seen a drop, even though the sky has assumed biblical posture on several occasions lately, so it's only a matter of time.
Fact: Speaking of the weather, who knew Africa could get so freaking cold? Because we're in the Southern hemisphere, Malawi's in the dead of winter now. Mind you that doesn't kill off the palm trees, but this morning at 6:30 when I was shaving, there was steam pouring off my face it was so cold. Lesley hasn't taken off her winter jacket for a week. In all fairness it's warm during the day in the sun; but it gets down to about 5 degrees at night.
Fact: sweet Jesus this place is polluted. I swear there are zero emissions controls on any of the vehicles here, which causes a nice blueish haze to sit over the city. Sometimes the trucks are so decrepit that Les and I get engulfed in a noxious cloud during the walk to work. It must be funny to watch Les and I turn to each other on the street, one of these behemoths barreling down on us, while we yell in unison "ahhh shit not again!" One day a few weeks ago our eyes were burning all day. Those carcinogens are combined with the fires burning everywhere. Drainage ditch getting a little clogged? Light it up. Grass too long for your taste? Fire is the answer. "Hmm, how are we going to empty this dumpster?" Set that mother on fire, baby. It leads to some pretty rank smells in the morning and I'm glad I don't eat a big breakfast anymore.
Fact: I don't know how to put this tactfully. Many of the locals smell bad. Real bad. Sometimes its so bad that, strangely, it almost smells delicious. From time to time you are stuck next to them on the bus. And you can't blame anybody - some people literally can't afford soap.
Fact: Malawi is one of the poorest countries in the world (12th poorest per capita on purchasing power parity). Per capita income is $600 per year, or about 4 trips to the ATM for me, which means I generally have way too much money in my wallet at any given time, and I feel pretty guilty about it sometimes. At the same time, my own experience tells me that Malawi has to be one of the countries most saturated with humanitarian organizations.
Fact: The first recorded naval victory of World War I came out of Malawi. How is that possible in a landlocked country? Well before the war the area was a British protectorate, whereas the area that is now Tanzania was in German hands, and Mozambique under Portuguese control. The Brits, in 1899, decided it would be a good idea to put up a show of force in the region and decided to send a 340 ton warship, in parts, from Scotland to Malawi and put it together here so it could patrol the lake. The Germans did the same shortly after. I'm going to steal someone else's paragraph to explain the rest as I'm lazy.
"The Germans also had a gunboat on the lake, the Hermon von Wisseman, and the two captains were reportedly the best of friends, often meeting up somewhere around the lake for a drink. In 1914 when war was declared the Guendolin was ordered to destroy the Wisseman. The British captain knew were the Wisseman would be because the two captains had arranged to meet for one of their regular drinks. The German captain was unaware that war had been declared and was completely caught by surprise as the Guendolin steamed up and opened fire, putting the German ship out of action and taking the crew as prisoners of war. The Guendolin remained in government service until 1940 when she was sold to Nyasaland Railways and converted to a passenger ship; she was broken up for scrap four years later."
Other 'smack you in the face' extreme stats:
- Malawi's main exports are tobacco, tea and sugar. Which finally explains why I've been using those 3 products so frequently
- There's this inexplicable tendency for Malawian professional men to wear their ties incredibly short. Halfway-down-the-chest short. It's hilarious.
- Madonna's new adopted child is from Malawi and she currently holds an honourary citizenship from the government.
- And not to end on a depressing note: Malawi suffered a famine a couple years ago. This is largely because the first president had exclusive control over the country, and he made everyone plant maize (corn - which incidentally is not native to Africa but comes from South America). Not the most stable crop, this is changing now. Don't worry, we're doin fine down here.
I'm off to the bar!!
Fact: A few weeks after I arrived in the country, a coup plot was foiled. If Malawians weren't so darn nice the country might have descended into anarchy! OK perhaps that's an exaggeration. The papers are accusing the former president of orchestrating the government's demise, but more probably than not it was just a ploy to throw the guy in jail, eliminating some uncertainty in the next election.
Fact: "It's not uncommon for Malawi to go 8 months without rain." I stole that from the water conservation note posted above all the sinks at our hostel, but I'm assuming its true. I've been here for 2 months now and I haven't seen a drop, even though the sky has assumed biblical posture on several occasions lately, so it's only a matter of time.
Fact: Speaking of the weather, who knew Africa could get so freaking cold? Because we're in the Southern hemisphere, Malawi's in the dead of winter now. Mind you that doesn't kill off the palm trees, but this morning at 6:30 when I was shaving, there was steam pouring off my face it was so cold. Lesley hasn't taken off her winter jacket for a week. In all fairness it's warm during the day in the sun; but it gets down to about 5 degrees at night.
Fact: sweet Jesus this place is polluted. I swear there are zero emissions controls on any of the vehicles here, which causes a nice blueish haze to sit over the city. Sometimes the trucks are so decrepit that Les and I get engulfed in a noxious cloud during the walk to work. It must be funny to watch Les and I turn to each other on the street, one of these behemoths barreling down on us, while we yell in unison "ahhh shit not again!" One day a few weeks ago our eyes were burning all day. Those carcinogens are combined with the fires burning everywhere. Drainage ditch getting a little clogged? Light it up. Grass too long for your taste? Fire is the answer. "Hmm, how are we going to empty this dumpster?" Set that mother on fire, baby. It leads to some pretty rank smells in the morning and I'm glad I don't eat a big breakfast anymore.
Fact: I don't know how to put this tactfully. Many of the locals smell bad. Real bad. Sometimes its so bad that, strangely, it almost smells delicious. From time to time you are stuck next to them on the bus. And you can't blame anybody - some people literally can't afford soap.
Fact: Malawi is one of the poorest countries in the world (12th poorest per capita on purchasing power parity). Per capita income is $600 per year, or about 4 trips to the ATM for me, which means I generally have way too much money in my wallet at any given time, and I feel pretty guilty about it sometimes. At the same time, my own experience tells me that Malawi has to be one of the countries most saturated with humanitarian organizations.
Fact: The first recorded naval victory of World War I came out of Malawi. How is that possible in a landlocked country? Well before the war the area was a British protectorate, whereas the area that is now Tanzania was in German hands, and Mozambique under Portuguese control. The Brits, in 1899, decided it would be a good idea to put up a show of force in the region and decided to send a 340 ton warship, in parts, from Scotland to Malawi and put it together here so it could patrol the lake. The Germans did the same shortly after. I'm going to steal someone else's paragraph to explain the rest as I'm lazy.
"The Germans also had a gunboat on the lake, the Hermon von Wisseman, and the two captains were reportedly the best of friends, often meeting up somewhere around the lake for a drink. In 1914 when war was declared the Guendolin was ordered to destroy the Wisseman. The British captain knew were the Wisseman would be because the two captains had arranged to meet for one of their regular drinks. The German captain was unaware that war had been declared and was completely caught by surprise as the Guendolin steamed up and opened fire, putting the German ship out of action and taking the crew as prisoners of war. The Guendolin remained in government service until 1940 when she was sold to Nyasaland Railways and converted to a passenger ship; she was broken up for scrap four years later."
Other 'smack you in the face' extreme stats:
- Malawi's main exports are tobacco, tea and sugar. Which finally explains why I've been using those 3 products so frequently
- There's this inexplicable tendency for Malawian professional men to wear their ties incredibly short. Halfway-down-the-chest short. It's hilarious.
- Madonna's new adopted child is from Malawi and she currently holds an honourary citizenship from the government.
- And not to end on a depressing note: Malawi suffered a famine a couple years ago. This is largely because the first president had exclusive control over the country, and he made everyone plant maize (corn - which incidentally is not native to Africa but comes from South America). Not the most stable crop, this is changing now. Don't worry, we're doin fine down here.
I'm off to the bar!!
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Magic is a big problem in Malawi
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.
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.
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!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Faux-toes posted
2 new photo albums are up.
Right now I'm hanging out in Malawi's capital city, Lilongwe. So far I haven't come across a building that's more than 2 stories high. If you read between the lines, you may get that I'm hinting at a general lack of excitement here. Although I'm not discouraged yet, I'm having a bit of trouble finding some suitable volunteer work. Although there's lots of volunteer activity, the groups are either hard to get into (US Peace Corps), uber-religious (I'm not into proselytization) or maddeningly disorganized. If I'm going to last for another 3 months, I'm going to have to do something that acually makes a difference and that I'm passionate about. Hopefully in the next few days I have some leads...
Right now I'm hanging out in Malawi's capital city, Lilongwe. So far I haven't come across a building that's more than 2 stories high. If you read between the lines, you may get that I'm hinting at a general lack of excitement here. Although I'm not discouraged yet, I'm having a bit of trouble finding some suitable volunteer work. Although there's lots of volunteer activity, the groups are either hard to get into (US Peace Corps), uber-religious (I'm not into proselytization) or maddeningly disorganized. If I'm going to last for another 3 months, I'm going to have to do something that acually makes a difference and that I'm passionate about. Hopefully in the next few days I have some leads...
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Weirdest experience of my life... makes for good blog post!
Safe and sound in Malawi, where I'm planning to settle down for a bit and find some volunteer work. Of course safe and sound didn't prevent me from having by far the strangest experience of my trip so far. I'll get to that.
Out of Tanzania...
Let's see.. last I posted I was wasting away in 'Shit-es-Salaam', as Casey refers to it. I hopped on a 12 hour bus ride the next day to Mbeya, in South-West Tanzania. I ended up sitting beside an American doctor who was off to do some volunteer work and deliver $50,000 worth of antibiotics to a rural hospital. It was an uneventful ride (thank God for a full iPod charge) until we got dropped off. Doctor Danielle went first thing to book her onward transportation with another bus company, and 5 minutes later, when she got back, the bus had already taken off with her luggage. SHIT! Thankfully, it had only gone across town to get washed and a local guy jumped in a cab with us to rescue her precious cargo. In the end all was well and we found a decent (barely) hostel to have a much needed sleep and some dinner (rice and chicken).
The next day I managed to get my ass out of bed and barely communicate with the hostel staff to find a minibus taxi (English is not very common in S-W Tanz), which took me to the place where I was supposed to get... another minibus taxi. Already by this point I have no idea where on the planet I am. There was a very good likelihood that I was the first white person in history to be in this spot. When I stepped out of the first bus, I looked around and literally over a hundred people were staring at me and making no bones about their intrigue. I took a puff on my cigarette and stared right back until they again went about their business.
Although I've been in a fair number of minibus taxis over the last few months, these took chaos to a whole new level. Everywhere I went, TVs and radios and car stereos were turned up to full blast, so that the speakers were popping. Nobody seemed to mind, not even the fragile octogenarian sitting beside me on the bus to the Malawi border. I think we set a new world record for the amount of people you can squash into a bus. We had roughly 20 seats in the last one, with about 55 passengers, sitting on top of each other and standing in the vacant spaces. At one of the ubiquitous police checkpoints, they stopped the bus and had about 20 people get out. So what did our driver do? He drove 50 metres down the road and waited for the others to catch up on foot, who then got back on the bus and we continued on our way.
...and Into Malawi
Crossing the border into Malawi was fine. The bus dropped me about 1 km away. As usual, I was swarmed by locals trying to get money out of the stupid tourist. I didn't have any Malawi currency (Kwacha) so against my better judgment I decided to get rid of my Tanzanian Schillings and try my hand at the black market. At first, the 16 year old entrepreneur-slash-swindler I was dealing with tried to give me a rate that was at least 1/3 below what it should have been. Then, when I argued a better rate, he gave me the cash, and to his chagrin, I started counting it in front of him. Halfway through the first stack he took it back from me and told me "Oh sorry those are small notes," and replaced them with others from his pocket. What he had done was pre-package stacks of 500 Kwacha and tried to pass them off as 1000 Kwacha. What a little shit! Once we sorted that garbage out I settled on a price for the same guy (who knows why) to take me to the border. His 'taxi' turned out to be a bicycle. Picture me, with my massive backpack, sitting on the back of a bike that's being pedaled by a 16 year old. Wild times.
Across the border I found a real taxi that took me the 50 km or so to a place called Karonga, where I stayed for the night. Although we had settled on a price of 500 Kwacha, when I got out he tried to say it should be 700. Well, having been nearly ripped off far too many times in one day, I kind of flipped on this guy and went into a big lecture about how not all Mzungus are made of money and when you agree on a price, that's the price and so on. I think he was really sorry he even bothered.
On a completely different note, the hostel was in a beautiful spot where I got to catch my first glimpse of Lake Malawi, something I've been looking forward to for a long time. Unfortunately, because it had rained, the rice paddies between the hostel and the shore were completely flooded and I couldn't get close enough to swim. Instead I took a walk into town and hit the local dinosaur museum. On the way another kid adopted me in hopes that he could direct me to his craft shop. Surprisingly, he waited outside the museum for an hour and a half for me. Even more shocking, I actually bought something. Also on the way I remarked on a very significant difference between Malawian and Canadian police stations: ours don't have cows grazing within the fences.
Pushing on the next day, I arrive in another small and even more rural town called Chitimba, another 70 km south. What a gorgeous spot. The lake, with sandy beaches on one side, and the lush mountains of the Nyika Plateau on the other. It sucked, but I was dropped about 5 km from the campsite I wanted (I was told it had a bed in a tree!), so I decided to walk. It took me about an hour in the blazing sun with a 80 pound backpack on me. And every man, woman and child along the way decided to say 'Hi' to me and for good measure call me a Mzungu. Arriving there, the owner came rushing out into the road to greet me. At first I thought it was just some crazy guy trying to give me a hug. But he was very welcoming and hospitable and insisted that I peruse his guestbooks from the last 12 years. After this I was thankfully left to my own devices - for a time - to swim and suntan and read on the beach. And of course to joke around with Mdokera's nephew, Joni, who was mentally challenged but had the biggest smile I've even seen. But after a little while, Mr. Mdokera came by and asked me a question.
Here's where it starts to get weird...
Mdokera: "Would you like to visit my mother? She is very sick."
Me thinking: *umm... that's kind of a weird request*
Me: "Umm... are you sure she wants to be bothered?"
Of course he insisted and I didn't say no. So we went over to the hut where she was laid up in bed. This tiny lady was covered entirely by a blanket with 3 other ladies sitting on the bed beside her. I was given a chair and told to sit, and as soon as I did I was asked to get up and come over to the mother to say hi. Mdokera lifted the blanket briefly and I saw her hands. One of the ladies on the bed said something in a foreign language and Mdokera just got very silent. I immediately knew what happened from the way all the ladies had lowered their heads and avoided eye contact with everyone else. Mdokera turned to me, and I will never forget what he said:
"I'm sorry Mike, but my mother is dead."
What. The. Hell. Did this just happen? I didn't know what to do so I went over and gave the guy a hug and told him how sorry I was. ASAP I got out of the hut and sat down on the beach to process what might have been the strangest thing that's ever happened in my life. "Was this a scam to get money out of me," I wondered? "Oh don't be so cynical, Mike." Well one thing was clear, I couldn't stay there for the night. A) I didn't want to be a burden, and b) I personally didn't want to deal with this drama. So I started to pack up my gear with the plan to walk back to another campsite I passed.
Of course as I was walking over to tell Mdokera my plan, a friend of his brought my lunch, which I couldn't let go to waste. Long story short, the owner convinced me to stay with the argument that his sister, brother-in-law, father, etc. had passed away in recent years and business still goes on because his extended family takes care of the guests. Again, against my better judgment, I stayed. In another cultural intrigue, Mdokera asked me not to tell anyone that his mother had passed away. "In our culture, we need to first take the body to the chief and let other elders know before anyone else."
Despite assurances that I would be taken care of, for dinner I had only a piece of uncooked corn (plain corn, not sweet corn), and I didn't get to sleep in the tree because nobody prepared it. After 'dinner', Mdokera materialized again with a crisis. In his culture, when someone dies, you need to use perfume to perform whatever ritual it was that is performed when someone dies.
And the marathon walk of hell...
Next day, I climbed a mountain. What drew me to Chitimba in the first place was the possibility of walking from there up the mountains to Livingstonia, a town founded in honour of19th century explorer and missionary David Livingstone (where the term 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume' originated,) and to see a waterfall. Have to say that I was not truly prepared for what 50 kms, half uphill, half in torrential rain and mud, meant. My feet are blistered and my hips, quads and hamstrings are still killing me. About halfway up the mountain I caught up to a group of 7 travelers who were on an overland tour from Nairobi, Kenya, to Cape Town S. Africa. They turned out to be good fun and we had some laughs along the way. The town itself was interesting, as it looked like a very proper British Victorian village. At one point I thought I might be in a scene out of 'Anne of Green Gables'.
because I can't stop ramblin'!!!!
So where am I now? In another little piece of paradise and backpacker haven called Nkhata bay, another 100 km or so south of Chitimba. The view is stunning, but alas because the internet here is worthless, I'm going to have to wait until at least tomorrow to get pictures up. Last night I stayed in a dive that topped even the Youth Hostel in Casablanca and the Jambo Guest House in Zanzibar, which I didn't think was possible. The room and sheets were so musty and covered with sand that I couldn't sleep on my side, lest my head gets too close to the pillow and I start gagging. Thank God for a sleeping bag liner. Needless to say, I got out of there first thing this morning and am staying in a much nicer place!
Life is good. I've read some amazing books lately, including Richard Branson's (Head of the Virgin Group) autobiography. This guy is my new hero - he's a man of incredibly integrity, and who does what's right and not expedient, but who still makes mistakes and admits it. Someone who came from humble beginnings but who has had more experiences in his lifetime than most people have in 10. Someone who is incredibly successful because he was driven by a passion and wasn't afraid to take big risks. The man loves life and his family and hasn't lost sight of that by taking business too serious or becoming greedy. All qualities that I admire and desire and if I live my life half as well as him I will be happy. If you haven't figured it out, I highly recommend his book.
Finally, I'm getting very excited that Lesley will be on a plane to join me in about 11 days. I can't wait to see her...
Out of Tanzania...
Let's see.. last I posted I was wasting away in 'Shit-es-Salaam', as Casey refers to it. I hopped on a 12 hour bus ride the next day to Mbeya, in South-West Tanzania. I ended up sitting beside an American doctor who was off to do some volunteer work and deliver $50,000 worth of antibiotics to a rural hospital. It was an uneventful ride (thank God for a full iPod charge) until we got dropped off. Doctor Danielle went first thing to book her onward transportation with another bus company, and 5 minutes later, when she got back, the bus had already taken off with her luggage. SHIT! Thankfully, it had only gone across town to get washed and a local guy jumped in a cab with us to rescue her precious cargo. In the end all was well and we found a decent (barely) hostel to have a much needed sleep and some dinner (rice and chicken).
The next day I managed to get my ass out of bed and barely communicate with the hostel staff to find a minibus taxi (English is not very common in S-W Tanz), which took me to the place where I was supposed to get... another minibus taxi. Already by this point I have no idea where on the planet I am. There was a very good likelihood that I was the first white person in history to be in this spot. When I stepped out of the first bus, I looked around and literally over a hundred people were staring at me and making no bones about their intrigue. I took a puff on my cigarette and stared right back until they again went about their business.
Although I've been in a fair number of minibus taxis over the last few months, these took chaos to a whole new level. Everywhere I went, TVs and radios and car stereos were turned up to full blast, so that the speakers were popping. Nobody seemed to mind, not even the fragile octogenarian sitting beside me on the bus to the Malawi border. I think we set a new world record for the amount of people you can squash into a bus. We had roughly 20 seats in the last one, with about 55 passengers, sitting on top of each other and standing in the vacant spaces. At one of the ubiquitous police checkpoints, they stopped the bus and had about 20 people get out. So what did our driver do? He drove 50 metres down the road and waited for the others to catch up on foot, who then got back on the bus and we continued on our way.
...and Into Malawi
Crossing the border into Malawi was fine. The bus dropped me about 1 km away. As usual, I was swarmed by locals trying to get money out of the stupid tourist. I didn't have any Malawi currency (Kwacha) so against my better judgment I decided to get rid of my Tanzanian Schillings and try my hand at the black market. At first, the 16 year old entrepreneur-slash-swindler I was dealing with tried to give me a rate that was at least 1/3 below what it should have been. Then, when I argued a better rate, he gave me the cash, and to his chagrin, I started counting it in front of him. Halfway through the first stack he took it back from me and told me "Oh sorry those are small notes," and replaced them with others from his pocket. What he had done was pre-package stacks of 500 Kwacha and tried to pass them off as 1000 Kwacha. What a little shit! Once we sorted that garbage out I settled on a price for the same guy (who knows why) to take me to the border. His 'taxi' turned out to be a bicycle. Picture me, with my massive backpack, sitting on the back of a bike that's being pedaled by a 16 year old. Wild times.
Across the border I found a real taxi that took me the 50 km or so to a place called Karonga, where I stayed for the night. Although we had settled on a price of 500 Kwacha, when I got out he tried to say it should be 700. Well, having been nearly ripped off far too many times in one day, I kind of flipped on this guy and went into a big lecture about how not all Mzungus are made of money and when you agree on a price, that's the price and so on. I think he was really sorry he even bothered.
On a completely different note, the hostel was in a beautiful spot where I got to catch my first glimpse of Lake Malawi, something I've been looking forward to for a long time. Unfortunately, because it had rained, the rice paddies between the hostel and the shore were completely flooded and I couldn't get close enough to swim. Instead I took a walk into town and hit the local dinosaur museum. On the way another kid adopted me in hopes that he could direct me to his craft shop. Surprisingly, he waited outside the museum for an hour and a half for me. Even more shocking, I actually bought something. Also on the way I remarked on a very significant difference between Malawian and Canadian police stations: ours don't have cows grazing within the fences.
Pushing on the next day, I arrive in another small and even more rural town called Chitimba, another 70 km south. What a gorgeous spot. The lake, with sandy beaches on one side, and the lush mountains of the Nyika Plateau on the other. It sucked, but I was dropped about 5 km from the campsite I wanted (I was told it had a bed in a tree!), so I decided to walk. It took me about an hour in the blazing sun with a 80 pound backpack on me. And every man, woman and child along the way decided to say 'Hi' to me and for good measure call me a Mzungu. Arriving there, the owner came rushing out into the road to greet me. At first I thought it was just some crazy guy trying to give me a hug. But he was very welcoming and hospitable and insisted that I peruse his guestbooks from the last 12 years. After this I was thankfully left to my own devices - for a time - to swim and suntan and read on the beach. And of course to joke around with Mdokera's nephew, Joni, who was mentally challenged but had the biggest smile I've even seen. But after a little while, Mr. Mdokera came by and asked me a question.
Here's where it starts to get weird...
Mdokera: "Would you like to visit my mother? She is very sick."
Me thinking: *umm... that's kind of a weird request*
Me: "Umm... are you sure she wants to be bothered?"
Of course he insisted and I didn't say no. So we went over to the hut where she was laid up in bed. This tiny lady was covered entirely by a blanket with 3 other ladies sitting on the bed beside her. I was given a chair and told to sit, and as soon as I did I was asked to get up and come over to the mother to say hi. Mdokera lifted the blanket briefly and I saw her hands. One of the ladies on the bed said something in a foreign language and Mdokera just got very silent. I immediately knew what happened from the way all the ladies had lowered their heads and avoided eye contact with everyone else. Mdokera turned to me, and I will never forget what he said:
"I'm sorry Mike, but my mother is dead."
What. The. Hell. Did this just happen? I didn't know what to do so I went over and gave the guy a hug and told him how sorry I was. ASAP I got out of the hut and sat down on the beach to process what might have been the strangest thing that's ever happened in my life. "Was this a scam to get money out of me," I wondered? "Oh don't be so cynical, Mike." Well one thing was clear, I couldn't stay there for the night. A) I didn't want to be a burden, and b) I personally didn't want to deal with this drama. So I started to pack up my gear with the plan to walk back to another campsite I passed.
Of course as I was walking over to tell Mdokera my plan, a friend of his brought my lunch, which I couldn't let go to waste. Long story short, the owner convinced me to stay with the argument that his sister, brother-in-law, father, etc. had passed away in recent years and business still goes on because his extended family takes care of the guests. Again, against my better judgment, I stayed. In another cultural intrigue, Mdokera asked me not to tell anyone that his mother had passed away. "In our culture, we need to first take the body to the chief and let other elders know before anyone else."
Despite assurances that I would be taken care of, for dinner I had only a piece of uncooked corn (plain corn, not sweet corn), and I didn't get to sleep in the tree because nobody prepared it. After 'dinner', Mdokera materialized again with a crisis. In his culture, when someone dies, you need to use perfume to perform whatever ritual it was that is performed when someone dies.
And the marathon walk of hell...
Next day, I climbed a mountain. What drew me to Chitimba in the first place was the possibility of walking from there up the mountains to Livingstonia, a town founded in honour of19th century explorer and missionary David Livingstone (where the term 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume' originated,) and to see a waterfall. Have to say that I was not truly prepared for what 50 kms, half uphill, half in torrential rain and mud, meant. My feet are blistered and my hips, quads and hamstrings are still killing me. About halfway up the mountain I caught up to a group of 7 travelers who were on an overland tour from Nairobi, Kenya, to Cape Town S. Africa. They turned out to be good fun and we had some laughs along the way. The town itself was interesting, as it looked like a very proper British Victorian village. At one point I thought I might be in a scene out of 'Anne of Green Gables'.
because I can't stop ramblin'!!!!
So where am I now? In another little piece of paradise and backpacker haven called Nkhata bay, another 100 km or so south of Chitimba. The view is stunning, but alas because the internet here is worthless, I'm going to have to wait until at least tomorrow to get pictures up. Last night I stayed in a dive that topped even the Youth Hostel in Casablanca and the Jambo Guest House in Zanzibar, which I didn't think was possible. The room and sheets were so musty and covered with sand that I couldn't sleep on my side, lest my head gets too close to the pillow and I start gagging. Thank God for a sleeping bag liner. Needless to say, I got out of there first thing this morning and am staying in a much nicer place!
Life is good. I've read some amazing books lately, including Richard Branson's (Head of the Virgin Group) autobiography. This guy is my new hero - he's a man of incredibly integrity, and who does what's right and not expedient, but who still makes mistakes and admits it. Someone who came from humble beginnings but who has had more experiences in his lifetime than most people have in 10. Someone who is incredibly successful because he was driven by a passion and wasn't afraid to take big risks. The man loves life and his family and hasn't lost sight of that by taking business too serious or becoming greedy. All qualities that I admire and desire and if I live my life half as well as him I will be happy. If you haven't figured it out, I highly recommend his book.
Finally, I'm getting very excited that Lesley will be on a plane to join me in about 11 days. I can't wait to see her...
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
one week to go
The flight is booked for January 9th! The plan has drastically changed!
I realized a few weeks ago it wasn't realistic to do the entire continent in 6 months so I've scaled plans back to just the Southern part of Africa. In a crushing twist of fate, Lesley will not be able to come with me for an extended period of time... But she does have 3 weeks vacation so hopefully she can join me in Spain and Morocco.
The working plan is:
1) Fly into Madrid, Spain, bus it to Alicante to meet up with Jake
2) He and I cross the channel into Morocco and spend a couple weeks there.
3) I fly from Casablanca to Johannesburg
4) Spend the next 6 months in South Africa, Lesotho, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania, Mozambique and Swaziland, hopefully with a 2 month period of volunteering.
who knows if this plan will stick. fun times...
I realized a few weeks ago it wasn't realistic to do the entire continent in 6 months so I've scaled plans back to just the Southern part of Africa. In a crushing twist of fate, Lesley will not be able to come with me for an extended period of time... But she does have 3 weeks vacation so hopefully she can join me in Spain and Morocco.
The working plan is:
1) Fly into Madrid, Spain, bus it to Alicante to meet up with Jake
2) He and I cross the channel into Morocco and spend a couple weeks there.
3) I fly from Casablanca to Johannesburg
4) Spend the next 6 months in South Africa, Lesotho, Namibia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania, Mozambique and Swaziland, hopefully with a 2 month period of volunteering.
who knows if this plan will stick. fun times...
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