Village time

Another afternoon visit to the village. Another priviledge (sp?) to sit and soak up village life. Popping the kernals off the maize (my thumbs feel sandpapered now!) holding/passing the babies, listening to people talking about me- then trying to talk to me hehe Im doing a lot better than when I first started! They tried to teach me to 'kutwicila' today- the amazing african art of carrying stuff on your head. I had previously failed with a small container of water (it had a huge hole in the bottom!)- so they set me up to succeed with a small pot of maize kernals. I did it- but i still have to stabilize it with a hand ..or two :)


Anyways- today I pulled out my camera for the first time in this village, and after the kids had gone nuts and got bored and wandered off- I got some nice shots that Im looking forward to printing and taking back next week.

Poetry

Im in the mood for poetry so today, I have for you my favourite poem. yup. all of it.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
By T. S. Eliot (1917)

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

'Be' ing

Some days my senses are so alive it almost hurts. I feel I’m floating, slow motion in a parallel universe-savouring every detail... the women gliding past elegantly balancing buckets on the heads, their babies peeping out from behind where they’ve been safely strapped with a colourful chitenje, wide smiles, the smell of burning plastic mingled with fried potatoes, a waft of cow manure, the distant sound of bicycle bells mingled with voices and children laughing, each grain of sand in my shoes, deeply inhaling the cool dusty air.
I feel invisible ...until a kid I know runs up to me with a raucous laugh for a ‘high five!’ and the next thing I know I’m ‘high fiving’ most of the 40 odd children on their way home from school. I smile at the familiarity of their faces- their exuberance as they run past single file – jumping to slap my outstretched hand.

I know...my blogs have slowed- probably as the culture shock wears off and I struggle to describe the nuances of day to day life. I struggle with the fact that I do not yet have a formal ‘job’ and yet in another sense Im relishing the opportunity—perhaps the first I have ever really taken to just ‘be’. Not ‘cope’, ‘perform’, ‘strive’ or ‘produce’ ...just be. Africa is teaching me lessons Ive never taken the time to learn before.

How’s language going? Well- Swa- said in Chiyawo this morning
‘right now, rina can speak Ciyawo very well’.
I took that as both a compliment and a gentle reminder that I really do have obviously ‘good’ and appallingly ‘bad’ days when it comes to ‘language performance ability’. But although it may be 2 steps back- its usually followed by 3 steps forward. Like realising, for example, that the words ‘this’ and ‘that’ are not only specific to the class of the noun it is describing – but there are also different variations of the word indicating the speakers distance from the noun in time in space. In short the English words ‘this’ and ‘that’ are probably represented in Ciyawo by about 50 similar sounding words. I dunno- i haven’t counted- but it was a huge break through for me.

It’s hard- but Im in awe of the language. Every sentence ‘matches’. Someone described it like music- if you play a note- there is a chord that goes with it for the particular key- so, in Ciyawo, the noun in the sentence determines the prefixes to many of the words for a particular tense. Write me a comment if you actually read this far. I have started (another) new language learning method where I get my helper to record a simple story about something in her life, or I try and tell her a story in Ciyawo (Lots of help) and she records what I should have said – then we listen to it lots together and write out all the new words and discuss why they suddenly disappeared into another word when the tense changed...and then I listen to it lots when she’s not around, and the next day we practise the new words from the story by taking turns making different sentences with them which helps me grasp the range of meaning. Its relaxed and we both get to be creative and Im learning lots about the Yawo culture through the stories!

Ok- ive written an essay, sorry. Making up for less posts recently.

So, comments- what is with all the advertising comments?! I’m not clicking ‘here’. No way. It could set off a bomb or something!
What is maize? Yeah- i wasn’t sure before I came here either- but its corn that isn’t sweet. Speaking of which- Im gonna plant some sweet corn on the weekend! Yay

Maize

Hey cuz- I swam in lake Malawi today. It was beautifully cool- but alot more turbid than i was comfortable with considering the chances of crocs lurking. I could barely see my feet in knee deep water. Did i mention how lovely and cool it was?! hehe With sunsets like this one you'd be forgiven for thinking its paradise.

It was great relaxing out at the lake after another week of visitors and language lessons and waiting. waiting can really take its toll can't it? But Im assured the meeting to discuss my formal job role will be held next week. here's hoping!

Well this week in Mangochi harvest is well and truly under way and the air is beginning to thicken with smoke as people burn off their maize fields after harvest. The women are busy drying the maize cobs, de-kernalling them, drying them some more and putting it all into grainaries as the families primary food source for the year. I visited the lady who we helped harvest last Saturday and was stoked to see how much maize she got! Then we sat talking for several hours preparing the maize and putting it out to dry (see pics below).

After the maize kernals are dried they get pounded in a giant mortar and pestle looking thing, then seived, pounded again, dried, and then stored or eaten. Elaborate process huh?! Puts our fast food world into perspective.

Thought for the Day

'What the heart has once owned and had, it shall never lose.'
Henry Ward Beecher

snake, cakes and birthday celebrations

Happy Birthday to me! 27- what a blah age- but it certainly wasn't a blah day of celebrations!


I was up at 6am awaiting a call to go harvesting maize. Harvesting seems to be very much a family affair- where the owner of the garden supplies lunch and the extended family joins in to help. A friend of mine picked me up, then we picked up Swa-, her children and 2 of her sisters and met the men out at the garden. The work itself doesnt require much muscle- but it requires tough hands and it gets pretty hot working in the sun all day. Us whities lasted from about 8am till 11am- at which point i wasn't convinced i had much more skin on my fingers to lose- and I had to get back to help prepare for my afternoon teaparty.
While we were harvesting I felt something sharp in my shoe ( I was wearing crocs) I kicked it off and as it didn't hurt wasn't worried 'til it got really itchy. i called my friend over to inspect my foot and said 'a snake bite would hurt would it?- What do you do for a snake bite?' she answered- 'pray!' so we did. There is still some speculation as to what bit me (take a look- what do you reacon? ok- the pic is a bit small but i can't be bothered waiting to upload a bigger one) - but im thinkin its a real-deal miracle that Im feeling fine- and Ive learnt a lesson- DONT WEAR CROCS IN A MAIZE FIELD.


Back home my lovely house mate had cooked up a storm- 3 cakes and 3 slices. About 11 adults and 15 kiddies came for afternoon tea and it was lovely - sitting in the shade on the back lawn enjoying each others company, sipping coffee and indulging in cake- they were all dairy free! yay.

Afterwards some people stayed for dinner. What I love about living in a small, isolated place is that it is unpretentious (sp?)- as in- often everyone will pitch in to prepare or clean up a communal meal- and its not a 'show', not 'entertaining guests', its more about spending time with people and community. We had sausages and steamed veggies. We all helped prepare it (even if it was moral support!), pitched in to clean up, and sat around chatting enjoying my second (third? or was it fifth?!) birthday cake for the day- a devine orange poppyseed cake. mmm.

Pretty cool day huh?

The only sad bit was missing my mates wedding in Australia today- and not being able to get a 'telegram-email' through in time cos the internet was down overnight. I guess part of the cost of choosing to live overseas is missing the major landmarks in your friends lives. I wish I coulda been there guys.

Well Im zonked. goodnight. goodbye 26.

photos

Im back- AND the internet is operational :) ...for now at least. The last week has been very eventful- most of it spent in Blantyre- or travelling the road in between- BUT my crook mate is better, my housemate is back (I met the on-time South African Airlines flight myself), and a group of aussies have come to visit (I met the 3hr late Air Malawi flight myself)...and Ive been chief tour guide for the last few days AND I didn't get lost! yay. I wont tell you about the vehicle I had to drive- i think I migth dedicate a whole blog to my hatred of the Dyna another day- suffice to say, driving it on corregated-pothole ridden roads resembled trying to control a bucking bronco- 'welcome to Malawi guys- hold on!'. So, below is a picture summary of the last few days.

The maize fields are ready for harvest

The original Malawian Presbyterian Church- a sobering death toll

View from Zomba Plateau

Driving and more driving...

Crazy Week

Its 9.15 on a Friday night, and Im so tired i reackon if I'ld fall over over if I tried to stand up. What a week- filled with highlights at both extremes; beautiful familiar western-ness and precious glimpses into the life of my host culture.



Some highlights from the village:

Dancing and singing with the women for over an hour at one of the village meetings- we were then treated to a meal of dried fish and ugali. I realised I don't feel self-conscious dancing with the women anymore. its the highlight of their week and mine.

My solo vist to the village of my 'rent a friend' was better than I could have hoped. She was a perfect host- made me feel comfortable, repeated herself exactly if I didn’t understand (instead of launching into a huge explanation resulting in more confusion) and took me around her daily afternoon chores: we pumped water and carried it back to the house. My attempt at balancing my teeny tiny bucket on my head was aborted when we realised the hole was bigger than anticipated, then we washed her clothes & laid them out to dry, sieved maize flour and lit a fire with the dry corn cobs to cook it, began pounding maize for the next day, finished making the ugali (my wrists weren’t strong enough to stir it in the end), fried some teeny tiny fish, ate, washed the dishes, held the babies, they tried to plait my hair, prepared the greens for the evening meal- all while chatting. I was amazed at the amount I understood and was generally able to make myself understood even if it wasnt grammatically correct.



Some highlights that reminded me of home:

you wont believe it, but the smell of anticeptic mopped hospital corridors put a huge smile on my face. I was in Blantyre dropping off a very sick colleague at one of the private hospitals for checks...and the smell reminded me of home. yay for western style hospitals when you're feeling super crook.

While he was getting checked out I went and sampled a nearby Italian resteraunt (?!! so exciting). I cannot rave enough about how perfect my cheesless pizza was. crispy edges, toppings still moist...the first salami Ive had in 6 months...heaven...

Although the hospital tests showed nothing, my mate was evidently very ill, so we stayed in Blantyre and headed back to the hospital that night when his symptoms were more prominent. He got a diagnosis! :) amoebic dysentry and malaria combo- so we decided to celebrate with a late night munchie run to the servo nearest the hospital. I actually did a dance when i stepped through the doors- it was a real BP servo!- with shelves crammed with lots of different kinds of goodies, a drinks fridge- operational and clean, an icecream freezer, the dodgy hot food corner and rows of choclates and chewing gum at the counter. It was such a special moment hehe I brought oreos and jellybabies and the patient got some jellybeans and a milobar. milo bars in malawi (wiping away a tear of joy).

ok im really tired and prolly over reacting- but it was cool.

But before I go to bed- i cannnot justify summarising the past week without at least one whinge about the traffic. I will leave you with one scene from today: in front of me, from left to right across the rough edged, narrow bitumen road- all going in the same direction were; a bicycle piled high with goods teetering on the outside edge of the bitumen- refusing to go into its rightful place on the gravel- the rider with no helmet, a truck dangerously overloaded travelling at about 110 km/hr, a minivan with about 12 on board passing at about 130km/hr who had pulled out from about 2 cars behind me to pass us all, a pedestrian- as per bicycle ...all approaching a corner with an oncoming vehicle iminent.

Im back to Blantyre tomorrow picking people up from the airport on Saturday and Sunday. please pray for my safety. missin you guys- drop me a line sometime.