Ode to Inebriation

It's that time of year again. Every country's got it. Silly season. The season when normal, everyday people behave very, very strangely ...

Those that usually shy away from the camera are suddenly right in front of the lense, demanding a picture, performing even!

I give you (drum roll) my photographic ode to inebriation :-)

Unyago- Initiation Celebrations

It's that time of year again. I got back to the village to find that a few of my little friends (8-9 yr olds) had gone- taken into seclusion for their initiation. I also got back to discover that the initiation area for the boys had been constructed 100m from my house! wow- that's cultural exposure!

I couldn't figure out why they would have put it there where I can hear everything - when I'm such an outsider? Then I found out why. My night watchman is the head organiser, teacher and carer for the boys. He has to be there 24/7. He also has to make sure my house doesn't get broken into at night. Solution to the problem? Put the initiation area next to work! hahaha yay for me.

There are 3 symbolic 'gates' along the path to the grass enclosure and if the uninitiated enter- woe to them - the place is protected spiritually. The singing and drumming happens sporadically throughou tthe day. It's still early in the piece so they only drum and sing for a few hours each night- but I'm sure the best is yet to come.
I know this is an incredible experience that very few people get to witness- but Im thinking I might buy some earplugs.

Transmission Oil

I ran out of cooking in the village yesterday, so wandered down to the local 'golosale' (grocery) and brought myself a 10c bag of oil- like everyone elses.

That evening I pulled it out to cook with and it had changed from a golden oil consistency to a pale butter-yellow textured consistency.

Now it also happened that I had two young men visiting me at the time- one from Zimbabwe who doesn't speak Ciyawo and one who wants to learn English- both of whom were eating into my precious Ciyawo learning/speaking opportunities with frivolousness about my MP3 player that they were covoutesly making playlists on ... Anyways- I held up the oil and asked what the heck was going on and one of them said 'oh- that's transmission oil' as if it was the most normal thing in the world and continued to flip through Alicia Keys songs which reminded me that I really needed to cleanse my player of her music at the nearest opportunity. A discussion ensued about whether it might be sunflower or peanut oil- but they both agreed that vegetable oil doesn't change colour like that so 'yeah- it's transmission oil- they buy it cheap from Mozambique'. Back to Alicia Keys. Granted she probably does hold more appeal to red blooded males than my cooking oil.

Needless to say I didn't find this explantion very satisfactory. I've heard that the power problems are often due to people draining the oil form transmission boxes for cooking but I didn't think it happened on a massive scale- i mean- this cooking oil is sold EVERYWHERE.

Having to choose between dinner cooked without oil or with oil (even if it was transmission oil) I chose the transmission oil and decided to ask my language helper about it the next day.
'Do they sell transmission oil for cooking?' I asked - ever so tactfully. 'yeah' she replied. 'Isn't that petroleum based - like- really bad for you to eat? Isn't it like cooking with vaseline?' she thought about it for a while 'they sell that one cheap for the poor people- I think you should buy your oil from the supermarket'.
'ok'

Does someone out there in blog land know what kind of oil is used in electical transmission boxes? Surely it would taste bed?! Is there a correlation, by any chance, between this and malawi's horrifically low life expectancy? I'd love to know what's going on.

Siyala

Friday 10th July

I think I earned my stripes today. I’m not sure if I told you already about pump cleaning duty? Well, a few weeks a go I was visiting random people and was telling this lady that I wanted to learn everything- how to talk, cook, carry my own water…. So she took me seriously and enlisted me to join her ‘team’ for 6am water pump cleaning duties on Fridays. So I had set my alarm for 6 and had woken to the sound of her yelling at my night guard to get me out of bed- and him yelling back that its wrong to make me do that work and he wasn’t going to wake me up and I smiled wryly to myself that I had now found my ‘special’ friend in the village. And lucky me-she’s a tough task master!

I had rolled out of bed and faced her chiding for being 5 min late and learnt all about how to sweep and clean the pump. Last Friday I was in Mangochi. This morning – I was there before her. In fact – I’d swept half the area before any of them got there and she was as proud as punch. I told her off for being late and she was beaming from ear to ear.

I visited her this afternoon and she is going to take me to some religious celebration that goes all night Saturday through to Sunday morning. She reckons showing up 7am Sunday morning is enough. Maybe she ain’t such a hard task master after all.

Wednesday 8th July

Today was the first staff meeting for 6 months- and I found it interesting that it ran for the same amount of time- if not shorter than the monthly variety: all day :) 9am to 4pm with an hour for lunch.

What I wanted to tell you about though was the trip home. Now that I live ‘up the mountain’ I offered to provide the lift home from the meeting for the 4 staff members that live nearby. So, we left the office at 4.30 and I thought awesome, home by 5.30 before dark to get water and cook dinner’.

Wrong.

The first requested stop was a roasted maize stall for snacks, then the bank for cash, the supermarket for some groceries, the market for tomatoes and of course…2 fresh fish and a large bag of dried ones. Now I must admit at this stage that I had already stashed two sacks of reasonably ripe cow manure in the troopie and was also carrying half a sack of particularly smelly fruit as a gift to someone in the village…but the fish tipped the scales. Then, half way up the hill we stopped for three large bundles of firewood and a little further on three huge sacks of charcoal and the chiefs wife who wanted a lift further down the road. By this point I was thinking it was all a bit ridiculous. But we didn’t stop any more cos there wasn’t any room. By the time I had dropped everyone and their shopping off it was after 7pm.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but in the nearest ‘town’ there is a little restaurant that does particularly good goat stew or chicken stew with rice or ugali. Yay for Neptunes!

Tuesday 7th July

It’s a full moon- step outside and enjoy it with me.
Oh- it’s 2am in Australia. Ok- another night.

In fact it’s so bright outside right now that there’s a bunch of kids noisily playing hide-n- seek chasey around my house and car. I’m being old and boring and threatening to go to bed- but I figure two pre-dawn starts in a row is a fair excuse.

Let me tell you a story of how things work in here. Villages A, B and C are all in another District. A and B are roughly 2 hrs drive and village C is another hour on a horror dusty track. So we tackle these villages by heading off 5.30 am Monday morning, doing village A at 8am, and Village B at 1pm. Then we used to drive all the way home again- but I decided this time instead to drive 30min to a local tourist spot, find a hotel, then we hit Village C Tuesday morning and slot in village D- much closer to home, on the drive back. Clock work huh?! Never.

We arrived at Village A-after dark wake-up, no breakfast, no coffee and 2 hours drive through thick fog?!... to find no-one. Those that knew we were coming had gone to a memorial feast. The rest didn’t know we were coming and had nothing prepared. SO we cancelled village D and said we’d be back the next afternoon. Then we drove to the memorial feast and waited while someone went in and informed the group leader of the new plans. Then we arrived at village B by 9.30 am. They were keen to start- but hardly any group members were around so they spent a few hours rounding them up. We started training at 11.30, finished by 1pm, were generously served lunch and with hotel kerfuffel (don’t get me started!) we were resting by about 4pm. Next morning- another early start. More hotel kerfuffel. Get to village C about half an hour late. They’re all there- but they weren’t expecting us and nothing is prepared. They insist that we wait while they dig the pit for compost, gather the leaves, manure, bring the water etc. We start training by about 9am, done by 11.30am. By the time we drive back to village A it’s 1pm. We arrive and two men are preparing for the lesson but…there’s been a death and most of the participants will be attending the funeral. Sorry. So we go home. 2 days, lots of effort, 2 groups. Ad the annoying thing is- this is all perfectly normal in my job. Sometimes it gets to me. Sometimes it doesn’t. The fact is- we’re working with a communication system based on very few people having phones- even less having those phones charged at any one time, and even less having any credit to talk with- not to mention a phone network in haphazard disrepair. Then there’s the unexpected events of illness and death, funeral and memorials – all of which can happen at any time and are vitally important to attend.

It’s nice to be back in the village. Back home :)

It’s 8.30pm and I’ve just demolished a pack of biscuits after having popcorn for dinner cos lunch was ugali, greens and chicken at 4pm. I’m starting to wonder if my tiredness is just plain bad diet? Lets see…today I had 2 deep fried eggs, 2 pieces of bread, a cup of tea and half a bowl of greasy rice (don’t ask- that’s what bodgy hotel served) for brekky. Then we had tea with sweetened condensed milk and a bread roll at about lunch time and a coke and banana on the drive home. Then…see above. Mostly rubbish. Must work on eating better and taking my vitamins.

I chatted with one of my ‘friends’ tonight. The 12 yr old boy who washed my pots and today demanded a cloth and a bucket so he could wash my car. We sat eating popcorn together. ‘There’s no salt’ he stated bluntly. ‘I know- it’s coming’ I replied as I wandered into the house. ‘So- how many brothers and sisters do you have?’I asked- trying to make chit chat conversation. ‘Four now, but five died.’ He answered between handfuls of popcorn. I sat back down on the mat with the bag of salt ‘Woaw- five?’ I asked checking I heard right. ‘Yeah, there was two and then two and then one by itself’….ok- I won’t continue repeating the conversation word for word- but in the course of the bowll of popcorn I learned that his older sister (18?) has been married for 2 years and has no kids cos they both died when they were born. He doesn’t have a jumper and he sleeps with his siblings on a mat on the floor of their house with a chitenje- light cloth for a blanket. ‘Is it cold?’ I asked. ‘Yes’ he replied solemnly. He goes to school (grade 5) Monday to Thursday and stays home on Fridays to wash the clothes, pots, carry water and pray at the mosque. He wants to be rich when he grows up – to buy things. ‘A car…and clothes’ he said with a grin. He would really like to be a policeman or a doctor…‘This tea has no sugar’ he piped up. I smiled. I’d put 3 Tablespoons in the pot. I topped his mug up with a dessertspoon full of sugar and started to stir small and fast. ‘No’ he said, taking the spoon off me- ‘you stir like this’ as he stirred sedately – 3 times to the right, 3 times to the left. He’s taking this ‘teaching me stuff’ really seriously!

Sunday 5th July

I think you get a much realer view of stuff if I write day by day- so I’ll use the laptop I brought as long as the batteries last.
I was expecting to be going firewood collecting today with the ladies from the village (3am departure), but it was cancelled (yay?!!), so yesterday evening I went to visit the lady who had invited me to find out why. ‘How are you this evening?’ I asked ‘oh- not good’ she answered. ‘Are you sick?’ then she proceeded to tell the story. Last Friday I left for town at 1pm and she had asked if I could take her pregnant daughter to the hospital in town. As I was ready to leave I was told I could go- they had decided to go to the closer hospital about 15km away. That hospital was in a different direction so I left- not giving it a second thought. Her daughter gave birth that afternoon to twin boys. They both died. They got the mother to the hospital where she stayed for a few days and now she is at home recovering.
Sigh. I can’t help but think ‘what if?’ What if I had driven 15km in the opposite direction and gotten her to proper medical care? But I didn’t know she was in labour- I just thought they wanted to get there early and be ready. 2 little lives finished before they even started. I bet they would have survived if the mother happened to be Australian not African. I still struggle with why some of us are born into wealth and opportunity- and others to poverty and oppression. It’s certainly not cos we’ve earned it.

Last week when I was in town I bombarded my language helper with questions about giving and sharing and taking and borrowing in this culture. I tell ya what- I learnt those words fast the first week here! She laughed as I told her stories of people coming to ask me to share salt, tea and matches with them, my sharp knife going walk about at meal times and people inviting themselves over after dinner knowing that I always make a cuppa tea (then complaining loudly that theirs didn’t have enough sugar). It wasn’t all one way though- my night guard happily borrowed a broom, machette and a big bucket for heating water for my morning bathe from next door as if he owned them. People sit and watch me cook and happily accept whatever I (feel pressured to) offer- but many of these same people feed me ugali when I just drop by their house to say hello- or send me little bowls of accompaniments for my ugali. Chicken one day, peanuts and sweetpotato another, linyololo (snot central). How does all this giving work? There doesn’t seem to be rhyme nor reason. Then one day, I watched as the grandmother next day called in one of the local kids and let him sit and eat all the leftovers by himself. You’re allowed to feed other peoples kids??!! Yes- apparently.

My language helper smiled broadly through all these stories. ‘now you’re going to learn real culture’ she said. And proceeded to outline the unspoken rules (thank God for my language helper!) yes, people can come and ask for salt, tea, sugar, oil, maize flour- you name it- but not every day. They can’t have the same problem every day- only once every 4 to 7 days can they come back and ask again (?!!). If you have a lot of what they are asking for- you give a generous amount. A heaped plate of maize flour, a heaped tablespoon of salt/tea/sugar etc. If you only have a little- give a quarter of what you have. Can you imagine if this concept hit OUR culture? J With the kids she said that a lot of kids only get fed once or twice a day- so if you have leftovers, or want to cook for them – that’s fine. Their mothers won’t feel shame that you’ve fed them- quite the opposite. She warned me not to let giving kids food become a habit otherwise they’ll stop getting fed at home. Wow.

So, last night the neighbors kid seemed pretty excited about my dinner so we shared. I tell ya what- he’s only 4 but I had to eat fast to get my half! Today one of the kids who I know rarely gets fed was eyeing off my beans as I was preparing them, so after I’d eaten lunch I invited him to join me. Have you eaten porridge today? Head shake. Drunk tea? Head shake. His mother left him and his sister with the grandmother and left the country about a year ago apparently. I served him up greens, beans and ugali. He ate the beans, squeezed all the juice out of the greens and drank it- then sat there with a big grin. I don’t blame him for not eating the ugali- his body is probably screaming for protein. Later some more kids came in and eyed off the left over ugali (that I didn’t know where to throw out discreetly!). Can we eat it? They asked. Sure. Have you got anything to go with it? I served up a small amount of beans. They ate the lot, washed up the bowls and quietly filed out. ‘thank you ‘doesn’t seem to be a big part of receiving things here, but their smiles said it all.

Im writing a lot aren’t I?! hehe its ok- the batteries are almost gone already. Besides cooking and feeding kids today, I also had a long chat with a friend from Australia- so refreshing! Then I went to the markets to buy greens- but there weren’t any so the neighbor donated some (J), then…I swept my house, washed the dishes- including pots, visited the ladies a few houses away, pounded maize till my arms burned (all of 10 min! shame). Then after lunch did some prep for tomorrow, watched the girls playing netball, went for an explore and met lots of ladies- but a few that might be good to help me with language, then carried water, cooked dinner…and here I am about to start work on reports. Don’t you love my prioritizing?!

Village living - the first week

First week in the village- where do I even start?! Firstly -I'm loving it :) But it was quite obvious on the first day that to survive- I definitely have to toughen up!

I swept the house with a hand broom and felt it in my lower back.


I took my washing down to the water pump and I could feel the harsh soap drying out my hands as I scrubbed my skirts against the cement (knuckles!!).


I pumped several bucket fulls of water and was glad when someone else took over!


I managed to lift a 3/4 full bucket of water onto my head and carry it up the hill to my house and yup- I slopped it abit and got wet shoulders- not to mention the discomfort of a heavy, hard bucket on your head and people laughing cos it's not full...

Then trying to light a fire. ugh- SO not good at it. Blowing on the coals. smoke. coughing. asthma. stinging eyes...followed closely by burnt fingers as I absent-mindedly grabbed pot handles and lids during cooking forgetting that metal conducts heat. Squatting by the fire- not so comfy after half an hour.

Even bathing- the wash area is a pile of rubbled rocks and bricks that get slippery and muddy with sharp edges that gouge soft feet.

And that was just the morning's chores :-x needless to say I collapsed into bed and slept well that night!

I've been giving everything a go- and telling people that even though I'm obviously useless at doing (fill the blank) I really want to practise and learn... except for when I don't. I've been surprised at my own reaction at times. I'm in the village to learn the local language and the local way of living... then I find myself arguing with someone who is trying to explain what im meant to do. stupid huh? why do I do it?

The 'pot situation' is a good example. Day 2, G- the young lady from next door came over mid afternoon and commented on my pots drying on the 'kitchen' roof.
'you didn't wash your pots' she said.
'yes I did' I retorted.
'they're still dirty on the outside' she said
I stood adn looked at my blackened pots; 'but they're clean on the inside- and I only eat from the inside' said I
'you need to clean the outside' she said
'no- I'm not cleaning the outside because im just going to put it on the fire again in a few hours and it will get dirty again- so I'm just let it get black' said I
'you need to clean the outside' she patiently repeated
'why?!' said I
'so it's shiny. Don't you know how to clean pots?' she asked- surprised
'yes- i know how to clean a pot- but i choose to clean the inside only. I'm not cleaning the outside of all 3 pots everyday- Itss just not gonna happen' said I
'I'll clean the outside for you tomorrow' she offered
'no- it's ok- you don't have to clean my pots....'
She shrugged and wandered off.

Later in the afternoon M- a young boy who loves to sit and chat was sitting on my back step, observing my pottering when he said- pointing to my pots drying on the 'kitchen' roof
'your pots aren't clean- let me clean them for you'
'NO!' (oops- was that a bit harsh?) 'no really- its ok. I'm happy with them black on the outside. Do you wash pots for your mother?' said I? (hoping to distract him)
he nodded solemnly. 'It's important to have clean pots. Don't you know how to clean them properly?'
I ignored him.

The next morning, I had just finished cooking my porridge and washing up in a tub whilst chatting to another neighbour who had just embarked on chiding me for not washing my pots properly when I got ambushed.
They came with sand.
They didn't ask my permission.
They cleaned my pots.
Soap, sand, much rubbing with their bare hands, a rinse with water...and wala! i had clean pots.
i have to admit i was close to the giggles by this stage. It all just seemed so ludicrous- but who am i to judge what is and isn't important in their culture? I've asked them to teach me- and now I need to be willing to learn, even if it does mean getting rough, calloused hands from scrubbing the outside of my pots everyday with sand.... maybe I'll learn something. Wax on, wax off?
im sure there are much bigger sacrifices i could be making!

M- and G- cleaning my pots (that's my 'kitchen' inthe back ground)

Grrrr

I'm sitting at my computer, checking emails, listening to cicadas in the cool dark night, listening to one of the night watchmen muttering his prayers outside my office window and thinking back over the day.

Life just doesn't go according to plan here...ever. I left the house this morning with the whole week locked in and mapped out and a few hours later had a completely different programme. I don't think it's unrealistic expectations by me- It just that in this culture daily activities are at the mercy of those with more power than you. In this culture powerful people don't consult- they dictate. And nobody questions- not openly at least.

So I was half way through a meeting with the farm manger about the final details of the trainings tomorrow when he casually mentioned tha there was training in XYZ for all staff members (except me) all week, but it was ok, because I would have the driver and a Government trainer with me for the trainings. It took a while to sink in. The field guys won't be coming? the organisation that is running the training won't be making an appearance?! That's ridiculous. Then I felt the anger starting to burn. Why wasn't I told before today? Who made the decision anyway? Is this sudden training 'need' more important than the farmer training that is a key component of what the organisation exists to do?!

Culturally learned responses run deep. i felt incensed and wanted to tell management exactly what I thought. My colleagues, equally incensed, smiled and worked out an alternative. We postpone the trainings til next week. 'But we shouldn't HAVE TO!!' I almost exploded. The trainings are already late due to elections and they've been planned for over a month. My colleagues tried to calm me down before I went to find out if there was any OTHER uncommunicated, last minute, haphazard things that management would like to delay real work for?

I don't have any answers. The fact is; africans and australians deal with blatant injustice/incompetence/abuse of power etc in really different ways. One passively, one explosively. Is one way right? or wrong? Should I too paint on a smile and pretend everything is fine and normal when it's not? Not rock the boat? Don't shame anyone because it's not my culture? I try. I really try to let little things wash over me. But little things are indicative of much bigger things. things that grow in the dark til they can't be hidden any more. things that destroy. Call me an idealist, but ...oh I'm mad.

The question is: how to be mad in a culturally appropriate way?!
even more important- how to respond to the whole thing in a Godly way?

because is A good project

I was greeted with an amusing and horrifying, yet somehow gratifying site this morning.

Our farm manager has done some 'house art'. I found it amusing that someone would actually write that. Horrifying that its permanent...but gratifying that it's in response (I suspect) to all the hard work we've been doing at the farm.

Today didn't disappoint. Moving 11 tonne of manure was hard work- and that was just in the morning! they were heading back after lunch to get some river sand. Unfortunately I had an afternoon meeting..

So, ever wondered what 11 tonne on manure looks like?! Here's my day in pictures...

First it all had to be shovelled into sacks, which took 2 days. Then the guys stacked it all up ready to load into the truck.

50kg bags of manure- on their heads. Most of the time they would pick them up and swing them onto their heads themselves...then RUN!!! But one of the guys is alot smaller and less muscled than the rest (an orphan), so instead of letting him do light duties- they just helped load him up!

Running to the stockpile. I calculated that each worker has carried 9 tonne each in the last 2 days- carrying the bags to the loading area, then loading and unloading the truck.

Several miracles happened today- firstly they managed to fit what I calculated to be about 11 tonne on a 7 tonne truck. Then the truck made it all the way up the bicycle farm track without getting stuck! It was SO exciting having a truck on the track that all the village kids came running all the way up to the farm to see what was happening- then pitched in!

Yup- thats 10 kids carrying a 50kg sack for the fun of it. OH&S would have a fit.

The RAC

So...once upon a time there were HEAPS of contract workers at the farm and it was the weekend, so there were HEAPS of kids around too... so the whitey decided that since everyone had been working so hard for so long that some music would cheer the place up a bit. There was no radio in sight so the whitey decided to use her car as a giant stereo.


Well, with african rasta blasting out across the landscape, the kids flocked to the car to dance and perform to their reflections in the paint work, while the mothers paused to watch and smile. The young men even heartily joined in singing - busting some moves with their hoes (the other kind)


It was one of those perfect moments really, where everyone is smiling and life is good.



Eventually the music stopped- which didn't surprise the whitey cos her MP3 player was low on battery. She explained with a smile that the battery was flat and continued measuring out contour marker ridges. Little did she know the truth of her words.


An hour later the 6 workers who jovially piled into the car to catch a lift home were sadly disappointed. After working 6am-11am, they found themselves pushing a car uphill along a bike track in the heat of the day. We tried roll starting it 5 times and eventually decided to push it the km back to the gravel road. 15 kids joined in for the fun.


The whitey was frustrated. It was Sunday. She was 45 min drive from help. The flat battery was her own fault. She called her dad :) her dad gave great advice but unfortunately was about 12 hours drive away, so the young men from the local village wandered out to show off their manly car fixing abilities. It was the village spectacle. At one stage a guy sat in the drivers seat pumpinng the clutch saying we needed to get fuel through the lines. The same guy wanted to take all the spark plugs off. Thankfully we didn't have the right tools.


Then a battery appeared from somewhere and they connected the terminals using a knife, a pair of plyers, a piece off the jack and a scrap piece of metal. That managed to get enough power to get the starter motor ticking, so they went off in search of wire and returned with some copper wire from a radio. Two hours after the problem was first discovered it was collectively decided that it was time to start pushing again. This time the bonnet was open with the new battery perched on top of the engine. This time a guy ran along side holding the wires to the terminals. This time the car car roared to life. The village cheered. The kids wooped. The 'mechanics' asked for money. Money paid and arguements settled, the workers once again jumped in the car. Fanta? the whitey asked. Applause. Minutes later everyone was sitting in the shade drinking cold fanta and munching on peanuts, the car quietly idling nearby. 'no more music' the whitey said with a smirk.

Rallies, *amadan and Really hot weather

Its 4.43 Sunday avo. I'm sitting at my desk gazing out the window...wondering what - out of all the events of the past few weeks- I should write about. The light is golden on the guava tree outside. Soon the light will turn crimson red as the sun lowers through the smoke haze...then darkness. It won't cool off much though. Its 34 deg inside and probably won't go much below 30 deg tonight. the hot has arrived. It's funny how fast it came. One day was cool in the morning and hot in the afternoon- then it just didn't get cool again. As fast as that. I have a fan, but I still wake up thirsty and drenched in sweat through the night. It'll probably start raining in about a month, so at least for now the humidity isn't too bad.

Enough about the weather! (good to see Im still a good weather obsessed Aussie at heart!). The last few weeks have busy. The change in weather has signalled that its definitely time to get fields prepared before the rains- so we've been busy at the farm finishing off the drain, starting our tilling (with hoes) and have finally started our farmer training! So far we've had 3 groups of 25 to 30 participants, being trained in contour ridge marking, box ridging and compost making. Here's a few photos...

Using the 'A Frame' the participants made. Digging the contour marker ridge.Making a 'chimato' stack for composting.Meanwhile 'the lads' - the farm workers :) were busy finishing off our new ablutions block. Yay! Now that the grass has been burnt it's increasingly hard to find a discreet place to pee- as I discovered one day when the local chief saw me squatting with a chitenje discreetly wrapped around me and came over to greet me! hehehe

We have another training day this week, then it's full steam ahead getting the farm ready for planting.

One day last week I was visiting a friend for a cuppa after a day at the farm and heard a bit of a commotion coming from the school next door. I went out to investigate and discovered that the opposition leader (yellow party) was about to arrive for a rally. Sure enough he showed up in a big black car in a convoy with body guards running either side... very cool.

Part of the convoy and the opposition leaders car.

I hung around for a bit of the speeches which he delivered with great passion from the back of a ute (he's the one in the yellow shirt on the right), then wandered back to finish my cuppa.

The next day was the celebration day for the end of fasting, so I brought goat meat for my friends from the local butcher and headed out to celebrate with them. It was very different from my experience of this day in Indonesia several years ago- I guess mostly because of the incredible poverty here. In Indo the entire day before the celebration was spent cooking and preparing copious amounts of cakes and goodies. The actual day, after morning prayers, and in fact the following 3 days was spent gorging yourself on the cakes, entertaining visitors with the cakes...then visiting everyone in the town and eating their cakes too!

Everyone was excited about the celebration here too- but I couldn't see much evidence of food. I gave my gift to my friend and hung out most of the morning playing with the kids and drinking utobwa (fermented millet drink- a bit like a strawberry yogurt shake in consistency) then, after prayers, each house prepared their meal and shared it with the other families in that enclave of the village. First there was ugali and chicken, then ugali and fish, then ugali and goat stew, then rice and beans (which I suspect they brought out just for me cos theydidn't think I'd eaten enough ugali- but a) it doesn't take much ugali to fill me up b) even with 3 courses- 1 plate of each doesn't go far between so many people and c) I eat meat more than once a year-this was a special treat for them). It was a lovely communal feel all washing our hands in the same bowl and eating out of the communal dishs...I covered the whole experience in prayer that I wouldn't get sick and I didn't! :)

The market butchery( the butcher declined to be in the photo).

Eating together.

Well, it's now after dinner and this party animal is ready to hit the sack- so I'll leave you with my favourite photo of the week. :)

g'nite.

Unyago- Initiation Celebrations

I was very privileged to attend an initiation celebration today. wow. Im not quite sure how to convey both the incredible significance of this celebration as a right of passage in this culture...and/vs my own 'outsider' response. I guess part of my problem is that we don't really have anything in our culture quite like it. We don't get initiated. Sure we still largely keep the 21st Birthday tradition, but we certainly don't head off into the bush one day - a child- and return a month later a more valid member of society.

The initiation celebrations mark the end of the childrens month in a secret place, being taught the things that make them Yawo- make them man, or woman- make them 'belong'. At the end of the month, the shelter where they have been living is burnt, they are dressed in their finest clothes and they return solemnly to the village, paraded and treated like royalty while the villagers dance themselves into a frenzy. The atmosphere is part family parade, part nightclub- with the drummers competing for dancers, the inebriated young men concentrating on staying on their feet and the women- from the toddler to the granny- 'shakin their booty'...

But let me go back to the beginning...

It all started with the drums. Ive been hearing them every night for the past month- but today I actually got to see the 'culprits' :). As we arrived, one group was tuning their drums over a small fire. The blade of a hoe and assorted whistles were also used to accompany the singing. The drummers set off out the front and we followed behind singing and dancing 'til we met the initiates. Then the villagers gathered around them and escorted them with much - noise :) to where there were shelters with couches and food waiting for them. There were 3 groups of initiates that each came in about 10 min apart. Each group had its own drum trio and dancing villagers that would storm through another dancing group, luring dancers to their rythm. It seemed that once a group got too big to move easily, they settled in to their spot in front of their initiates and ...boogied :) young and old, black and white alike :)(my housemate reckons I look like the madonna in this pic :)?!)

Meanwhile ...the 'lil initiates were sitting in luxury, with food and drink and money...all of which they were not allowed to touch. They were to keep their eyes down and their mouths covered in all seriousness, while people danced and put money in the plates in front of them. These 2 kids were covering their mouths with the highest denomination in Malawian currency.

Then...we rested a bit, and went and 'helped' (hindered I suspect) the women cooking for everyone!...and then we went home . What an afternoon!

I am very much indebted to my housemate who has a gift for capturing the action and took many of these pictures- thanks!

Demo Farm Happenings

Its been a great time for our demonstration farm- all systems are go! never before has this property had a driven white woman 'making things happen'!

So...firstly- our training facility (or my skyscraper as Dad affectionately called it when he saw the size of the foundations) is a month behind schedule- which means that training of 300 farmers is now also a month behind schedule... but as a trained 'trainer' i really don't think it is expecting too much to provide a roof over our trainees heads- and its not like its a group of 20 that we can park under a tree- its 10 sessions- with 30 people at each one. So construction continues.

Now this was an area where I felt I should 'facilitate' rather than 'dictate' -so i facilitated permission for the structure from the director, and facilitated the building foremans transport to assess the site...and left the rest to local expertise. im not sure of the wisdom of that now that north eastern corner of the floor is a full foot lower than the rest- but i guess it'll be easier to mop. Having said that- given the technology available to these guys I think its pretty impressive.

Now a few weeks ago I had some 'visitors' - Aussie speaking farmers who also know a fair bit about reading landscapes and developing farm water management plans, so- after a few brainstorming meetings about the farm with my colleagues last week- i was given the 'ok' to proceed with stages 1-3 of the drainage channels kindly designed by the Aussies. These channels will protect the farm from the massive runoff generated by up to 2000mm rainfall falling in a 4 month period off the adjacent bouldery hill (ie water doesn't soak into boulders and hills mean the water is moving fast by the time it gets to the farm = erosion) So- drainage channels- there'll be 4 of these babies- each 2 m wide, 30 cm deep, running across the property to take excess water slowly to the existing drainage line.

I've been muttering under my breath the past few months about the locals penchant for burning everything- even this evening as I came off the plateau i spotted a dozen decent fires on the plain. But today, I developed a much greater appreciation for WHY. ya know how the grass looks really thick? WELL IT IS!!! and today 3 guys spent 4 hours cutting/scraping a 3 m wide, 80 m long corridor through it. I felt really sorry for them and pitched in to help -only to retreat at the first deep grass cut iiiish cringe. only 200 m to go folks! Nah- hopefully they'll get to the bit where the land was cropped last year by mid morning tomorrow and it should be a lot easier- then the digging will start.

The guys are awesome and I we can communicate (in a fairly rudimentary way) which is cool. It was interesting to see how the farm mangers approach to staff management vs my method. He didn't tell them what they were building or why- he just gave instructions and of course they didn't get it so he had to stay and 'supervise'. So when he wandered off for a chat I pulled out the map and tried to show how far they had progressed (for encouragement more than anything). They smiled and nodded politely until one of them exclaimed 'amapu!'. Once they realised that what was on paper represented real life they started asking questions and I explained - through yawo and elaborate sign language (hehe) that we were going to construct a big drain etc. they cleared the grass inthe right place after that :). Before knocking off i recorded their names so the farm manager could pay them. I suspected they were illiterate so I offered to write but couldn't help smiling when one of them exclaimed (in ciyawo) 'she says she can't speak Cichewa- only Ciyawo- but she knows how to write Cichewa!' yeah. all the languages here are written phonetically in 'normal' letters. apparently their names are Chewa :)

On the way home drove through an initiation ceremony dancing down the road...i can't quite begin to describe it. Ive been invited to one late August so I'll post the photos from that for you.

Hysteria

Hysteria / Hysterics
A nervous affection, occurring almost exclusively in women, in which the emotional and reflex excitability is exaggerated, and the will power correspondingly diminished, so that the patient loses control over the emotions, becomes the victim of imaginary sensations, and often falls into paroxysm or fits. [Webster1913]

I sat on the bench wanting to laugh- long and loud - uncontrollably for all the world to hear. It was then I started pondering the definition of hysteria. maybe 'hysterical laughter' wasn't a phrase to be used lightly if this was the urge i was feeling...

All I wanted was a map- a map of the farm with topography. In Australia I'd have called my mate John at Harley Survey and a few hours later it'd pop into my inbox with a poem or joke to brighten the day. I'd asked for this map 6 weeks ago, and finally deciding I'd been given the 'African yes' went hunting for it myself.

Several hours, several offices and a request for bribe money later I was sitting on a bench in the town records office- a small room lined with bookshelves and pigeon holes crammed full with tatty, yellowing manilla folders, labelled with peeling masking tape – the excess stacked in toppling piles on the floor. The clerk was slowly and systematically looking through every file for some tidbit of archived information for the man further up the bench. When it finally came to my turn it was 20 minutes 'til lunch so I had to go back in the afternoon.

He was held up some where else that afternoon, but very cheerfully handed the file to me this morning. It did contain a map - of sorts- but it wasn't what I was expecting it to be. sigh.

This culture shock stuff just goes on and on doesn't it? For some reason it still surprises me that my expectations don't fit here and I think completley differently and somehow miss most of the nuances in possibly every interaction.

Well- back to my comfortable task oriented cultural paradigm- If anyone knows how to measure and map topographic information for a very hilly piece of land I'd really appreciate it :)

When in Rome...

We had a technical meeting at work yesterday. I was told it would sart 8.30am sharp- so I arrived in plenty of time, and, with no faith whatsoever in the system, set up my laptop and got on with my work. As I expected (it happened last time) the boss arrived at 10am. Still no movement. Other staff arrived at 11am. I groaned- I had been looking forward to lunch.

At 11.30am one of my colleagues came to tell me that we had a technical meeting today- so i dutifully packed up and went to the meeting room. When we were all assembled by 11.40am, the boss pointed out how late it was and asked everyone what they wanted to do. I watched with interest. It had taken 3 hrs to assemble everyone would he really let them all leave again? yes. everyone voted for an early lunch with the meeting to re-convene at 1pm. I cancelled my afternoon plans (silly me- thinking a morning meeting wouldn't affect my afternoon...)

I returned at 1pm to an empty, locked office building. 20 min later, people started wandering back and the 8.30am meeting was started at 1.30 pm (finishing at 5 pm). I have to say though- it was a really worthwhile meeting. they say good things are worth waiting for- adn Ive well adn truly proved that I fit the mold of whitey's who 'like to keep the time' :)

Today I spent the morning trying to figure out how we were going to achieve the commitment of training 300 farmers at the demonstration farm in soil and water conservation methods and soil improvement and crop management strategies between July and September with no facilities yet on the farm. I had a mild wave of panic when I was informed about it at yesterdays meeting, with the main field guys away for the next 2 weeks, no budget (that I know of) and July starting next week and all :)
but we’ve got a plan now. The whitey is happy! we’ll start the trainings in August (giving me 5 weeks to organise for a cement pad to be laid and grass roof constructed so we can have some shelter for the trainees, 2 pit latrines dug and 30 plates and a few pots brought for catering) and train 10 groups of 30, twice a week till we’ve achieved the target. The field guys will select who will come from their areas, they’ll contact the govt guys and tandem teach, I’ll chase up some booklets/paper resources so the trainees can have a take-home reminder of what they’ve learnt (don't think its been done before) and...we’ll borrow bigger cars so we don’t have to fix the road yet cos whatever budget there is- it certainly won’t cover converting a bicycle track to a road. Easy!

Then I got really excited cos i remembered this is part of what ive always wanted to be doing! Training key farmers who go home and train others...multiplier effect.

Despite the culture clash on time, its value and who actually owns it- Im really enjoying being part of a Malawian team of professional community development practitioners- They are so patient with my dumb questions and Im learning so much!

oh dear its almost 10 and there is a drunken party ramping up next door... happy sleeping to me!

Collecting Firewood

writing twice in one day? thats gotta be a record :)
I had an amazing afternoon. the background: I dropped in at the village of my 'rent a friend' late in the avo cos i missed last week due to lack of voice and the recent struggle of fitting everything in with work orientation and nasty cold etc. ANYWAYS... I wanted to give her some photos I took a few weeks ago and find a mutually convenient time for a proper visit- but when I got there the village was deserted. Eventually a lady came out and explained that they were gathering firewood and headed off to show me where. I hadn't really planned a firewood gathering excursion at 4.30pm after a particularly long day, but I thought 'why not?' and followed.

The story: The young women were in a nearby woodlot, felling a tree. They all stopped to admire the photos, then went back to chopping, then decided that I should have a go. I quickly proved to be quite useless, so we stood around watching while one of the young girls finished the job. Timber! then we set to, breaking off all the branches and stripping the twigs off the smaller branches and putting them into piles- well, that was my job because I quickly proved as useless wielding a machette as I was with the axe :) Next thing I knew I was deemed the babysitter, had a 1yr old strapped to my back and was busily de-twigging. I loved the atmosphere of working as a group, the banter, the babies, the giant knives... As it started to get dark they said it was time to go and I asked if I could help carry some of the wood back tot the village. They wrapped a tiny bundle in my chitenje which I carried as far as the next pile and added a few more substantial sized sticks so I wouldn't be completely useless. The chitenje acted as both a rope and padding for my head.

As I made way back along the path with 3 women in front piled up with wood (twice the size of my bundle and they weren't even trying!) babies tied to their backs, and several behind- i realised I knew every one of these women and was actually a part of this very familiar spectacle. Although my attempts were met with raucus laugther in the village- I couldn't help beaming.

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.