Street Vendors

Welcome to Malawi - where there are many people on the streets hoping to see you the crafts that they make: necklaces, bracelets, cards, pens, paintings - you name it, they have it. Of course, because I’m white, several of these people are always trying to get me to buy their products. Half of the time, they’ve seen Laurel and I walking to the hotel with our students for swimming class, so they don’t try to get us to buy in the mornings if they see us. Afternoons are another story. Some guys will follow you down the street for several blocks, making conversation, pushing their necklace collection in your face, trying to get you to stop of buy something. Some won’t be quite as pushy. Others aren’t pushy at all. Some are desperate for you to buy something, anything from them, and start talking about how they have no money for food. I struggle with this one. What if they don’t actually have money for food? One man didn’t want to let me leave with just one item. One man was happy with me buying one carved pen and said “God bless” as I left. But there is this one man who is my absolute favorite. Winston sells paintings that are actually quite nice. He had asked if we wanted to buy paintings the first few times he saw us with the students, but then, like the others, learned that if we have the kids with us, we can’t buy anything. 

The next time he asked me was when I was walking down to a small store to buy a few staple kitchen items. He saw me and asked, “Madam, you don’t have the students with you today. Can I show you my paintings?” I told him that if he waited for me to finish in the store first, I would look at them. He waited for me, and I looked at his paintings. He didn’t give me any sob stories about how he had no money, but instead thanked me for my support after buying one of his paintings. People here would probably say that I paid a lot for his painting, and I probably did. I didn’t try to bargain the price down much. But that was okay with me, because he was respectful.

Now, when I’m walking down the street, I look for Winston. I saw him the other day, with one of the other guys who is a little more pushy with his items. Winston didn’t even ask me to look at his paintings. I bought a few things from the other guy, and before I headed on my way, asked Winston if I could look at his paintings when I came back. He said he would wait for me and I walked away to do my errands. When I came back an hour later, he was still waiting for me. I bought two paintings from him them, for a great price because I am “such a good customer.” Then he gave me a gift painting. 

Whenever I walk down one particular section of road, I seem to always hear, “Hello teacher!” from one of these guys. They are all super nice, and they are all my friends. But Winston is the only one I know by name, and I never try to bargain down his prices too much. I love the people of Malawi.

Sidenote: It’s always interesting to buy from one man when others are in sight. If you buy something from one, you’re definitely going to buy something from another, right? Most of the time I don’t buy, but when I do….

Graduation

Back row, left to right: Laurel (teacher), Lety (8th), Bianca (8th), Brenda (9th), me.
Front row: Alyssa (kindergarten), Claudio (5th), Julian (6th), Lillee (Year 3).

The last day of school is complete. Graduation is over. Therefore, I would like to take a moment to brag about my students. I am so proud of each and every one of them. They have worked hard this past year, putting forth effort to do their best, even in subjects that they don’t like or struggle with more than others. One of our eighth graders hated Language at the beginning of the year, and by the end of the year she told me that she loved it. My students have done well, despite my ability to explain some concepts in Math or Science and my complete lack of knowledge when it comes to teaching. Watching them learn has been a new and wonderful experience. God really came through this year and helped my students learn. Now, as they all advance in their studies, I pray that they continue to learn and do well. I am so grateful for the privilege I have had of teaching these students.

Congratulations, students! I couldn't be more proud :)

We're all a bit crazy...

Regardless of what these pictures show, we all love each other and we're all friends!

Graduation cake

Our 8th graders - Bianca & Lety

Zebra Prints

Zebras are very beautiful animals. Their stripes intrigue me and the journey of each line across the zebra’s body is unique. Each stripe travels in no specific pattern. Stripes curve, end, continue, branch off, or run parallel to another, all the while following its own path. Looking at zebras, it can be easy to see differences in the pattern of their skin, and it can also be difficult.

Looking at humans, it can be easy to see differences in people, and it can also be difficult. But not two people are exactly the same. No two zebras are exactly the same. Like human fingerprints, zebras have their own pattern that is unique. Each print is gorgeous. Each is special. Each person is unique. Each person is valuable.

God’s creativity, to create millions of zebras and billions of people who are each different, simply astounds me. God is so big and so amazing.

Daily Entertainment

Every week I have my students do a report on a different composer. As I was introducing the composer for the next week, I mentioned that he was from the Romantic Period. Though I had explained the different periods of music at the beginning of the year, my students had forgotten and were now wanting to know what the Romantic Period was, since all they could envision were red roses, white fancy dresses, and public displays of affection - not quite their cup of tea. So I started writing a timeline of musical periods on the board, explaining them as I went. And of course, when I started on the Baroque period, the inevitable joke was made: “If it’s not baroque, don’t fix it!” Julian, the clown who had made the joke, started laughing hysterically and was immediately joined by all the other students. Having heard this joke thousands of times, I was not so amused and only wanted to roll my eyes. I tried to decide whether it would be beneficial to scold him for speaking out of turn, but, as everybody was laughing at the genuinely funny joke, I could not help but to let it go and laugh with them. 

***

The day before a Language test, I was helping Julian and making sure that he understood everything that was going to be on the test. As I’m talking, he pipes up, “Oooh!! Do you want to hear a joke?!”
“Not right now Julian, we’re working on Language. What’s the verb in this sentence?”
“I have good news and bad news.”
“Julian, Language, what’s the verb?” I tried to get him to focus again.
“The bad news is, I accidentally broke your bike,” he continued.
“Julian!” 
He was determined to tell his joke, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. “The good news is, you now have two unicycles!” 
More hysterical laughing, from everybody. It was another few moments before we got back to Language…

***

One gray and rainy day, one of our students was cold. Another asked him, “Do you have hippotermia?”
In case you’re wondering, that would be the African version of hypothermia. 

***

A student asked a question about President Roosevelt as she was working on her history assignment.
Laurel needed some clarification before answering and asked, “Which Roosevelt? Teddy or Theodore?”

***
Lety was working on a history assignment: “What was the code name given to the atomic bomb?”
Julian: “Boom boom.”

***

Julian, talking to me: “If I had to describe you in two words, they would be crazy, and delusional.”

Well… I’ll take it!!

***

I could go on and on... Our students are priceless and wonderful kids - not to mention they’re so funny - each and every one of them. Not a day goes by where we aren't entertained by SOMETHING. :)

You know you're in Africa when...

….you see cars parked in the MIDDLE of the street and on the sidewalks.

….you see a goat leg and half of a mouse while walking along the lake shore. Barefoot on the beach? I think not!

….you see a mouse skewered, fried, and intended for lunch. Yeah, no. I’m on a diet called “I’m not eating that.” Street food is always interesting...

….the package from your parents literally looks as if it went through the front lines of a battle in the 18th century.

….the power goes out right as you put your food in the oven to bake.

….random people call you “Madam” or even “Mom.”

….you spend a week at the lake, in the sun, and come back with a considerable tan. And then somebody comments on how white you are. #whitegirlproblems

….locals chase you down the streets trying to sell you their cards, paintings, pens, necklaces - anything, you name it.

….these same locals find out where you live and come to sell you their products.

….at the lodge you order toast and fruit for breakfast and it doesn’t show up in front of you for another hour.

….you discover that the reason the water tanks aren’t full is because the company that pumps the water found a dead body stuck inside and blocking one of the water pipes due to flooding that occurred when the cyclone came through. #nowords #boilboilboil

….instead of talking about the weather, you talk about whether or not you have electricity or water. 

….the people at the post office have never heard of the Federated States of Micronesia, and have no clue what to do with the letter you asked them to send there.

….local teenage boys lightly rub your arm because they want to know what white skin feels like.

….”luxury” means anything but luxury. Oops. That was a long bus ride.

….the air conditioning unit in your hotel room doesn’t work.

….every smile melts your heart. Unless it’s from a drunk person who wants you to go home with him. Then it’s kind of creepy.

….the week during rainy season it doesn’t rain at all is the week that you literally have no water. And by no water, I mean no water. No showers, no nothing. 

….you wake up to the dogs barking at monkeys in the trees in your yard.

….avocados fall from their tree and hit the metal roof right above your head, in the MIDDLE of the night.

….you can’t remember the last time you even saw a haystack.

….you have four weeks off from school for Christmas break. Can I hear an “Amen”?!

….the really loud music played on the bus continues throughout the entire night.

….the next bus plays ten songs over and over again for the eight hour ride.

….you can’t tell if people are so enthralled with you because you’re white or because your home country has a black president. #America=Obama #samething #noIhavenotmetObama

….you buy deodorant at the store and you can’t decide if it would be better to actually use it or not.

….you no longer have to make the choice between flushing the toilet or washing the dishes. You don’t have water for either.

….on the 30 hour bus ride to South Africa, the air conditioning doesn’t work and you practically die of heat, and on the way back to Malawi on the exact same bus, the air conditioning works so well you freeze the entire trip.

….you pay two rand to use a bathroom that is a complete mess and has toilets and sinks that don’t work.

….orchestra rehearsal gets out early because the power goes out.

….the Friday and Monday surrounding Easter Sunday are holidays = NO SCHOOL. Another “Amen” please!

These were collaborated from all the countries I’ve been to in Africa. I’m sure that not all of these are Africa-specific, but they are definitely true here!

Cheers!

Bus People

I got on the bus and a whole new sea of strange faces met me. Not that there was anything bad or scary about the faces, I just didn’t know the people the faces belonged to. Laurel and I found our seats and I tried to remember why we had chosen to take the bus to and from South Africa instead of flying. Flying would have been a whole lot easier, and nicer. But, the bank account said no, and here we were on the bus. And this bus was completely full. There was no option of having two seats to myself for the overnight ride. Now, this wasn’t a problem, really, I just was not excited. And, to make matters more interesting, OF COURSE Laurel and I were the only two foreigners (white people) on the bus. We stuck out like sore thumbs, not that this is a new concept to us.

We stopped at a gas station, and I got out to get some fresh air. As I was getting out, I saw a white South African who had just arrived to check out the bus. He saw me and immediately made sure that I was okay and that everything was going fine. That was nice.

But everybody on the bus were still strangers to me. I didn’t know them, and being the shy introvert that I am, I did not readily initiate conversations with everybody or anybody around me. I simply sat in my seat, listening to my music and ignoring everybody else on the bus. After almost one hundred hours spent on buses on this vacation alone, not to mention the way-too-many hours spent on buses when we traveled at Christmastime, I was definitely used to my fair share of being surrounded by strangers in confined spaces, but I still didn’t appreciate it.

Though, as time passed, I began to feel a whole lot differently about these strangers. They began to feel like friends. If I didn’t know where to go at border crossings, I would look for these strangers to see what I was supposed to do and where I was supposed to go. As we walked through no-man’s land at one border crossing, the lady next to me started talking with me. And, as the hours passed, more and more of the Malawians on the bus started asking us questions. Why were we, two white girls, going to Malawi? What had we been doing in South Africa? How long had we been in Africa? Did we like Malawi? When we finally did arrive in Blantyre and got off the bus, one fellow traveller even welcomed us home.

A lot of the bus rides that we took ended this way. It felt like we were all friends. These people were no longer strangers, though their names were still a mystery to me. I don’t know what they do, what they like, or anything about them, and I hardly talked to them. Yet, at the end of the thirty hour bus ride, my initial sentiments as I boarded the bus in Johannesburg were gone. The shared experience of the bus ride and border crossings seemed to break down unknown barriers, and suddenly we were all the same. We were all residents of Malawi, traveling back home.

Breezy Stillness

Everything is quiet, peaceful. The wind is rustling through the trees.

Thoughts of all kinds race through my head; thoughts that I can’t even label. Thoughts that leave me confused. I don’t want to think and figure them out. I make a much needed call to my mom and talk with her for a bit. Now I want a hug that only she can give.

It was a long week, though we only had school for four days. 

I’m tired. I’m a little bit sick. I need to go to bed. 

But the stillness of this breezy night keeps me up. The peacefulness relaxes me. 

The wind seems to blow away my worries and cares.

I know my bed is comfortable, and I can hear my pillow calling my name, yet I sit on the hard ground, refusing to move from this moment of silence amongst the craziness of life. 

It’s a comforting atmosphere and I don’t want it to end. 

It’s these moments of stillness that comfort me, relax me. This week I’ve had several of these much-needed moments. It’s been beautiful. Blessings from God.