…and then there was light…
January 27, 2012 | Zoë TuplingIt’s hard to try to explain anything about my life in Malawi. I have trouble believing that I’m the one actually living it most days. There is a part of me that remains in denial, cannot believe I am in Africa, as if I’m still in Canada and this has been some elaborate reality television prank. But I’m here, and I’m usually glad for it. I have finally set up home in Dowa, which is about 8km away from the Dzaleka Refugee camp where I work as an academic tutor for the refugees taking part in an online university diploma program. When asked whether Dowa (pronounced with drawn out syllables as dough-uh) is a village or a city, you will get all kinds of answers. A better way to imagine it is to think of it as an area, with mini villages and neighborhoods throughout. The Gloucester of Malawi.
I’ve tried to break down my daily schedule here to give a sense what a day in my life is like.
People are awake and doing things around 4 am, and are taken aback when their desire to talk to me at 5:30-6:00 clashes with my indulgent desire to sleep into 6:30. Oh the idle pleasures of the mzungu (white person). When i do get out of bed, i stumble about, trying to avoid the bugs on my floor, taking the various medications necessary for this exotic adventure, and trying to remember how I got here. Oh, I use a currently unplugged refrigerator as a cupboard. It’s really handy, as otherwise my things get filled with salamanders (true story), although I am trying not to get too attached, as there will likely come a day when my roommates have something they want to keep cold.
Transportation is neither particularly safe nor reliable, so I try to walk to camp every day. According to my roommate Chloe’s pedometer, the walk is over 8km and takes us about an hour and a half, as it is mostly hills and not much pavement. Cute goats though. Along the way, children scream and squeal, overwhelmed at the hilarious sight of the mzungus. Some ask for money, but most are just tickled to get to look at me and my alien self.
Work usually starts around 8:30. The work is not easy, but can be very satisfying. My supervisor has allowed that I have more control over the structure of my day. This is a much more flexible environment than I am used to in Canada and I still am having trouble adjusting. Typically my work involves sitting down with the students individually and going over their assignments/forum posts for their current course (appropriately) Intercultural Communication. I am working the second year university students, so they are very independent and rarely ask for my help. Regardless, I try to gently insert myself in as minimally annoying way as is possible. Jokes are involved (issues with cross-cultural senses of humor decrease daily).
It can sometimes be difficult to establish myself as a figure of semi-authority and respect, so that the students want my help. The refugee students are mostly from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC or, affectionately, Dr Congo), with a few from Burundi and Rwanda. In the camp there are also refugees from Ethiopia and Somalia, but none who’ve been accepted into the JRS HEM (Jesuit Refugee Service Higher Educations at the Margins) program. Anyways, as the students have told me (both in conversation and in reading their papers on identity), women in Africa typically take a subordinate role to men, so it is different from them to be looking to myself and my female colleagues for advice.
After a casual lunch in our preferred ‘restaurant’ in camp, where the girls eat beans and ‘chapatti’ and I scarf the African version of doughnuts (sometimes called a fritter or mandazi) and chai (to soften the occasionally tough treat), there is a shorter afternoon session. Usually the internet stalls up from its not-so-speedy-but-very-manageable- morning version to a version that is mostly unusable. The students and I are still very lucky to have daily access to this internet, which is powered by an advanced solar power system on top of the building.
I am finished around 4:30 every day. Sometimes I can grab a minibus right home, which is ideal. Other times I wait for over an hour, pacing and worrying about the consequences of being outside after
dark. Rations for the refugees have been delayed a week, so I am surrounded by starving people. Usually I feel pretty safe, but I have had some…tense encounters with some people who view me as a rich person who is deliberately choosing not to help them. I can empathize, despite having no real concept of the kind of desperation that would accompany hunger. This, and other issues of meeting basic human needs within the camp, causes me a great deal of internal conflict. I want to be helping, am trying to help, yet here I am, providing education, while people starve and their homes collapse in the rains. It makes it difficult to feel like I am helping at all. Anyways, I am trying not to be a defeatist. The camp is incredibly developed in comparison with many refugee camps worldwide and most people are glad to have the support of JRS. I cannot curse my metaphorical candle for providing insufficient light, lest I allow darkness to win. Maybe.
Ideally, I am home for no later than 5:30, as it gets dark by about 6:30. We’ve all been strongly advised against being outside after dark meaning, as yet, I do not even know what Malawi looks like after 7. I’ll have some night escapes in the future but, for the time being, I am so exhausted after work I really have no desire to go anywhere. What I look forward to after work is trying to wash the grime off my body (for 2 minutes I am clean and then the cycle restarts). I have limited clothing so am usually caught trying
weigh the benefits of feeling clean and comfortable for the evening against using up all my clothes and having to do more laundry. Other than my ‘delicates’, I am able to have my laundry washed by hand by the niece of the woman I live with for about 2 dollars. Having a non-family member look after my chores feels very strange to me. I become extremely self-conscious of my ‘white privilege’, even when having different people to look after different chores is very common in African Culture. It’s one of a few typical ways for the younger members in a family to earn money (like an allowance). Still…
With an hour and a half before dinner at 7:00, I usually do mini-chores, sit down, and try to decompress. My audio novels on my laptop brought me a considerable amount of pleasure for the first few weeks I was here. However, they have expired from the library, as they only have a 2 week limit. I intend to try a mission to make Ottawa’s public library accommodate me here in Malawi. Mission Not Entirely Improbable.
For dinner, the host family is really trying to accommodate us, even creating what they call “irish potatoes” (mashed) and “spahghett) (spaghetti) to go with our various pieces of goat and cow. There is always a vegetable component (called relish regardless of what vegetable is used), but I have learned this does not sit well with my stomach. There goes my green consumption. I really appreciate the effort, even if my craving for the abundant food selections of home sometimes leaves me in a bittersweet reverie. Being a ‘foodie’ is both a privilege and a curse. Every meal has a starch (usually rice as they know we prefer it to nsima), some protein (meat or eggs), and the greens. The other interns and I usually have a stash of a seasonal fruit in the back for later; I regret that mango season is coming to a close.
After dinner, around 7:30-8:00, I usually speak on the phone (most often mother). It helps me center myself and reconnect to home. Apparently Canada is still cold in my absence. Well, I’ll be…
Somewhere thereafter (8:00-8:30) I try to prepare for the next day. Clothes, bag, snacks. More pills, and then a mad dash into bed. On a good day, there will only have been a minor power outage. On a less
good day, I will have been relying on my flashlight and glowbugs to orient myself. Note to future interns, I scoffed at the suggestions of a head lamp, but it would be really useful. Stay tuned for an upcoming list I will make of all the essential things to pack for Malawi. Anyways, flashlight on, I turn off the lights and go to bed, hoping rain will come during the night and keep the otherwise…chatty? boisterous…dogs quiet, but not enough that I will have to tread an unbearably muddy path the next day.
Being here, I want to be better than I am. I try to be present, but I get caught up, planning the future. Hoping. Wishing. Dreaming. It’s a challenge of self, so hopefully I like what I find out.