It recently came to my attention that Malawi has a minimum wage. It is set at a monthly rate of 5000 kwacha, corresponding to about $35. A friend of mine brought this up in the context of her boyfriend’s house keeper. She realized that the house keeper was being paid at a wage that was lower than the national standard. After some calculations, I discovered that this wage also puts the worker at an income of less than $2 a day.
Incidentally, my night-watchman is also being paid both under the national standard and less than $2 day. Ever since I realized this I have been very confused.
My roommate and I were not the ones who set the contract with the watchman, and were reassured that he is being paid a decent wage. My first reaction is to be disappointed that the organization I work for might not have been as honourable as they could be in hiring this man,
Now, I am not sure what to do. My immediate response is to raise his monthly salary up to a point which is above the $2/day rate (which would more than double the pay). However, my friend quickly came back with a number of concerns to take into account. First is creating dependency. As I am only here for a few more months, what will my watchman do when I can no longer employ him? Is it fair to raise his salary so drastically for a few months and then leave him with nothing afterwards. Second, is creating disparity. There is some concern about making him the best paid watchman on the block and the communal response that could elicit.
On the flip side, I am extremely uncomfortable with contributing to the global problem of millions of people living on less than $2 a day. Organizations worldwide are working to reduce this devastating poverty. Malawi has been especially hard-hit and has very high national poverty levels. It is not something that I can consciously contribute to, especially when I am in the position to directly affect someone’s income.
If anyone has any insights or suggestions, please let me know. I am really not sure how to handle the situation.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Signage.
There is a significant difference between the signage here than at home in Canada.
In Canada, there are building projects springing up all over. In Toronto and Montréal there was also a new condo building, new shopping centre, or at least a new gas station being built in town. Accompanying these projects were always large signs announcing which corporation was behind the build, whichever large company was supporting this build and claiming all the wonderful things it was going to do for the community.
In Lilongwe there are also many building projects, accompanied by the requisite signs. At first, I took little notice of these signs as they seemed to be fairly similar to the ones I see at home. Upon closer examination it was obvious that these were a different variety of sign. Instead of a large corporation, these signs all cite different donors who are supporting the project. On my bike to work alone, I see a roads improvement project funded by the EU, a new lodge sponsored by something from Japan (there is a lot of Japanese support in Malawi), and something from DFID.
These signs always serve as a reminder for me about one of the main differences in the Canadian and Malawian economies. In Canada, our economy is supported by and thrives on the presence of corporations and other types of companies. They provide services and products, as well as support the job market. In a developing country like Malawi, foreign donors are the main source of services, products, and most importantly, jobs. International financial support plays a critical role in the basic functioning of the Malawi economy.
Important to remember.
In Canada, there are building projects springing up all over. In Toronto and Montréal there was also a new condo building, new shopping centre, or at least a new gas station being built in town. Accompanying these projects were always large signs announcing which corporation was behind the build, whichever large company was supporting this build and claiming all the wonderful things it was going to do for the community.
In Lilongwe there are also many building projects, accompanied by the requisite signs. At first, I took little notice of these signs as they seemed to be fairly similar to the ones I see at home. Upon closer examination it was obvious that these were a different variety of sign. Instead of a large corporation, these signs all cite different donors who are supporting the project. On my bike to work alone, I see a roads improvement project funded by the EU, a new lodge sponsored by something from Japan (there is a lot of Japanese support in Malawi), and something from DFID.
These signs always serve as a reminder for me about one of the main differences in the Canadian and Malawian economies. In Canada, our economy is supported by and thrives on the presence of corporations and other types of companies. They provide services and products, as well as support the job market. In a developing country like Malawi, foreign donors are the main source of services, products, and most importantly, jobs. International financial support plays a critical role in the basic functioning of the Malawi economy.
Important to remember.
The Top 10
In no particular order: The top ten things that make my life both enjoyable and amusing:
1. Banana bread from Foodworths, the top ex-patriot grocery store.
2. Fresh pasta from the Italian restaurant called Claude’s – owned by a Malawian/Italian guy named Claudio, who fully supports my growing addiction to his cooking ever since I told him about my Sicilian heritage. (I actually just had dinner there tonight….and probably will again tomorrow…)
3. The way Malawian children run up to me, crowd around, and then the bravest will reach out to quickly touch my skin. And then they all run away screaming – never fails to entertain.
4. Spontaneous singing by the women in the market. I have no idea what they are saying, but there is usually a rousing chorus that highlights the word ‘yesu’ – Chichewa for ‘Jesus’.
5. Fresh fruit being sold on the street. Pineapples, papayas, avocadoes, peaches, oranges, and mangoes…oh the mangoes. God bless the beginning of mango season. I buy ripe and delicious mangoes for about six cents each.
6. My morning walk. I leave the house around 7:15 and walk twenty minutes into City Centre on my way to work. It is a beautiful walk. The sun is shining, but there is a cool breeze. There are bright flowers in the trees that form a canopy over the shortcut I take. It reminds me every morning to be excited and grateful that I am having this experience. At least that is how I feel until the temperature hits the mid-thirties in the afternoon….
7. I have learned that almost anything is a possibility in Malawi, if you are willing to pay for it. While I know this has extremely negative repercussions for certain sectors, I take advantage of this reality in far less controversial situations. For example, when I get on a bus that typically stops a few blocks from where I want to go, I simply offer the driver some extra Kwacha and he is happy to drop me right where I want to go. Whenever I do this, I always imagine approaching a TTC bus driver and offering him at extra twoonie to drop me at the next corner.
8. Malawians call traffic lights “robots”. I was very confused for the first month when I would get directions that included “make a left turn at the robot” – still makes me laugh every time I hear it.
9. The reaction I get when I tell people that I am Jewish. It usually follows the question of which church I belong to. I am often faced with a blank look and then “you are what? Jawish?” (note the ‘Ja-‘ sound) Always amusing, but the explanation of why I don’t think Jesus is the messiah does get a bit tiresome.
10. My tan.
1. Banana bread from Foodworths, the top ex-patriot grocery store.
2. Fresh pasta from the Italian restaurant called Claude’s – owned by a Malawian/Italian guy named Claudio, who fully supports my growing addiction to his cooking ever since I told him about my Sicilian heritage. (I actually just had dinner there tonight….and probably will again tomorrow…)
3. The way Malawian children run up to me, crowd around, and then the bravest will reach out to quickly touch my skin. And then they all run away screaming – never fails to entertain.
4. Spontaneous singing by the women in the market. I have no idea what they are saying, but there is usually a rousing chorus that highlights the word ‘yesu’ – Chichewa for ‘Jesus’.
5. Fresh fruit being sold on the street. Pineapples, papayas, avocadoes, peaches, oranges, and mangoes…oh the mangoes. God bless the beginning of mango season. I buy ripe and delicious mangoes for about six cents each.
6. My morning walk. I leave the house around 7:15 and walk twenty minutes into City Centre on my way to work. It is a beautiful walk. The sun is shining, but there is a cool breeze. There are bright flowers in the trees that form a canopy over the shortcut I take. It reminds me every morning to be excited and grateful that I am having this experience. At least that is how I feel until the temperature hits the mid-thirties in the afternoon….
7. I have learned that almost anything is a possibility in Malawi, if you are willing to pay for it. While I know this has extremely negative repercussions for certain sectors, I take advantage of this reality in far less controversial situations. For example, when I get on a bus that typically stops a few blocks from where I want to go, I simply offer the driver some extra Kwacha and he is happy to drop me right where I want to go. Whenever I do this, I always imagine approaching a TTC bus driver and offering him at extra twoonie to drop me at the next corner.
8. Malawians call traffic lights “robots”. I was very confused for the first month when I would get directions that included “make a left turn at the robot” – still makes me laugh every time I hear it.
9. The reaction I get when I tell people that I am Jewish. It usually follows the question of which church I belong to. I am often faced with a blank look and then “you are what? Jawish?” (note the ‘Ja-‘ sound) Always amusing, but the explanation of why I don’t think Jesus is the messiah does get a bit tiresome.
10. My tan.
MIA.
I apologize for the gap in time since my last post. I have been out of my office for the past week, and hence cut off from the internet. I checked my email once from a hotel near my house, which ended up costing 900 kwacha/ $6.50 for a half hour – a little too pricey to spend blogging.
Regardless, I actually write most of my posts from home during the evenings. I find it very hard to concentrate at work and need the quite space to gather my thoughts.
This past week I attended a ‘training’. Malawians love to use the word ‘training’ for everything. I guess it implies gaining new skills or doing something productive, I am not quite sure. All I know is that any time we talk about doing anything new, someone brings up an idea for a training to go along with it.
So this training was put on by the World University Service of Canada, one of the groups involved in my internship. It was offered to those volunteers who have recently arrived in the country to orient us on the history, politics, culture, and language of Malawi. I attended, along with my roommate and our friend Julie (another CIDA intern from Toronto) and a couple from Halifax in their late 50s (more on them later).
The first two days were a bit of a disappointment. Our ‘trainer’s’ name was Mr. Nthala. He seemed knowledgeable enough, but his delivery rubbed me the wrong way. I found his tone very condescending, and he kept pausing after almost every second sentence as if he was waiting for a large reaction from his audience. He covered a lot of history and politics, some of which was really not applicable to what any of us were doing. We spent a good hour on the different political divisions and chain of command in every Malawian District. Tedious, but I guess informative.
The most interesting subjects were about cultural practices and taboos.
Malawi is divided into three regions: the north, the central, and the south. I live in the Central region which is predominantly populated by the Chewa tribe –so most of the stuff I learned applies to this tribe. Although we also covered things pertaining to the other tribes as well. It is not entirely clear how important tribal identifications are in Malawi. The impression I got from the trainer is that it applies mostly to language and heritage. People from different tribes do live in the same villages, there is no history of violence between them, and people marry between the tribes as well. I think it is mostly a matter of pride and identity, as well as language classifications. Tribal leaders also play a role in the political system – I didn’t really understand how it works – but I see that they are consulted on various political matters by the president.
In terms of cultural taboos – there was a long list. For most of the taboos and practices I cannot understand why they are important or what would have started them, and cannot help but be skeptical of people who follow them (although I am trying not to be). Some examples: - do not point your finger at a cemetery or else it will become frozen that way
- do not whistle after dark
- a woman on her period cannot season any food and has to find a random little boy in the village to do it for her
- a lot of the rules have to do with sex – and we thought that religious Jews had a lot of rules – they haven’t seen anything!
Two of the most disturbing practices that we spoke about are the Guluwankulu and the Fisi.
The Guluwankulu are a secret society of men in the village. They are responsible for initiating selected boys into manhood at puberty. They perform secret ceremonies and educate the boys. The trainer could not give further information about what the education consists of, and for this reason I am not wholly convinced that this education is beneficial. They are responsible for educating the boys about sex and relationships, but no one really knows what they are teaching…….. The Guluwankulu also perform ritual dances in the community at different points during the year. They dress up in costumes with elaborate (and very scary) masks. They also have a tradition of being extremely violent. According to my co-worker, when you see a Guluwankulu walking in the village you should run away from them as fast as possible and go into any house in order to be safe. Otherwise they are likely to whip or beat you. Apparently the police are trying to crack down on this practice, but it sounds extremely intimidating – a way of terrorizing people in your village.
The Fisi is even most disturbing (in my opinion). The Fisi is an older man in the village whose identity is unknown except to a few key older women. They play a few roles: they are often brought in to sexually initiate a young girl who has reached puberty. I think the intent is to teach the girl what she is supposed to do and also to try and reduce her fears about sex. But the reports that I have read indicate that it has the opposite effect. These girls are often emotionally scarred by the experience, as well as being susceptible to HIV and other STI transmission as these practices are not being done safely. The Fisi is also used to ‘cleanse’ a widowed woman sexually before she can remarry –whether she wants to be cleansed or not. This practice is viewed by the NGO community as a form of gender-based violence and from the reports I have read, occurs in the communities that I am working in. Extremely concerning.
After that we moved to language introduction. I spent three days trying to understand Chichewa. It is an extremely confusing language. There are prefixes for everything!!! For nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives…..and there are few rules about when and why we use the prefixes. It quickly became clear that three days wasn’t going to do it for us, so Jenika, Julie and I are taking lessons twice a week to try and make progress quickly. I will keep you posted on this venture, although I am not feeling optimistic.
To round out the week, we spent Friday night in Salima – one of the towns on the lake. It was really nice and relaxing. And I ate great banana pancakes! Three times!
We bought a sack of mangoes on the way home – they are especially ripe in Salima because of the temperature. My fifty mangoes cost 35 cents- its nuts.
Our last stop for cultural training was a Kangoni Cultural Centre in Mua. It is run by a Catholic mission (I think) and has a really well developed cultural program and museum. As well, the grounds are beautiful and lush. We watched a two hour demonstration of traditional dances (including three by the Guluwankulu – I have some crazy pictures). It was great to see. The men wear extremely elaborate costumes with large head-dresses and do most of the dancing. While the women (including babies strapped on their backs) sing and dance around them. The singing is incredible. I think North America really looses out by not having more communal expressions like singing and dancing – it is so enriching.
I bought some great carvings as they have a woodworking studio there. Certain family members will be benefiting from these purchases.
Now I am apparently culturally aware and sensitive and therefore more able to carry out my work in Malawi. Let’s ho
Regardless, I actually write most of my posts from home during the evenings. I find it very hard to concentrate at work and need the quite space to gather my thoughts.
This past week I attended a ‘training’. Malawians love to use the word ‘training’ for everything. I guess it implies gaining new skills or doing something productive, I am not quite sure. All I know is that any time we talk about doing anything new, someone brings up an idea for a training to go along with it.
So this training was put on by the World University Service of Canada, one of the groups involved in my internship. It was offered to those volunteers who have recently arrived in the country to orient us on the history, politics, culture, and language of Malawi. I attended, along with my roommate and our friend Julie (another CIDA intern from Toronto) and a couple from Halifax in their late 50s (more on them later).
The first two days were a bit of a disappointment. Our ‘trainer’s’ name was Mr. Nthala. He seemed knowledgeable enough, but his delivery rubbed me the wrong way. I found his tone very condescending, and he kept pausing after almost every second sentence as if he was waiting for a large reaction from his audience. He covered a lot of history and politics, some of which was really not applicable to what any of us were doing. We spent a good hour on the different political divisions and chain of command in every Malawian District. Tedious, but I guess informative.
The most interesting subjects were about cultural practices and taboos.
Malawi is divided into three regions: the north, the central, and the south. I live in the Central region which is predominantly populated by the Chewa tribe –so most of the stuff I learned applies to this tribe. Although we also covered things pertaining to the other tribes as well. It is not entirely clear how important tribal identifications are in Malawi. The impression I got from the trainer is that it applies mostly to language and heritage. People from different tribes do live in the same villages, there is no history of violence between them, and people marry between the tribes as well. I think it is mostly a matter of pride and identity, as well as language classifications. Tribal leaders also play a role in the political system – I didn’t really understand how it works – but I see that they are consulted on various political matters by the president.
In terms of cultural taboos – there was a long list. For most of the taboos and practices I cannot understand why they are important or what would have started them, and cannot help but be skeptical of people who follow them (although I am trying not to be). Some examples: - do not point your finger at a cemetery or else it will become frozen that way
- do not whistle after dark
- a woman on her period cannot season any food and has to find a random little boy in the village to do it for her
- a lot of the rules have to do with sex – and we thought that religious Jews had a lot of rules – they haven’t seen anything!
Two of the most disturbing practices that we spoke about are the Guluwankulu and the Fisi.
The Guluwankulu are a secret society of men in the village. They are responsible for initiating selected boys into manhood at puberty. They perform secret ceremonies and educate the boys. The trainer could not give further information about what the education consists of, and for this reason I am not wholly convinced that this education is beneficial. They are responsible for educating the boys about sex and relationships, but no one really knows what they are teaching…….. The Guluwankulu also perform ritual dances in the community at different points during the year. They dress up in costumes with elaborate (and very scary) masks. They also have a tradition of being extremely violent. According to my co-worker, when you see a Guluwankulu walking in the village you should run away from them as fast as possible and go into any house in order to be safe. Otherwise they are likely to whip or beat you. Apparently the police are trying to crack down on this practice, but it sounds extremely intimidating – a way of terrorizing people in your village.
The Fisi is even most disturbing (in my opinion). The Fisi is an older man in the village whose identity is unknown except to a few key older women. They play a few roles: they are often brought in to sexually initiate a young girl who has reached puberty. I think the intent is to teach the girl what she is supposed to do and also to try and reduce her fears about sex. But the reports that I have read indicate that it has the opposite effect. These girls are often emotionally scarred by the experience, as well as being susceptible to HIV and other STI transmission as these practices are not being done safely. The Fisi is also used to ‘cleanse’ a widowed woman sexually before she can remarry –whether she wants to be cleansed or not. This practice is viewed by the NGO community as a form of gender-based violence and from the reports I have read, occurs in the communities that I am working in. Extremely concerning.
After that we moved to language introduction. I spent three days trying to understand Chichewa. It is an extremely confusing language. There are prefixes for everything!!! For nouns, verbs, adverbs, adjectives…..and there are few rules about when and why we use the prefixes. It quickly became clear that three days wasn’t going to do it for us, so Jenika, Julie and I are taking lessons twice a week to try and make progress quickly. I will keep you posted on this venture, although I am not feeling optimistic.
To round out the week, we spent Friday night in Salima – one of the towns on the lake. It was really nice and relaxing. And I ate great banana pancakes! Three times!
We bought a sack of mangoes on the way home – they are especially ripe in Salima because of the temperature. My fifty mangoes cost 35 cents- its nuts.
Our last stop for cultural training was a Kangoni Cultural Centre in Mua. It is run by a Catholic mission (I think) and has a really well developed cultural program and museum. As well, the grounds are beautiful and lush. We watched a two hour demonstration of traditional dances (including three by the Guluwankulu – I have some crazy pictures). It was great to see. The men wear extremely elaborate costumes with large head-dresses and do most of the dancing. While the women (including babies strapped on their backs) sing and dance around them. The singing is incredible. I think North America really looses out by not having more communal expressions like singing and dancing – it is so enriching.
I bought some great carvings as they have a woodworking studio there. Certain family members will be benefiting from these purchases.
Now I am apparently culturally aware and sensitive and therefore more able to carry out my work in Malawi. Let’s ho
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Work Update.
It has been close to a month since I have given an update on my project. The project is often overshadowed by the many other aspects of my life and adjustment here that I often have to remind myself that my primary purpose here is to work.
The community audit has turned into a larger research study than I was expecting. This is great as it will be an opportunity to gather concrete information about a wider number of experiences than I was originally planning for. The research proposal was completed last week and sent to my Canadian organization to approve the budget. I have no sense of whether this budget will be approved or not. The costs are very low for a study, mainly gas and transportation costs. As well as hiring someone to teach me Chichewa. Planning this study has driven home the point to me that I will most likely be unable to communicate directly with any of the beneficiaries for whom I am planning these programs. This has been disappointing and requires a significant adjustment to my expectations. I am most excited by interacting directly with women and children, speaking with them and building my own relationships. In light of this challenge, I will be training a team of research assistants to help me with conducting the interviews and leading the focus groups. Again, an interesting challenge (if anyone has any concrete information on interviewing techniques for qualitative research, please email me!).
Now I wait.
Waiting is pretty standard around here.
In the meantime I am working on the training for the research assistants and a manual for the youth clubs that CAYO coordinates.
Technically a lot of work. But the days feel empty.
The office environment is unique to any other working situation I have experienced before. I am trying not to be nit-picky, but the space is extremely small. There is NO privacy. For someone who is used to sitting in silence and privacy to gather my thoughts, I find it very hard to get the juices flowing at work. Someone is always looking over your shoulder to see what you are doing…..
I am also not exactly sure what my co-workers think of me (not that I will ever find out). I try to be friendly and talk, but am not always sure what to talk about. I want to build relationships with them, I just don’t know how. So I am
The community audit has turned into a larger research study than I was expecting. This is great as it will be an opportunity to gather concrete information about a wider number of experiences than I was originally planning for. The research proposal was completed last week and sent to my Canadian organization to approve the budget. I have no sense of whether this budget will be approved or not. The costs are very low for a study, mainly gas and transportation costs. As well as hiring someone to teach me Chichewa. Planning this study has driven home the point to me that I will most likely be unable to communicate directly with any of the beneficiaries for whom I am planning these programs. This has been disappointing and requires a significant adjustment to my expectations. I am most excited by interacting directly with women and children, speaking with them and building my own relationships. In light of this challenge, I will be training a team of research assistants to help me with conducting the interviews and leading the focus groups. Again, an interesting challenge (if anyone has any concrete information on interviewing techniques for qualitative research, please email me!).
Now I wait.
Waiting is pretty standard around here.
In the meantime I am working on the training for the research assistants and a manual for the youth clubs that CAYO coordinates.
Technically a lot of work. But the days feel empty.
The office environment is unique to any other working situation I have experienced before. I am trying not to be nit-picky, but the space is extremely small. There is NO privacy. For someone who is used to sitting in silence and privacy to gather my thoughts, I find it very hard to get the juices flowing at work. Someone is always looking over your shoulder to see what you are doing…..
I am also not exactly sure what my co-workers think of me (not that I will ever find out). I try to be friendly and talk, but am not always sure what to talk about. I want to build relationships with them, I just don’t know how. So I am
Random Thoughts.
My hair hates it when I travel. It is not cooperating at all.
The other day I was sitting at the pool at the hotel near my house (yes, shameless escapism), and there was a young girl with blond pigtails who was very entertaining. She was wearing flippers on her feet and was amusing herself by taking large steps around the pool where the flippers would flop onto the ground, making a very satisfying ‘flop’-ing noise. I reminded me of how good it is to be a kid. When activities consisting of repeated actions or loud and weird noises are the most amusing of all.
But truthfully, anyone who knows me well can attest that I still find those types of activities highly amusing and can amuse myself in that fashion for an extended period of time.
The other day I was sitting at the pool at the hotel near my house (yes, shameless escapism), and there was a young girl with blond pigtails who was very entertaining. She was wearing flippers on her feet and was amusing herself by taking large steps around the pool where the flippers would flop onto the ground, making a very satisfying ‘flop’-ing noise. I reminded me of how good it is to be a kid. When activities consisting of repeated actions or loud and weird noises are the most amusing of all.
But truthfully, anyone who knows me well can attest that I still find those types of activities highly amusing and can amuse myself in that fashion for an extended period of time.
Thoughts.
Every time I sit down to write another post I am overwhelmed by all of the thoughts going on in my head. I have caught myself numerous times over the course of a day composing blog posts without even realizing it. The list of things I want to discuss grows longer and longer, to the point where I am unsure where to start. Especially knowing that my audience is so diverse……what is appropriate and what is not?
A good friend of mine has a blog from the time she spent as a CIDA intern a few years ago. I have been reading the archives of her blog from that time period as a source of encouragement. Even though we are working in different counties on completely different projects, the issues remain the same:
language barriers, isolation, loneliness, blackouts, transportation challenges, co-workers of a different culture, making friends, trying to be patient, learning to procrastinate effectively, craving foods from home, taking pleasure in really small accomplishments, wondering what on earth we are doing here, wondering how to be effective, questioning development as a whole….and the list continues.
Her blog is my greatest source of comfort and validation. I read it as living proof that I will survive the struggle and come out on the other end to tell its story.
But then, when I go to write my own blog, I wonder why I don’t just send you all the link to hers ;)
A good friend of mine has a blog from the time she spent as a CIDA intern a few years ago. I have been reading the archives of her blog from that time period as a source of encouragement. Even though we are working in different counties on completely different projects, the issues remain the same:
language barriers, isolation, loneliness, blackouts, transportation challenges, co-workers of a different culture, making friends, trying to be patient, learning to procrastinate effectively, craving foods from home, taking pleasure in really small accomplishments, wondering what on earth we are doing here, wondering how to be effective, questioning development as a whole….and the list continues.
Her blog is my greatest source of comfort and validation. I read it as living proof that I will survive the struggle and come out on the other end to tell its story.
But then, when I go to write my own blog, I wonder why I don’t just send you all the link to hers ;)
Monday, November 12, 2007
Almost Malaria.
It has not been a great weekend. Prepare yourselves for a less than uplifting post.
I woke up Friday morning feeling very off. Decided to try and go to work anyways. By 10 am it was clear I was going to have to go home. I called the driver I use (his name is Joseph and he takes excellent care of me in any way that a driver can: he always stays with me until whoever I am meeting arrives, he lets me make lots of stops and doesn’t charge me, he sympathizes with me when I am sick and calls the next day to see how I am doing) to pick me up early from work. After trying to buy a fan and 10 litres of water, Joseph brought me home with the plan to pick me up again at 6 for a sailing course I had signed up for (and was really looking forward to). I had been looking forward to this sailing course for three weeks. It is with the Lilongwe Sailing Club and was going to be two full says of sailing on the lake and hopefully meeting some good people – and I love sailing!
After getting home and realizing that I had a fever, I decided it was time to go to the doctor (thank you Louise for the most useful thing I brought with me – the thermometer). I have not had a fever in over five years – so for me – this was a serious red flag. Also, the advice I have been given repeatedly is that a fever in Africa is not the same thing as a fever at home – take it seriously!
A colleague from work came to pick me up and we went to the clinic near my house which was recommended to me by the World University Service of Canada office that did my orientation as the place to go for any illness. Two hours and a blood smear later the doctor diagnosed me with Malaria. Relieved to have a diagnoses and medication to go with it, I went home prepared to ride it out.
Unfortunately, the medicine did not start to work as quickly as I had hoped. I have never been as sick as I was on Friday night. For someone who has not had a fever in five years or thrown up (save for a 22nd birthday gone awry) in four, this was not something I was ready for.
My body ached in every joint, it hurt to roll over in bed, I had a high fever making me sweat through my sheets, but then alternating with chills, diarrhea and vomiting making it impossible to keep anything except water down ( I tried the rehydration salts but I think that is what made me throw up). Not a great Friday night.
My roommate gets a present for being amazing and taking great care of me. Including placing numerous international calls in the attempt to reach my mother or one of my grandmothers while I lay crying on the bathroom floor (and you have all seen that bathroom floor now from the pictures) wanting to die. I feel horrible for how much I must have upset my mother with that phone call.
My roommate decided it was time to call a friend who had had malaria just to get a sense of when we should start to see some improvement. He was surprised at the medication I had been put on and suggested going a doctor he knows for a second opinion in the morning.
After finally getting some sleep thanks to gravol and a fan we headed to Dr. Huber’s clinic on Saturday. He is from Amsterdam and has a wonderful clinic. He is warm and took a lot of time explaining to me what was happening. After three different blood tests Dr. Huber confirmed that I did not have malaria, but a bacterial infection.
I was shocked to learn that many doctors in Malawi diagnose malaria even when there are no parasites. He said that it is often easier and makes all the parties involved happy to hear that it is malaria. The patient gets a quick diagnosis, the lab technician is airing on the safe side, the pharmacist gets to sell the drugs, and the doctor gets you out of his office. Dr. Huber said that he has seen many situations where malaria was diagnosed in a completely different case – everything from gastro-enteritis like me to appendicitis!
I was really unsettled to learn this. I had been trying to remain positive and supportive of the Malawian medical system. Cautious not to fall into the easy trap that many westerners do in discounting the Malawian doctors and viewing their treatment as second rate. But after this experience, I am not sure what to think. I know that I do not feel safe seeking out any Malawian medical treatment after this. And no longer feel paranoid for bringing all those medical supplies with me even though I got a lot of flack for it (on both ends). It is very disconcerting……..
Oh, and good news: I am back to work tomorrow and should be all better by the end of the week.
I woke up Friday morning feeling very off. Decided to try and go to work anyways. By 10 am it was clear I was going to have to go home. I called the driver I use (his name is Joseph and he takes excellent care of me in any way that a driver can: he always stays with me until whoever I am meeting arrives, he lets me make lots of stops and doesn’t charge me, he sympathizes with me when I am sick and calls the next day to see how I am doing) to pick me up early from work. After trying to buy a fan and 10 litres of water, Joseph brought me home with the plan to pick me up again at 6 for a sailing course I had signed up for (and was really looking forward to). I had been looking forward to this sailing course for three weeks. It is with the Lilongwe Sailing Club and was going to be two full says of sailing on the lake and hopefully meeting some good people – and I love sailing!
After getting home and realizing that I had a fever, I decided it was time to go to the doctor (thank you Louise for the most useful thing I brought with me – the thermometer). I have not had a fever in over five years – so for me – this was a serious red flag. Also, the advice I have been given repeatedly is that a fever in Africa is not the same thing as a fever at home – take it seriously!
A colleague from work came to pick me up and we went to the clinic near my house which was recommended to me by the World University Service of Canada office that did my orientation as the place to go for any illness. Two hours and a blood smear later the doctor diagnosed me with Malaria. Relieved to have a diagnoses and medication to go with it, I went home prepared to ride it out.
Unfortunately, the medicine did not start to work as quickly as I had hoped. I have never been as sick as I was on Friday night. For someone who has not had a fever in five years or thrown up (save for a 22nd birthday gone awry) in four, this was not something I was ready for.
My body ached in every joint, it hurt to roll over in bed, I had a high fever making me sweat through my sheets, but then alternating with chills, diarrhea and vomiting making it impossible to keep anything except water down ( I tried the rehydration salts but I think that is what made me throw up). Not a great Friday night.
My roommate gets a present for being amazing and taking great care of me. Including placing numerous international calls in the attempt to reach my mother or one of my grandmothers while I lay crying on the bathroom floor (and you have all seen that bathroom floor now from the pictures) wanting to die. I feel horrible for how much I must have upset my mother with that phone call.
My roommate decided it was time to call a friend who had had malaria just to get a sense of when we should start to see some improvement. He was surprised at the medication I had been put on and suggested going a doctor he knows for a second opinion in the morning.
After finally getting some sleep thanks to gravol and a fan we headed to Dr. Huber’s clinic on Saturday. He is from Amsterdam and has a wonderful clinic. He is warm and took a lot of time explaining to me what was happening. After three different blood tests Dr. Huber confirmed that I did not have malaria, but a bacterial infection.
I was shocked to learn that many doctors in Malawi diagnose malaria even when there are no parasites. He said that it is often easier and makes all the parties involved happy to hear that it is malaria. The patient gets a quick diagnosis, the lab technician is airing on the safe side, the pharmacist gets to sell the drugs, and the doctor gets you out of his office. Dr. Huber said that he has seen many situations where malaria was diagnosed in a completely different case – everything from gastro-enteritis like me to appendicitis!
I was really unsettled to learn this. I had been trying to remain positive and supportive of the Malawian medical system. Cautious not to fall into the easy trap that many westerners do in discounting the Malawian doctors and viewing their treatment as second rate. But after this experience, I am not sure what to think. I know that I do not feel safe seeking out any Malawian medical treatment after this. And no longer feel paranoid for bringing all those medical supplies with me even though I got a lot of flack for it (on both ends). It is very disconcerting……..
Oh, and good news: I am back to work tomorrow and should be all better by the end of the week.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
It Has begun.
Culture shock has officially set in. It was hard to see at first. Only subtle hints to start, but now we are dealing with full blown culture shock.
There are many different manifestations and interpretations of culture-shock. I believe it to be a very individual experience. My first understanding of it was as a state of total disorientation and overwhelming emotion. It may be that for some people, but for me it looks more like a pain in my ass.
The director of my Canadian organization who spent fifteen years living in Africa explained it to me in highly accessible terms. He said that culture shock essentially feels like waking up pissed off at the world everyday, for no apparent reason. Let’s just say that we are going on day five of not knowing why I hate the world, but I do.
My inner monologue has turned into more of a rant that changes content depending on the context, but not the tune.
On my bike ride to work in the morning every second person feels the need to yell out to me. The women are sweet and sort of whisper hello. The men, on the other hand, prefer to use a limited vocabulary consisting of “Tsssssssssssssss youweh (which means ‘hey you – come over here and talk to me’) or “Hey woman/sistah/auntie/madame”. Irritating to say the least. I have developed a non-committal wave that I use in passing. I truly miss my Canadian home where no-one speaks to each other and everyone below the age of thirty is now a member of the Ipod generation, with headphones permanently attached to their ears – leaving little room for conversation on the subway.
At work, my thoughts consist largely of questions as to why the office is so small, hot, and why no-one will leave to door open for some much-needed airflow!
In terms of my project itself: My frustrations are expected. My interpretation of timeliness is a little different, as well as my own time-management.
I knew it would hit eventually, the first month went too smoothly…. Now all there is is to wait for the inevitable blowout. The director explained that culture shock cannot last forever, and that it usually culminates in a complete and total meltdown that usually occurs in a highly public space like the mini-bus or market. Wish me luck…….
There are many different manifestations and interpretations of culture-shock. I believe it to be a very individual experience. My first understanding of it was as a state of total disorientation and overwhelming emotion. It may be that for some people, but for me it looks more like a pain in my ass.
The director of my Canadian organization who spent fifteen years living in Africa explained it to me in highly accessible terms. He said that culture shock essentially feels like waking up pissed off at the world everyday, for no apparent reason. Let’s just say that we are going on day five of not knowing why I hate the world, but I do.
My inner monologue has turned into more of a rant that changes content depending on the context, but not the tune.
On my bike ride to work in the morning every second person feels the need to yell out to me. The women are sweet and sort of whisper hello. The men, on the other hand, prefer to use a limited vocabulary consisting of “Tsssssssssssssss youweh (which means ‘hey you – come over here and talk to me’) or “Hey woman/sistah/auntie/madame”. Irritating to say the least. I have developed a non-committal wave that I use in passing. I truly miss my Canadian home where no-one speaks to each other and everyone below the age of thirty is now a member of the Ipod generation, with headphones permanently attached to their ears – leaving little room for conversation on the subway.
At work, my thoughts consist largely of questions as to why the office is so small, hot, and why no-one will leave to door open for some much-needed airflow!
In terms of my project itself: My frustrations are expected. My interpretation of timeliness is a little different, as well as my own time-management.
I knew it would hit eventually, the first month went too smoothly…. Now all there is is to wait for the inevitable blowout. The director explained that culture shock cannot last forever, and that it usually culminates in a complete and total meltdown that usually occurs in a highly public space like the mini-bus or market. Wish me luck…….
Impossible Choices.
Let me start by saying that I am extremely proud of my sister. My sister has proven time and time again to be someone who does not merely feel passionately about social and humanitarian issues, but also acts to respond to them. She doesn’t just talk the talk, she also walks the walk. The minute I announced that I was moving to Malawi to work in development, my sister also announced that she wanted to do something to help. The plan was that I would make a connection with a worthy cause that spoke to her, and then she would go from there with a fundraiser of sorts in Canada.
After being here for a week, I began the hunt for an opportunity where my sister’s interest and compassion would be useful.
I found Chikondi Orphan Care. At first I overlooked the needs of the many orphans living in and around Lilongwe. I felt that it was an issue that must be already addressed by numerous organizations. I was wrong.
Chikondi Orphan Care is an orphanage that is a few blocks (well, windy dirt roads) from my office. It serves close to 1000 orphans. None of them sleep at the orphanage as it just does not have the capacity. The little children come in the mornings for informal schooling and a feeding program of basic maize porridge. In the afternoon, the older kids come after school for some rice and beans. The orphanage cannot provide the kids with the clothes, school materials and fees that they so desperately need.
When I presented the idea of working to help Chikondi, my sister immediately jumped at the idea. There are so many needs, that she can choose to work on any aspect that she feels connected to.
My job was to return to the orphanage, get to know some of the kids, learn more about some of their stories, find out what their needs are – and send that information to her.
Last week I went back to do that. I spent part of the morning playing with children from ages two to six. They are so funny and alive! They sang some songs and then just sort of ran around. I had a chance to learn more about some of their lives through my co-worker who was interpreting. In the afternoon, some of the older kids came by my office and again I had the chance to hear more about their lives.
I now feel incredibly overwhelmed. Before starting this process and while talking with my sister about the idea of trying to help I had a very simplistic view of how this would work. I was ascribing to the mantra I have often heard people use in humanitarian work: that every little bit helps, and that we cannot help everyone, so choices have to be made. I used to think that made sense. But I just cannot follow that approach anymore. After talking with those children I do not understand how we are going to choose. I want this to be a successful project for my sister – a way for her to feel like she is contributing to an important cause – which she is. And I also want her to know that whatever money or materials she raises will be an incredible gift. But now I am worried: what if it is not enough.
How will we be able to choose which girl gets a new skirt, which boy gets a toy to play with, which boy gets pencils and paper enabling him to go to school? I do not think that I can be the one to make those choices.
Before coming to Malawi I knew that every child deserves all the gifts and opportunities in life to succeed, but I am ashamed to admit that it took this trip to really start to believe that. I feel like a cliché that only after seeing the orphans do I feel more compassion toward this place and the environment that I am living in. But I am hoping that so long as the lesson is learned that is all that matters. I feel internally conflicted, guilty, ashamed, angered, and sad about the challenges that face so many beautiful people every day. I know that choices are inevitable in this type of work - but there has to be another way. I cannot make that choice.
If you want to know more, ask my sister.
After being here for a week, I began the hunt for an opportunity where my sister’s interest and compassion would be useful.
I found Chikondi Orphan Care. At first I overlooked the needs of the many orphans living in and around Lilongwe. I felt that it was an issue that must be already addressed by numerous organizations. I was wrong.
Chikondi Orphan Care is an orphanage that is a few blocks (well, windy dirt roads) from my office. It serves close to 1000 orphans. None of them sleep at the orphanage as it just does not have the capacity. The little children come in the mornings for informal schooling and a feeding program of basic maize porridge. In the afternoon, the older kids come after school for some rice and beans. The orphanage cannot provide the kids with the clothes, school materials and fees that they so desperately need.
When I presented the idea of working to help Chikondi, my sister immediately jumped at the idea. There are so many needs, that she can choose to work on any aspect that she feels connected to.
My job was to return to the orphanage, get to know some of the kids, learn more about some of their stories, find out what their needs are – and send that information to her.
Last week I went back to do that. I spent part of the morning playing with children from ages two to six. They are so funny and alive! They sang some songs and then just sort of ran around. I had a chance to learn more about some of their lives through my co-worker who was interpreting. In the afternoon, some of the older kids came by my office and again I had the chance to hear more about their lives.
I now feel incredibly overwhelmed. Before starting this process and while talking with my sister about the idea of trying to help I had a very simplistic view of how this would work. I was ascribing to the mantra I have often heard people use in humanitarian work: that every little bit helps, and that we cannot help everyone, so choices have to be made. I used to think that made sense. But I just cannot follow that approach anymore. After talking with those children I do not understand how we are going to choose. I want this to be a successful project for my sister – a way for her to feel like she is contributing to an important cause – which she is. And I also want her to know that whatever money or materials she raises will be an incredible gift. But now I am worried: what if it is not enough.
How will we be able to choose which girl gets a new skirt, which boy gets a toy to play with, which boy gets pencils and paper enabling him to go to school? I do not think that I can be the one to make those choices.
Before coming to Malawi I knew that every child deserves all the gifts and opportunities in life to succeed, but I am ashamed to admit that it took this trip to really start to believe that. I feel like a cliché that only after seeing the orphans do I feel more compassion toward this place and the environment that I am living in. But I am hoping that so long as the lesson is learned that is all that matters. I feel internally conflicted, guilty, ashamed, angered, and sad about the challenges that face so many beautiful people every day. I know that choices are inevitable in this type of work - but there has to be another way. I cannot make that choice.
If you want to know more, ask my sister.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Standard Protocol.
I took another day off work this week and went to one of Malawi’s national parks.
My boss was driving to the southern region to a city called Liwonde, home of one of Malawi’s best park for viewing large game. I decided that it was an excellent opportunity for me to further my cultural education on Malawi – so hitched a ride.
Liwonde National Park is home to may animals and birds. They have two lodges inside the park that offer excellent accommodation as well as safari services.
I stayed at the smaller, less expensive one.
After driving four hours from Lilongwe and arriving late at night, we finally found the lodge and the drunken owner came out to greet us. A sarcastic and bitter British ex-pat, Darren the owner explained that the lodge was low key and informal. We could drink whatever we like and simply add it to our tab in the ledger. There was no electricity, and at night the sky was lit with thousands of stars. We slept in a rustic dorm house with a thatched roof. Since we were the only visitors in tat building it was nice and quiet. We slept soundly and safely while our guard stayed watch with his rifle, ready to fend off any animals that came to eat us.
Jenika and I rose early (4:30) to go on an early morning safari. Apparently early morning and late afternoon are the best times to see large game out and about. We met a group of Dutch travelers who were in our car and we set out with an excellent guide around 5:15. I was of course wearing all of my safari gear. And I maintain in the face of continuous ridicule – that these are the most comfortable, serviceable, and flattering clothes I have ever owned!
We saw many animals: a herd of water buffalo, bushbucks, warthogs, baboons, monkeys, waterback antelope, and something like a deer – but I cannot remember its name.
The highlight of the ride was without a doubt our interaction with a male elephant. After seeing a beautiful herd of elephants cross the road (they actually do cross single-file holding onto each others tails), we continued driving to suddenly face a male elephant standing in the middle of the road.
Our car stopped less than 250 metres away from the male. He started to trumpet his horn and stomp his feet. Needless to say, everyone in the car was getting a little anxious. Appearing completely calm, our guide informed the driver to rev the engine. This can only be what I assume is the standard protocol for encountering angry male elephants. The engine sounded like a growl from another animal. We continued this for almost ten minutes- the elephant only finally showing signs of backing down.
A scary and very real encounter with an animal I have previously only known from Disney movies.
Let’s just say this elephant was a little different from Dumbo.
After, we went on a canoe safari to look at Hippos. I was still a little shaken up from our morning encounter and opted to stay far back from these other large and scary animals.
Overall: my first safari was wonderful. The natural beauty and untamed surroundings are incredible. But I am not sure if it compares to Northern Ontario…………man I miss those trees.
My boss was driving to the southern region to a city called Liwonde, home of one of Malawi’s best park for viewing large game. I decided that it was an excellent opportunity for me to further my cultural education on Malawi – so hitched a ride.
Liwonde National Park is home to may animals and birds. They have two lodges inside the park that offer excellent accommodation as well as safari services.
I stayed at the smaller, less expensive one.
After driving four hours from Lilongwe and arriving late at night, we finally found the lodge and the drunken owner came out to greet us. A sarcastic and bitter British ex-pat, Darren the owner explained that the lodge was low key and informal. We could drink whatever we like and simply add it to our tab in the ledger. There was no electricity, and at night the sky was lit with thousands of stars. We slept in a rustic dorm house with a thatched roof. Since we were the only visitors in tat building it was nice and quiet. We slept soundly and safely while our guard stayed watch with his rifle, ready to fend off any animals that came to eat us.
Jenika and I rose early (4:30) to go on an early morning safari. Apparently early morning and late afternoon are the best times to see large game out and about. We met a group of Dutch travelers who were in our car and we set out with an excellent guide around 5:15. I was of course wearing all of my safari gear. And I maintain in the face of continuous ridicule – that these are the most comfortable, serviceable, and flattering clothes I have ever owned!
We saw many animals: a herd of water buffalo, bushbucks, warthogs, baboons, monkeys, waterback antelope, and something like a deer – but I cannot remember its name.
The highlight of the ride was without a doubt our interaction with a male elephant. After seeing a beautiful herd of elephants cross the road (they actually do cross single-file holding onto each others tails), we continued driving to suddenly face a male elephant standing in the middle of the road.
Our car stopped less than 250 metres away from the male. He started to trumpet his horn and stomp his feet. Needless to say, everyone in the car was getting a little anxious. Appearing completely calm, our guide informed the driver to rev the engine. This can only be what I assume is the standard protocol for encountering angry male elephants. The engine sounded like a growl from another animal. We continued this for almost ten minutes- the elephant only finally showing signs of backing down.
A scary and very real encounter with an animal I have previously only known from Disney movies.
Let’s just say this elephant was a little different from Dumbo.
After, we went on a canoe safari to look at Hippos. I was still a little shaken up from our morning encounter and opted to stay far back from these other large and scary animals.
Overall: my first safari was wonderful. The natural beauty and untamed surroundings are incredible. But I am not sure if it compares to Northern Ontario…………man I miss those trees.
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