Friday, September 24, 2010

Livin' without soap (and towels, a radio, shampoo, shoes...)

This week has been emotional, and so I wasn't really fair when I wrote last Monday. I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea about Malawi, or especially my community. Yeah, it sucks when half of your belongings (the useful half, mind you) gets stolen, but I was never directly threatened or harmed, and my dog was unmolested. Maybe amongst the burgled, I can be considered a winner? My neighbors have been awesome, the night I discovered the break in happened, one family let me use their phone to call Peace Corps, and another even brought over a pile of papayas and dinner for Hector (usipa and nsima- alias minnows and starch patties). The Peace Corps community has also been really helpful, I have had two friends call me at great expense (phone time here is expensive), and the office has helped me out a lot too. Hector, our safety and security officer, and my dog's namesake, even called the police station to yell at officers. Oh Hector.

So how am I? I've been better, but my mom has been mobilizing friends and family over in America to help send over replacements for things I lost and, more importantly, give me phone calls so I can catch up on gossip, and have someone to cry to. My cousin Gracie and I talked for an hour, running her a bill of about $250 before she called the phone company to sort it out. That's some cousin love right there, but I advise skype or phone cards- I don't have skype, but you can use it to call me on my cell phone, my number for the time being is (011265991334472) until I recover my old number, I'll let you all know when it changes back.

This week I've been down, so I've just been reading a lot. It took me a while to clean my house (or leave it for that matter), so on Tuesday when my APCD (associate Peace Corps Director) came over when I was expecting him on Wednesday, I was surprised. I just opened my door in my pajamaed glory and was like 'oh hi- um, usually I don't leave garbage all over the place- and normally I shower... and wear professional clothes... and brush my hair'. He was cool about it though, and he brought me goldfish crackers and oreos. We went to the police station, where one of the cops was named 'major'- which made me think of Catch 22, and made me laugh, which was the first sign that my sense of humor was coming back. I don't have much faith that my stuff will come back, but who knows?

I'm getting back to my old routine though, today I sorted papers in the library (and yes mom, I apologized to Mr. Simkonda). I'm just going to relax this weekend, and then get back to things on Monday.

So for any Peace Corps Malawi recruits out there reading Peace Corps Journals- please don't worry, you probably won't have a break in, but if you do, it's still worth it.


****Well-Wishers' Wish List****
-macaroni and cheese (the kind with the powder- you can even just send the powder to save space)
-coffee
-chocolate
-oreos
-books
-jeans (last I checked I was a size 6 in Gap, but you know how sizes go- if it is stretchy, go with the 6, if not, the 8)
-a yesterdog shirt
-any MSU shirts
-Sunglasses
-shoes (size 7.5 or 7 depending on the fit- and some cheaper tennis shoes would be cool- flip flops are already here)
-shampoo, soap, deodorant (yup, they stole that too)
-summer sausage and beef jerkey
-protein bars (why you gotta steal a girl's protein bars?!)
-velveeta cheese (doesn't need refrigeration, so what if it isn't technically 'food')
-a towel (yup. stolen)
-stuff you think will make me smile
-a letter from you (the best part of any package!)

My address is still:

Melissa Small
Box 44
Chintheche, Malawi
Central Africa

Monday, September 20, 2010

Break In Round 2

So remember when I had a break in a few months ago and they took my buckets? This makes that look really, really stupid. Thieves came into my house this weekend while I was at a trade fair at my site mate's house and they took everything of use or value. Laptop- gone, phone charger- gone, towels, donated markers for the school, things my women's group sewed that I was going to sell, sewing kits, half of all my clothes, all of my shoes, food, gone gone gone. They took every bag, backpack and satchel, they even took my pillow case (probably to shove more stuff into).

The list is really long, but it is at the police station at the moment.

The worst part is that my phone fell out of my bag on my way to the trade fair, and so I can't even get phone calls from home, or text any of my friends here about it to get a little support- and they took all my money, so I am having trouble buying food. I get paid again in October, but how can I get to Mzuzu to get that money out? My friend let me borrow his old phone to get a new sim card for to use until I can afford my own- but that was before I knew all my money was gone, so I don't know how I'll afford a new sim card.

I'm lonesome, I don't want to go home, but this sucks.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Klingon

According to Wikipedia, there are about 170,000 speakers of Chitonga, as far as I know, there is no translation of the Bible into Chitonga, and I have yet to see as much as a pamphlet written in it.

However, both Hamlet and the Bible have been translated into Klingon. Though there are few fluent speakers, there is a Klingon language institute.

something to think about.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Azungu Blues

So, I've been hanging around Lilongwe for a while now... I'm getting frustrated. I got my last shot today, so tomorrow I'll be able to get my med hold money meaning I can get out of here the day after tomorrow. Eesh. I'm tired of the city- today some guys were harassing me on the street, making kissing noises and being generally degrading- I didn't even think about it, I just hit one of them and told them all to eff off.

******Warning, I am about to describe something gross, if you are squeamish, don't read on********

I saw the doctor about a thorn in my foot too, I stepped on a thorn a few weeks ago and my feet were never quite clean enough to tell if I got it out or not, but I could feel it was still sore. After a few days of intense scrubbing at Mufasa's Lodge (where the showers are amazing, Piotr can attest), I noticed the heel of my foot where it was sore was kinda discolored, so I decided to show the doctor.

I showed him the callus on my foot where I knew where the thorn was, and though he said that it wasn't a good place to go cutting into people, after about ten seconds of deliberating, told me to get up on the table. Our doctor Erfan loves to cut people, he just can't resist. Honestly, it didn't hurt so much because the bottoms of my feet are really tough now, like hobbit feet, and my foot was just scarring around the thorn, but Erfan sounded a little too excited when he discovered pus. He dug around for about ten minutes and eventually removed the thorn tip (it was little), and now I have a hole in my foot. I was excited to show my friends, I won't lie. My friend Sol also had Erfan dig a splinter out of his foot after me, and was a little dissappointed that I stole his thunder.

Volunteers are weird.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Birthday 2010

Yesterday, I woke up in a bed, ate cereal and toast with jam. I went to the Peace Corps offices and talked to my boss who, after verifying it was indeed my birthday, gave me a few kwacha for lunch (yippie!). We bought meat and cheese and fried up some burgers, which I ate with fries and beer. I stood out on the balcony of Mufasas and talked with my friends. Later, the electricity went out, so my birthday cake was still gooey and amazing. Finally, I went to sleep because I was exhausted. I woke up this morning, drank a coffee, watched some Batman, took a shower, and am now in the Peace Corps offices reading birthday messages- Bridget made me a video of everyone singing me Happy Birthday, which made me feel really cool and scifi, like I was a space explorer or something. Then, just now, I found an MSU t-shirt in the 'I don't want box'.

Best. Day. Ever.

Thanks for all of the birthday wishes everyone, it was a wonderful birthday. Who knew getting rabies shots would lead to this?

Thursday, September 2, 2010

I'm 24!

So for my birthday, I got scratched by a cat, so now I'm in Lilongwe for a series of rabies shots. It happens. The bus ride down here was pretty awful- I was standing the entire time (8hours) and it was crowded, there were points where I just hated everyone, but I made it.

Weird things happen on busses here- chickens running around, a girl puked on me once, just, you know, weird stuff, but yesterday I had the strangest thing happen to me- I was paying for my ticket, and I guess a hair of mine was drifting around, heading to the floor, because, you know, hairs detatch sometimes, it happens, and the conductor picks it up off the floor and looks at it, and examines it with a woman sitting nearby like 'hey, do you know what this is? It's probably hers', and then they try to give it back to me, and I'm not having it, and then they start shoving it at me like, 'no, it's yours, take it', and I just kind of lose my cool, and just go off Ricky Ricardo style, speaking in rapid English that I know they can't follow- because what the hell? Then they laughed at me.

And that happened to me.

Now I'm in Lilongwe for a few days while they give me my set of rabies shots, I probably don't have anything to worry about, but it's better to be safe. I guess I don't mind, because now I get to spend my birthday with other volunteers who are passing through Lilongwe or are on med hold too. 24, I need to start thinking of a good quarter life crisis (because moving to Africa isn't enough)

beep

Language Barriers

I have lived in Malawi for a little over 11 months, and the most frustrating part of it all is the feeling I have that nobody understands what I’m saying. My Chitonga is decent, I can speak more than I believed I’d be able to, and if people stick to a few predefined subjects, I can understand conversations that I hear. Of course, the easiest way to ensure that conversations stay within the realm of my understanding is to actively participate in them; safe subjects include: my dog, eating, cooking, things my dog eats and or kills, things people cook for my dog to eat, sewing, buying food, walking places, traveling to the capitol city or Mzuzu, washing my clothes, nodding emphatically, telling children to stop yelling at me/following me/asking me for money, saying I don’t understand, telling people I don’t speak Chichewa, telling people that if it is indeed Chitonga that they’re speaking, to please slow down because I’m learning. That’s about all I have, but I have become resourceful with mixing and matching things from these categories.
A sample conversation with a neighbor:

Timoneni Ama (hello lady)
Yeawo, Mwe Uli? (Thank you, how are you)
Nde umampha, mwe uli? (I’m fine, and you are?)
Nde umampha. Hector mwe uli? (Fine. Hector is how?)
Ehhh! Hector wa suzgo! (Ah, Hector is trouble!)
Eh? Wa suzgo? (Hector is trouble?)
Ehh! (Yes.)
Eh! Chifukwa uli Hector wa suzgo? (What is the reason why she is trouble?)
Hector wabya nyoli! (Hector killed a chicken)
Anyacki wa sewe? (Maybe she is playing?)
Panyaki, panyaki cha (Maybe, maybe not)
Ndi paseni nsima (I will give her Nsima)
Ehh! Hector watanja vykula ya Malawi kuluska ku vykula ya Ameraca (Hector likes Malawian food more than American food)
Hey! Hector wa galu ya mzungu cha! (Ah, she is not a white person dog)
Et! Asani, wa buya causwae (Also, she killed a rat.)
Et? (?)
Et! (!)
Causwae wamkulu? (A big rat?)
Et! Wamkulu! (Yeah! A big one!)
Et! Hector ya’umampha (Ah! Hector is good!)
Et! Vyo, ndi luta ku numba (Yes! Ok, now I am going to my house)

My dog’s hunting and eating habits are about as complex as my conversations can get which, hey, is more than I can say about my French speaking skills, which is a language I have studied for a good six years.

I get frustrated when I try to say something outside of my range. I have a second women’s group that I have become involved with over this summer, it is a great group, but none of the women can speak any English, so I either need my counterpart to translate for me, or I need to muddle through with gestures and my small amount of Tonga. We get by.

Sometimes I want to express something new to someone I meet on the street, some agogo (grandmother) or maybe a little kid and I just can’t. It is sad, because I just want to be understood, and I want to understand other people, and we don’t have the same vocabulary.
It even happens when I talk to other Americans, or friends from back home- somehow I forget not to use my Malawian/Peace Corps slang, resulting in exchanges like this:

“Piotr, can you watch my Khutundu? I need to go to the chim, and I don’t like the looks of these iwe.”
“What is Khutundu?”
“You know, all of your ujeni”

But it isn’t just the weird words that get in the way, even in completely straightforward conversations; I get the feeling that I’m not saying what I mean to say. I don’t feel like I’ve changed all that much, but maybe I have, and that’s the reason why it is so hard to be understood. I long ago realized not to refer to my house here as ‘home’, because people think I’m talking about America. I’d say something like ‘I’m going home tomorrow’ on my blog, and I’d get concerned e-mails and phone calls asking me why I was quitting the Peace Corps. More than a few times I’ve told a story that I find funny, and the person on the other end of the line just responds with ‘oh my god’.

The thing I find strangest is when people say that what I’m doing is somehow noble or admirable- it makes me uncomfortable, because I feel that something people say is noble should be harder than this. If it weren’t for the fact that I miss my friends and family, I could easily live in my little house here for much longer than two years and be happy. My place is starting to get comfortable, I like my job, I’m within walking distance of the beach, and I have a lot of time to read and sew. If I had a refrigerator, a toilet, and internet access here, it’d be perfect. It also feels strange when people say stuff like that to me because I feel mostly positive about my life here, and I think that lots of people could do this. It’s hard to explain, and I don’t think that I’m doing a good job, but I wouldn’t describe my life here as ‘noble’. What about our public school teachers in America? Their jobs are harder than mine is here, aren’t they noble?

Like I said, I don’t think I’m doing a good job explaining myself, and that’s the main reason why I don’t think I’ll extend my term of service here after my time is up next year. A lot of people extend their service into a 3rd year, and though I like my job and my life here, I miss being in a place where I can be understood.

Does that make sense?

beeb
I have lived in Malawi for a little over 11 months, and the most frustrating part of it all is the feeling I have that nobody understands what I’m saying. My Chitonga is decent, I can speak more than I believed I’d be able to, and if people stick to a few predefined subjects, I can understand conversations that I hear. Of course, the easiest way to ensure that conversations stay within the realm of my understanding is to actively participate in them; safe subjects include: my dog, eating, cooking, things my dog eats and or kills, things people cook for my dog to eat, sewing, buying food, walking places, traveling to the capitol city or Mzuzu, washing my clothes, nodding emphatically, telling children to stop yelling at me/following me/asking me for money, saying I don’t understand, telling people I don’t speak Chichewa, telling people that if it is indeed Chitonga that they’re speaking, to please slow down because I’m learning. That’s about all I have, but I have become resourceful with mixing and matching things from these categories.
A sample conversation with a neighbor:

Timoneni Ama (hello lady)
Yeawo, Mwe Uli? (Thank you, how are you)
Nde umampha, mwe uli? (I’m fine, and you are?)
Nde umampha. Hector mwe uli? (Fine. Hector is how?)
Ehhh! Hector wa suzgo! (Ah, Hector is trouble!)
Eh? Wa suzgo? (Hector is trouble?)
Ehh! (Yes.)
Eh! Chifukwa uli Hector wa suzgo? (What is the reason why she is trouble?)
Hector wabya nyoli! (Hector killed a chicken)
Anyacki wa sewe? (Maybe she is playing?)
Panyaki, panyaki cha (Maybe, maybe not)
Ndi paseni nsima (I will give her Nsima)
Ehh! Hector watanja vykula ya Malawi kuluska ku vykula ya Ameraca (Hector likes Malawian food more than American food)
Hey! Hector wa galu ya mzungu cha! (Ah, she is not a white person dog)
Et! Asani, wa buya causwae (Also, she killed a rat.)
Et? (?)
Et! (!)
Causwae wamkulu? (A big rat?)
Et! Wamkulu! (Yeah! A big one!)
Et! Hector ya’umampha (Ah! Hector is good!)
Et! Vyo, ndi luta ku numba (Yes! Ok, now I am going to my house)

My dog’s hunting and eating habits are about as complex as my conversations can get which, hey, is more than I can say about my French speaking skills, which is a language I have studied for a good six years.

I get frustrated when I try to say something outside of my range. I have a second women’s group that I have become involved with over this summer, it is a great group, but none of the women can speak any English, so I either need my counterpart to translate for me, or I need to muddle through with gestures and my small amount of Tonga. We get by.

Sometimes I want to express something new to someone I meet on the street, some agogo (grandmother) or maybe a little kid and I just can’t. It is sad, because I just want to be understood, and I want to understand other people, and we don’t have the same vocabulary.
It even happens when I talk to other Americans, or friends from back home- somehow I forget not to use my Malawian/Peace Corps slang, resulting in exchanges like this:

“Piotr, can you watch my Khutundu? I need to go to the chim, and I don’t like the looks of these iwe.”
“What is Khutundu?”
“You know, all of your ujeni”

But it isn’t just the weird words that get in the way, even in completely straightforward conversations; I get the feeling that I’m not saying what I mean to say. I don’t feel like I’ve changed all that much, but maybe I have, and that’s the reason why it is so hard to be understood. I long ago realized not to refer to my house here as ‘home’, because people think I’m talking about America. I’d say something like ‘I’m going home tomorrow’ on my blog, and I’d get concerned e-mails and phone calls asking me why I was quitting the Peace Corps. More than a few times I’ve told a story that I find funny, and the person on the other end of the line just responds with ‘oh my god’.

The thing I find strangest is when people say that what I’m doing is somehow noble or admirable- it makes me uncomfortable, because I feel that something people say is noble should be harder than this. If it weren’t for the fact that I miss my friends and family, I could easily live in my little house here for much longer than two years and be happy. My place is starting to get comfortable, I like my job, I’m within walking distance of the beach, and I have a lot of time to read and sew. If I had a refrigerator, a toilet, and internet access here, it’d be perfect. It also feels strange when people say stuff like that to me because I feel mostly positive about my life here, and I think that lots of people could do this. It’s hard to explain, and I don’t think that I’m doing a good job, but I wouldn’t describe my life here as ‘noble’. What about our public school teachers in America? Their jobs are harder than mine is here, aren’t they noble?

Like I said, I don’t think I’m doing a good job explaining myself, and that’s the main reason why I don’t think I’ll extend my term of service here after my time is up next year. A lot of people extend their service into a 3rd year, and though I like my job and my life here, I miss being in a place where I can be understood.

Does that make sense?

beeb