Two weeks ago I hiked Ruarwe. That involved meeting up with a handful of supreme beings, (fellow PCVs Sara & Garrett, or Sarrett, and Jay; Jay and the Gays!), and getting the best hitch ever in an American semi truck. The first time I've ever been in the cab of a semi-truck (or lorry, as they'd say in England or any former English colony), and it happened in Malawi. It was huge! (that's what she said) Sara and I squeezed onto the bottom bunk with one of the Malawians and Garrett sat up front. What a way to go down the escarpment: blue lake, green trees, baboons, a couple tons of pipes behind my head. At one point we went off the road a little bit and my heart skipped a beat imagining the fiery heap of unidentifiable metal and mush at the bottom of a cliff after careening down a cliff. We stayed the night in Mlowe at Renee's house, sans Renee. It's supposed to be a 3-day hike to Ruarwe from there, and our rough eye-ball estimates based on a map we saw on a boat suggest that in total the trek was around 50 kilometres. We were apparently extra ambitious because we did it in 2 days. I wanted to kill a bitch by the end. My feet are torn up (apparently the combination of old Nike trail runners and dirty Old Navy socks wasn't the ticket), but at least it was fucking beautiful the whole time, and there were monkeys! Then we got to the lodge (Zulunkhuni??), situated at the base of a waterfall. Para.Fucking.Dise.
I snorkeled, I jumped off a deck into the lake (≈8 meters, so, what, 24 feet?), I swam naked by the light of the full moon, I ate good food, I drank sachets (think: ketchup packet full of nasty 40% alcohol). By far the best way to drink sachets is to do slap shots: chasing them with getting a slap in the face. Apparently slapping bitches is a secret talent of mine, (just ask Garrett). We met a variety of interesting characters: a cute young British married couple, an American girl from Michigan who's been studying Hausa for 3 years (which begs the obvious question: Why? Followed by the next most obvious question: Ina kwana motherfucker?), and Charlie, the owner of the place who's been in Malawi for 13 years and is hoping to get a Malawian passport soon. We walked into the town of Ruarwe and bought masconeys (AKA big fat dinner rolls) every day, and on the last day took the only means of transport out of the place: a big boat called the Ilala that goes up and down the lake once a week. It was weird but good to be out of cell phone service for almost a week. And does that mean the kids who live in Ruarwe have never seen a car?
Last week I've been hanging out with Sally and Ellie in Salima for a Peer Educator/HIV/AIDS training Sally put together for the youth from 17 health centres in the area, including the one in my town. It was really excellent, and the youth from my area have some good sessions planned for when we get back (although I'm not so sure how the 'dangers of illegal abortions' session is going to go over at the local church). On the last day the training closed with everyone (even the girls!) demonstrating putting condoms on wooden penises (penii?).
Last Wednesday was July 20th. Big protests all over Malawi. Did it make it to American news outlets? Well, there's no petrol (oil) or Islamic militants here, so maybe not. (Although America did just pull out a bunch of aid and it was the 5th thing down on the Africa page on the CNN website…) Anyways, people have been rioting and looting, getting tear gassed and hacked with panga knives in the big cities. I'm having dreams about getting evacuated all over again. Ah! Bingu's blaming it all on the gays. Right: donors pulling out and an overvalued kwach are TOTALLY the fault of homosexuals (innuendos intended). Sheesh. It's shit like this that makes me appreciate my American upbringing, or rather, my liberal blue state Oregon upbringing. Even though blue isn’t a favorite color, (or favourite colour) in Malawi these days. DPP is the party they’re all demonstrating against, which, according to the minibus conductor yesterday stands for “diesel, petrol palibe” (no diesel or petrol). Scandalous! The opportunities and exposure to divergent viewpoints, the drag queens and the Planned Parenthood, the freedom of religion (and the freedom from religion) that makes America what it is-I had it pretty good growing up. Gays of America: fight for your rights and all that (yaay New York marriages! Yaay Obama appealing Don’t Ask Don’t Tell!), but be grateful that America’s as open-minded as it is. You could be in Malawi, where being gay is illegal, and where you’d be getting blamed for Bingu’s forex problems.
A few days ago I flossed a filling out. Today I went to a most terrifying dental appointment. It hurt. But it’s over now. A bouncing baby boy was finally born to Mrs. Banda! She’s the burser (AKA secretary) at my school and also my landlord, which makes the new little tyke my cousin, I’ve decided. His name is Bonface Banda (BB, just like older brothers Bright and Blessings), and he’s super cute! Mission while in Lilongwe: buy some bitchin’ baby clothes.
Two nights ago I had another tortilla party at my house. I invited only guys (because I’m about to go hang out with a bunch of girls and successful career women at Camp GLOW for a week). Some of my friends brought banana/orange wine made for them by a nun. It was delicious. Now I’m chilling in Lilongwe, waiting for GLOW to begin on Sunday. I can’t wait to get girls all empowered and shit!
That's the update here. It's not much, but it's what I've got. My cat is growing, tomatoes are cheap these days. Anati MicPhallan, over and out.
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