Oregon, how I miss thee!

This picture from the OSU website is so true and cute! Everyone wishes they were from Oregon, but not all of us can be that lucky! :)

I've been lazy with this blog lately. Lack of a computer has been a contributing factor. (Also lack of the internet and infrastructure, but I'm not holding my breath for those things anytime soon.) But at least my computer is fixed and back in my possession thanks to Bindili (although does anything really belong to us?), so expect some musings and more complete accounts of my recent African adventures soon. For now, here are some tidbits:

• My cat Zona's tail caught on fire a few nights ago, just a few minutes after Shawn was musing whether it was dangerous for her to be sitting so close to the candle. "She'll be fine, she does it all the time!" were my famous last words
• My birthday celebration was a 3 day extravaganza, including a soiree at the Ambassador's house (okay, that wasn't for me, but I drank the free wine as if it were all in my honor!), margaritas and Mexican food (or as close as one can get in Malawi), and dancing!
• Teaching is hard work! Girls Club is limping along...at least it exists! Yesterday we finally talked about sex! There were some good questions, including 'what happens when a girl has sex while she's menstruating?' and 'what is a boyfriend?' Although it was a pretty 1-sided conversation it was good, and things they need to hear.
  

Now I'm off to felafel and good times with my dear friend Sally. Happy 11-11-11, world!

Bwana living with my Amayi

I just took my mom to the airport and got teary after two amazing weeks of living like a boss (cue Lonely Island). The highlight reel:

Kiboko Town Hotel
The bwana ("boss" or "rich person") living started as soon as my mom stepped off the plane into Malawi. I had made reservations at Kiboko Town Hotel, a place I can't afford to stay at on my own. We lounged around in their gorgeous lounge, sipping on Carlsberg or, right before bed every night, Amarula, catching up and all that jazz. Well, the first thing we did was open her ginormous suitcase full of presents for me! A headlamp, batteries, flip flops, chocolate, magazines, books, Gatorade, school supplies, and on and on! I am definitely spoiled. My quality of life will go up 100-fold. The second night we went out to dinner with Dr. John. We smoked hookah and I ate a steak. Who knew this level of bliss was available in Malawi? Not on my salary, of course, but it was incredible to forget where I was for a hot second.

On Safari! (A.K.A. the Lion King live-action adventure)
So we drove over to Zambia for a few days (another country checked off the list, I think I'm up to 20 now, no big deal) to look at some animals. And look at some animals we did! We saw:

hippos
crocodiles
elephants
giraffes
zebras
lions!
leopards (yeah, 2!)
impala
buffalo
puku
bushbacks
waterbucks
a civet
a jenet (genet?)
violet-breasted rollers
African spoonbills
fish eagles
herons
mongoose
a porcupine
German tourists
and a whole lotta other stuff I'm forgetting right now

In a word: magical. We even saw an elephant about 50 feet away from our tent one night! We ate good food, ran up a bar tab, swam in a pool, gazed at African sunsets (which really are as red and dramatic as the Lion King makes them out to be); basically just woke up and showed up and were shuffled around. I never thought I'd appreciate transport in Malawi, but the road to South Luangwa National Park was under construction so it made for a pretty bumpy ride. Half-decent roads; say what you want about Malawi, but at least it's got those!

Weekend at the lake(house!)
Arriving back in Lilongwe, we wished our two Dutch friends well on their journey to the north and rented a car. Silly mom, getting her license and passport out as if they actually wanted photocopies of these things! Have credit card, will travel, no questions asked. We then went to Game, Malawi's version of Wal-Mart, and loaded up. I felt like I was on a gameshow, running up and down the aisles, filling the cart with things I can usually only dream about. We couldn't pay with credit card (of course), so we walked across the parking lot to the ATM, where we took out so much kwach I felt like a drug dealer girl (cue Mike Posner). Then we went to Spar and it's not an exaggeration to say we bought approximately $100 worth of CHEESE! A bottle of Amarula and Captain Morgans, added to the three boxes of wine we'd gotten at Game, rounded out the smorgasbord. We drove to Salima where we picked up 4 of my closest friends (including Sally, Ellie & Esther) and crammed them and their bags in with us, our stuff, and the cheese, (did I mention our car was a tiny hatchback?), and proceeded the 20k to Senga Bay and the best weekend ever!!

We ate cheese, drank beer and wine, Amarula and rum, chatted, slept, lounged on the beach, bobbed in the lake, Allegra joined us on Saturday, we made spaghetti, gave the leftover spaghetti to some monkeys, lounged some more...it was paradise. We didn't ever want to leave, but work and real life were calling, which takes us to Act IV:

Village Living
Next we went to my town, where my mom got to meet my friends, neighbors and coworkers, and experience life as a celebrity for a few days. We were in Thavite for 3 days, which was 2 days too many, but she was a trooper and stuck it out with a smile on her face. She helped teach some of my classes and was the guest speaker at the first ever Girls Club meeting. [Sidebar: this has been driving me crazy: is it Girls Club, Girl's Club, or Girls' Club? Shawn? Grammar aficionados? A little help here?] 22 girls showed up!! I'm so excited, and I'm like "take that!" to the other teachers, who don't always see the value in, let's just say GC, or maybe they're just playing devil's advocate. Last year 12 students failed the JCE: 11 girls, 1 boy. Who do you think needs more help?

My mom politely ate nsima with my watchman and his family, sat on mats on the ground, and amid all that, drove me to Salima and helped me outfit my house. We picked up some furniture I had ordered (a wicker chair and loveseat and coffee table), bought some foodstuffs and sticky tack, more plates and buckets, cushions for my new seats, and more furniture: 2 corner shelves and 2 basket things. My house is so comfortable and bwana now! Bring it on, stack of exams a mile high I still need to mark: at least my ass will be comfortable, even if I will want to scoop my eyes out with spoons. The last night my mom was like "fuck this, we're bwana!" although not in those exact words, and she drove me to Salima where we took Sally out to dinner and drinks. She couldn't do nsima (or handle my over-helpful watchman) for one more minute. We had chambo (a fish). It was delish.

LLW, round 2
We finally escaped the village and came back to civilization, er, Lilongwe yesterday. We bought a few more things for me (wicks for my paraffin stove, a mug, lavender-scented candles, you know, essentials), and went out to dinner at Chili Pepper, the closest thing to Mexican food around. Let's just say the chicken enchilada was doing it for me, and our drinks tab added up to more than our food bill (hell YES margaritas!). Then a few rounds of Amarula with the fine and upstanding Chris & Erin Murphy was a lovely end to a pretty great day.

This morning of course was weird and sad, (cue cheesy yearbook quote: Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened. I'm fucking lucky-I have the best mom ever, coming out here to see me in the Africa at 60 years young!) This week is going to be rough, I can already tell everyone right now. No mom, no more bwana life (back to the Peace Corps salary), back to work, ugh. Zimachitika ("it happens"). At least I've got GC to look forward to, and my headteacher and I figured out that for the next month or so I'll be teaching literature to all the forms (1-4). This is actually GREAT news for me, because it means I won't have to deal with clauses or any of that grammar shit I don't seem to know much about. And I know Sally and some combination of awesome people and I will be meeting up at the lake sometime soon and often, as hot season is coming on stronger everyday. And in October I'm going to go count game in Liwonde National Park, so don't worry about me!

Camp Sky

Just finished the second and last camp of the summer. It was exhausting and I think a few of us volunteers wanted to kill each other but it was also amazing, fun, and I know the students really enjoyed it. These camps are such a big deal for these kids, and so inspiring. We had a guest speaker who is a woman from Malawi with a Ph.D. in ethics who works for the Catholic Church in Geneva and was recently in the Dominican Republic talking about violence against women. DAMN! Talk about sexy.

Another highlight was field trip day! We went to the Lilongwe Wildlife Centre, a rehab for confiscated exotic pets. We saw a 1-eyed lady lion with rickets in her hind legs. Also bunches of baboons, including dominant males who let it all hang out(!). Then we went to the Parliament building, which was also pretty wild. Well, not really, it wasn't in session. I took my student, Josephy, on an elevator for the first time in his life. He was weirded out and surprised. He's still talking about it and I'm sure he will be for months (or years) to come. Isaac and I are going to start a Malawi Make-A-Wish Foundation. Primary activities: taking kids on elevator rides and feeding them ice cream sundaes. Oh yeah. Think I could raise some capital for that? :)

At camp I taught writing (the writing process! I'm bringing brainstorming webs back in a big way) and an afternoon activity: drama! It was good to get my toes back in the theatre waters, even if they were swampy backwaters. The first day of sign ups I was shocked that I wasn't swarmed: only 8 kids signed up for drama, and then only 7 showed up to the first meeting! Apparently they had all decided to be practical and go to CV writing instead. Pshaw! We had a good time. My kids were so good at acting bad (smoking and drinking and 'doing immorality') and I got to play Amayi Diston (Diston's mom) in our little skit. It was so fun. I love directing. Some of them want to start a drama club at their school. Rock rock on!

This weekend is chilling in Salima and at the lake with Sally, Esther, etc., then heading to MST (mid-service training) on Monday, for HIV/AIDS training and emotional support. Then, a week from tomorrow, MY MOM GETS HERE!! We're going to have so much fun I can't even believe. I'm really anxious right now because I'm just SO EXCITED!

Glow

I just finished one of the most exhausting and rewarding weeks of my service. At Camp GLOW I met some amazing girls and women who inspired me with their stories, whether they were professional women who have gone far in their careers (e.g. the Minister of Gender, Children and Community Development, Honourable Theresa Gloria Mwale M.P.), or were amazingly strong girls dealing with some shit (e.g. raped by boyfriends, pregnant in a country where abortion is illegal, treated like Cinderella by their moms and aunts, and one brave camper shared with everyone that she was HIV+ because she was born with it. Damn). These girls have everything going against them, and I am so impressed that they persevere so gracefully.

I was a co-counselor with Patricia, a Malawian woman who works for an NGO in Salima (and whose brother is currently making me some furniture). We had a great group of girls, who named themselves L.O.V.E., standing for: Ladies Of Various Ethnics. Some other Americans were laughing at this, as I was the only non-Malawian white person in the group, but I pointed out that the girls were from different tribes and areas of Malawi, so that counts as various 'ethnics,' sure.

As counselors we facilitated some of the sessions in our small groups. It was pretty fun, and come to find out, I'm a decent facilitator (I miss Team Lib!). I like getting the kiddies to think about goals, decision making, sex and gender, etc. etc. Thavite CDSS, get excited for the Girl's Club that'll be coming your way next school year!

My favorite guest speaker was Dr. Mary Shawa, the Principal Secretary for Nutrition and HIV/AIDS for the Ministry of Health. She was a snappy dresser (fitted pantsuit in the vein of Hillary Clinton except actually cute), cute and bubbly, with an inspirational life story and good advice. A favorite quote: "Make [good] decisions so that you can be the next future Dr. Mary Shawa." I mean, just listen to the title of her Ph.D. dissertation: Effect of economic improvement projects for women in Malawi on nutritional, economic and social status of household members. (2001). Damn, that's sexy! Although I did appreciate how Chimwemwe Banda, some director of somethingorother at MBC (Malawi Broadcasting Corporation) talked about herself in third person. "Who's behind all these news programs? Chimwemwe Banda is!" I was like: "Annette McFarland really likes what you have to say!"

Callista Mutharika, fabulous first lady, graced us with her presence on Saturday. First, a group of 40 people (her entourage) came to MEDI on Monday to make sure it was up to snuff. It wasn't. Water stains on the ceiling just won't do, so workers spent all week painting the ceiling and replacing the panels. That was the first clue that this lady was a serious diva, (or as she would say, a 'BIW'; 'Best In the World'). Luckily she didn't make any terribly outrageous gaffes; apparently earlier in the week she had made some comment about the shortage of fuel in the country, and how it shouldn't affect villagers because they don't have cars. What about ambulances? Allegra said she saw a woman at her site get on a bike taxi after she had been in labor for SIX HOURS because the ambulance didn't have any fuel. Bike taxis are an ordeal even when you're not in labor-that woman should get some sort of medal! At one point in Callista's narrative of her (pretty charmed) life, she appealed to the girls, and said something along the lines of: "I was nothing special, just like you!" Hmm. My advice to Callista: think, then speak. She also advised us all to be FMOBs: the First, the Most, the Only and the Best. Well, by the very definition of the word, we can't all be the first, Callista. We also can't all marry presidents. But overall, she wasn't terrible, and she was looking soooooooo good! Her jacket matched her skirt matched her shoes matched her purse: hot pink, yeah gurl!

I was pretty enraptured by what Lisa Vickers, Charge d'Affaires of the American Embassy, had to say. She talked about girls empowerment, and going after your dreams, etc. etc., (which, since she was speaking at a normal American pace, most of the girls probably didn't catch), but I was into it. I was just so turned on by the fact that it was part of her job to show up to such a function and say a few inspirational words to Malawian girls and hobnob with the first lady. Yeah, I think I could do that as a career! It was definitely hot.

Now I need to rest. Wine, cookies, soaking my infected thumb and movies at John's are the perfect way to decompress. And I've got a whole bucket of banana wine waiting for me when I get back to site. Glow team glow, shine girls shine!

Summer Vacation!

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.

Fame.Monster.

Or, in the vein of assignments I give my students: "Write a composition entitled 'My life is like Lady Gaga's because...'"

It's time for some juicy, sit-down-and-actually-spend-some-time-on-this-shit prose. Can you handle it?

I'm famous. It's awesome. If you've ever wondered what it's like to be screamed at, stared at, admired and adored, then maybe you should give Peace Corps, or any scheme in which you live in a place where you're the only azungu for miles around, a go. Shouts of 'Bo!' 'Madamu!' 'Muli bwa?' 'Annetti!' 'Anness!' accompany my every walk to my trading centre. At first it kind of bugged me, but I've got most of them trained now not to say 'Azungu!' and I've decided to be the gracious celeb who adores her fans. Admittedly, this is partly to impress some cute guys at my trading centre. How into it are they going to be if I'm a hater all the time? Although I do still make kids cry frequently. And it's not the: "Oh--my--god--I--love--you--sooooo--much!--You--are--brilliant--and--your--music--really--speaks--to--me!" kind of tears I'm sure people like Lady Gaga and the Biebs get all the time, it's the "Oh-shit-is-this-bitch-really-going-to-eat-me-like-she-just-said-and-why-the-hell-is-she-running-after-me,-I'm-2!" kind of tears. Yes, that really happened. Yes, I felt (a little) bad. I'm a monster. Just adds to my street cred, I guess. My facebook profile should read: Annette McFarland, Fucking Awesome. Got evacuated from Niger. Makes little kids cry. Shits in a hole. Doesn't give a shit.

So you'll forgive me for living in Africa, but the July 8-22, 2010 issue of Rolling Stone just got around to me, and of course I was all over the article about Lady G like a fat kid on chocolate cake (which reminds me, I just had some delicious chocolate cake at Elizabeth's the other day, mmmm). I cut out the pictures for a Lady G tribute collage I'm going to make on one of my walls. Yeah they're risque but this is my house, if you're going to come inside you're going to see some crazy American shit. Deal with it. Two quotes really resonated with me. The first:

"When I wake up in the morning, I feel just like any other insecure 24-year-old girl, then I say, 'Bitch, you're Lady Gaga, you get up and walk the walk today.'"

Translated to Africa, that's:

"When I wake up in the morning, sometimes I just don't want to deal with this shit, then I say, 'Bitch, you're an azungu, and will go home to flush toilets and celebrity gossip blogs and ice cream and electricity someday, but today, you get up and you walk the walk and be adored." It works-I haven't not gotten out of bed yet.

Tangentially, the other quote from the article I really liked:

"When she uses words like "fierce" or describes her sexual conquests of beautiful men, one sees why the hermaphrodite rumors about her have been so persistent: She seems, at times, like a gay man trapped in a woman's body."

My thoughts:
1. Is saying 'fierce' and sexually conquering beautiful men really all there is to being a gay man?
2. Bitch stole this shit from me! Haven't I been saying this about myself for years? It makes so much sense now why I can't get enough of her! I've got nothing but love, Lady G. Respect.

But I digress. Back to being a local celebrity. A (white) South African dude swung through my town last week laying fiberoptic cable or some such nonsense. Of course we started chatting when I walked by him working one day, because we're azungus, we gots to stick together. He told me that people had asked him if he knew Annette. I said "I'm Annette!" I also told him that of course we already knew each other--hell, we're cousins! (People here would actually believe that, no questions).

Another awesome moment in the life of me: yesterday I was typing exams for my school and everyone was impressed by how fast I type. I was like "Yeah, that's right. I can type. Been doing it since 4th grade. What?!" They were like: "Can you teach us? Someday we want to be experts like you!" Then I made this diagram (see Figure 1) in Paint and blew their minds!

Figure 1

They were freaking out at how fucking amazing I am (and let me just say, it's refreshing to have other people saying out loud what I'm thinking all the time). I was like: "Wow, that was easy."

But the day I knew I was famous, knew this was real Beyonce-and-Lady-Gaga-esque shit (...ok, ok, who's a lot less famous but still turns heads? A lot less classy and more skanky? Snooki?) was last Saturday at the Form 4 graduation (excuse me, "farewell party", because we didn't have enough ndalama for a legit bash). First I put on my Swear-In outfit from Niger, a sexy little number that fits pretty snugly after being laundered in Morocco (dryers?!? I had forgotten what they were and the effect they have on cotton for a hot second). So I was turning heads more than usual. Then there were a few photographers running around, and students I didn't know would come and stand next to me to have their picture taken with this hot piece of fierce. It got to the point where they weren't even asking me, just lining up, and as the gracious queen of Thavite, I politely obliged (and even informed the photog that he left the lens cap on, but only after he'd probably taken a whole roll of film...what an idiot!). To top it all off, I was asked to officially open the dance by dancing with the Guest of Honour at the end. We had invited the MP (Member of Parliament) of our area, but he had meetings in Lilongwe (actual work? running the country?(into the ground) and he couldn't blow it off for our awesome bash? sheesh!), so he sent some other dude. So yes, the event closed with me and him shimmying next to each other to some Malawian song for what seemed like hours in front of 80 people, who were sitting and cheering. After about 10 seconds I was like "Uh, c'mon guys, you aren't gonna hop up and dance too?" but I worked it out, as always. I wonder if they realize how unique I am. I mean, sure I'm the azungu, but not just any azungu would agree to get up and dance with some strange official dude in front of everyone. Luckily in our very thin budget we had allotted money for 2 cases of soft drinks and beer for the teachers and invited guests (MP rep, village headmen) to drink after the ceremony. My first thought had been: "Really guys? We have no money for decorations but we need a case of beer for ourselves after the students leave?" but after the whole day (and did I mention it started 3 hours late, in a particularly poignant demonstration of 'Malawian time'?), I was like: "Hells yes I need a beer right now!" As I always say, when it comes to getting special attention, or transport to the next town, "Rock the white privelege if you got it!"

So my kingdom is some backwater tiny town in a small, extremely geopolitically irrelevant country (is that why Bingu's going crazy lately--penis envy?), and not, like Lady G and the Biebs, the known universe. Ah well, play the hand you're dealt, right? I may not be making the pages of People and Us Weekly with my shenanigans, but all the same I run around Thavite being ridiculous and scandalous and shaking things up-teaching my kids about things they've never heard of (World Wars I and II, Glee, that Obama doesn't 'rule' North and South America, just part of it); wearing my tight yoga pants around my trading centre; alluding to the fact that gay marriages are okay; playing volleyball with the boys!
Gaga

Camp!

I got some great news this week: 4 of my girls (of 7 who applied) are going to Camp GLOW (Girls Leading our World) this summer, a girls leadership and empowerment camp. And guess what? I am too, as a counselor! I'm super excited!

I'll also be helping out with Camp Sky, an education-oriented camp for the smarties (I've got my top 2 Form 3 students already picked out). I want to help with drama workshops (hey all you theater geeks, got any good games or activities you'd like to share?) and a writing workshop. Camp Sky still needs help funding, so if you've got a hankering to help out Malawi youth (and goodness knows they need it), follow this link.

https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=614-229

Remember, every little bit helps! I, fellow Peace Corps volunteers, and a bunch of awesome Malawian kids thank you in advance!

In other news I'm plugging along at site. Getting 'certificates of attendance' printed for our 'farewell party' (as opposed to diplomas for a graduation, which we can't afford). Account #1!!! Long story, short explanation: corruption. Oh Malawi! Oh post-colonial Africa!

Huh

I just had a most marvelous and unsettling weekend. I learned how to make chigumu, African cake, out of soy and corn flour. I hosted 3 volunteers for a sitemate party at my house. We made delicious tortillas ("Tortillas, #1! Nsima #4," says John, my watchman) and ogled People magazines (Lady Gaga wore a dress made of meat? Justin Beiber! Cher! Ah!). Good times. But the night before my next-door neighbor beat his wife. She and Bridget, her adorable 3-year old daughter, moved away. I'm still in shock, and feel really bad because she and I were on the outs (navigating the neighbor relationship, the "I'm not your store, you can't come around for cups of sugar and cooking oil every day" issue). I thought I'd have the next year to iron things out, but...I'm proud of her for leaving, and I know that these things happen, with or without my intervention. I just wish she had left with us being on better terms. Just another example of the lesson I keep learning: no day but today!

Last week at school was drama-filled. First the Form 3s refused to adopt the reforms I proposed in order to make the Prefect Elections free and fair. (Democracy, pah!) They prefer corrupt elections (where the results are generally disregarded by the teachers, and the teachers just pick their pets if they don't like who was democratically elected), because, in their own words: "But madam, what if someone wants a position and then doesn't get it?!? Other people will laugh at them!" THIS was their objection?!? They would get eaten alive in American high schools. "Fine, you want corruption? Just let me know what position you want and bring me 500 kwacha after class and it's yours." No takers. Sigh. On the other hand, my kickboxing lesson was very well received on Friday. Thanks, Billy Blanks' Tae Bo tapes! So, in Thavite, for those keeping track, that's

Billy Blanks (Chuck Norris, Jackie Chan, etc.) - 1

Democracy - O

That's my life of late. I started playing volleyball! I suck...nightmares of a horrific volleyball camp I went to in middle school coming back. I'm the only girl, so the 1/10 times I actually do something right I have to put up with very patronizing "Good job!"s, but it's fun and at the health center-potential for future projects/events/working together, woot! I'm nerding out with White Man's Burden (Easterly) right now, and thinking about how I'm going to change the world. The lake, me and my swimsuit were finally all in the same place last weekend, so I went swimming (or bobbing) in the lake for the first time. Sometimes the beauty of this place still blows me away.

Counting down the days 'til summer break...5 weeks, 2 of which are tests, 1 of which will be Jeopardy-style review, which means only 2 more weeks of teaching/lesson planning. Yeah!

It's frickin' MAY already?!?!?

School Break

A few weeks ago we had a 2 week spring break between the terms at school. The first week I kept busy around my house, including going for a bike ride with my Deputy Head Teacher. The second week I traveled up north to visit Deborah for a night, one of my nearest neighbors, in Mwansambo, then continue on up to Mzuzu to see Esther! I also attended a Passover party which was fabulous. My first Passover, and it may be one of my favorite holidays yet. We ate a ton of good food, drank some delicious lemongrass-cinnamon and pineapple hooch, and learned a little bit about the history of the Jews in Egypt. There were about 20 volunteers and a bunch of Malawians hanging about. We sat on sleeping bags and mattresses, there were candles and songs...it felt like a cozy family affair. Parts of this country look like Hawaii. I saw baboons on the escarpment. I ate rice and beans at a rasta restaurant. I wondered where the hell I was every 5 seconds. Then Esther and I headed back to Mzuzu (and the Mzoozoozoo, a crazy hostel run by crusty old expats from Britain who remind me of my dad), and her site, which is beautiful. We're going to climb the big hill next to her site one day and camp on top. She had made banana hooch which was delicious. I need to get brewing! And then I headed home. It was a restful holiday, but that didn't mean I was ready for school to start again! And my school is getting all shaken up: my Deputy was promoted, so he's going to leave and be the Head teacher somewhere else. It's good for him, but I'm losing my bike ride buddy, my running partner (his son), and a handful of great girlfriends (his daughters). I'm a little bummed. We've gotten one new teacher and supposedly two more are on their way.

Neighbors!

I have two new 'site mates' (in Niger we just said 'closest neighbor'): Ellie and Erin. Ellie's 6 miles south of me and Erin's about 20k north. Ellie was in Niger, in the group that had just sworn in, so even though I didn't know her at all then, it's nice to have someone so close with whom to reminisce about Niger (and Morocco). Erin's awesome too, and they're both health volunteers so I'm looking forward to collaborating with them on projects in the future. AIDS activities? Murals? Girls Club activities? Bring it on!

AIDS!

A few weekends ago I biked 14k to Makioni (sounds like: macaroni) to see my friend Dave at work. He works for a faith-based HIV/AIDS consortium which does education outreach as well as helping HIV positive people (reminding them to take their meds, in-home care, teaching them skills and helping them get employment, etc. etc.). He and his youth were going to do an outreach at Makioni, but then it turned out nobody there had been told, and it hadn't been advertised, so they decided to bike back to Thavite and an impromptu program at my school. Dave had me get up in front of many of my students and 'say something about AIDS.' Put on the spot, I mumbled something about peer pressure and making your own decisions, and that it's good that we talk about this stuff. I was completely out of my element. Not very much was actually said about AIDS, but Dave did get a lot of hands raised when he asked who would get tested if he had a blood-testing event at the school. It got me really excited to collaborate with him somehow in the future, and serendipitously 2 days later I found myself at an HIV/AIDS training at Senga Bay (or 'Sengambe' as one of my students spelled it). The training turned out to be more of a feedback session for volunteers to voice what HIV/AIDS training and support we would like. The whole week was very inspiring to me: I want to start some sort of Girls Club at my school and start having conversations with my students and doing educational activities about HIV/AIDS, making good decisions, etc. etc. I even dreamed last night that I was educating my students about HIV/AIDS (the four fluids). Crazy.

Senga Bay is unbelievable. Gazing out at the lake, (because one doesn't just look at these things, one gazes), drink in hand, friends at my side, and nothing but beach and water in sight (and other lodges, Indians and bwana Malawians on vacation), I thought: 'Where the hell am I?' and 'Niger was nowhere near as beautiful as this.' It's unbelievable how close such luxury is to my site (less than 2 hours), where I'm volunteering to make the world a better place. In Niger we were so far from anything superfluous that it seems strange to me that beachside lodges and near-starving rural people can exist in such proximity. A lot of things seem strange. Like Africans farming tobacco and cotton. I keep thinking of American slaves as I drive by men stuffing cotton into bags, but at least these guys are free, whatever that means. Most of my students, no matter how intelligent they are (and really I can count those on one hand), are never going to go anywhere. They'll probably stay in the same district, and hopefully be able to eke out a living for themselves and their children, probably farming, and hopefully not die of AIDS. I found out that John (my watchman) absorbed two nieces and a nephew into his family when both their parents died of AIDS. That's tragically pretty common here. And hearing about Malawi's funding problems for ARVs, (they're going to stop getting them in 2 years because they weren't giving them out correctly), it makes me give thanks that I'm an American, even with our shitty health care system. (Forgive me, I've been out of the country for awhile...is it getting any better?)

I text my friends in Niger probably more than I should. I texted them the day we found out Osama Bin Laden had been killed, because I was curious what their reaction would be, and what the general sentiment would be in a Muslim nation. "Those who kill should be killed" my friend Sani said in a text. "Like all Americans the death of Bin Laden is a good thing for me because he killed a lot of people" said my friend Issa. I called Sani later, a few beers in, (3 minutes cost me 700 kwacha, but it was worth it), and maybe I shouldn't be clinging to these threads, texting and calling them, but the bonds I made, however brief, were special, and I'm going to go back to Matameye somehow, someday. Maybe I'll make up my own NGO, or just freelance develop, like Miriam does. I'll figure something out. Niger is just so wildly different from America, and Malawi...isn't. In Niger everyone was poor, everyone was in the same boat. Here there's a definite disconnect between the haves (still probably only 1% of the population) and the have-nots. I got a hitch from two bwana Malawians (air conditioning!?!), and I thought: 'you're as different from my villagers as I am.' People may have shirts now (before Malawi gained its independence they didn't, apparently), but they're not going to get much more than that any time soon, especially when British High Commissioners get kicked out.

Kalulu

Thursday I bought a rabbit from my neighbor for 500 kwacha (<$4). I let it hop around my house all night (well, it just stayed under my bed, but I did give it some bean leaves), and gave it to John (my watchman) the next morning to take home. The next day, Saturday, I went to his house to visit and we killed and ate the poor little thing! Its skin was shockingly white. Once the fur was ripped off, its tail wasn't fat, like I'd expected, but long and skinny, like a dogs. Its meat and organs were delicious. It's amazing how removed we can be from our food in America, and how the people here don't have that luxury. Getting the rabbit from cute living being to relish was no easy task. They killed it, ripped its fur off (after boiling it, so it would come off easier, but it still took awhile), cut it up, cleaned out its organs, cooked it...it took all morning. I knew that rabbit, and then I ate it. "Zikomo kalulu" (thank you rabbit), I said, and it made sense to me. The Native Americans had it right: take only what you need, when you need it, and give thanks to the animal and the Creator for providing you with a few bites of protein.

Disco

Two nights ago my school had a 'disco' (a dance). It was horrifying, which was to be expected. The boys were drinking sachets, which are shots of spirits in ketchup packets, basically. No joke. I heard they hit the states, and are being banned everywhere they turn up, of course. Can you imagine? Prom, college sporting events, concerts, political rallies, the nature of these events would change forever. These have the revolutionary potential of jello shots, or, or...bitch beer! Anyways, as you can imagine, the boys were out of control (and the ratio was about 4:1, by my hazy estimation, guys to girls). The generator wasn't working for a bit, but when it was I came to the conclusion (again) that Malawian music is shitty. Not as shitty as Hausa music, but shitty. Which is to say, there's a time and place for it (in a mini-bus, while you're waiting for a mini-bus at a trading centre, etc.), but it's never going to be my first choice when I want to get my groove on. Music is one of the clearest illustrations of cultural differences, in my experience. Play me some Chris Brown, Justin Bieber, Rihanna, Lil Wayne, Beyonce, Usher and I can't help myself: I have to dance. Play some Lucious Banda or Don Lu and I'm like huh? But they just went nuts. At first the little kids were kind of annoying (how scandalous could I get with them around?), but I soon saw their advantage. I kept Alan, my 5-year-old neighbor, close the whole night, and any time a creeper started creeping up on me, (the price was 50 kwacha for students and 60 kwacha for 'intruders' as they put it) I'd maneuver so Alan was between us. Shameless, I know, but at least Alan avoided being trampled out of the deal. Finally, I was tired, so Alan and I walked home in the moonlight, and thus ended my first and last Malawian disco.

Teaching

Teaching is...hard. To all the teachers out there, ntchito wabwino! Sannu da kokari! Good fucking work! Every so often I'll have a moment, or if I'm lucky, an entire 40-minute period where things just click and I feel inspired by what I'm teaching and somehow get the feeling that it's connecting to the students. Those moments are all too rare, however. Most of the time I'm frustrated: trying to think up ways other than straight lecturing to teach grammar, trying to get the students interested in the literature we're reading, whether it's decent (Looking for a Rain God) or so irrelevant, outdated and beyond their comprehension that it hardly seems worth it. In Form 1 we're reading An Introduction to English Literature, published in the '60's, with poems and excerpts from the likes of Dickens, Keats, Austen, Wordsworth...arguably great stuff, but come on! We're in Malawi here! I try not to get too discouraged by their writing and spelling. I started teaching them Hausa. This term I'm also teaching a period of PE. They kind of sucked at Capture the Flag (the concept of prison was lost on them). (Speaking of, any ideas for big group field games? I'm open). Education is where it's at, but if there aren't many universities, or the exams are arbitrary and inapplicable to real life, and the teachers are overworked and sometimes not even paid, then what chance do these kids really have?

The Princess of Thavite

Last weekend I felt like the princess of Thavite. Our MP (Member of Parliament) is putting on a sports tournament for all the schools in the area, so of course it had to be officially launched. I show up at my trading centre at 10:00am, the advertised start time, my first mistake. We're on Africa time here, Annette, duh! Loitering around with nothing to do is harder than it looks. I was antsy and aimless, but forced myself to stick around. I ended up chatting with some of my students, confirming that the tailor had my measurements, chatting with my landlord, and buying some rape (Chinese rape? What is it called in English?). Just when I was giving up and heading home to fix myself lunch, the MP pulled up. It was noon. So I stuck around. I watched a mini game of netball (cousin to basketball, that only girls play) and a game of football (until the ball popped). I sat next to the MP and chatted about oxcarts ("You haven't had those in America for awhile, have you?" he said. "No," I replied) and other things. He told me that Malawi has too many MPs (190-odd), and should cut back. If so much of the government's budget comes from foreign aid, Malawi could save Britain and the US money, or at least put it to better use, by reducing the number of MPs. Interesting, coming from him. Then Sally said the MPs just gave themselves raises. Huh. At one point during the football game the TA (Traditional Authority) rolled up. TAs are chiefs, who have some responsibilities and powers (ruling on local disputes) but are completely separate from the government. Come to find out, the TA for my area is a woman! For a moment I was sitting between her and the MP while they chatted about who knows what. Between the MP and the TA! What does that make me? I felt like royalty, and compared myself to British royals sitting around watching polo or cricket or tennis or some such nonsense, drinking mint juleps, socializing and maybe even squeezing in some official state business. Minus the mint juleps in my case. The MP said he wants to bring some of my students to the Parliament in Lilongwe and that I could come too. That would be so awesome! ...But if I've learned anything in Africa, it's not to hold my breath.

From here

Ellie and I started finishing (paradox) a mural begun by Brittany, the volunteer Ellie replaced. We're painting the Periodic Table of Elements at a secondary school near her town. It's got me excited to paint a mural or two at my school ("We want you to paint something here to remember you by" the Headteacher said). If I can figure out funding, I'm hoping to work on that over the summer. I also want to help with the camps Peace Corps Malawi has been putting on for awhile, Glow and Sky. And get a Girls Club going. I'm also reading like a fiend and trying to run and yoga as much as I can. I also just heard about some hot springs that are apparently just a bikeride away from my site, so I'm hoping to check those out soon! Life is good. It's weird how normal bush living is for me.

Moving In

That impossible future date that kept moving out further and further finally arrived; I have moved into my house. It's adorable, and I'm slowly making it livable. I now have curtains on all 4 windows, makeshift 'Esther' shelves in the pantry, kitchen, and bedroom to store things. They're called 'Esther' shelves because I got the idea to combine planks of wood and bricks into shelves from her. My Malawian acquaintances all think I'm so brilliant, which I can't figure out if I should take as a compliment or not. I mean, it's just planks of wood and bricks. Any yahoo could do it. So do they think it's so novel because they expected me to be incompetent when it comes to these things, or is it because they're surprised that I, one of the teacher caste, would do something for myself, rather than paying someone else to do it (although I did buy the planks from a carpenter who I also commissioned to make me a simple bookcase, so the love is being spread).

So, at night my guard John (AKA practically the only Malawian I've met who's taller than me) hangs out. He protects me from hyenas, students who want to chat too late into the evening, and enterprising old ladies. I wanted to be Malawian so I bought some chimanga (maize or corn as we'd say in the States) from my old neighbor 'Yaya' (that's what they call her). According to John, who got all 'mamma bulldog' on poor little old Yaya, she was waaaaaay overcharging me ('and she shouldn't, because you're Malawian, you're my sister!' he said to me, in Chichewa, rough translation). Mind you we're talking about the difference of 1USD, but that goes a long way in these parts. She gave me the maize, John marched it back to her. The head teacher got involved, and a few days later I went back to Yaya (some students to act as interpreters in tow) to tell her I'd take however much maize she'd let go for the money I gave her. I guess I'm chalking it up to a 1USD loss. From this episode, the take-home lessons are: 1. never purchase anything for myself ever again (or at least make sure I've got a Malawian on my side there to help negotiate) and 2. that John's got my back, even to an embarrasing extent. My house is almost entirely outfitted to a comfortable level. I've got a big bucket to hold water, which Tisunge fills for me. My headteacher helped me negotiate with her and her mother--I'm paying her 200MK a week to carry 1-2 buckets of water per day for me (500 meters is a much different animal than 50 when it comes to carrying water on your head). Apparently she had cerebral malaria and that's why she is the way she is ("like a child" Mr. Dzonzi put it so diplomatically; "a little slow" I described her to Esther). Many of the items I've purchased for my house are 'China,' the Chichewa word for cheap. In a sentence: 'my spoon broke because it was China' or 'my locks are so China I broke the handle off my front door' or 'I'm surprised my 500MK paraffin stove I bought in a Chinese shop hasn't blown me up yet.' I've also got a cutting board, peanut butter, scissors, a soap dish...all the necessities. I've even got nails, which I remembered I needed as I was sitting in the minibus in Salima waiting to come back to Thavite so I handed some random guy 40MK and told him to run and get me some nails and he did! The other day I bought a big bag of charcoal from the charcoal guy who came by my house and all I had was a 500MK bill (2 months worth of charcoal is 250MK, or less than $2). He rode his bike with another heavy bag of charcoal on it to the trading centre, a 2km roundtrip, and brought me back my change! It's not that I expect Malawians to be dishonest, it's just that I know (in an academic sense) what desperation can drive a person to. I've been pleasantly surprised time and time again by their honesty, generosity, and friendliness. So my house is looking good...we've even planted some plants some neighbors brought over. So my roof leaks when it rains (and my hand-made goat-leather purse from Niger that I left in a certain spot on the floor got soaked...twice), and my cat (I have a cat!) pees and sometimes poops inside-as Malawians would say, 'it's part of life!'

My cat is wonderful. I got her from an amazing Spanish woman I met through one of my students who lives a few towns over from me. She (the Spanish woman, not the cat) is basically a freelance development worker, using her mad skillz and contacts to get money to make projects happen to improve the town she lives in. She had two kittens and only wanted one so I left her house with a flour sack full of cat. I named her Zona (which come to find out is spelled 'zoona') which means 'true' or 'indeed!' in Chichewa. I like it because it rhymes with the Chichewa word for cat ('chona') and is similar to Zo! which means 'Come!' in Hausa. Does she know how international her name is? I guess the more pertinent question is: does she recognize her name yet? (Answer: no) I still need a fence and furniture for the front room, but those will come. Last Friday market we were like a little family doing our shopping: me, John, my neighbor Make Bridget ('mother of Bridget'...I'll never learn married women's first names here) and Bridget, who was carried home by John. I bought a kilo of pork and we made pork tacos last night. I rocked their world with tortillas ('in Malawi we call tortillas 'samoosas' ' -John explaining the history of Indians in Malawi to me) and who knew that all you need for a decent salsa fresca is tomatoes, onions, garlic salt and cumin? God bless garlic salt, is all I have to say (and Alexis, for wisely advising me to purchase it). School right now is hell. Literally. Well, figuratively, but still, 'marking' (grading) exams is a level of Hell, I have no doubt. And not just any marking of any exams, but marking essays, following some ass-backwards Malawian rubric that basically ensures that even the best students will get low marks. The highest a student can get is 10/15. Maybe this is just weird to me, coming from America as I do, where we're almost too eager to see everybody win (there were 12 valedictorians at my high school, after all). Maybe we grade too leniently, and Malawians are more on par...no, on second thought, they're just crazy. And 'invigilating' isn't much better. Sounds dirty, right? Apparently it's just the British word for 'proctor' which means I sit on my butt in the teacher room while the students are taking their end of term exams (because they're going to cheat anyways, so why make a show of actually being in the classroom?) and put out fires, like writing crucial paragraphs on the board in 4 classrooms because they didn't get photocopied correctly. Joy! Let's just say the school break will be enjoyed immensely after all this. A bikeride or two, traveling to Esther's site and Mzuzu and some sort of Passover party up north...time away from school and (well-meaning but) nosy neighbors will be ever so sweet.

News from Niger: https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&pid=gmail&attid=0.1&thid=12f39fcc591d575c&mt=application/vnd.openxmlformats-officedocument.wordprocessingml.document&url=https://mail.google.com/mail/?ui%3D2%26ik%3Db4759e7878%26view%3Datt%26th%3D12f39fcc591d575c%26attid%3D0.1%26disp%3Dattd%26realattid%3Df_gmag9uhm0%26zw&sig=AHIEtbSEFad7mbIsfySBId6lP-geWj6Caw&pli=1

Annette's Definitive 'So What's the Difference?' List

I get so many questions, some of which are hard to answer, like: "What's it like in Niger?" (to which I respond: "What's what like in Niger?") or "So which do you like better, Malawi or Niger?" (to which I have no response, because which do you like better, food or air?), and I'm sure people are wondering, so I whipped up:

Annette's Definitive 'So What's the Difference?' List

Enjoy. (It's a google doc)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1iu8XD21gfm3oeof9GIDcBJOY7Op_bq3NEy_Gz34s4cg/edit?hl=en#

To sum up, I loved Niger, but, zimachitika (shit happens), so now I find myself in Malawi, making the most of things and growing to love it as well. I'm lucky to be surrounded by awesome Malawians and great Peace Corps people too. As Shakira says: "This time for Africa!"

Keeping up with the Dzonzis

So I've been living with the Dzonzis all this time, my headteacher ('principal') and his wife, Madame Dzonzi (I still have yet to hear her first name spoken...I like it...keeps her mysterious), and their son/grandson Chisomo (which means 'hope' in Chichewa). He's 11, and one of their daughters had him when she was 15. They've raised him like their son and now, even though that daughter is now married and has another kid and is living 6 hours away, he still lives with them. They have been wonderful. First of all, I'm getting 3 meals a day cooked for me (2 of which are nsima, but meh, I can't complain). Second of all their house is 2 steps away from the school, which is nice when school starts at 7:30am. But that's not that big of a deal when you don't have electricity. Once the sun goes down, there's not too much to do, and like an old lady, I'm usually in bed by 8-something, lights out by 9ish. Also, they're just plain awesome. Mr. Dzonzi and I discuss all sorts of things, like marriage and divorce, teen pregnancy and abortion (which is illegal here), the gays and lesbians, Malawi culture, etc. etc. etc. Mrs. Dzonzi taught me how to make 'snacks' (what we would call biscuits) in a pot over and under hot coals. I love that they just call them snacks, and I'm always singing to myself: 'Snacks!' But it doesn't sound right when it's not followed up with 'on the bus!' (or 'for the bus') She's also going to teach me how to cook goat meat, because either it's actually very delicious (which I highly doubt), or the combination of tomatoes + salt that she cooks it in + nostalgia for Niger = mouthwatering amazingness. I'm serious, I love goat meat here. It's weird.

I'm teaching Form 1 (9th grade) English and 1/2 of the Form 3 English class. There are 7 periods a week, so I'm teaching literature during 4 of the Form 3 English periods, and Mr. Dzonzi is teaching language (AKA grammer) during the other 3. That means I only have 11 periods a week right now, which is a pretty light load, but since I came in halfway through this term and I'm still getting my bearings, I think it's perfect. I'm having to readjust my expectations all the time here. Critical thinking is a foreign concept. Actually, sometimes I wonder if 'thinking for oneself' isn't a new idea for these kids either.

I've been running, and I've garnered a following. At first it was just young boys who would go with me, but now the high school boys are into it and I've got a few regulars now. We run to the next town and back, little kids screaming and laughing at us (well, me, the 'azungu') the whole way. Whatever, I've got thick skin. And if I didn't have thick skin before living in Africa I definitely do now! After we run we stretch, which means I lead about a dozen or so little kids in stretching and kickboxing moves. It's awesome! They love it, the moms love me for playing with the kids, it's win-win. Then I pump a bucket of water for my bath at the borehole. I am strong, I am awesome!

The big news last week: buying a 1/2 kilo of pork (for 175 kwacha, where 150 kwacha = 1 USD) and cooking and eating it! Well, to be fair, Mable cooked it, but still, pork! I never knew how much I loved it until I lived in a Muslim country for 6 months.

So next week's the week: I'll finally move into my house! It's adorable, but kind of off on it's own and doesn't currently have a fence so Mr. Dzonzi is being all mother hen about it and worried about me. They were also kind of surprised when I said I didn't want/need a girl to live with me to cook for me, but then I cooked them spaghetti. 'Oh, you can cook for yourself!' they condescend. I try not to be too offended, because, after all, I am soft and don't work as hard as these ladies do, pumping water, carrying water, cooking, cleaning, farming (Mrs. Dzonzi is going to teach me how to farm with a ho!), etc. etc. etc. Mr. Dzonzi liked the spaghetti, but Mrs. Dzonzi would barely try it: she literally ate one tiny piece of spaghetti. ('How many sticks do you cook at one time?' she asked as I was making it, and I was like: 'I don't know! I don't count them out individually!') Well, she was exposed to it, at least. To her a meal isn't a meal without nsima, the hard cornmeal porridge that's the staple food of Malawi. What's the staple food of America, besides McDonald's?

Last weekend I went for a bikeride with Mr. Tung'ande (pronounced 'tune-yong-day'), the deputy ('vice principal') of my school, to Makioni, a small town about 15k from Thavite. Malawi is gorgeous. Whenever I get sad thinking about Niger and my friends there, I just look around me. I could be doing a lot worse. We drank Cokes ('Do you have Coke in America?' he asked, and I had to laugh) and ate Obamas (bread rolls that for some reason are called Obamas...he said there are different, less popular rolls called 'Osama bin Ladens'...oh Malawi!). It was a good day.

By the numbers

Bike rides to date: 2
Dresses made at the local tailor to date: 2