Sunday Morning ~ Almost Home

June 30, 2019

Wafulumiza kumeza kutafuna kukadakoma. ~ You were too fast in swallowing while the chewing was still good.

~ Chewa Proverb 

Hi Everyone,

I’m one short flight away from Boston, then a five hour drive home. Not sure if I’ll be up for that. It’s going on 35 hours since I left Malawi yesterday and though I got some sleep on the plane, I feel myself starting to fade. I may just curl up with the grands tonight and head to Maine in the morning. 

I knew the month would fly even though I spent a good part of it waiting. Waiting is so much a part of African life. Don’t go there if you are not willing to wait. I did get four books read during that time though and reduced the bedside table pile considerably.  I finished knitting a sock, wrote diligently in my journal, shopped a bit for stuff I love like macadamia nuts and Malawian tea. I also bought some cool stuff some women’s groups made at the farmers market in Lilongwe yesterday. My carry on bag, which contains a pottery sink for Jordan, is over the weight limit by about a ton, but fortunately no one weighed it. I tried to look nonchalant when I hoisted it into the over head bin then waited to see if the bin sagged at all. It didn’t, so it’s all good.

My women’s group! I am so excited to report they are alive and well and thriving! I told them when I saw them in February that if they improved the quality I would buy three hundred pieces from them, but only if it was real quality, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to sell it at home. I’d sold quite a bit of the stuff they’d made and took that money to reinvest in them, but wasn’t sure what I would find. I’d been so busy with the ward stuff I hadn’t figured out how to meet up with them, but this week I got a call from Irene, the leader, who asked me to come talk. I went to her house and asked how they were doing. She told me they were still meeting, had made all the jewelry I’d asked for and wanted me to meet with them. I said, “Really? You’ve all made three hundred pieces?” She smiled and said, “Yes. All done.” I asked if the quality was good, quickly calculating how many times I’d have to go to the ATM to get enough cash to pay them for all of it. She said, “You can come and check and only take what you think is good.” I thought that relayed a good amount of confidence so we made a plan to meet the next morning at nine and take a minibus to the village. Before I left to go to campus she said, “Wait. I want to measure you. The women want to make you a dress.” So I stood with my arms out while she measured my waist and hips and bust. Asked how long I wanted the sleeves and how long I wanted the skirt and made those measurements as well. She wrote them all in a little notebook and said, “Ok. See you tomorrow!” The next morning when I was deciding what to wear I factored in the minibus ride as it’s not good to wear anything that exposes your flesh. The seats are all broken and filthy and people are sitting on top of each other. So I chose a cotton ankle length skirt a tank top and cardigan. It’s still cold in the mornings. I went to the office first to drop my laptop and thermos of tea then headed over to Irene’s. When I got there, she handed me the dress and said, “Here, you can go put  it on in my bedroom.” She had already made the dress! I thought it would be something I took home with me, but I was to wear it to the village. If I had known that I think I would have asked for a longer skirt, but I went into the bedroom, took off my clothes, shoved them in my bag, and put on the dress. It’s cute! I love the fabric and it fits me perfectly! I can’t believe it; I wouldn’t have chosen this fabric for me as I don’t wear prints much, but it was a great color and I love the pattern. She beamed when I came out of the bedroom and said, “Ok. Let’s go.”

When traveling by minibus it is so much easier to go with a Malawian. The busses are so confusing and go in all different directions and I have gotten on a bus thought to be heading where I wanted to go and ended up hours longer than I needed to be. That happened Monday evening on the way to dinner with friends and I didn’t think I’d get out of it alive. It was a luxury to be with Irene to explain in Chichewa where we wanted to go. The only problem for me was the skirt didn’t cover the backs of my legs when I sat so the trip had an unsanitary feel to it, to say the least. But the reaction of the women when we arrived in the village was so worth it! They were gathered under a tree, sitting on old pieces of tarpaulin, working on some beading when we got there. They all cheered when they saw me, yakking away in Chichewa about the dress. It was great. They gathered up all the stuff and we moved into one of the houses, I think because they feel it is more formal for a guest, but it’s really nicer under the tree. But in we went. They unloaded piles and piles of jewelry they’d made and I was blown away! It is really good! They all beamed at my reaction as I went over each piece and remarked on the different beading patterns they’ve come up with. I kept saying, “I am so proud of you!”  I counted out two hundred necklaces, a hundred each of two different types, and then started looking at the bracelets. They were also very good, but they’d left the dangling parts too long. I told them that these would get caught on things and needed to be shortened. I figured I would collect them a day or two later, but no, they started at once, dividing them up into piles and setting about making them exactly as I wanted them. It took about an hour for them to fix them all, lighted candles fixed to the arms of the chairs to melt the twine that holds the beads.  They worked and chatted with each other, not paying any attention to me. I loved it. When they were all done, I packed it all away and told them we needed to discuss money. There were 318 pieces and I would pay them 1,000 kwacha each. That’s 318,000 kwacha! They broke into applause, shaking each other’s hands. (This was going to be at least four trips to the ATM) I asked what they wanted me to do with the money? Without a single pause or discussion, they said, “Give it to Irene.” I asked then what? They said she would keep it and use it for more supplies and for emergencies. I didn’t get into what emergencies, but I’ve decided to stay out of this part of it. They can develop a system that works for them and I will leave them to it. I was tempted to suggest it pay for some school fees for some girls, but backed off from that and just reveled in the fact that they still meet, are improving tremendously, and are making future plans. We had photos together, farewells until we meet agains, and then Irene took me to visit Chimwemwe who lives near there. He must have gotten word I was coming because he was expecting me and presented me with a pair of earrings he’d made for me. I was so excited to see he’d improved to the point of being able to do that! He said his sight and balance was getting better, still not perfect but he sees improvement. He was happy I’d come and so was I. He called his mother to come greet me, and said, “I am happy today because Linda has come.” I told him I wasn’t sure when I’d be back, but will keep him in my prayers along with his growing family. His wife gave birth to a son four months ago. Chimemwe named him Chimemwe, and he’s fat and happy and thriving. I left them with some money and Irene and I headed off.

It was a good day.

Irene and I took the bus ride back to the campus and I asked her to accompany me to the ATM. I’d taken out some of the cash the day before, but there’s a limit to how much you can withdraw so it can’t all be done in one day. I managed, with three transactions, to get enough cash to pay them and we walked to my office as I didn’t want to hand over that much in broad daylight on a crowded street. I asked her if she would consider opening a bank account and she agreed it was time to do that. This is too much cash to leave around and they still have some from the original sale we had. Irene is capable of managing this and I’ll leave her to it. If I find more markets for them and it gets much bigger we’re going to have to formalize our transactions a bit more I think. I might need a receipt or something! For now this is very much seat-of-the-pants entrepreneurship for dummies, but it’s working. I’m sure a business person would die at my methods here, but it still seems small enough I’m ok. When filling out the customs form on arrival in the states, though, I realized if it gets much bigger I’m going to need advice.

So we made progress on lots of fronts this visit. I’ll have a discussion next week in Boston with the SEED people about how my skills fit into the future of the project. I met with a contractor to get an estimate for renovations for the ward and will work some on that when I’m stateside. I know I’ll go back, just not sure in what capacity or when it will be. Staying open.

Ok, still an hour before boarding so I think I’ll go walk off some of my swollen feet.

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~ Zomba

June 23, 2019

Mau n’poyamba potsiriza n’mang’ombe (nkhani). ~ The real words come first, after that is the singing of a chorus, just small talk.

~ Chewa proverb

Hi Everyone,

I’ve just woken up from an uncomfortable dream. I dreamt I found thousands of dollars in small and large bills, rolled up and hidden in a box someone gave me. It was a box of odds and ends: half-used tape rolls, old aspirin tins, half eaten zip locked bags of dried fruits, film containers, a metal roll of athletic tape, the kind where the inside roll snaps into the outer covering. All these things were stuffed with dollar bills. It was U.S. dollars, all of it. I don’t know who gave it to me the person was kind of fuzzy, but the box was something they didn’t want. I took it as a favor, really, not sure how I would pack it with what I was carrying. But as I pawed through the stuff I started discovering all this money and I didn’t know what to do with it. This is the uncomfortable part… I tucked it all back where I found it and pretended it wasn’t there. I didn’t go back to the person and tell them, I didn’t ask if they knew about it, I thought, “Well I don’t know what to do so I won’t do anything.” but in the dream I was upset about it. It felt like a huge responsibility and one I didn’t want. I woke up from the dream, sweating under this huge down comforter I’m wrapped up in. I laid awake pondering what it meant and tried to relate it to what’s going on in my life. I’m perplexed. I looked out the window and saw the sky getting a little lighter, so decided to light a candle, get the laptop out, and start writing. 

I’m staying for the weekend in the Zomba Forestry Lodge, a place I’d wanted to visit the whole time we were living in Blantyre and just never got here. I don’t know why we never came, it’s fantastic and only a little over an hour away. I planned to take a minibus after work on Friday, but there was transport going to Zomba from the college early in the morning, so decided to catch a ride with them and extend my lifespan by a few years. I brought the laptop so I could work here instead of in my office. I arrived in Zomba town way earlier than I’d expected and still needed to get up the plateau but they weren’t expecting me until much later and I thought I should get some work done first. I went to the African Heritage Center where they have electricity and good coffee and sat there working for awhile before deciding how to get up to the lodge, ten kilometers up the plateau. They sent me detailed directions and I considered walking up but got a little worried I’d get lost, so hired a taxi to drive me. Half the journey is on the paved road and half on a narrow dirt road which is carved into the side of the plateau. It was ten bucks for the taxi and supporting a local business, so it seemed money well spent. But it is very straightforward so I’ll enjoy walking back down later this morning to catch a bus back to Blantyre. It was cold and so beautiful when I arrived Friday afternoon. I walked the last remaining section of indigenous forest on the plateau, then came back to the lodge and curled up in a blanket and read The Tyranny of Experts, a book Jordan sent me,about the history of international development and it’s original goal of keeping countries dependent on the west as colonialism’s future was dying. It’s interesting and an important read, I think, as I decide what I want to do with my life from here on out. It also makes me think of the woman that took such offense to my presentation about the midwifery ward project and how she was relating what I was doing to perpetuating colonialism. It’s making me think. 

Anyway, here I am in this simple, remote lodge, tucked into the side of the plateau, in the midst of a gorgeous section of forest, surrounded by hundreds of birds, being served tea and delicious meals in front of a fire, while others in the village huddle to keep warm. I recognize what privilege I have. The lodge employs a lot of the local villagers, and that is a good thing. When the couple leased this place seven years ago to turn it into a profitable business, the first thing they did was take out the vegetable garden. I asked them why, thinking growing all the vegetables you serve would be an attractive thing for a lodge (it’s certainly my fantasy), and they said they would rather buy all their produce from the village and give them a reason to grow a diverse selection of vegetables. Interesting and smart. The idea of supporting responsible tourism alleviates some of the guilt I have about being able to be here in the first place. 

I just opened the windows because there was steam on them. It made me think it might be warmer outside than in and I was right. Now I can hear all kinds of different birdsong in the vegetation just outside the window. I can also hear the staff rumbling around in the kitchen, which means there will be a pot of tea and warm muffins shortly.There’s no electricity here, so as soon as the battery dies on this laptop I’ll be putting this away but it’s still got some life so I’ll keep at it…

Yesterday morning I left the lodge after breakfast and walked seven kilometers up the plateau to the top. The trail was the old road to the top and easy to follow so I was confident I wouldn’t get lost. I passed about fifty women and girls carrying huge loads of wood on their heads, coming down. Some of the wood was dead branches gathered from fallen trees others were dead branches they cut off living trees. There are huge swaths of the plateau that are now pine plantations, replacing what was once a very varied mix of rainforest vegetation. When we came here in 1979 the plateau was covered with one huge rainforest. Much of it is bare now. There are small protected sections like the one where I’m staying, and there is a huge effort by the forestry department to replant, partly in trees that can be used for lumber, like the pine. They grow fast and can be used for building and their harvest is managed by the government.

There are horseback riding stables at the top of the plateau and I’d made arrangements to go riding yesterday afternoon. I got up there early enough that I had a few hours to kill, so thought a two hour walk to some waterfalls would be a nice way to pass the time. There is a big curio market near the hotel at the top and milling around there are guides looking for work. It’s always good for me to go with a guide (refer back to statement about getting lost) and Rodrick was quick to show me an official guide association card so I negotiated a price with him and we set off, leaving behind about twenty other guides with sour faces. It’s not hard hiking up there, not like on Mt. Mulanje, and there are trails, all unmarked, that go in all directions. I guess if I lived up there I’d be a little more comfortables with wandering on my own, but I was glad I had Rodrick with me. I asked if he were a carver and made the curios as well as guided people on walks? He told me no, he could not call himself a carver, because he only did the sanding and finish work. His father was a carver. He said, “I am a finisher and seller.” I told him I have a photo of me, taken in 1979, under a waterfall on the Zomba plateau. I don’t have any recollection of getting to that waterfall, but I remember swimming in the pool it created and standing under it washing my hair. Rodrick said he knew where it would be. We wound our way along the stream on an overgrown, poorly maintained trail and came to a dirt road that we followed for about a mile. Then we turned down another path, steep but more obvious, to Williams Falls, and I said, yup, that’s it. He said, “Let me take your photo here so you can compare.” I did not get in the water this time, but stood in front of the falls while he snapped my picture. I’ll have to spend some time when I get home, looking for the slide of a skinny twenty-two year old washing her dark hair under those falls.

When we got back to the curio market, I went to pay him and realized I didn’t have the correct change for the 5,000 kwacha fee. I gave him six thousand and asked him to give me something from his shop worth one thousand. He tried to get me to spend a little more, but I didn’t want to carry anything heavy, so he chose a small, crudely carved giraffe, handed it to me with an air of disappointment, and pointed me in the direction of the stables.

I walked about another mile (I walked sixteen miles yesterday!) to the stables and found Anne, the young German girl, getting my horse Duchess ready for the ride. Anne spent many of her growing up years in Malawi as her father worked for a German NGO and she became good friends with the couple who started the riding stables on the plateau. In Germany she took riding lessons so is very comfortable around horses. It seems like the dream job for a young woman, taking people on rides around a gorgeous landscape. It was always my fantasy anyway. I was the only one riding yesterday so she said we could do whatever I wanted. She wanted to know what my skill level was. The choices were: Beginner––never ridden a horse before; Novice––comfortable walking on a horse; or Competent––able to walk, trot, and gallop. I took an unreasonable amount of time deciding which category I fell into. I’m not a beginner, but I also didn’t want to be a novice, after all I went on a camping trip in the Andes on a horse up mountain trails, but we weren’t galloping. Then I thought of the time in Iceland when my horse bolted on the way back to the stables and Margie was screaming “Make him stop!” and I couldn’t and we all almost died, and I thought, maybe I shouldn’t check the competent box. Then Ann asked me if I were more comfortable with English or Western riding and I didn’t know the difference. I checked “Novice”. I explained my dilemma to her and told her the stories of past rides. She said we could suit it to what I wanted: nothing crazy, but also not a hand-led walk. She handed me a riding hat then one of the stable hands brought Duchess to the step where I got on. One little lesson about holding the reigns and we were off. It was a blast! I can’t believe I hadn’t been there to do that before! We went for two hours around trails all over the plateau, chatting and meandering as the clouds lifted and we could see Mt Mulanje in the distance. What a great afternoon. I loved it. When we got back to the stables a little before five a taxi was waiting for me. It wouldn’t be possible to walk down in the dark, so Tom, the proprietor of the lodge had arranged for a taxi to collect me and deliver me back to this sweet refuge. God, I love it here. My butt is a bit sore though.

In a bit I’ll get up and have breakfast then walk the ten kilometers down to the town and catch a minibus back to Blantyre to head into my last week here for awhile. The past week was productive, not quite as exciting as the previous week, but we still made some headway.

On my walk to work Monday I passed a house surrounded by a wall, like they almost all are. As I walked past the gate by the driveway I heard a man and woman arguing on the other side. I slowed my pace and then stopped not sure what to do. The argument was escalating and sounded like it was becoming violent. It was all in Chichewa, so I don’t know what was being said, but I definitely heard a slap and more yelling. A well-dressed man ahead of me also stopped walking and stood listening. He said, “They are arguing.” I said, “I know. I don’t know what to do.” He walked over to the gate and called to some other men walking by. It sounded like the woman was being taken into the house and it definitely sounded like she was going against her will. The well-dressed man said something to them through the gate and there was no response. I watched as he and the other men from the street went in through the gate which was unlocked and I walked on, hoping they would help the situation, whatever it was. I liked the good samaritan sense I got from the well dressed man. He looked like he knew what to do. Or maybe it just alleviated my sense of helplessness. I wondered what I would have done if I’d heard that happening at home.

Later that day a group of us met on the Ward 1-A, the future home of the midwifery ward, to look at the space and show the Boston team what we had to work with. Ursula and I walked together from the college campus through the covered corridors of the hospital. Looking ahead, Ursula noted they were transporting a dead body to the morgue and coming toward us. Student nurses, gloved and masked, guided the gurney carrying the shrouded deceased while the family followed behind, some wailing, others silent. Two were supporting an elder as she wept and stumbled along. As they approached, mothers grabbed children out of the way, housekeepers stopped mopping the floor, guardians held their bundles aside to make way. We all stood in silence and respectfully bowed our heads. Ursula and I stood in the overhang of the laundry area to give them room to pass. When the final family member went by, we resumed our walk and I thought, “People at home can go an entire lifetime and never encounter a dead body. Here, there is rarely a day when we don’t.” 

I’d brought the architectural plans but there wasn’t really an opportunity to show them to the gathered group. Several of us had already looked at them but I’d hoped we could go over them again to get a sense of what was possible. Individuals made comments about how they envisioned it set up with little or no renovation. There is a bit of a sense of urgency that we can’t wait for the space to be upgraded in a real way. I’ve cautioned against that, fearing working in a compromised way reduces the chances of long term success of the place, but ultimately it won’t be my decision. My friend Chris, the architect, met us there and I asked him to answer questions anyone had about what a renovation would involve. I explained that one of the plans had been given to a construction company to get a rough estimate of having it exactly as we’d like, but that would just be a rough number. After that we will have a sense of how much can be accomplished and what the timeframe would be. The breakdown of tasks leading to the completion of this has stopped at discussion only, but we have to start somewhere. This was an informal meeting as seeing the physical space is helpful envisioning the final goal. I keep picturing myself working there. After a quick walk through and a few questions the matrons went back to their responsibilities, the midwives on the existing ward resumed their tasks, Ursula had a class to teach, and part of the Boston team went back to their meeting.  Kelly is the program manager from Boston and before Ursula left for her class, she told her an MOU between the hospital and the nursing school is probably the most important first task to accomplish to get this renovation started. Ursula agreed and walked back down the long corridor to the campus. Chris and Kelly and I stood outside the ward looking at the exterior and discussing a possible new entrance. I really like that idea as it would allow women to enter the ward without coming down the congested corridors. Just after I was explaining my thoughts on this, we heard more wailing coming toward us. Kelly asked, “What’s that?” I said, “It’s a death. This procession is a common occurrence as they transport them to the morgue.” She said quietly, “Oh my God.” Chris then said, “Yeah, you know, at home hospitals are hermetically sealed. All this is shielded from view. Here, the corridors are these throbbing living landscapes.” I love that description. It’s so true that there is such and ebb and flow of humanity pulsing around you at all times. 

Tuesday on my way to work I took the short cut through the College of Medicine campus and ran into a man named Chiwoza who George worked with here. He is a psychologist and teaches at the college, has his own private clients, writes a weekly article for the newspaper, and I don’t know what else. He is a bit of a celebrity around here and highly respected. He’s written three books about mental health and I recently saw them for sale here and bought all three. He greeted me and asked about George. I told him he was doing really well, happily teaching in Myanmar, and as far as I could tell, was loving his work. He asked me to pass on that the child study group that George started was thriving. He said he’d been with the group the previous evening and wanted George to know it was ongoing and really helpful. (I think George already knows this from other members of the group he stays in touch with.) I’d also seen one of the psych nurses who asked me to tell George that the child psychiatric clinic he started was still going, run by the nurses, and they were all grateful to him. When George first started here he noted how the children brought to the psych clinic were being traumatized just by being in the waiting area with some of the sicker adults. He started a weekly child clinic in a separate building where the environment wasn’t as threatening or scary. It’s nice to hear these things and know that even though it seems our contributions are tiny in the great scheme of things, sometimes something’s helpful and sticks. I hope the midwifery ward is one of them.

Well, it’s broad daylight now and looks like the cloud has lifted. It’s not windy and it’s warmer than it’s been in days. It was 44 degrees when I got up here Friday but feels at least ten degrees warmer than that now. It’s chilly when you didn’t bring winter clothes. The owners of the house where I am staying in Blantyre are away for a month and I’m hoping they left their router on so I can go near the house and post this when I get back. I noticed a drastic reduction in the number of gardeners and guards around since they left. The five big dogs are still there to greet me though. They surround me like body guards as soon as I come through the gate. They do bark a lot at night though. 

Well, I wrote all this and still didn’t figure out the dream. Oh well.

Home next Sunday. It’s flown.

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~ Blantyre

Mtengo usamakoma pokwera pokha. ~ A tree should not only be good when climbing up.

~ Chewa proverb

June 16, 2019

Hi Everyone,

Yesterday something called a chiperone settled over Blantyre. It’s a cloud that descends and sits, without moving, between the mountains surrounding the city. I’d heard drizzle during the night, which I thought was unusual for this time of year, but went back to sleep thinking it would be clear in the morning. My bed faces a window with a view of the city, (twinkly at night) with mountains forming a backdrop. Yesterday morning though, all I saw was thick fog. It seriously could have been the coast of Maine. I couldn’t even see the garden. And the drizzle continued and it went on like that all day. I didn’t pack an umbrella or raincoat as it’s the dry season and I was not expecting a day of rain. It was so cold I had to shut the windows, something I rarely do, but I had on every long sleeved shirt I brought and was still cold. I spent the day painting on teabags, and wrapped up in a blanket on the couch reading. I think I drank fourteen cups of tea. I had planned to do a walkabout, which is my term for just rambling around by foot, but without a raincoat or umbrella it would have been just slipping in the mud and being cold and wet. I tucked in and did a lot of thinking about my work here, my relationship with George, possibilities for the future, and was actually a little bored. Cold and bored. At three in the afternoon the rain stopped and I went out to walk, happy there was electricity and a hot shower for when I got back. Then it was a nice dinner with friends who were equally bundled up. This morning is clear again but quite cold and my walk to church in a little while will be brisk.

It’s been quite a week and having some time to sit and reflect yesterday wasn’t a bad thing. I could never have imagined where the idea we had in the car ride to Lilongwe two years ago would take us. At that point in time I was so frustrated with the plight of women here and the challenges the faculty has with trying to provide a quality education for the students, I was ready to go home and say I tried and leave it at that. In that car Ursula, Elizabeth, and I complained about the way things are, beat our breasts about the unfairness of it, and kicked around this idea of having a separate ward where we could actually practice our profession in it’s true form. It seemed then like a fantasy. A hahaha-wouldn’t-that-be-nice daydream, like owning a brownstone in the East Village, or having Hillary Clinton as president. This week, two years after that car ride, the three of us were sitting in a room with twenty other people, laying out a five year plan for renovating, equipping, and instituting a midwifery-led ward here at Queen Elizabeth Central Hospital. I was nearly weeping for the beauty of it. It was so much more than we ever imagined we could accomplish. 

We’ve gone from hoping we could have a little corner of the existing maternity ward to being well on our way to establishing the first midwifery-led model ward in Malawi, with the support of SEED Global Health, the College of Nursing, Queens Hospital, the College of Medicine, and the Ministry of Health! All working together! To make women’s lives better! Woo hoo! It’s happening people!! 

Monday we laid out the five designs the students at Jefferson University created and went over the differences and the pros and cons of each design. My friend Chris, the architect, was there and offered to take the design we chose to get a rough estimate for the renovation. Since we don’t know what it will cost, we aren’t able to initiate a fundraising plan. Getting a ballpark figure will start that ball rolling and I never thought I would be so excited about fundraising. I actually look forward to it. Can’t wait. Then we began the long-term planning meeting which spread out over three days and we used every single minute of it and then some. I learned so much! I thought to myself several times during the three days that this would seem like the sort of activity that would drive me crazy, trying to come to consensus with this many people, but honestly, it was enlightening, and fun. As each point was brought forward, the discussion was pertinent and insightful and addressed issues we hadn’t thought of. The people in the room from administration were keen to understand our needs completely, from every angle. They said, “You have to describe this as you would describe every step of eating a meal. You can’t just say, ‘I took the food and ate it.’ You have to describe, opening the door to the dining room, selecting the plate and the fork, deciding whether you need a knife or spoon, every single aspect of this needs to be laid out in detail for us to make a plan for implementation.” It was miraculous to me. Monitoring, Evaluation and Learning? You think I’d ever be interested in that process? Well, now I am! It is fascinating when you really understand how it is applied to something you care about. We came to a consensus for the ultimate goal of the project, what our objectives are, what actions we need to take to meet the objectives, how we’ll measure the output and describe the outcomes. I’d sit back in my chair every so often just to take it all in. It was an honor just to be in the midst of the minds around that table. The incredible respect shown to one another, the way misunderstandings were clarified, the expression of pride and support for the chance to really make a difference in the lives of Malawian women, I tell you, it was something to behold. Every once in awhile Ursula, Elizabeth, and I would catch each other’s eye. Ursula would raise her right eyebrow just slightly, Elizabeth’s eyes would open a bit wider, as if the message “CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS??!!!” was floating between us.

Friday afternoon the chief nursing officer from the Ministry of Health in Lilongwe joined us. She was taken on a tour of the existing ward and Ward 1-A which will become the midwifery-led ward. Her presence here was a big flipping deal. People curtseyed a little when they greeted her. She spoke about her support for this project and how she hopes it will become a model for the whole country. I nearly fell over in a swoon. Someone even dropped the first ladies name, saying she might be interested in supporting this. There’s still a ton of work to do, but it’s nice to hear people talking about this not as an idea, but as an existing entity. Now to create it step by step. 

It feels like we’ve gone up the tree, we’re just now planning how to get down.

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~ Blantyre

Kanthu ndi Khama ~ You can only achieve from persevering

~ Malawian proverb

June 9, 2019

Hi Everyone,

It feels good to be back, especially at this time of the year. June, July, and August are dry with warm days and cool nights. The rains are finished and were plentiful this year, too plentiful in some areas as the cyclone dumped record amounts and villages in the south were destroyed. Blantyre was spared though and everything is in bloom. It’s gorgeous. I’m sitting in the garden of my little rented cottage surrounded by poinsettias of three different colors and bougainvillea of at least five different shades. And those are just the show offs. There are calla lily, various cacti, trumpet vine, and loads of others I can’t name, all in bloom. Pretty sweet. I’m still adjusting to the time change and have been groggy in the morning, so got up just in time to walk the three miles to church and didn’t start writing until now, already after noon. 

Malawi’s presidential election happened on May 21st and the results have been contentious. One party claims fraud while the incumbent slid very easily into reelection. I’m praying this is not what happens to us next year. The aftermath has been some rioting, plenty of demonstrating, and some protests which escalated into police throwing tear gas into crowds. One of these episodes happened last week where the American Ambassador was. I am unclear about her role there, I heard she was trying to negotiate with the losing party, but don’t quote me on that. She was evacuated, wrapped in a sheet to protect her from the tear gas. I think if I were part of Peace Corps now, I’d be restricted to my house. But I’m not so am freely moving about and feel quite safe here in Blantyre. All the protests are in Lilongwe. I had to fly into Lilongwe this time as the Blantyre airport has dug up its runway. A driver collected me for which I was extremely grateful having traveled for 32 hours with an unexpected stop in Lubumbashi in Congo! The driver said he’d been waiting for me for four hours as no one would say why the plane was late. I’d barely slept for two nights, so was very glad he’d waited. As we drove into the city and approached my hotel I could see a huge protest happening. The driver turned around to go an alternative route but we ended up being encompassed on that route as well. He pointed to the rocks and broken glass on the road and said, “See. It has turned violent.”  He rolled up the windows and locked the doors, but it all looked peaceful to me. Some people were in costume, some wrapped in bandages carrying knives (the driver silently pointed to them), many dancing and singing but I don’t know what the words were. We slowly rolled on without an incident.

SEED had booked a room for me at the Capitol Hotel, which used to be the swankiest place in town when we were Peace Corps volunteers in the late 70’s. Joe and I celebrated our second anniversary there in 1980 at the nice restaurant. I had Steak Diane, I still remember that. Matt was three months old and we’d left him with the nanny of one of the embassy families. So crazy to be staying there in 2019. It’s probably ten times the size it was when it was built, maybe more. There are several restaurants, stores, and a business center inside now, very much a corporate feel. I was too tired to utilize any of it, so just finalized the arrangements for my meeting the following morning, took a hot shower, and crawled between the crisp white sheets. It took about ten seconds to be unconscious and I stayed that way for twelve hours. It was glorious.

Wednesday was a holiday in Malawi but the nursing advisor who is now working for SEED met with me to get briefed on the midwifery ward project. We planned to talk from ten until noon when a driver was coming to drive me the five hours to Blantyre. That two hours passed in a flash. Wow. She is a powerhouse and is totally on board with this project. She has worked for WHO for many years and has had positions high up in the ministry of health. To say she is well-connected is an understatement. The SEED team is coming to Blantyre this week to discuss the plans for the future and while we were meeting she got a call from the chief nursing officer for the ministry and invited her to come to Blantyre and learn about this project. She hung up the phone and casually said, “She’ll be there.”  I was simultaneously thrilled and terrified. It is fantastic that there is involvement and support from many sectors but I also know this is going to complicate the process. Ultimately it will contribute to it’s success, though, (I hope) so here we go…

It’s easy to slip back into life here. The cottage I stayed in last time is occupied and the owners rushed to get the second one finished for my arrival. They ran into a few problems (I can sympathize) so I ended up staying my first night here in their big house. It was more than comfortable, and I was able to get into the cottage the following evening; it feels good to be unpacked and settled. My office on campus was waiting for me untouched, and my colleagues were there on Thursday when I arrived. We started making plans for the big three day meeting coming up and there was some confusion about who was responsible for the food: lunches and teas, etc. The team from Boston is coming as well as the Lilongwe team, so it was kicked up a notch. A menu was discussed and the idea of having it be extra special was outside the budget. I suggested we just use the caterer we’d used for our original meetings for the ward, who is a local man with simple but good food. It was very affordable. “Will that be suitable for the people from Boston?”, the dean asked. I replied, “Of course! We are in your country, we should eat your food.” She said, “Well, I don’t know if we should go by you. You are a Malawian.”  I was flattered.  And yesterday when I went shopping for food, some of the merchants at the Blantyre market saw me and remarked, “Ah sister! We haven’t seen you for a long time! Where have you been?” It feels nice.

I started another journal after having mine stolen in Hawaii. I’m trying to write something every day, even if it’s short. I used to write much more, but my phone distracts me now. It used to be when I was sitting and waiting for something I’d take out my journal and write, but now I look at emails or articles I’ve saved. I keep saying I’m not going to do that, but I keep doing it. On Friday I wrote the date June 7, 2019, and instead of writing about what was going on here, a cascade of memories started pouring from my pen. It was the date of Zack’s senior prom and the day Joe moved out of our  house. I wrote about squatting in the greenhouse painting girl’s toenails as Joe silently packed up the car with his things. There were gowns hanging all over the place, tuxedos over the backs of chairs as classmates and friends gathered to get ready for prom. It was all surreal. He never explained anything and never told the kids he was leaving. Aside from him leaving the family that day, the scene was everything we’d dreamed of creating: a place where our kids and their friends would gather and we could be supportive and involved. And here he was walking out without a word. I know I drank a lot during that time, trying to keep my panic under control. I’m pretty sure I didn’t start until evening, but I may have had something that afternoon to get me through it. I can’t remember now. I do remember being in a dream-like state, going through motions and pretending I was ok: taking photos, making french braids, and bobbie-pinning lily of the valley in the crease of a french twist. I remember those details with such clarity, but after the kids all left, it’s a complete blank. A big black hole of an evening, the lights probably extinguished by wine and denial. That was a long time ago now. Seventeen years. That’s a lifetime around here.

And now, here I sit in this beautiful garden, grateful for all who helped me through that time, propping me up and letting me cry. I’m shaking my head at where my life has gone since then. I’ve often said I would not have chosen to have my family break apart like that, but can only control my own behavior, not someone else’s. You can’t make someone love you when they don’t. (Isn’t that a song lyric? Pretty sure I’ve heard it before.) I’ve played the hand I was dealt and it has brought me here, happy with my life as it is and working on something I completely believe in. Whatever force in life taught me to persevere, it’s what I am most grateful for.

I walked back from church this morning with Ursula. When we got to her house she invited me in and made tea. We sat and talked about the election and it’s aftermath. We made plans for the upcoming week. We both have the same vision for this project and both want it to succeed. We talked about being realistic. When I said I should be going, she walked with me through the maize field to the College of Medicine gate. We said goodbye and she said, “No, we must remember that things move slowly. We will succeed.” We embraced and I walked home.

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~Speaking Life

Moyo wanga ndi mbiya, n’sunga ndekha. ~   My life is like a clay pot, I take care of it myself.

~ Chewa proverb

June 2, 2019

On my way again. I sit here, tucked away on a stone staircase, out of the way, with budding shrubs and a few purple blossoms strewn around. It’s warm, finally; I took my jacket off. I’m packed for the month. I’ve got some science books, some kids clothes, and some beads to donate. I’ve got the architectural plans, my clothes for the month, and a citrus squeezer for a gift. I was one short last time. I’ve got my passport, some cash for the visa, two books to read, and an empty travel mug. I’ve finally downloaded an app that will get me to the airport at an early hour ––– earlier than I can ask my kids to drive me. My house is in good hands with friends visiting for the month. I’ve had some quality time with the grandkids while their parents spent last night away to celebrate my youngest’s birthdays. My twins turned thirty-three yesterday. What a completely different life it was then. I thought about that this morning, trying to make breakfast and walk the dog with the two little ones clamoring. How did I have five and still finish graduate school? Well, I was thirty-three years younger, but still. Tonight is Amelia’s ballet recital. I didn’t want to miss it so I’m glad the timing worked out. 

I have no idea what will happen with my travels after this trip back to Malawi. I’ve got the month of June to work on getting this ward established and then Kathy will arrive in July and take the baton. She sent me a list this morning. It’s a list of Quaker Advices, one of which was “Let your life speak.” I love them all, but especially this one. I often think this is not what I imagined my life to be like at this age; sometimes that’s a good thing, and sometimes it gets me down. Today I find this advice reassuring and comforting: Let your life speak. I’ll leave it at that. 

Love to all,

Linda