Supporters of the Democratic Progressive Party and the late
president Bingu, displaying their political affiliations with big, bold DPP
zitenje and party anthems, were scattered across the presidential grounds in
Sanjika, Blantyre, to commemorate his passing, when I visited last Saturday. The
place resonated with the beautiful singing of choirs. Choirs that had travelled
miles and come from all over the country, to uphold the significance of such a
monumental moment in the country’s history. He looked a lot younger than his 78
years, when I saw his body. He had died in very unfortunate but ironic
circumstances. Ironic in that, he died as a result of the very issues that he
was given the responsibility to find some resolve over. His air ambulance
wasn’t available when he had a heart attack. With no state emergency services,
he had to be taken to an ICU in a clinic in Lilongwe, in the back of an
ordinary vehicle. There were inevitable delays getting there as a result. He
was pronounced dead upon arrival, and supposedly the clinic didn’t have the
drugs and equipment to try and resuscitate him effectively. These lack of
resources were a direct consequence of an aid freeze over
a fight Bingu himself had picked with donors. Bingu had lost the
goodwill of several funding bodies, and had lost vitally needed aid that had
traditionally accounted for approximately 40% of the national budget, on the
grounds of being challenged over human rights violations and deterioration in a
democratic governance environment.
Despite my sentiments towards his autocratic and intolerant
regime, I couldn’t help feel sorry for the entire state of affairs in Malawi
when I saw him. If that’s how your president goes, what hope is there for your
average Joe. His funeral was on Monday, it was a national holiday. We were
casually waiting on the lay-by, swapping passengers, when fortuitously; we
encountered the presidential motorcade that drove by in Blantyre. They were all
returning from his funeral. Nine heads of state drove past, as well as
delegations of the African Congress, Commonwealth
and Comesa [Common Market for Eastern and Southern Africa], and of
course Joyce Banda, the current Malawian president. It brought to a head for me
that for Banda, her Everest is undoubtedly re-establishing broken relationships
with important allies and donor organisations, in a bid to re-build the precariously
fragile economy.
Not everyone, however, necessarily perceives donor-aid, or
at least how it’s traditionally been, as a positive for Malawi. When I first
arrived, I was lucky to receive an idiots guide to Malawi from the MD of
Beehive, Peter Nkata, as part of my induction. He talked a lot about the
economy, amongst other things, and the role international donors have had in
creating a vicious cycle of dependency on external providers for things like
fertilizer and hybrid seeds. He described it as the new colonialism. It was an
interesting but cynical perspective. I wasn’t sure whether the introduction of
the above was simply in response to resolving the dilemma of feeding a
population that has doubled over the last 20 years or so. But nevertheless, he
was right about the dependency, last year seemed to be gloomed over by anxiety
from a national shortage of fertilizer, without which, the land can no longer
support harvest growth.
For me, these recent political changes have allowed for an
ideal reflection point about my changing perceptions of Malawi. At a first
glance, it’s a country with grim HIV statistics, a country where 75% live under
a dollar a day, placing it at 171 out of 187 on the Human Development Index,
and a country that gets masked by its high profile tourist attractive
neighbours. But at a closer look, a country that rightfully gets described as
the warm heart of Africa, often described as ‘Africa for beginners’, and where these
recent changes in presidency will hopefully call for interesting and better
times ahead.
I’ve been here for nearly two and a half months now. I
remember getting tired easily and feeling overwhelmed with how much there was
to take in, when I first arrived. I kept trying to figure out why. And it was
simple. Expect to be flooded by many different experiences and emotions. That
would be Malawi if I was to sum it up- ‘it’s everything’. There’s a lot you
come across when you’re here that simply breaks your heart- a raw reality, but
it’s side-by-side with the heart-warming. Some things can really pee you off,
and other things just crack you up. So, this entry, will simply be a list of
what you could expect to come across if you ever visit.
First of all the names. Some of my staff are called
Blessings, Loveness, Wonderful, Gift, McCloud, Precious, Hope, and Trouble
(often given to a child that has caused a difficult labour. Charming).
Beauty! From sheet lightening to an expansive sky. And with
such little light pollution, it’s an ideal place to brush up on your
constellations.
The ‘pole pole’ (‘slowly slowly’) pace of life, especially
in the workplace, which in one sense is a liberating contrast from the frenetic
lifestyle we lead back home, usually at the expense of smelling the roses. But,
it does also come at the expense of productivity, efficiency and development.
Surely, there’s a happy medium somewhere.
‘Hello azungu (white-spirit) how are you?’ In all its political
correctness. And I wasn’t white last time I checked. Expect it here all the
time. Usually, by a lot of kids running up to you.
The shop names. ‘God is Able Hair Salon’. ‘Fear god’ buses. ‘God
is good hardware (bridal dresses in the back)’. No joke.
Waste. When you don’t have a community waste management
system operating, and it dawns on you that as an organisation you have
indirectly authorized your cleaners to dump rubbish down the river, by not
providing them with alternative feasible options, you very quickly begin to
appreciate how much waste and pollution we create, and how complicated it is to
work out the most environmental way to deal with the issue. And it’s a national
issue, that requires a national scale system. Even the presidential grounds
were badly littered.
A conspicuous religiously subservient culture. Most official
Beehive meetings start with a prayer.
Hassle from sellers and azungu rip-offs- expect to be
charged twice as much. Haggling, is a handy skill to have here.
National fuel shortages and petrol queues. And they are long.
Expect to be waiting for hours.
A lot of bereavements, which is a closer reality working on
a daily basis with staff from the local community in Chilomoni. The strong community
sense regarding funerals is admirable, yet causes genuine dilemmas for work
organisations. It surely is for Beehive. You would never have as many staff off
for compassionate leave back in the UK. But as a community member here you
would be expected to attend the funeral of someone from your community. I
sometimes grimace at the thought that by imposing our work ethics/ expectations
on our staff over such values, it might inadvertently result in a gradual
distancing from these cultural norms/ practices. Speaking from experience, with
my Pakistani heritage, I know that my parents generation uphold these community
values, far better than those of my generation, because ‘we’re too busy with
our other commitments, particularly work ones’. I am definitely reminded of
this enough times by my mother. Here in Malawi, if you are driving, and you see
two triangles either side a house, it means that someone has passed away, and you
have to stop and wait out of respect until their funeral rites are over. I have
waited for half an hour on the road before and got late for a meeting.
A lack of variety, especially in cosmetics and other contemporary
luxuries. It does make shopping easier. I’m expecting to be overwhelmed by my
first Tesco trip back in the UK when I return- ‘OMG, 10 different varieties of
Weetabix, I can’t cope!’ There are some shops in Blantyre that you can get
things from, but because everything is imported, they are so expensive. The
prices of things here will strike you. Expect to pay about £10-15 for one box
of hair dye. I’m missing corner shops. We get lunch and supper provided, but if
you wanted anything different at work, there’s not really that much else you
can get. Also, unless you constantly fresh cook all the time, there aren’t many
healthy alternatives. I eat a lot of rubbish as a result.
The luring temptation of a black market. The current
official exchange rate is MK240 to the pound, as oppose to MK350 on the black. A huge difference. An issue that has been exacerbated
by the devaluation of the Kwacha.
Delays, delays and more delays. Things break down all the
time. Nothing works. Everything takes ten times longer, and is ten times more
complicated. In a subsistence existence, people often work so long and hard
they don’t have the time or energy to work out a better way of doing it. It
reminded me of the opening line in Winnie the Pooh.
“HERE is Edward Bear, coming downstairs
now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It
is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he
feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a
moment and think of it.”
The work ethic paradox. On the one hand, you see people slogging
it. Marian’s son, Joe, came a few weeks ago and carried out interviews with
charcoal sellers in Malawi. Some of the sellers were setting off at midnight on
foot, carrying an unfathomable weight of charcoal on their head, and arriving
in Blantyre 5 hrs later, selling it, and making the 5 hour trip back. But then
on the other hand, it’s more common here to come across a really poor work ethic: a lack of motivation, lateness,
unauthorized absences, stealing. I guess motivation and ethics, including work
ones, are inspired. Above everything, I have loved, loved, loved to see the
shifting attitudes of the caregivers towards their work at the children’s
centre. I have seen pride, responsibility, ownership, all within a few months. We
have recently appointed room leaders and deputee managers and they have really
stepped up.
A health and safety conscious nation. Not. Expect to walk
past kids playing with fire on your way to work. The new children’s centre
manager arrived a few days ago. She told me they now have a policy in county-wide
Nottinghamshire that children can no longer junk model with toilet roll tubes
because it’s potentially unhygienic. It’s health and safety gone mad. Again,
surely there’s a happy medium somewhere.
Vehicles constantly breaking down. Driving vehicles without keys.
Using a filing cabinet key as a vehicle key. One of our friend’s from Torrent
ends up being called out all the time, and it’s amazing to watch him work
pretty much any vehicle problem out.
Cold showers and very early starts. I have to get in for
6:30, which means cold showers at 5am. I wouldn’t describe it as the most
enjoyable part of my day.
When there is such a lack of resources, finding a way and
making it work. And you always do. Being resourceful and creative with what you
have.
Long and frequent power cuts
Jumping in and out of land-rovers and being jostled about in
the back, on the bumpiest rides I’ve ever had on un-tarmaced roads. I quite like it.
