A week less ordinary

5 days and 5 nights in Gongonya village (T/A Kwataine)
I’ve toyed with the idea of “sleeping rough” during my placement here in Malawi since I’ve arrived really. I thought that would be one way of getting closer to the traditional way of life of the people I meet everyday in the hospital and also to better understand some dynamics. For the first few months, I couldn’t even entertain the idea with the rainy season still in full force. After that, I got myself into a routine of work and travelling/meeting people, essential for my early integration, which left me with hardly any time for such ventures. Knowing that the national conference would be a real climax in my agenda here, I finally thought that if I don’t do it in the anticlimax period, before the rainy season reappears and more importantly before Janet arrives, then I might never get to do it. So I hit the iron!

The experience was a unique self-styled escape into a world far removed from the conventional tourist or expat worker trail of Malawi. My expectations were mostly based on 2 previous cultural village visits, but even those were heavily geared at tourists with plenty of extras. This time round, I would taste the real thing- or as close to it as I may ever get. Thanks to Patrick, a great friend at work who works as a HSA (health surveillance assistant) at Madzanje village, I got my keep organised there. Patrick, in that genuine self-offering way typical of most Malawians, decided to join me on my mission and shunned his own comfy bed in town for this. The adventure was partly what lured him but also the opportunity to develop our friendship. Malawians, I have found, will really go to great lengths for this.

The plan was to commute to and back from work in the way the villagers themselves do. That meant mostly matola rides in the evenings, whereas in the mornings, it was essentially a chance affair. Since the time we set off was the peak time, all public transport was too full to stop. We’d end up hitching lifts or trying our luck with any vehicle with a spare seat (for which they charge). It seems that my muzungu status helped at least one tiny beat, not in getting me a lift from the passing cars, but in getting a big bus to stop on two occasions at this roadside lay-by which they normally give a wide berth to, leaving such petty duties for the minibuses. From the main road to our village, we would cover another 2.5Km on foot- a perfect daily constitutional as it were. The first time to the village and the time when leaving didn’t feel quite like this though, more like a full work-out rather, since I had my full week’s luggage with me as well. True to my villager emulation, I ended up carrying it on my head, and indeed that proved to be the most efficient way of going about it. Also one day, Patrick and I cheated, partly for the fun of it, since Henry, my flatmate, offered to lend us his motorbike. Given Patrick’s gregarious elation at this mode of transport, I discreetly declined a repeat offer the next day. The transport experience alone was enough to paint a picture for me of what difficulties the local villager might experience getting to the district hospital when ill. Madzanje, from which it takes a maximum of 3hours to get to the hospital, should really be considered nearby, when you consider such places as Kasinje, which are up to a 100Km away.
Nelly & Agogo- my super hosts

Let me now describe the actual village. I should point out first that I began by telling a few people at work where I was going on Monday, since they were all intrigued why I was carrying a travel bag to work. After noting their puzzled, somewhat disgusted, reactions at being told that I was going to swap my own comfortable house for such basic conditions, I decided not advertise it anymore. When one has to work so hard to get away from such an existence, it becomes quite understandable why they would never do such a thing voluntarily. But I really wanted to experience this way of living at least once properly. And in fact it’s not as bad as it’s made out to be. My hut was essentially a mud brick two-bedder with a thatched roof (very leaky, which is why I chose to do this before the rainy season) and my room a furniture-less rectangle with a concave mud floor on which rested my mat. The only challenge was hanging my mozzie net from was the roof beam and I reached it by way of saccadic jumps while stretched spread eagle against the wall. My rock climbing skills have come in handy like that a few times already! Once you’re used to lying on a hard surface, you just don’t think about it. After all some 80-90% of all Malawians do it. The only difficulty is lying sideways as the bony prominences of your pelvis do get sore after a while. But the thing about back pain, well I don’t know if it’s true! The concavity of the floor (from erosion) made sure I lay in the same spot every night! Patrick, who initially shared the same room, had to relocate in the other room (our dining area) the next night. The concave floor simply meant we would be converging to one same spot on the floor- a bit too close for comfort if you ask me...
Mat & Net!

The other proclaimed deterrent for staying in a village proved also not to be a big issue for me- the food. Essentially I had Nsima every night, with a green vegetable dish (sometimes cooked with a delicious groundnut sauce) and a tomato-based relish (lerish here!). On the first 3 nights, the latter would comprise dried local fish, with eyes still on, as its main ingredient. I have to admit that it took quite some hesitation before my taking the plunge, but once I did it turned out to be quite tasty. I reckon that as zungus, we tend to be put off from these foods purely from the sight and smell of them in the markets, looking quite untidy, with flies around. But that doesn’t mean it’s not cleaned properly before cooking. In fact it’s partly boiled and that softens the meat and gets rid of the smell. The last 2 nights were nonetheless somewhat easier for my own diet, with beans being brought in to replace the fish. The most memorable part of that food experience had to be the freshness of it all. Almost all of it was made from local ingredients (except for the fish) either cultivated the same day or dried and preserved beforehand. It has unwittingly turned me into a real Malawian food fan.
Patrick about to eat all my dinner

Regarding, hmmm, the more basic facilities, I have to say that the absence of a toilet with a septic tank was not an inconvenience I even noticed. Considering the amount of hassle I have with keeping the one I have at home working properly, with frequent water shortages, a defective flush mechanism and leakages, this hole in the ground was clean, not overly smelly and piece of cake to maintain! As for washing, again since I’m so used to having bucket showers by now, I even underwent an upgrade from my routine by staying there. My hosts were so obliging they made sure I had hot water in the mornings to wash. When you’re out in the crisp morning air, before the day heats up, few things come close to those 5minutes of bliss behind a reed enclosure splashing tepid water over your body! The day ahead seemed like the least of details to tackle.

The rest of my agenda in the village was made up of a number of encounters to allow me to peer closer into the village way of life. Among other things, I discovered the morning beer call of sowing/harvest time, the Nsima chain, the village headman’s quarters and, more impressively, the Traditional Authority for the entire region! Right now is the rainy season preamble, where all the farmers are frantically preparing their lands for the big downpour, so they can get the best harvest in a few months. This is a survival necessity in this part of the world- to the point that I have even had to discharge patients well before they were ready to go home because they and their guardians could not afford to desert their land, their food basket. With this routine comes the inevitable need for distraction in the evenings. Hence the morning beer call. Since there are no designated pubs as such here, different houses take turns in providing the evening refreshment, namely a home brew called “Masese”- not very different from Chibuku I would guess. I was not allowed to go and check by Patrick, who insisted he had my best interest at heart! The one big difference with drinking in town there was the fact that more than half of the participants were in fact women. Obviously since they are the ones who’ve toiled the hardest all day clearing these fields! I especially keep this heart-warming image of two giggling 50-odd-year-old women stumbling past my hut one night singing Waka Waka without a care in the world. Exhausted. Happy. That strangely reminded me of my own university days with my buddies after a weekend session!

I think I must have seen every part of the Nsima chain and as I understand it, it goes like this: Maize harvest, drying of corn cobs, plucking of kernels, soaking of kernels in water in big vats, drying out of the soaked kernels on mats, grinding (either by laborious pounding in a mortar or if one can afford it, at one the numerous maize meals scattered across the village) and a final round of drying again. If one only recognised the labour that went into making every single scoop of that most Malawian of all dishes, I think one might appreciate it a bit more!
As for the village headman, I actually met him on the night the drunken women lilted past my house. He had not been spared a similar fate, having been at it most day too. He was in a most jovial mood when meeting me, which I found incredibly welcoming. He even appeared to be the more grateful out of us two and he was effectively my host! Oh Malawi, what a warm heart you have! The traditional hierarchy of authority in Malawi and many other African countries, I believe, starts from small units, which coalesce gradually until one large block is formed. The final division then tends to be tribal or national. In Malawi we have the following steps: village headman, group village headman, sub-traditional authority, traditional authority(T/A) and finally chief (usually one of the T/As). This is separate from the political hierarchy comprising MPs and the rest. Chiefs however are somewhat politically appointed too and there is an inevitable marriage of politics and tradition.

On my last day, I managed to rub shoulders with the traditional authority for the area, T/A Kwataine. That was an honour and a half when you consider his status around the place. Meeting the man felt deceivingly like meeting my next door neighbour. Not to my surprise, he welcomed me with a most comforting familiarity and showed me all the way round his quarters. I was particularly impressed to be in the company of a kindred spirit in terms of environmental preservation (he grows many indigenous trees around his compound and encourages the same around the region he controls). His other project, which he would compel me to mention here were to know I was blogging, is the health centre he’s building near his house. Effectively a multidisciplinary clinic with capacity to deal with general medical conditions as well as labour and deliveries. Quite laudable really.
Green Chief

All good things naturally have to come to an end. And to mark my village sojourn’s one, I decided to share some of that joy with my friends from Ntcheu. With the all-obliging Patrick again, we lined up a group of 10 Ngoni dancers to delight us with a traditional performance. The fact that everyone joined in is testimony enough to its success. The whole dance was complemented by a fabulous meal, the best one of my week, i.e. a combination of my favourite choices from the week gone.
Ngoni Warriors

To say merely that it’s been a great week would miss all the other things it’s been- cultural discovery, personal adventure, new friendships, new insights, new standards etc. I have certainly got over my anticlimax feeling pretty successfully through it. What I can’t promise though is that another anticlimax from that very week itself is what’s gonna set in next!