Malawi Moods

On the odd day everybody becomes pessimistic. Then you see the poverty, the kids with extended bellies, the corruption and disorganisation in government, the incessant power cuts, the people who always want money from you for one thing or another, the so-called drivers on the roads who have bought their licences in a shop and endanger all the rest of us, the schools with no books, the bush fires and lack of understanding of the environment, the fact that everything takes forever to get done, the lack of blue cheese and decent red wine.

But 99 percent of days are good. Then you see the happy smiling faces that greet you everywhere you go, the people that take time to talk to each other and to greet strangers, the lack of stress, the beauty of flowers, birds, mountains and lakes, the kids jumping up and down with excitement when they wave to you as you drive past, the freedom to do anything you want in the world, the great weather, the bustling markets, the dancers in the villages who with their abilities could join any international circus, the wealth of projects and subjects to indulge in, from solar power to botany and oral literature.

Getting to know the neighbours

It was so nice coming back to Ntchisi. We spent the first few days talking to the staff at the lodge again. Reassuring them has been the most important aspect. Change and the unknown is always difficult, and we get the impression that they have been anxious about the future while we were in Europe.

We were gone for two months – a long time – and although we had prepared them for the length of our absence, they had started worrying we wouldn’t come back, that they wouldn’t have any jobs after the current owner left. So it was really nice to talk to everyone one-on-one and make them feel sure about what was going to happen.

We’ve also spent our short time meeting a few of the neighbours. Esten is one of our closest neighbours, an old man, now retired, who used to be a watchmaker and was trained in Switzerland. I’m sure he will turn out to be an interesting acquaintance. And he is supposedly a good Chichewa teacher, so we intend to approach him about that when we go back next week.

Yesterday we visited the local school in the village. It has 650 pupils, housed in sensible buildings, built by DfID three years ago, so the classrooms are better than most (they actually have walls and a roof that’s not leaking!). The Standard 1 kids did an impromptu song and dance for us and we joined in and, although it was a bit difficult keeping up with Frere Jacques in Chichewa, it was great fun.

We have set up a meeting with the local Village Headman and the Group Village Headman, who oversees the nearest five villages, for next week to introduce ourselves over a cup of tea. I’m sure it will be a pleasurable meeting and prove important to good relations with the village.

Back in Civilisation 2 (or: Burning the Witch)

Last weekend we had our Danish midsummer celebrations. The 23rd of June is called Skt Hans, after Saint John, because John is called Johannes in Scandinavia, abbreviated to Hans; and because 'saint' is written as 'sankt' and abbreviates to 'skt', despite actually translating to 'helgen'. With me thus far?

So. We celebrate Skt Hans (ie. Saint John) with a midsummer party on the 23rd. Despite the fact that midsummer is really two days earlier and Saint John’s birthday is actually a day later. Obvious, isn’t it?

In order to show our true Scandinavian religiosity, we celebrate the saint by burning a witch on a bonfire. Afterwards we eat sausages.

This year I made the witch out of old clothes, sticks and egg cups and decorated her with some of my mum’s old (and very red) lipstick. She was a good two metres tall and looked suitably above-it-all in her lipstick and her suffering as the flames started licking her legs, while we all stood around the fire drinking red wine and enjoying the sight.

After the witch and the wine, we moved onto sausages, bread baked on the fire, and whisky. We finished the evening by roaring like an elk outside our guests’ caravan so they woke up again.

Good old Scandinavian traditions!

Back in civilisation

I’m home for a few months while waiting to be able to take over the lodge. It’s very rare to have this amount of free time in one’s life, so I intend to enjoy it to the full. I’m testing recipes for the restaurant, doing funny google searches and going for bike rides in the Swedish countryside.

Arriving in the UK at first felt a bit weird. One weekend we went to Reading and had to change trains at Paddington. Thankfully I more or less managed to stand back from it all, yet you can’t help being taken in by all the stress surrounding you and taking part in these ridiculous games that are played out in train stations.

When the platform was announced, a horde of people, mainly business people in their suits and ties and expressionless faces, rallied towards the platform from all directions. The image must have been quite spectacular from above, this vast herd of humans forming a fan-like shape. Everybody was walking, never running – that would be breaking the rules of the game – but walking faster and faster, simultaneously keeping an eye on their competitors out of both corners of their eyes so as to make sure they didn’t get in front.

The expressionless faces slowly started betraying signs of stress, vicousness, greed and desperation at the thought of their rightful seat on the train being snatched away from them. The closer they got to the platform, the more the desperation set in. Old grannies were pushed out of the way, toddlers overturned. And still on the surface, everything was done according to the rules of British politeness, of betraying to emotion, no real desire to get that seat. Everyone was still walking. Noone started shouting or visibly pushing when the old granny created a queue in front of the train door because it took her a while to lift up her suitcase. But there was impatient shifting from one foot to another, demonstrable shuffling of attache cases, imagining that horror scenario of having to stand in the aisle while a smug, spotty teenager got the last seat. Heaven forbid.

The whole show lasted only a few minutes, yet it seemed that the middle-aged guy in the suit in front of me had gained an extra couple of grey hairs since I overtook him on the platform and put an elbow in his ribs. It’s good to be back in civilisation, though.

Pubic Hair Barber Was A Twit

(recent headline in The Nation)

Cheese!

This is one thing I sorely miss here in Malawi. Of course you can get it, but the variety is limited and painfully expensive. Friends at home know how I suffer under the lack of cheese. Some even send me regular emails with descriptions of the cheeses they are eating. Reading these emails elicit an amalgamation of extreme emotions from me, spanning the entire spectrum from orgasmic pleasure to torturous pain.

So here is my plan to remedy this tragedy:

Jean, the current owner of Ntchisi Forest Lodge (ie the lady from whom we have bought our new lodge) has a goat called Heidi. She is the biggest goat I have ever seen in my life. Don’t think Labrador size, think Saint Bernard coupled with buffalo, with a bit of giraffe thrown in for good measure.

Heidi has a very privileged life and is fed daily on bananas, apples (whole – she would frown at being offered a mere core), oats, potato peels and other such goodies, and she has free access to the entire house, from the sofa to the pantry. She is, in short, the Goat Godiva of Malawi. In return she produces five (yes five!) litres of milk a day.

Surprising as these facts may be to you, even more surprising is that this week, a billy goat was spotted near the coast of Lake Malawi that was even bigger than Heidi. Clearly being a family fond of large goats, Jean’s son bought Billy The Giant and is now the owner of the largest goat in the country.

This fortuitous event coincided with Heidi’s ‘time of the month’ (if it’s once a month for goats, I’m not quite sure). One thing is certain, she made her desires known by braying continuously all night and generally running around like a nutter, trying to attract attention to herself.

As you have probably guessed by now, she was well rewarded when she met the Big Guy. And this is where my grand plan comes in, for I have secured myself a few of the future offspring of Goat Godiva and Billy The Giant. Can you imagine any more suitable cheese-making candidates?

I’ve also come across this website, which will complete the Plan, with recipes of all the most necessary cheeses: http://biology.clc.uc.edu/Fankhauser/Cheese/Cheese.html. Soon, my life will be complete.

Life in the slow lane

A new survey was published today, claiming that the pace of life has increased by 10% in the last decade, as measured by how fast people walk in the world's major cities. Copenhagen was only second, making it one of the fastest paced places on the planet. I'm proud to say that Blantyre, Malawi came in last, after all other cities in the world. Yes indeed, life here is in the slow lane.