An Explanation of the Silence

Well friends, I feel like I own an apology to you for my absence. Perhaps you may not have noticed I seemed to have dropped off the face of technology world for the last few weeks, but I have. It dawned on me yesterday that Christmas is literally just around the weekend’s corner, and I have, for the most part, no idea what you are doing for the holidays.

School let out in Canada yesterday and I had absolutely no awareness that the world could have ended either! December 21^st was a “doom day”? No idea! I have lived in a Malawian bubble for the last two weeks. Frantically making Christmas presents for nearly 400children; adjusting to new housemates; and all the while, trying my best to remain kind, calm and compassionate in the face of some annoying relationship developments.

So, my apologies to you for the silence. And what is more, as Christmas draws near, I am increasingly missing home and routines and traditions, and so hearing from each of you would be a very special gift this season. But you wouldn’t know that I relish an email or a fb message from you because I haven’t been around to say so!

Let me start by telling you about our Christmas parties. On December 7^th, we hosted the Christmas party for the preschool children. 62 registered students came, along with their moms/caregivers as well as some younger siblings. Everyone received a meal of rice, chicken and cooked cabbage. It was delicious.
Contrary to any Christmas party I’ve had in the schools back home, the staff are responsible for cooking as well as the program for the day and the clean up afterwards. Brilliant plan on the head teachers part to a) put the moms to work in helping cook; b) to not hand out presents until the clean up had been completed, thus ensuring the mom’s got involved in that too!
Here is a picture of me getting in on the action:

We had several of the older students practicing a rendition of the Christmas story in the weeks leading up to the party. They dressed up in play clothes that we had on hand (albeit they were not the correct costumes; but no one was judging) and they proceeded to act out the Christmas story for their moms and siblings. Talk about chaotic! There wasn’t enough room for all the moms to sit inside and watch so there were some peaking in through every window available. The other children felt they should be part of the drama also, and jumped up and down throughout whenever they felt like entering. The children had not learned their lines so they constantly had to be running back to the teacher in the wings to be given their cue. It was adorable and perfect and messy – just like the

 first real Christmas story!                                     

After all the food and singing and games and clean up, the presents were distributed. Every year, Children of Blessings tries to give each child a new outfit, some hygiene supplies and some toys as well. This year, we had a smaller stock of donated gifts, but a larger number of children sponsored through Child Care Plus. This enabled us to buy clothing and toothbrushes for the students who are sponsored, and then Sara-Jane (my amazing friend from Ottawa) organized her coworkers and students from her high school to donate enough money that we were able to purchase necessary clothing and hygiene items for most of the non-sponsored children.

My main responsibility was to put the bags together, which was increasingly stressful with each new party we hosted.

December 10-14^th saw one party each day, averaging 50children per party. Most of these children I had never met, so their names did not mean much to me. I had to research their age, gender and often their relative size as well, in time to make sure their bag was filled with properly fitting clothing and appropriate toys.
All of our documentation is hand written on paper.
There is no electronic database (until now) to access information about the clientele.

Additionally, names are phonetically spelled, so often there is no one correct way to spell a name. I would sometimes be making two or three bags for the same child without knowing it because of the variance of spelling.
Also, age is not important enough to actually calculate accurately.
I have children who, depending on which list I look at, range in age from 2-7. Sometimes its because their parent has listed their age by the year they were born and that over time has not been converted properly; or because the math skills are not strong enough to do the calculation accurately either. Never mind that the size of the child has nothing to do with the age of the child. I have eleven year olds who are smaller than the six year olds, but mentally as young as a three years old. The task of making these bags and ensuring that everything was properly suited was daunting.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved it. I especially loved Tuesday when 54 of MY children came. For the months of October and November I was part of two outreach clinics on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Their Christmas party was held together on the same day, so I was able to make up the presents for the children I was familiar with. Though this was one of our busiest days, it was also my favorite. Each bag was packed with love. Each item of clothing chosen with intention and a silent prayer of blessing prayed over. It’s not as if I was less caring toward all the other children who came on different days; but I had relationship with these ones, and it meant so much more to me to make sure their bags were perfect!

I spent the whole week in a tiny office space – actually taking away all the office space from one of our administrators. Thank goodness she is a kind woman because daily she would have to navigate between me, the boxes, the clothing and the Christmas bags just to get in and out of her computer work area. I was constantly taking over whatever extra space there was in the office and I am sure my huffing, puffing, grunting and groaning were not conducive to her regular work environment.

By the week’s end I was so grateful for the weekend that all I did on Friday night was rest. I barely had energy to move to make dinner. But Saturday morning I woke with the realization and determination to “push through” as we still had two parties to go and 85+bags to complete.
We had, by late in the previous week, completely run out of boys clothing. Despite all the donations that came pouring in the last few weeks of programming, the majority were girls outfits. I cleaned out the second hand store of anything suitable for a boy and was down to mere nothings by the time the last bag was finished.

The last two parties were for our older students: boarding school children and our spec ed teenagers who are not able to be integrated in regular school programs. This gave me a sense of relief as I thought maybe we would have enough clothing for them. But when I checked the store room on Friday, I realized that our mens clothing was as scarce as our boys. We had hundreds (literally) of donated XL tshirts, but nothing that would fit an adolescent boy or young man.

And this, my friends, is where my emotional breakdown hit its lowest point. After striving and struggling through the weekend; shopping first thing Monday morning and then packing bags all day Monday and Tuesday to make sure I did the best that I could to give each child a gift of some kind, I was greeted by mothers and their children, demanding more. Shocked at what I thought I must be misunderstanding, I called for one of my coworkers to come translate. She seemed incredibly embarrassed to have to tell me that the children had been sent to me to tell me they hadn’t received what they expected and wanted me to find them something else!
I was nearly in tears.
First, how could I give them what I did not have? We had no more clothing that would fit them; or be suitable to what they were wanting!
Second, how could they be that demanding? Did I need to show them the store room so they would know how bare it was? Did they really want three XL tshirts instead of the two I had already offered to them? What more were they looking for? And where were these demands founded?
Have we created such a dependency that they are not appreciative of getting what we are able to give. What have we enabled within them by always giving things for free? Do they not realize that our ministry is completely dependent upon donations also?

I was upset! I know that there are some families who are absolutely beyond grateful for COBT. I know that there are moms who can not say thank you enough. And I had to remind myself that it was for these people I have come; for those ones that I have chosen to quit my job, leave my family, my friends and my life and come build relationship with.

I have not come to be abused and used; taken for granted and advantage of. I am not here to dole out charity as though there is an unlimited supply.
I completely recognize that we in N. America DO have more. And I fully believe we have a responsibility to share and give and be generous; and even sometimes at our own expense.
But I am also a proponent of helping those who help themselves. And freebies in the face of insolence drive me to the point of frustration and hurt! And I’ll admit, ANGER also!

By Tuesday’s end I found myself broken. Add these emotions to the fact that I’d worked long and hard for ten days and tired myself out extensively, and you have on your hands one mentally, emotionally and physically drained woman. Now, couple that with the fact that I also am facing a new living arrangement (adjusting to my housemates leaving for America and a new housemate moving in); and an ongoing drama of being pursued by a man who does not know me any better than he does you, and I find myself on the verge of being ready to throw in the towel.

I don’t want to leave. I really don’t. But I'm telling you, my experiences in the last two weeks have brought out all the ugliness within me. The ill-natured attitudes and the unkind thoughts are nearly bursting to be verbalized and put into action.

I have battled against the attention of my taxi driver for the last two weeks and this week it came to a head when I found myself being proposed to! It took a lot of effort and prayer to politely word my decline to his offer of marriage, but when he realized I was not in mutual agreement with his feelings, he became irrational. He insisted that his love for me was real and firmly believed that if he could convince me of this, then I would change my mind. I tried explaining to him that I understood he had feelings towards me, and I was not denying that his feelings were real. But what I was trying to get him to understand is that I did not reciprocate those feelings. It became a regurgitated conversation for the next four days. Whether in person or on the phone, it was never ceasing.
 And this is where I finally just gave up trying to be nice. There is a cultural gap and a language barrier that has disabled me from being able to properly say what I want to say, or have him understand why I am not inclined to be his wife. The only way I have managed (and barely managed at that) to ward him off for the last three days is to blatantly ignore his calls and send one text per day reminding him I’m not interested, for every ten he sends me confessing his love and reminding me he is waiting.
I am annoyed at being objectified. And his pursuit of me based on the color of my skin has evoked feelings of loneliness in me that I have tried for the last three years to move past! (where is that towel gone?)

Please friend, I don’t want you to think I'm cruel. I just would like to share with you what I'm facing and the exhaustion I feel in the midst of it. Don’t get me wrong, I am not concerned for my physical safety at this time. My guard is incredibly protective of me and I have shared with him the concern over the taxi driver. I'm covering my bases.
 But what I have come to realize is that no matter how long I am here, and no matter how comfortable I feel in this culture, I will always remain the Mzungu – the white woman. And I will continue to be an anomaly. And therefore the thought I once had - that with enough time I would blend into Malawian culture - has bowed to a need for higher discretion.
As a result, I will from now on, require the use of a car on the weekends.
I had resisted this endeavor from the beginning, more so for budget concerns than anything else, but also because I was happy taking the mini bus and being a part of the public transportation sector of society. Riding the mini bus has some downfalls, but for the most part, it has been a fantastic way to integrate into Lilongwe life!
However, on the weekends, when I need to do errands, it is very hard to do without a car. First, the mini buses do not always take me in proximity to where I need to go; second, if they do go where I need to shop, I often have to take several to get to the various places; and third, it is not feasible to be on a mini bus with more than one or two bags in hand (trust me, I’ve tried); nor is it really that harmless either. The more parcels a white person carries in public, the more rich they appear and the more of a target they become.

We all know I'm not rich. But, here, I represent rich. And frankly, I am not really keen on making myself a target just to make a point or to prove myself. I hate the fact that driving a car will increase my status in the eyes of those around me, but my safety and comfort have become two issues I'm not willing to put at risk right now.

And that my friends, is my “happy” summary for today!

I'm sorry it sounds so bleak and despairing, but I don’t want you to be alarmed. I am doing okay. I am making the choice to push through and go deeper. Perhaps this is all for a greater purpose. If anything, I am more eager to pour into the lives of those who respect me and treat me as a real friend. I recognize that those who have never asked me for money are people I want to surround myself with and pour into.
Most of these people are my coworkers, and yesterday we had a staff Christmas party at the Lake.
I’ll include a few pictures of our day together so that you can see my new friends and trust me when I say that all is good. All is well.
If God be for us, who can be against us?

Christmas Yabwino to you all!!!! Enjoy celebrating the birth of our Savior wherever you are!

Hi-Ho the Dairy-Oh, the Guard Takes a Wife

This week brought new meaning to the words of that old children’s song. In my western cultural understanding of marriage, when the Farmer TAKES his wife, it isn’t so much that he actually “takes” her as that he selects one to marry. And in the game that goes with the selection process of the song, the boy designated as the farmer, chooses a wife from the girls in the class. She, then, subsequently, choses a son/daughter from the remaining students. We use the word “takes” in the song, but even in our elementary understandings, we know that the farmer doesn’t just “take” his wife any more than the wife “takes” children to become her own.

Now, however, after my experiences this week, I wonder how the song would translate into Malawian culture. Unlike in my Canadian context, whereby all social/economic status groups tend to still follow the same progressive code of maturation: high school/post secondary/marriage/house/children/minivan/dog etc, Malawi has a few different social orders, dependent upon economic status.

If you are from the village, and happen to be female, it is still not a necessity nor an expectation that you attend school at all. You are married off at age fifteen to the sum of a few goats or chickens. Your husband may or may not be a part of your life, and your value is determined by the amount of children you produce; especially sons!
Those living in the city are seen as progressive and education for women is becoming more common. However, that does not mean that her expectations to marry and produce children is delayed. It just means that if she can manage both, she is entitled to do both.

My guard, I am learning, comes from the village way of life. He lives in the city, for work purposes, but continues to live by the code of rural areas. Last winter (early 2012), his second wife passed away suddenly from pneumonia. His first wife, the mother of his adult children, had passed away several years earlier. I believe that it was after her passing (the original wife) that he moved to Lilongwe for work. His children, stayed in the south. He sees them rarely.

On Monday I came home from having gone to the shops with Jake and Jenn one last time. They were heading out for America later in the week and there were still a few things we hadn’t gone over, and finalized. We got home earlier than I do on a regular work day, so Sarah, our housekeeper was still there. She informed us that Waliko had gone to town to pick up his wife.

She said it so casually that I wondered if I misheard her.

His wife? Since when does he have a wife?

Today. He is going to get her today.

But where did he meet her?

He is meeting her today.

Where will she live? Where is she from?

She will live with him. She is from somewhere else.

What about his family member who was already staying here with him.

Oh, she left yesterday.

And that was that! Sarah was not surprised by this new development and certainly didn’t feel the need to explain the situation anymore!

We didn’t see Waliko bring her home, but a few hours later, Jake was called to the back yard to meet the new Madam. Jake returned to the house shaking his head, like he was trying to grasp what he just experienced.

Waliko introduced her as “Madam” so we still don’t know her name. She is young. Maybe early twenties. She has a daughter with her who is two, and a son that she has left in the village back home. This is all we know.

I had to wait until Sarah came back the next day to find out more, but even in that, she does not pry. I sure would! But I don’t speak Chichewa. Sarah calls her Madam also and doesn’t bother to find out her real name.

The first few nights were rough. The little girl cried and cried, and true to what I have experienced so far here in Malawi, no one rushes to comfort or aid crying children. They just let them cry.
The dog doesn’t like crying babies in his back yard, so he whines.
Together they make an awful racket.

Combine that with the fact that the wife has brought along a chicken, whose mere presence causes Brown – the dog – to nearly tear off his chain in frustration, the noise of 5am on Tuesday morning was enough to drive me batty. Thankfully, my day begins at 5am, so I was already awake. The barking, clucking and screaming did not wake me, but instead just grated on my pre-caffeinated nerves. Jake and Jenn on the other hand had the luxury of trying to sleep in for two more hours with all the blatant commotion.

Needless to say, it has been an interesting adjustment.

Its been almost a week now since the new Madame has come to our yard. I’ve said maybe fifteen words to her. First, I can’t speak her language enough to communicate past “Hello, how are you?” and to ask her daughter “What is your name?” (Maria)

But she also does not seem interested in interacting. I wonder how she feels. I cannot imagine arriving at a strangers place, and realizing that his washroom size home is now going to be your shared accommodations for yourself, your daughter, and him - your new, old enough to be your father, husband!

Sometimes, despite all that I am learning, experiencing and enjoying about Africa, there are days where I am very grateful to be from a country where I have the right to choice in marriage.
Granted, that right and choice haven’t really been favorable to me – I realize that.

But I do prefer being single at almost 35, to being married to a stranger twice my age at less than 20.

Change in Plans....

The title of this Update is called: A CHANGE IN PLANS for a reason. Might as well cut to the chase:

Im staying in Malawi until June. I’ve given up my spot at Hands at Work.

Here’s how it came about: 

There is an incredible need here. A need for everything. From food, to paper, to resources, to teachers, to materials etc.
A need.
And as selfish as this sounds, it is really nice to feel needed!

The thought of staying longer had been brewing in my mind since the second week I was here. There is so much to do, so much to enjoy. At that point, everything was still new and exciting. I was careful not to make a decision based on that honeymoon phase, but continued to pray about the choice before me.
One afternoon I was walking home from work. This is my sidewalk in case you need a visual.

As I was walking along, I thought about why I was considering staying and why I may have been apprehensive about going to Hands at Work. It occurred to me that the choice came down to Relationship vs Experience.

If you know me well, you will likely have no problem agreeing with the fact that I tend to be an experience junkie. In recent years I’ve mellowed a little and allowed myself to invest more in “one place” rather than remain nomadic.
But for the most part, I enjoy EXPERIENCING new places, new cultures, and then revisiting ones I’ve enjoyed!
And so, I weighed out the relationships I was forming against the experience of the unknown in a new place.

And frankly, the relationships won!

I work with an amazing team of women! From the preschool teachers, to the young woman who oversees the spec. ed class without any formal training. From the ladies who cook and clean tirelessly despite our growing numbers, to the travelling rehab technicians I’ve accompanied on outreaches (who are learning to ride a motorbike in order to go to further outreaches on roads not intended for vehicles)
I work with a dedicated staff of Malawian women who are working to change the stigma and stereotype of their nation.
Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that?
So, I asked if I could stay. And, last week Kathy agreed (after speaking to several of my coworkers to get feedback). And so, there it is. Im staying until June.

Originally I planned to stay in Africa until August, and transition from Malawi to Hands at Work in February.  Now, I will likely come back to Canada a few weeks early. I am still interested in going to university in September (which was the plan for this year until Africa happened!) and so I thought it might be wise to get home a few weeks before classes start, as opposed to a few hours as I’d unrealistically planned when I left home.

AND! My cousin is getting MARRIED in August….all the more reason to make sure Im back on Canadian soil!

My housemates are leaving for the USA on furlough in a couple of weeks. They get back in March, and they’re bringing back Jenn’s sister. So, when I told them I’d made a choice to stay until June, I asked them if it would be okay for me to stay here until March. They were confused and both of them immediately asked: “Why not til June?” I explained that I didn’t want to interfere with their plans to bring home their sister and that I was willing to move out if they thought the house would be too full. They laughed. They were completely unquestionably welcoming me to stay until June. They didn’t even need to discuss. It was an incredible moment of peace! And I was really touched. I hadn’t realized just how much they enjoyed having me live with them.

What’s more, we had an awesome weekend together. Im not even sure how it all came to pass, but Saturday we all stayed home and did NOTHING. Literally. We had only three hours of power, from 2-5pm, and so somehow, over a dark dinner, we ended up embarking on an incredibly serious conversation about life in Malawi vs life in N.America. We talked about our struggles and some of the amazing relationships we’d made (Jake and Jenn have been here for over a year and a half). We talked about God, and how He fits in in Malawi. In some ways, the people here are so dependent upon Him – N. American’s could use a good dose of this reality. But at the same time, there are days when the poverty and the corruption are so overwhelming that you wonder “Where are you God?”

For those of you who may have been praying for the relationship I have with my housemates , I say thank you. I have really grown to love and appreciate them and am looking forward to staying here in my “American” house until June. I must admit, it is so nice to come home after a difficult day of struggle and cultural differences, and grab some American style chips, or a yogurt, or home made cookies and just veg out as if I were at home in Ottawa! I am blessed for sure. I don’t think I could have “lived” in the real deal – at least not at first.
But I don’t feel guilty about this. I know that the comforts of home are what help me to leave my house every day feeling refreshed and ready for the struggles and the challenges that will face me to and from work, and at work, with the children, with the mothers, with the poverty, with the lack of resources, with the power cuts and water cuts and smelly garbage that lines the streets where tulips and green grass ought to!

Last thing to share:

When my parents lived in Hawaii, I went to live with them for three months in 2004, before I moved to Australia. My friend Jen from high school came to visit me and one day we went to Sea World (or was it Sea Life Park) so she could swim with the dolphins and kiss a whalfin (when a whale and dolphin mate). Anyway, I got incredibly sunstroked (how do you say that one in past tense?) and honestly thought my organs were melting inside me.
So, when someone says, “sunstroke” to me that is what I think of.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that I suffer from sunstroke daily! I didn’t realize that was what was going on at first. I thought my iron was low, or maybe that I wasn’t eating a proper carb/protein balance for breakfast.
I would arrive at work and be sweating – from the inside out.
I felt like my blood was literally boiling.
And I had a splitting headache from dawn til dark. I would be taking up to nine ibuprophen a day.
When I sat down I felt a bit better, but the second I stood up, I was faint and thought I was going to pass out.
We have electrolyte packages here at the house (propel) but I was trying not to use them all up. They were my housemates and I didn’t feel right about taking one every day.
I brought two bottles of water to work, wore my sunglasses, and sunscreen and still felt awful.

Someone suggested it was the sun, but like I said, it never occurred to me that it was something you could suffer from daily. And what’s more, I LOVE THE SUN! I hate the cold. I hate everything about weather that is less than 20degrees. I should be in my complete element here.
But what I failed to consider is that in Canada I have a car with AC and I visit shops with AC and if places don’t have AC they often have fans that aren’t restricted by a few hours of power each day. At home, if it is hot, there are breaks from the heat. Not so here. Plus, I walk A LOT!
I walk to my mini bus (15minutes); from my mini bus stop to work (15minutes); and then coming home is usually hotter and a more extreme sun than going in the AM. Im outside with the children, or running from one house to the next to get supplies.

So, I went to the doctor. Sure enough, that is what was going on. I had started wearing my hat for a couple of days and found that I could manage. The headaches were nowhere near as severe. I was down to four advil in a day, and days with electrolytes were better than days without. It was such a strange realization for me. And somewhat disappointing too. I don’t want to wish the sun away!

The doctor prescribed me some ORS packages that are a Unicef product designed to combat dehydration. They are yucky! I mix them with drink powder (fruit stuff or ice tea) which only makes them bearable to swallow. I start the day with one in my water bottle and try to drink it before the water gets warm, because that is not a pleasant combination.
It has helped considerably. I continue to wear my FBC Camp hat (represent!) and look rather silly in it. But it helps. And at this point, if Im wearing flats every day, and long unflattering dresses, adding a hat to my attire isn’t a huge sacrifice.

Anyway, the small accommodations we must make to following our dreams!

 

PS – for my monthly sponsors: in light of the fact that I am leaving earlier than originally planned, please take a moment to change the termination date of your sponsorship. I will remind you again when it gets closer to my departure date, but if you have time now, you may want to just edit that portion to reflect JUNE 2013 as the last month of giving! Zikomo!

Highlights of Thursday the Terrible

Alright, so Im going to try to detail the events of Thursday in great enough detail that it actually captures how horrible I felt the day was.

First, I started off the morning in a good space. I had talked to Kathy the day before and those details will follow shortly, but it was a positive meeting.

I got to the Behavior Class and the teacher was not yet there.
I hadn’t really been given a role yet for this program – it was my first “official” day after the first day of observation.
Without a teacher, we sat around for a bit and played lego. Then I took the older children again and went off to the room I was in with them on observation day.

So far I only had two students, which was manageable. But I had their adult sisters come too. These children do not get dropped off like at school. The adult who comes with them is suppose to be there to learn skills and lessons to be taught at home. However, I wanted to see what the children were capable of themselves, and the sisters were interfering. They were doing things for the children when I gave them a task. Im not sure what they thought they were accomplishing, but I found it very discouraging and frustrating. One sister spoke English, so that helped, but when I suggested that she and the other sister didn’t need to be in the room, neither heeded my suggestion, and they stayed.
I asked the teacher if the sisters could be asked to stay out of the room after break. I’m not sure if that was offensive or not, but I just needed to know where the children were at; what they were capable of. Could they count? Could they be taught to repeat after me? I had hoped to teach some sign language. But there were too many distractions.

After break, there were two more to add to the class. Four students – the higher functioning ones at that. And the moms/sisters stayed away.

I started by bribing them to sign. Each time they copied what I had signed to them, I gave them a cheesie. This worked for two of the four children. One of the others was not interested in the food or activity, and the other little guy did not have the motor control of his hands to actually sign.
The activity lasted less than five minutes.
I was already discouraged.
They started trying to leave from the room.
Then the one little boy with low motor skills peed all over the bathroom floor.
He hadn’t made it to the toilet on time.
I had to go get his sister.

While I did that, one of the girls ran to the other room – which she had already locked herself in earlier in the morning. We had to pry the door open with a knife and when we found her, she was as happy as a pig in mud and completely oblivious we’d had to rescue her!

So, I took the other two children and we went to this second room also while the sister cleaned up the accident.

I brought my iPad to sing some songs with them. The children were not interested in the songs, but rather the device that made noise. They kept touching it. Every time they did, I turned it off, but they didn’t seem to get the cause and effect, so I took it away (keep in mind, I don’t speak the language these children respond to).

Then the little man who had just peed himself, peed himself again. This time, all over the mats. I went to get his sister again and decided I was done. I sent the other three students back to the main room where everyone else was  playing with a parachute.
I must say, my first official day of helping in Behavior Class was as bad as the first day I visited as a guest!

At 11:30am, the whole group went outside for water play and baths. I had a better time with the children in this half hour because I was able to work one on one with them. It was interesting to watch the moms and sisters react the way the children would respond to me. Every time the children did anything remotely positive, I would praise them: “Wakhoza” I would say (Great Work; Good Job etc).
Don’t we do that so often when we’re with kids?
It just seemed natural to me. But everyone seemed to look at me strangely. Perhaps they didn’t see any great accomplishment in the small task being performed. But these are special needs children. Any accomplishment I feel is worthy of praise!

I was worn out and tired by noon. Kathy had called and asked me to take 4.5kg of phale to the hospital on my way to Njewa (outreach) which meant I had to leave right at the end of the class. I didn’t have time to debrief (or apologize) or anything. I just said: Bye, and was off.
Do you know how heavy 4.5 kg of phale is to carry on your back? (phale is cream of corn porridge – uncooked)
Painfully heavy!

I grabbed a minibus at my regular place, and told the guy I was going to ABC. He said, 150MK, and I agreed. I pay 100MK everyday to and from work and ABC is just up the road. This made sense!
Got inside, furthest from the door. I realized this mini bus only had three rows of seats – it could carry four less people. Not sure I’d seen a lot of buses this small. Mental note though…
We were full – four per row – yet we stopped to pick up a guy outside the filling station. Turns out, this was the conductor. The other guy was just filling in while the conductor got a jerry can of fuel.
We dropped the original “conductor” off soon along the way – he was the one who quoted me 150MK.
I had already paid, but they don’t give change right away. They like to hold the bills until they have enough extra small stuff on hand and then they’ll give you your change. I think it’s a power thing too.
Anyway, the guy who quoted me the price was gone. I was left with the new conductor – who, apparently thought he was dealing with a naïve anzugu (white person), because he handed me back 300MK.
I should’ve got 350MK. I said something. He argued. The ENTIRE bus argued in my defense. I wasn’t even going half the distance that the mini bus was going and he was charging me MORE than he was charging the people going to town.  I argued with him, the others on the bus argued with him, but he just sat back down and ignored them.

When it came time to go towards the stop I needed, we turned instead. When it came to the only place I could’ve gotten off, the driver kept driving. I YELLED from the back of the bus. The guys next to me YELLED. Suddenly the conductor remembers me and tells the driver to stop. I try to fight my way from the back of the bus with my ridiculously heavy bag. The gentleman next to me offers to help, but the conductor reaches for the bag instead. I slapped his arm away and in said very angrily, “IIIIII” (meaning NOOOOO) and then I stood in front of the door for him to get back on his mini bus and demanded my money. He huffs at me as though Im stealing from him, and I make sure he realizes he has NOT dropped me where Im suppose to be going in the first place. I take my money, “shake the dust off my feet” and cross the road. Im shaking! Im still burning with anger, but also just with that adrenaline from confrontation!

It might have been a good thing they didn’t drop me at the clinic where I needed to go. It gave me time to cool off (internally, definitely not externally). I got the hospital and it took thirty minutes to find the doctor and patient I needed to give the phale to. No one is where they’re suppose to be, and of course when I called Kathy, not only is she in the middle of a therapy session, but she doesn’t know where they’d be either.
Im at the brink of breaking down. I just want to go home.
I figure that I’ve had a rough day, Ive got a minimum forty minute commute still to come to Njewa so guarantee I'll be late.
Kathy calls just as I was about to make the executive decision on my own to go home.
She offers to come get me and drive me to the outreach.
And Im at the outreach right on time. There is only one mom there and we still haven’t received the keys to the storage room.  However, everything happens as soon as I get there, so there isn’t really even a moment to relax or calm down or get mentally ready for the afternoon.

One of my favorite little guys from the sign language class shows up with his mom. Immediately I start working with him. His attention span lasts about five minutes. He is more easily distracted than the children I have worked with in the morning. Plus, we’re outside. There is just so much more to see.

He starts climbing on trees and picnic benches and running through the bushes. He thinks its great fun to toss the soccer ball into the trees and watch the branches break. He can not hear and he can not speak. So if he doesn’t get his way, he just moans real loud.
This happened a lot.
Eventually mom comes to get him and take him back to the group. She tries to get him to do a puzzle, and instead he fights against her. So, I wrap my arms around him and playfully squeeze and tickle him until he sits still. He’s calm for a few minutes and I think (arrogantly ) that maybe we’re getting somewhere. Then he moves a little and a puddle appears under him. He’s just peed himself. And, consequently, ALL OVER my dress also! I have a nice big pee puddle on the bottom of my dress!

That’s it. Im done. I go clean my dress, and sit myself on the couch while the children have snack. I can not get home soon enough. We clean up, and I am devoid of all energy. The girls make fun of me on the walk home because I just have no energy whatsoever.
A man pulls over and picks us up (this is common). He is rather polite and gets a kick out of me (the anzuga). We talk about the best way to cook Chinagwa (Yucca). The girls are laughing at me in fits of hysteria. I don’t think Im being funny, but perhaps the bad day is going to my head. Maybe Im talking foolishness! Or maybe its just that Im being so expressive and they aren’t used to that. Im not sure. They're laughing at me, and Im too tired to care. Plus, its nice to hear them laugh...even if its at my expense!

I get home and all I want to do is go to bed. I go through a quick dinner routine, get cleaned up, and get a nice hot relaxing drink to put me into a calm mode. I crawl into bed, and accidently knock over my water bottle, which accidently knocks over my drink. CRASH, glass everywhere. I stand and just look at the floor. I watch the liquid as it travels over the tiles and along the grout in between. By the time I decide to move, its reached the hallway. So much for relaxing.
Jake has heard the glass break, but given that he is aware of how rough my day was, he is hesitant to open the door. He is afraid of what he will find. Im relatively calm considering. I go through the motions of cleaning up the glass and the mess on the floor. Hoping that any small shards I may have missed get stuck in the cockroaches feet and they can’t crawl around my room.

I just finish putting the glass in the garbage and contemplate making another drink.
Lights out.
Power is gone.
That’s it.

This day needs to end!

Goodnight; good riddance. This is one Thursday I hope to never face again!

Five Hour Graduation Ceremony; 32 Students. Welcome to Africa

Yesterday I had an experience of a life time
(haha, each day here in Africa is an experience of a life time!)
But this was a really great experience!

I joined Jake and Jenn (my housemates) on a trip to Dzaleka - the refugee camp (yes, Malawi has a refugee camp) - to attend a Graduation Ceremony. The students were graduating from a one year Bible College program that has been started by one of the churches in the camp.

Jake was one of the teachers.

There were 32 students. Most were refugees. In fact, the only people not refugees at the ceremony were myself, Jake, Jenn and Flo (There Is Hope)

When we arrived, we were told the ceremony wasn't scheduled to start til half one (1:30pm). We'd arrived for a 1pm start. No biggy really, except that nothing starts on time to begin with, so I figured we had an hour to kill.
Shocker, we actually started early - ish.

Jake was already on the platform in his academic gear, and the three of us ladies were escorted right up beside him. Front and center. To Flo's surprise, there was a speech from There is Hope in the schedule of the day. Good thing she joined us or Jenn would have been making the speech on their behalf!

I had a quick look at the schedule and inwardly groaned. It was not yet 1:30pm, and the schedule went until 5:10pm. That's nearly four hours sitting up on stage in front of an auditorium full of strangers. I was not wearing an appropriate dress, so I constantly had to be covering my knees.
Also, I already had to go to the washroom...opps, it was a HOT day.
How long could I hold off I wondered? I doubt there is a toilet handy....or even a simple hole with a seat!

The music that was already playing was LOUD. So loud in fact, that I could not make out one single word being sung. Mind you, the music was sung in various languages, but when Flo leaned over and told me, "this song is French, can you understand what it says?" I laughed out loud (not that is mattered). I could make nothing out at all. And what a shame, African music is so beautiful...when it can be heard!

So, pounding headache added to platform seating, when the choirs started their specials, spot lights showed up! This was done to amplify the lighting so that those who didn't have flash photography could still get good pictures.
Guess where the lights were aimed for the whole ceremony? Yup, that's right. UP FRONT! And who, might I remind you was sitting on stage, up front? US!
Add blinding light to the sensory overload!

An hour of specials from various choirs. Amazing singing and dancing and fantastic energy. I would have LOVED every single second of it if I could concentrate. I was just enthralled by the diversity of each dance, of each singing group. Though most of these particular refugees were Congolese, within that one nationality, there are many tribes. And so each choir represented a variance of their heritage and culture. Colors, dances, music, instruments, you name it. The energy in the room was contagious!

Time for speeches.... Flo was up first, and for someone who had not come prepared to say anything, she certainly had me in tears.
I would hands down say her words were the most inspiring, but that is an unfair assessment. Her words were pretty much the only thing I understood for the duration of the ceremony!

BUT, she did say one thing so powerful that I wrote it down and pondered for the remainder of the day: "Dzaleka can not separate you from the destiny God has planned for you"

WOW!

Not even being a third generation born refugee can separate you from the DESTINY God has planned for you!
Friends,
If a refugee camp can not take away that destiny, may I encourage you to consider that there is NOTHING in your current or future circumstance that would ever be able to either!

Romans 8:37-39 -- "I am convinced...there is NOTHING...in Heaven above or earth below...that can separate us from the love of God through Jesus Christ"

Its almost humbling to admit just how REAL that passage became to me in those few moments.

I am sitting in a graduation ceremony. The joy, and the enthusiasm, and the sheer love is greater than almost any other function I've ever been to in my life.
And its taking place in a REFUGEE camp!
These people have no homes of their own. No identity on the world stage. They have no homeland, they are not entitled to leave the refugee camp and receive any services from Malawi. They have no passport, and very very few are ever granted sponsorship to leave the hopelessness that is served before them.
They have only their lives and their families.
And in the midst of it all, FLOURISHES JOY UNSPEAKABLE!

The entire ceremony - speech after speech, dance after dance, song after song, was inspired by that same joy. The joy that I have long heard of, and occasionally touched myself. A joy that all too often has become a icon of our faith, but rarely an embraced lifestyle.
That joy; THIS JOY that I was sitting in the midst of, was that of Christ Jesus alone. The joy that is not a result of circumstances or achievement of oneself, but of the circumstances of the cross and the achievement of life bought there.

If you know me well, you will know Im not usually this flowery. My faith is real, and its solid. I dont spout Christian ease or jargon with fluidity, and if I am caught in a conversation that offers it, I try to exist quickly. But yesterday it was like I was suddenly given a new color to add to my pallet.
I can't possibly explain to you the profound experience of yesterday.
There are no words.
It was humbling.
Embarrassing - because I know how frivolous and superficial I am. Compared to these people, I am rich with wealth. And yet, I am so poor in Heaven's currency.
And as the ceremony progressed in a language I could not understand and a translation too distorted to comprehend, I just bathed in this new discovery.
The richness of having ONLY CHRIST!

When the leading pastor and director of the Bible College began to call out the names of the graduates, it was like all Heaven rejoiced. I have never seen such a display.
Granted, our graduation ceremonies are sophisticated and appropriate. We are well behaved, staying in our seat, allowing others to see and hear what is going on around. If we must, we politely excuse ourselves to go to the front and take a picture of our loved one, never wanting to interfere with the procession of the event, never wanting to draw attention to ourselves intentionally.
I've been at ceremonies where the applause is held off until the end, just to save time. The mere five seconds of clapping our culture would deem respectable for each individual is stored up for the end, so that all participants receive equal recognition.
Not so here. The fact that there was any sort of organization at all was an anomaly in itself.
Each name that was called was a five minute party of honor.
The graduate would barely be able to make his or her way to the front of the auditorium without being "moshed"
Confetti, garland, noise makers, whistles, clapping, screaming, perfume, whatever one could think of was donned upon the individual.
The hugs were finally redirected to the end of the line, but the pictures took place all across the stage. This pastor, that teacher, this friend, now all three. It did not seem to matter how long it took. There was no usher pushing people along or asking the audience to take their seats.
This was a time of celebration. And love. And pride.
The mothers who watched their sons or daughters. The children who came to support their moms or dads. Even the widows who joined around a fellow widow who had joined ranks with her nephews.
Not one single person was forgotten.

And I stood at the front, finally feeling the release of the eyes upon me, and laughed aloud at the party animals in front of me. No one there would ever believe the thrill in my heart.

If only time had no restrictions in our culture and formalities went out the window. How would we celebrate? How we would ensure that those we loved knew we were proud of their accomplishments and achievements?

Or have we too taken even THAT for granted? Have accomplishments of any sort and achievements of any nature become so common place and expected that we dont even allow for honor to be shared when it is due? Or are we too focused on the status gained by said achievement that it matters not how we celebrate and only more what we gain from our completion?

Oh, the thoughts that go through one's mind when sitting in a five hour graduation ceremony for 32 strangers speaking a foreign language....

DON'T ever miss your chance when your turn comes!

How to Ensure You Lose Your Pride:

In case you are one who worries about and are concerned with becoming proud, here are a few tips I've picked up along my humiliating journey:
a) Move to a foreign country.
-- the more foreign and different from your own, the better. and if you can arrange that the primary language is not your own, this helps.
b) Try to learn the new language.
-- guarantee you'll screw up and be the "joke" for the day; either to your own face, or behind your back.
c) Attempt to fit in.
-- next to impossible if the color of your skin is different
d) Buy a rolly bag with wheels in an attempt to be more efficient
-- and then try to drag it on dirt roads or too narrow of tar roads covered in pot holes. the sight of you dragging this twisted wheely bag along the street will draw enough attention that you become the focal point of the entire neighborhood.
e) Try to walk to work without a map
-- chances are, you'll get lost and not even know it. when a kind local asks you where you are headed, be prepared that you are FAR off the right course, and need to return past all the other locals you've already greeted along the way.
f) Forget to carry a spoon in your bag
-- and therefore, be left to using your fingers to eat a food you thought belonged in a bowl because of its runny consistency.
g) Wear Non-Breathing Clothing
-- go to town wearing dark colored capris, and sit on plastic chairs in the sun for at least an hour. your backend will sweat in excess, soaking through your capris, making it look like you've wet yourself fully. and then, before you've had time to dry off (which takes much less time than at home), make sure you have to get up and walk home!
h) Presume You Know How to Fit In
-- after less than three weeks, become cocky, despite the already aforementioned reasons to NOT be arrogant. board a minibus and attempt to negotiate a few extra blocks out of your trip. fail to communicate effectively and presume that the "conductor" understands what youre asking.
or, even better, miscommunicate your destination and then argue with the conductor about the price he is expecting you to pay.
if either of these scenarios occur, APPRECIATE the co-rider who steps in to translate your error and help you out of your stupidity!

The Unusual Typical Day

I chose to jump ahead of my November 1^st update, because I felt today was too good of a day to not share.
I’ve received a lot of questions from people asking me “What is it like?” and yet, I don’t have a really good solid condensed answer. I hope this note will bring a little of it to light for you.

The title: Unusual Typical may seem contradictory to you, but it’s purposed.

Today has been a very unusual day in regards to some “firsts” that I experienced, but also extremely typical in that nothing ever goes according to plan.

So my unusual day actually began Sunday morning, just before six am. I was woken by the sound of my fan cutting off. Power outage, no surprise. Typical. Tried to go back to sleep, but I have a cold, been fighting it for a couple of days. My housemate offered me some cold medication, and it knocked me out. Didn’t make it to church. In fact, ended up sleeping through til 11am. When I woke up, my fan was still not running, BUT neither were the taps!
Water outage, surprise. Unusual.

Night time power outages last maybe three or four hours. Our power outage yesterday lasted eight, but, because it was day time, there wasn’t much of a set back to our schedule. The water I expected would follow shortly after the power returned around 2pm. But, it didn’t.

I’ve never had a water outage. Not that I can recall at least. Have you? It’s a pretty good wake up call if you haven’t had one lately. And just in case, let me remind you of all the things we rely on water for:
1) drinking on a hot day; drinking on a cold day; drinking to just stay hydrated
2) flushing the toilet after we use it to expel all the water we’ve drank to stay hydrated
3) washing your hands after using the toilet
4) showering off the sweat and dirt from  walking outside in a hot and sweaty country
5) washing food to eat because despite the fact Malawi fruit and veg are grown without pesticides, the transport from the field to my fridge is as messy as my bathtub is after I have washed off the sweat and dirt from walking each day!

No, nothing major, but a lot of convenient things. And, considering I was due for a shower Saturday night, waking up to no water STILL this morning (Monday) was a real inconvenience for sure!
Our Gentle Guard, Waliko, had rounded up a bucket of undrinkable water for us to flush our toilets, and because I had left my taps open overnight in my tub, I did manage to accumulate about three and a half millimeters of water for which I was able to sponge “bathe and shave”!! Woohoo, CLEAN!

So, I continue on my way to work as per usual. Each morning I walk through the dusty roads, past garbage, squatter growing maize, a school already in session since 7am, and a few unemployed families selling their wares – donuts, boiled eggs, mangoes. Some days I buy donuts or eggs, but today I had already eaten a scone with peanut butter and banana. Typical breakfast.

I board the first blue minibus I see. I’m not superstitious, but I have a theory that the best buses to ride to work in the morning are the blue ones. I’ve gotten pretty confident when boarding the bus, and have even negotiated my price a few times when the conductor thinks he can charge me more on account of my “naivity”
Today though, I pay the standard fee of 100Kwatcha (1/3 of $1CDN) and the conductor offers me back 50Kwatcha. UNUSUAL for sure. But because I’ve learned that 100kwatcha is the regular price to work, I tell him it’s okay, he can keep the change.

I arrive at work on time – unusual – but I need to print off a few worksheets for the preschool children that I’ve made over the weekend. Once they get printed in the office (which happens to be at the other location from the preschool), I will have to get them photocopied at the business next door to the preschool. 15kwatcha per copy.
However, as Im on my way to the other building, I run into Grace – one of the cooks the center employs. She informs me that Mary, the office administrator, has had to run out on an errand. No idea how long she’ll be, and worksheets are needed for the morning, so I improvise.
The man who owns the photocopy company also has a printer.
70 Kwatcha per page printed; 15kwatcha per photocopy.

450Kwatcha and twenty three minutes later, I have my worksheets printed for the day at school.
School supplies are a hard sought after commodity. Just ask the five little children who followed me to the photocopy shop asking for “pesos”. Pesos? What are pesos? The going currency here in Malawi is Kwatcha. I call my friend Bridget (one of the workers at the preschool) to translate. Turns out, they’re saying “Pencils”
The children were looking for pencils for school because there aren’t enough to go around.
As I’m explaining to the children that I do not have any pencils, I notice my voice is disappearing. It’s becoming harder and harder to hear what I have to say as my voice cracks and breaks frequently….is my cold getting better? Or is losing your voice a sign that there is still more to come?

We have a student from Germany working at Children of Blessing Trust for the year. I ask her to do the worksheets with the children because I want to sit in and observe the Communications Rehabilitator who comes on Mondays.
He has 27 children registered to see him each Monday morning. Needless to say, his sessions are a bit chaotic. Specialists are hard to come by in Malawi, and expensive. Mr. Morgan gives up one morning from his private practice each week in order to assist at the preschool. Today there were only 16students for him to see. Not one-to-one though. That is not feasible. So instead, Mr. Morgan handles them in small bundles; grouped together according to need. The most he had today at once was six. But six is a lot when you have to address each special need in an individual need. Each child, though grouped similarly, is at a different development level and facing different coping strategies. Some are physically disabled and unable to use their limbs. Some are mentally delayed and so, despite having full use of their hands, they do not understand a simple color sorting exercise.
The diversity of needs at the preschool alone are extreme. And preschool is only one of four or five programs I am a part of each week. Adapting as you go, on the fly, is a necessary skill.
Overall this morning was pretty typical!

Skip ahead until the end of the day when myself and the German student and the two preschool teachers are leaving together (Valerie, Joyce and Naomi respectively). I don’t often go the same route as these three, but today I needed to go get cold medication in town. Hop on a new minibus – new because of the route, not because of the bus itself – and we’re off to town. This ride is much longer than my usual bus ride home and I am happy when my stop appears around the corner. I had planned to go to the pharmacy closest to home, which is located in a strip mall, about half hours walk from my place. If I need cash, I can always draw some from one of the two bank machines at the plaza. And if by chance I have enough cash on me, I am close enough to home to walk without having to pay for a minibus.
The cold medication I prefer is 2400Kwatcha. Of course I don’t have that much with me. I don’t like carrying more than 1000 each day unless I know I have to pay for something large.
So, back to the bank machine I go. The one I know for sure will give me money is not working – out of service. The other machine will not accept my card. Unusual, and typical!
Now what?
I could return home without medication and suffer through the night, or I can suffer through a walk up and over to the next plaza in order to use their bank machine. I opt for the latter.
Last weekend I bought a wheely bag. It comes in great handy when I’m walking long distances and carrying school supplies, my lunch, my knitting etc. It does not come in handy when there are no sidewalks and I have to cross a traffic circle in order to get to the next plaza. Either roll it through the dusty, dirty shoulders, or carry it on my back, which by now has a permanent bruise on my spine where the wheely handle rests.

I remind myself of the cold medication I am in need of and suck it up. By this point in the day, my voice is pretty much gone. I chose to whisper instead of force sound out, as that is only making it worse.

I approach the first bank machine – Out of Order; slightly unusual
The second, I am twelfth in line – typical; but the line does not move – Out of Order; definitely unusual
I discover a pharmacy at this plaza also, so I go check the price of the medication. Lucky me, 1700Kwatcha. I’m still 1700Kwatcha short, so I still need to access a bank machine.
At this point, some of you may be wondering, “Why don’t you use your visa or debit?”

“Ha! Because no where here takes plastic!” That’s right, its Almost-Completely-Cash-Society
(try paying 195,000Kwatcha for a computer last weekend in 1000kwatcha bills as those are the biggest denomination they have)

Just to make sure that my card will be rejected, I check the other bank machine that I have tried before. Of course it will not recognize my card; not so unusual at all.

Last ditch effort, I try the first bank at the second plaza again. Maybe it was just offline for the moment. Sure enough, I am second in line, and I get my money out (have I mentioned that each time I withdraw cash, there is a $5 service fee in addition to the conversion rate I pay). The maximum I’m able to take out in one transaction equates to $132 approximately, depending on the exchange rate. Helps me feel better about the service charge – so I max out my daily limit.

I treat myself to a latte simply because I can. It’s the first one I’ve had since being here. Three weeks and it’s the first coffee shop I’ve found at all in fact. I am delighted. I chat with the ladies at the counter. I have to pay for a take out cup, but I am too ecstatic over having a latte to be concerned. Her foam was quite impressive too!
Latte – Unusual.

By now, I’m tired. My feet are getting blisters because the band aids have sweated off and I hate the dress I’m wearing. I keep seeing myself in the reflections of the store windows and I’m reminded my hair needs a trim!
All my insecurities rise to the surface when I’m tired, hot and just plain worn out; Typical.
I go back to the second pharmacy to buy the cold medication. I get a day time and a night time, just to be safe. I ask about lip balm, but they don’t have any.

I go to board my minibus home. As I approach the first bus, I try to tell the driver where I’m going. He can’t hear me because I have no voice. He isn’t going the direction I need, so I walk away. I see a bunch of children staring at me – TYPICAL – and I say HI! But my voice is gone. They think it’s funny. So I laugh with them. Another typical experience – being laughed at. Nothing like a dose of humble pie in a foreign country to cure impending pride!

I find a bus going my direction, and I almost trip over my ankle length dress to get into the seat. My bag drops, the conductor picks it up and comments on how heavy it is. The bus laughs. I do too. What else is there to do at this point?

I have to ask the nice young man sitting next to me to tell the conductor where my stop is because I can’t yell loud enough to get his attention. I have a ten-fifteen minute walk home. It’s after 5pm by this time, and it has been engrained in me to not be out past 6pm. Im almost there…and I pray the water will be too.
And as I start to pray for the water, I also take a look around the street Im walking down and realize I have MUCH to pray about. This day has been challenging, busy and of course, hot. But I find myself not praying for strength, or patience or tolerance to the seemingly backwards way of life I’ve jumped into.
I start to thank God for the gorgeous sun setting view. I thank Him for the beautiful children I have the privilege to work with and the lovely ladies I work alongside of. I thank God for the dreams I have as I can see the potential in the people and the land. I long to do more, but recognize I’m only getting my feet wet. I thank God for my safety, and His provisions thus far. I smile as I walk down the street, feeling peace.
I love those times when you feel peace in the midst of chaos. I love those moments when Joy is free!
I love being reminded that Africa has been a long time coming dream come true and that it has not disappointed. Of course it’s not what I expected, but there isn’t much in my life that has turned out the way I hoped or expected. But I love how God can take a potentially broken dream and create it into something so much more valuable – kind of like how the oyster makes a pearl out of a grain of unwanted sand!

Thank you for journeying with me and allowing me to share this unusually typical day with you!

I miss you heaps, but am really glad I came

Friends,

I have decided to title this first Malawi update in such a way as I did, because I recently finished an email to a good friend with the same words. Her reply back was simple: This line has set my mind at ease.
As a result, I thought I would share this point of reference with you all.

I am enjoying my time here thus far. It is 100% DIFFERENT from home - in almost every way. But I have not minded these differences and see them as an adventure. I came with no set agenda and definitely no personal plans, which has made the go with the flow, everything is subject to change way of live very easy to adjust to.

My biggest complaint - internet, or lack there of.
I hate not being able to access "home" in the evenings when people here are winding down, and I know that people at home are just waking up!

My housemates are missionaries from Michigan, working with International Teams, in the refugee camp. Yes, Malawi has refugees. 17,000 in fact. From Burundi, Congo, Sudan etc. The Burundi refugees are actually third generation refugees if you can believe it.
Jake and Jennifer are their names and they have been nothing short of a God - send. The house they rent is HUGE (five bedrooms) and I have my own "suite" with a regular washroom. We have a lovely young woman who cooks and cleans Mon-Fri and an adorable gentleman who lives out back and is our permanent guard. He does not speak much English but he does his best to look for Jen and I as if we were his own daughters.

Not only are Jake and Jen allowing me to live with them, they're sharing their life with me too. My iPad will not connect here in the same fashion as the computers so Jenn has suggested her and I share her laptop for the next four months. They have taken me to town to do groceries and out for dinner the one night the power went out and we just didn't feel like having sandwiches again.

Power goes out three or four nights a week - regularly - and then can be subject to unexpected blackouts too. We do have a gas stove, but it gets dark by 5pm so its hard to cook in the semi-dark with a flashlight.

Im trying to be brief, but I haven't told you much about my work yet.
Forgive me if this email leaves you with so many more questions. I will try toanswer them all.

I work with Kathy Bowler in her ministry: Children of Blessing Trust.
It is a program designed to meet the needs of the disabled and children with special conditions.
A lot of the children have cerebral palsy or limited mobility due to polio (yes, it still exists) or malaria.
In this country, the disabled are not highly regarded or valued and Kathy's ministry is doing AMAZING work in simply breaking that discrimination barrier, as well as actually attempting to teach the moms how to care for thier child.

This past week I was told is Unusual as there are workshops taking place. I am happy to know that the chaos I was dropped in is only temporary. I think its good though because as Im now adjusting to the busy busy days I will feel much more relaxed at the normal pace.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays I go "Out" to different centers. Some moms who bring their children to these drop in centers walk for two hours each way. Ive discovered that as much as they receive some skills and treatment for their child, they also use the time for social networking. Its like its own little support group.

There are a few struggles with the language barrier, but I dont mind too much. I realize I get laughed at a lot, but I am okay with that. Its almost as like Im more trustable if I am willing to look silly. I dont know how to explain that in any other way, but the moms seem more relaxed once they've laughed a few times at me!!!

I could probably write for a few more hours and still not be able to capture everything that I"ve experienced. But I"d rather save my internet time to write you back personally; to hear about how youre doing and what youre doing, and to answer any more specific questions you have.

So, WAKE UP sleepy heads (its 8:30am Sat morning for those in Ontario)!!!
(Im 5hrs ahead of NS; 6 hrs ahead of ON; 8 hrs ahead of AB; and 9hrs ahead of my favorite family in Vancouver - of course, only until you "fall back" later this month)

I invite your replies!

meLissa