Saturday 24 November 2012

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!

Tuesday 20 November 2012

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!

Sunday 11 November 2012

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!

Saturday 3 November 2012

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!