Usually when it's raining outside, I am granted a reprieve from visitors - the older girls who want me to help them learn math, the younger ones who want to chat, a friend from the health center passing by on his way home.I'll admit to enjoying these periods of privacy, where I'm free to wear shorts around my house and not speak Chichewa.

So I was somewhat surprised and a little annoyed when I heard a knock on my door last Saturday.It was my night watchmen, Mr. Moya, there to report bad news (which, upon hearing, I instantly regretted my irritation): he was just informed that one of his daughters had passed away.

The story is incredibly sad, as you might expect.The daughter had been living in the neighboring district of Chiradzulu, and had recently discovered she was pregnant.Earlier in the week, Mr. Moya received word that she was hospitalized after choosing to undergo an abortion procedure.Originally, Mr. Moya and his wife were planning to visit her.Although a devout Catholic, Mr. Moya said he was glad his daughter had the procedure because he feared no man would marry her otherwise.He was angry at her, he'd said, but wanted to go now and "cheer her."

Although I never got the whole story, it seems she died of complications associated with the abortion.When Mr. Moya arrived, he was shaking and had tears lying on his cheeks.He came to ask permission off of duties, which of course I told him was fine.I gave him some money for traveling expenses, and returned inside my house.What else could I do?Feeling sad, I went back to reading.

Later, as I was cooking dinner, there was another knock at my door.This time, it was one of the maternity attendants, Ellen, from the health center and Mr. Moya's other daughter - herself a teenage mother, with her small baby tied tightly to her back as usual.Ellen said something about "maliro" (funeral) and "katundu" (baggage) and I assumed they were just repeating the news.But then she said, "…ndibwera" (I'm coming) and turned to leave."Sindikumvetsa," I said, "I am not understanding."Ellen rolled her eyes and glanced at the daughter.Ellen is one of these people who THINKS IF SHE REPEATS HERSELF LOUDER, you'll understand.She didn't today, though; exasperated, she just tried to explain in English."Moyas want to move katundu to your house because of robbers."Apparently, they wanted me to watch their belongings while they attended the funeral.I agreed, though thinking (not for the first time) that Malawians are a little too paranoid - it's not like their houses aren't on top of each other.But I went with the two women to collect the contents of the Moyas' house.I guess I thought I'd only be bringing back the valuables, like their radio.But the women insisted on everything, down to the last cup and plate.We carried chairs, clothes and sacks of beans back through the pouring rain.I suppose when you own so little, it's all valuable.

On the second trip to my house, Ellen shook her head at me."You have such a big house," she said, "and you are just one person."Then she just looked at me, as if expecting an explanation or an apology."It is very big," I agreed.Trudging back to the Moyas' again - now, being assaulted by an absolute downpour - I felt angry.I didn't choose my house.And I didn't have to get muddy for what I considered a questionable reason.My frustration turned almost to rage when, only after all of the Moyas' things were in my house, did Ellen ask, "What time will your nightguard arrive?" to make sure everything would be protected.I stared at her incredulously: "Mr. Moya is my nightguard!"

In that moment I was remembering Ellen's annoyance when I first opened my door and my language failed me.And, in my mind's eye, I saw the daughter (who, in all reality, really does have the most piercing stare I've ever seen) glaring at me, as though it was all my fault, for never experiencing or likely going to experience her situation.I'm sure she was just in shock over the news of her sister's death but suddenly I was perceiving resentment.

On our last trip to the house, a little girl who I often see running around the neighborhood stood gazing out the window.I'd often wondered her connection to the Moyas' family, as Mr. and Mrs. Moya are too old to have a daughter that age. I asked Ellen."Their granddaughter," she said.Apparently the daughter who had passed was leaving behind more than her parents and siblings but two children as well - one in Chiradzulu and the other, looking dispassionately into a storm.

When the whole ordeal was over, I shut the door to my too-big-for-one-person house and burst into tears.I cried because I did feel guilty, because I wouldn't ever experience that situation, because it took three trips to move a family's every possession and because of that little girl.

So many of my experiences so far have evoked such a range of emotions.During one of my Life Skills classes, I handed out blank sheets of computer paper in order to do an activity helping students visualize their futures.Because I have 150 students across my four classes and their names are often difficult to learn, I make a point of finding ways to engage them as individuals, such as walking through rows with diagrams or choosing shy students to read.Today, I personally handed each student his or her paper - so I knew everyone had gotten one.But I'd barely finished my distribution when students started calling me over to insist they hadn't received a sheet.As soon as I saw one student slip his under his desk and turn towards me, I understood what was going on.Others, I noticed, were tearing theirs into halves or quarters to save for later.

Of course, I was angry at them for trying to steal from me, but more than anything I was overwhelmed by the depth of their poverty, revealed to me perhaps more clearly than ever before in that moment.When I went to college, my dad sent me with 15 reams of computer paper.Here, a piece was worth conning the teacher.

Similar incidents - watching a man slide Jillian's broken sandals on his feet when she threw them out; a boy picking up a marker I had left abandoned in a classroom after it had exploded all over my hands, holding it up and beaming like he'd just won the lottery - never fail to upset me.On the one hand, I want to scream at them: "It's TRASH! What are you even going to do with that?!"On the other, I feel shame that I have so much I regularly cast aside objects of even greater value without a second thought.

Still, I've gained a lot more control over my emotions.Reflecting on the last ten months, I smile patronizingly at the memory of (what now feels like) a former version of myself, excited and naïve, practically setting myself up for eventual disappointment by failing to grasp underlying cultural differences.And I grimace at still another version of myself, reincarnated as a bitter cynic with an I-hate-this-country attitude, subject to angry outbursts - having finally understood those differences and being unwilling to accept them.

I think I've come to an understanding of what it is, what has to be and where I can have an effect, relative to Malawi.My prayers often resemble the one used by AA:"My God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference."

The skill set I see emerging in myself comes from learning how to effect change, when I see that I can.To that end, I've settled into some really great projects, working with people I believe are committed to progress.Next weekend, the health center is hosting an "Open Day," promoting its free HIV Testing and Counseling services.We have invited community leaders such as village chiefs, church leaders and school representatives to encourage people to "know their status" and thus prevent HIV transmission.Working with the district hospital and a Canadian NGO, we are having t-shirt and soccer ball raffles, as well as giving secondary school students notebooks and pens.Our goal is to get 100 people tested for HIV.

I've also been working with the Magomero AIDS Support Organization (MASO) to develop an income-generating activity (IGA) to become self-sustaining.MASO members decided on raising hens and selling their eggs, for two reasons:one, there are no egg vendors in our area and yet there is a huge demand; two, eggs are a relatively cheap yet quality nutritional source for children and the elderly.Under President Bush, a special commission was formed to handle the AIDS pandemic in Africa, known as the President's Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR).PEPFAR channels money to Peace Corps to fund its Volunteer Activities Support and Training (VAST) grants.Though constructing a budget in a country where prices are subject to rapid inflation was not easy, I worked with MASO to write and submit a VAST proposal to cover start-up costs.Hopefully we will receive (positive) feedback soon.

Then there's Camp GLOW, which stands for Girls Leading Our World (like any government agency, Peace Corps is heavy on acronyms!).Most countries with a Peace Corps presence host this program to educate and inspire young women.Volunteers choose motivated secondary students in their communities and help them submit an application.We take up to 70 girls and for a week, teach them about health, careers, IGAs, the environment, history, art, music and sports - with an emphasis on developing a plan to become a successful woman.As a co-coordinator, I am overseeing applications, supplies, transportation and other logistics.The other coordinators and I make a great team: before joining Peace Corps, D'Lynn was a Women's Studies major at Spellman, so she felt really inspired to take on the role of activity-planning and speaker recruitment; Stevi was a retail manager, and her excellent business sense is translating well into fundraising for us.The camp will be August 2-9th, and I'm already counting days - I can't wait!

There are things I cannot change about Malawi or my experience, my timing or my circumstances.But that's true for life in general, isn't it?Yet I can provide my input.I just keep repeating my request: "…and wisdom to know the difference."