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Whenever I purchase something in the grocery store or someone sends me a food item from home, I have a habit of looking at the expiration date (if you grew up with my mom, you would understand how such a habit gets formed).In the beginning of my service, I would note the date and think to myself, I will still be here after that thing expires.Now that I'm only remaining with a couple months, I find myself realizing, I will have been home for two months by then!
Going home is suddenly real - all the more so because 1) I have an official "Close of Service" date and 2) I have been officially accepted to the University of Pennsylvania for grad school!
The initial group of us that came to Malawi in May 2008 numbered 22.Now, we're down to just 15.Peace Corps took us to the Nkhotakota Pottery on Lake Malawi a couple weeks ago, where we learned how to wrap up our projects in our villages, talked about what to expect in America, celebrated having "made it" and - most exciting of all - choose our closing dates (within a given range).As I write this, my date is fast approaching - just a month away!
Right after the conference on the Lake, I spent a week in Lilongwe doing my medical exams (required upon closing Peace Corps service) and being "graded" on the Chichewa I've learned (I earned a marking of "Superior"!).Following that, I went back with Tracey, one of the girls in my group, to see her village.I was so impressed - for two years she has had absolutely no cell service and, thanks to poor roads, entering/exiting her site often means detouring through Mozambique!
Tracey and I had been in "home stay" together when we first arrived - and truthfully, I didn't think either of us would make it.Tracey seemed to really miss her church and friends, while I missed Alex and my family.Both of us suffered during those cold nights and early-morning bucket baths - not to mention nothing but nsima, nsima, nsima to eat.
Now, at her site, we knew how to hack it.After a long walk to see the surroundings, Tracey started a fire while I chopped vegetables we'd bought at the market.Realizing we were short on water, we grabbed two buckets, walked to her borehole, and took turns pumping, then lifting the buckets, nearly full, on top of our heads.
After dinner, I took a bucket bath outside, and heard the sound of drums and chanting floating through the night air."It's initiation time, hey?"I asked."Yeah, I guess so," she replied.We both went back to what we were doing, completely inured to the eerie and majestic voices inducting boys and girls into adulthood.
We've come a really, really long way.
Even at our conference, I marveled.I remember going out to the pit latrine to "practice" using such a facility with these people.I remember sitting up late nights, studying for our language exams, terrified of not knowing enough to get by.I even remember boarding the plane in New York together, calling our parents once last time to say goodbye.Now here we are at the end of it, having stuck it out for two years.Some of us worked on developing businesses, some of us taught, some of us built resource centers for HIV/AIDS preventions.All of us can say we were challenged to step outside ourselves and enter into something new.
Leaving Malawi behind really is weighing on me.I'm sad and frustrated and excited, all at the same time.I really, really like the life I've created for myself here - I've never been so happy.Every day I'm grateful for my experiences, for the little moments and quiet rituals I've created, for the beautiful surroundings, for the incredible friends I've made, for the opportunities to grow. I love running with the sunrise, drinking my coffee in the doorway, preparing breakfast while listening to BBC. I love how grateful I am for a day in ''town'' (Zomba) and swapping war stories with fellow volunteers.In much the same way, I love how much a weekend means, spent with my church family in Blantyre or Lilongwe - not only do we share stories but spiritual devotion and healing, needed for me after months spent out in the field biking and pretending to be brave.Above all, I love my villagers, I love how gentle they are, how respectful of each other and their elders they are, and the way they never let problems seep into their overall happiness.I've come to really respect my colleagues at the village community organizations for their dedication.I love listening to them, watching them work, hearing them laugh.
I'm frustrated, because I don't necessarily want to leave, but I know I will never be 100% part of the fabric here unless I stayed another 10 years - and even then, I will never fully experience life as my community does.They know that, and I know that.They know that when I carry water on my head, it's not ''necessity'' but just an experience for me.I will never fully understand the lives of the women here, not having undergone puberty rites, being able to choose my job, my husband, my location.And I will never stop being a celebrity - I will always be the first (and in some cases, only) white person the children have ever seen, and the fascination with who I am, why I'm here, why I would leave my country, will never end.(Those are questions my own countrymen might ask of me!)We are always outsiders, and that hurts because I love it here.
There is something beautiful about the insularity of the village, the way everyone protects everyone else, from birth all the way to death.I respect the African way of life.I love the focus on families, the meaning of which is greatly expanded from the Western definition.(Your mother's younger sister's husband is called your "young brother" in the vernacular.)I love the attention one pays to the seasons - now it's time for us to eat mangos, as we plant, now it's time for us to eat roasted corn, as we harvest, now we eat oranges while waiting for the mill to grind our maize, finally we can eat fresh greens and legumes from the garden with our supper.Everything they need surrounds them, and even those things one can arguably only get from the outside, such as medicine, can usually still be procured locally - for instance, by traditional healers.
What, then, has my purpose here been?There are some people living here for whom the village is not enough, and who serve people with complex needs that are not being met.The AIDS group I've helped to start a poultry business with has a membership of young people who want the financial training to be able to work in the city.They provide home-based care for people living with HIV/AIDS and other terminal diseases, and need the funding to be able to purchase and transport drugs and medical supplies.My oil-making group works with adolescents who are at high-risk for obtaining and spreading HIV/AIDS by the risky sexual behavior in which they engage.They recognize that many girls cannot afford to go to school (most families prioritize the boys when it comes to paying fees).In a young democracy such as Malawi, every citizen needs to be able to read and write and think for his or herself.
Every community, no matter how structurally sound, encounters issues.For the problem-solvers and the decision-makers of Jiya Village, I hope that I have shared with them what little wisdom I have.If nothing else, I hope I have opened their eyes to solutions - to the vast potential to be found in the world surrounding them.
Truthfully, the person who got the most ''development assistance'' was me.Perhaps my biggest gift to my village is the one I haven't yet given - a life of service, putting into practice all that I have learned in Africa.
- comments
Nancy Hudack You will have left a lasting hope to everyone in your village. You will always remember your speccial times in Africa. You will hear a laugh or smell a scent and remember. And it will be good.
Katja very inspiring. And again, I have so much respect for you that you have made it. And now get out of here it is getting cold.
Roddy What would have happened if you had failed your last language exam? Would they have made you stay or kicked you out? I