It is, truly, about the circle of life.

In the beginning, Kyson and I were struck by stark similarities between our project expectations and the humble realities of Malawi. Our project focuses on cutting back on deforestation, but we didn’t expect to see charcoal to be so engrained in everybody’s lives. We sure didn’t expect charcoal traders pushing bicycles toppling with maize bags full of charcoal to be the first thing we see; neither did we expect to be again and again engulfed in smoke from burning trees and forests on the streets by storefronts, by our house in the mountains.

Through our talks with district commissioners, a professor and head of the Department of Forestry, bamboo enthusiasts, charcoal producers, traders and consumers, anti-charcoal law enforcers, farmers, USAID/Emmanuel International employees, small business owners, church congregations, consultants, chiefs of villages, agroforestry groups, and, most importantly, communities, Bamboo Lota has received an overwhelming welcome in Malawi. We are everlastingly thankful for Helen and Paul of Emmanuel International, who has not only let us stay in their home, but allowed us access to their most important resources—to be able to see village projects and to have EI’s credibility of promoting good work behind us.

Our journey to Malawi has brought new insights and further desire to instigate change. You have seen through my camera’s lens, my typed words, a significantly small percentage of what is actually going on in this country. There are many, many more pressing needs than I have presented. Food is scarce—oftentimes, our leftovers are collected, cooked again and fed to those who are less fortunate; some children eat an average of two meals a week; and droughts and flooding ruin many agricultural harvests. Daily nutritional necessities are even categorized as six food groups—things cooked with oil being one. Main agricultural exports include tobacco and tea; neither of which are particularly booming. Other agricultural staples are maize and wheat—not any of these productions are sufficient to feed the 14 million people living in Malawi.

The need for a recycling program is duly noted for plastics and compost—but much of what people buy is reused over, and over and over and over, in a way that would put Americans to utter shame. A child once came up to me and asked, “Can I have your plastic?” and smiled delightedly when I handed my bottle to him. Where a bottle would otherwise be tossed, helping create that awful Texas-sized plastic island in the Pacific Ocean, here it is used for Tippy Taps or refilled over again. Plastic is not waste to the impoverished. Even our food at home was wrapped in their bowls by reusable shower caps that were probably tens of years old.

Helaine, Pezo and the Govala community taught us about the importance of education, which has always been the first priority in my life, my family’s, my friends and neighbors. It is through education that poverty can be alleviated, yet the programs in Malawi are so unorganized and unenforced that the future of Malawi is further compromised.  It is not necessary for children to go to school—some children have never stepped in school at ages 9 or 10, because there is no pressure insisting the importance of education in the big picture. There is a shortage of teachers—classes of 4-year-olds in public primary schools have sizes up to 200 students. Just imagine the outrage if this occurred in ANY other country!

I’ve talked about the state of water sanitation in the country for Blog Action Day, and facts about how the predicted spike in population growth combined with declining resources will lead to increased strife. Kyson and I are sure to return back to the States with changed perceptions of waste and consumption. Americans are about 4% of the entire world’s population, but consume about 40% of the earth’s resources. If you can personally decrease your water and carbon footprints, be conscious of what you consume, encourage others to do the same, you can move the Earth.

Electricity is rare, most nights are spent in complete darkness as blackouts are more common than not. Blackouts during the day are much like when there is poop in the kiddie pool where I worked as a lifeguard—you cheer and get to take the day off; how unproductive is that? Inefficiency is frustrating even to patient individuals like Kyson and myself—we are used to America’s pressure to multitask efficiently. Here, one cooks one pot at a time, spends eight hours on a project that could be done in an hour. It is entirely different, but slow is the way of life out here.

As we watched Aunt Mary’s wedding video from the 90s, she pointed out at various moments family members or friends who have passed; what struck me the most was that it seemed like most of her relatives and friends (who were all so young, even children who would have been my age at that time) were gone. Malaria and sexually transmitted diseases plague the lives of many, and many do not even see the ripe age of 20.

All in all, Malawians are tied together through their united faith in God. There are differences between churches, yes, there are Catholics, Muslims, Presbytarians, Baptists, etc. But diversity ends there—the smiling faces clearly dictate that life, to them, is by their standards manageable. Albeit living in tattered rags, unemployed and sitting on dirt streets picking through trash, there is chitter-chatter and laughter to be heard everywhere. No where else in the world have I ever encountered such bright smiles from people biking, the “Muli bwanje”s and “Zikomo”s are abundant, their praises for the little they have humble me to my knees. So there is hope, faith that God provides well for the poor in Heaven. And there is, at least, the reassurance that Malawi is, for now, still the “Warm Heart of Africa.” But what can we do to prevent it from a future heart attack, a failure in existing systems, the complete deterioration of a country?

Kyson, Joanna and I have been working hard to process all of our information regarding Malawian culture to best see where we should lead Bamboo Lota in the near future. There are extreme needs that need to be attacked, and we want to face this head on. Westernization is spinning into Malawi slowly, with an increase of cars and pop culture, yet no aid to jump the price gap. The circle of life is such—deforestation leads to drying rivers, soil erosion, increased pollution, climate change, and the consumption of wood charcoal leads also to respiratory illnesses, decreased participation in schooling for children, thus spiraling Malawians further into the poverty trap, increasing the gap between the rich and the poor.

Bamboo Lota is continuing on this project. If you are in any way moved by what we are doing, please help us spread the word on what you have learned about Malawi from our project. You can add us on Facebook, donate to us, connect us to grant donors or any other compassionate friends.

Thank you for coming along with us for our adventure 🙂 We thoroughly enjoyed talking to all of you about our experience in Malawi, and we welcome any more questions!

Paprika

Wife of the village chief, holding paprika— one of this village’s main exports.

Children in Malawi

Children in the second village we visited today, before saying “tionana” to us! 🙂

Sunday morning

Kumbaya, they sing, voices strengthening with every crescendo, harmonizing into one voice rising to thank God for the morning.

Faith is an intricate detail in the fabric of the lives of these Malawians. By the time I finish my shower at 7:30 in the morning, many colleagues of Emmanuel International filter in through our open doors and settle down in the living room for morning prayer. Hands and faces are lifted upwards, and I am astounded by the beauty of their collected worship. Whether in Chichewa or English, the oneness of the respect and awe for this one God is peaceful to me.

Early Sunday morning, Helaine, Kyson and I set out for our half-walk, half-catch-whatever-will-pick-us-up journey to the Baptist church in Zomba. Beatrice, a mother we met on the way down the hill, with children Jerome and Louise, waved us into her car, and excitedly tells me about her husband who is studying and teaching at Washington State— she will soon be joining him with her two children. The chance to leave Malawi is a rare occurrence, and those who leave feel lucky.

Outreached were the arms of many as Kyson and I stepped onto church-grounds. Surrounded by people of many different colors, I am thankful yet again that I have this opportunity to try to make a difference like many here do. I hear many stories, and many try to get to know mine; the pastor tells me about Paul’s sister, who has recently passed; his elder friend tells me about his great-grand-children, all surrounding him, one black and two white. The 7-year-old girl’s favorite subject is math and she shows off her coloring of Jesus’ apostles to her great-grandfather. He leans on his cane, jokingly telling us how the pastor never ceases to include him in a sermon, especially about his age. “I am the eldest, but he is the elder!” They grip hands and rejoice in their long friendship of over twenty years, and I smile at their companionship. Both hug me goodbye, and remind me to come back next Sunday and to visit their homes. The pastor’s wife is wearing a beautiful dark blue embroidered dress, and she insists that she give me one when we come visit.

Years ago in Watermark, I went on a life-changing trip to Tijuana, Mexico, with my youth group. Working with Amor Ministries, we ensconced ourselves into an environment completely foreign to us. I wrote my college admissions essay on the changes I personally went through— turning from a shy, unobtrusive wallpaper kid to a woman who wanted to create changes in communities, whether from building classrooms and houses to teaching children. Faith played a heavy role in showing me that sameness sang from the hands and hearts of people in different places and socioeconomic status; I was moved to tears by the prayers of a Catholic mass echoing the hymns I knew from home.

Today, I woke up with a solid sense of belonging in the universe. Pushing aside my handmade curtains, I blinked and opened my eyes into a magnificent sunrise climbing over the Zomba mountains. I’m truly in love with Malawi.

 

Focus Groups

Meeting with the traditional chief and his villagers; here, a woman stands up to ask us a question about our project. Symon tells us that the WALA (Wellness and Agriculture for Life Advancement) project targets the most vulnerable villages and provides the means for growing food, in this case— maize (aka, corn)!

Surprise!

We get many visitors here at the Emmanuel International office— first there was Zoltar, our Hungarian friend who was very familiar with our new home. Five years ago, he did research on food security in Malawi, surveying more than 250 households for his Ph.D. He sat me down at the piano and made me play the little that I remembered, then found a recorder and we created some duets. Zoltar then started singing songs that he learned in New Orleans recently, and we clapped our hands and laughed along with him. What a fun friend! We were also invited to run at 5:30 AM with him— of course, I prefer sleeping but Kyson is the ultimate trooper! Zoltar’s friend, Rosario (or “Little Bird”) also visited, with his humble, wise voice.

Also, the entire staff comes “visit” every day at our house. And Rotary members come at night after 15 hours of work a day. It is quite the zoo around here, there is almost always a full house!

And finally, the worst surprise visitor, one night while working on Bamboo Lota, Kyson leapt out of his chair and crouched down by the desk we were sharing. He told me not to look, so I immediately imagined Durkee #2 (our poor mouse at SAE which Yogi smashed into the door and then crushed with a broom several times). No, but this was worse (if one can even imagine so). This, my friend, was an African TARANTULA! I screamed bloody murder, while Kyson skipped around finding his camera (truly, men are from Mars), and tried to maintain as much space between me and enormous spider as I could (AKA climbed onto a chair and air-paddled viciously away from tarantula vicinity). Eventually, I sprinted to the kitchen to grab a bowl to throw over the massive spider and Kyson let it go back out into the wild (where it belongs. Definitely).

 

Kyson and Stephanie Play Farmer

Women welcome us into their village with a traditional song! At the WALA irrigation site in Mwamba, outside of Zomba, Malawi.

George’s truck left a thick red dust in its wake, bumping and thumping its way into the deepest heart of the Zomba district. The expedition was nothing short of arduous, as the road was essentially mauled through, but unpaved, by one enormous CAT machine—and yes, there was only a singular road that existed here. As our hands gripped the seats tightly for dear life, we jostled and jolted past villages and primary schools filled with kids rushing to wave and yell, “Ahh, zunguuuu!” at the passing vehicle, women splashing water into colorful buckets from hand pumps, men in the fields tending to the maize. A “Play Pump”, one invention we learnt a lot about in class, was seen in passing of a primary school—kids were merely sitting at the top, which lent to a conversation with our friend, Symon, about the benefits and detriments to such a pump.

Chanting and clapping, the women’s voices of the first village rose and fell, melting together and harmonizing to the shiny soprano voice of a woman in green, happily welcoming us into the lush fields of their home. The Wellness and Agriculture for Life Advancement (WALA) project is an $80 million US sponsored project, hoping to supply the poorest of the poor—measured by surveys on income, infant mortality, food availability, etc—with irrigation technologies and farming techniques. Essentially, they are helping supply these vulnerable families reliant on farming with a sustainable and secure food source. Only a year old, the WALA project is already seeing vast improvements in the growth and fertility of maize (corn) in the 2.5 hectares of land. With improved irrigation and farming efforts, the village of about 500 people now has enough to eat with a potential of three harvests per year.

After the tour winding through the daunting maize stalks, we sat in a circle under a tree and talked to the village chairmen and chiefs. One by one people would speak in Chichewa, and Symon, head of the WALA project, would translate. We would go back and forth in introductions, questions, answers, further questions, etc. Much of the information that we learned about bamboo usage was useful, as well as learning about how WALA worked with such desperate and hard-working families. It was a general consensus that only firewood was ever used, and there was little fear that the trees, albeit few, would run out before saplings would rise again from the stumps. Bamboo was, however, used for roofing, mats, flooring and for fishing baskets and poles. It was a “useless” and cheap weed, but many were amused by the proposition of a new crop to supplement their maize. After all was said, the villagers each shook our hands and we were sung off and waved goodbye to.

The second village we visited was in even worse of a state—most of their agricultural products had already died or were dying due to unsteady weather conditions. The main resource was paprika—however, the first company they sold through did not pay them nearly as much as they were quoted for, taken advantage of, and now the village was trying a new one. We helped with some farming, pulling dead maize out to cover the soil so that the sun wouldn’t evaporate the water from the land. Symon called out to us multiple times, in concern, saying that the villagers were afraid for our fragile-looking “pale zungu skin under the hot sun.” This was new to me, I’ve never been called pale before; I’m usually the “token black friend” to many friends at home!

Kids loooved us and followed us everywhere, striking in different yoga-like poses whenever they caught one of us with our cameras on, handing us dried maize they ripped out of the ground (because I fail at life) so I could feel accomplished, too. They fed us dried kasaba—which is like biting into a tree branch. However, it was their staple food—a starch-like potato that they ground up and ate in the wintertime. One lady (my FAVORITE, she was joking the whole time and giggling, I’m going to be her when I grow up) kept making faces at me and laughing as I made faces trying to take a big bite of the kasaba. All of it eventually ended up in my purse—and then to our driver, George (I LOVE George!).Again, after an hour or so of extremely hot sun and farming, we sat in a circle and asked/answered questions, and informed them about bamboo’s usage. We learned that the village uses it to keep the river from falling apart during floods, and to keep it from completely drowning all the plants.

Our project has grown from simply an interest in producing charcoal and bamboo, to surveying interested communities and presenting our project to government officials, non-profit leaders, botanists, environmental societies’ directors, forestry researchers, professors and locals. The more people we meet, the more conversations we elaborate on how charcoal making is the cause of many looming problems, with no alternatives to speak of. Our audience, the people interested, looms in the number of millions. The poor and the rich alike use charcoal, over 92,000 un-licensed traders work to produce and distribute charcoal, and the Forest Reserves are rapidly decreasing with no real alternative just yet. Where do we go from here?

This is where we said goodbye. Kids crowded around George’s truck, and the wife of the head of the village gave us some of their precious cabbage to take home as gifts. Seeing how rural communities in such unimaginable poverty could be so supportive and hardy for each other, I grieved for whoever those with extra resources couldn’t touch, couldn’t reach. However, Kyson and I left with great hopes in our hearts, with growing knowledge and ideas in our heads, and said “see you again.”

 

I believe that education for children can help change the future of Malawi.

says Helaine, our Brazilian housemate.

By teaching children English, children can get better occupations and thus provide better support for themselves and their family. By learning English, they get paid more— otherwise, a man makes about 10,000Kw (or about $57) a MONTH; more outrageous figures say about $210 a YEAR. How do you support yourself, your wife, your six to ten kids, on a salary like that? It is about 2,000Kw (or about $10) to send a child to secondary school per semester. Because of a shortage of funds, only elementary school is provided free. Also, boys are sent to school more often than girls.

How saddened am I to think of my own spending frenzies and how that could be given to someone in much more dire need? How bleak is the future of Malawi in the hands of these children without a full education, when so much MORE could be done, when resources are available but just not distributed evenly in the one world we live in? What else can we do?

 

Chiki chiki chiki!

“Follow follow follow follow the leader! I jump, I jump I jump, I sit I sit I sit, I sing I sing I sing!”

A trail of giggling, sparkling children follow us on part of our three hour hike in the Zomba mountains, singing the few songs Helaine taught them, showing us just how high they can jump up in the air and land on their own bare feet.

Climbing up the mountain was quite the trek, but Roda and Helaine distracted us from the uphill climb by patiently teaching us different fruit trees lining the red dirt road (papayas (mamau in Portuguese! Still “papaya” in Chichewa :), bananas (toji), and guavas are the most common!).

Two little girls in ripped dresses, faded and tattered, walked past us carrying bound firewood on top of their heads; they couldn’t have been more than seven years old. A few minutes later, ten more children in equally tattered clothing and bare feet carefully sidestepped us with heavy branches braced, centered squarely on their heads. In asking our tour guides what they were doing, they explained that this was just how they gather firewood from the mountains into their homes. We were perplexed, and further confounded when we saw smoke (growing ever larger throughout the day) streaming from the right side of the Zomba mountain, curling an ominous dark grey, enveloping the trees all around.

We stopped at a little colony near the top of our climb, children poised with their thumbs in their mouths, unsure of whether to run from the zungus or to stay and investigate. As Roda drew closer, they flocked around her, pestering her with chitter-chatter about who we were. She sat herself down on a bamboo mat in front of an open brick house, and beckoned me to sit down with her. Her friends came up to me and one-by-one heartily clasped my hand with theirs and welcomed me, “muli bwanje”.

The chatter went on amongst the women, a little girl was brought to a mother (who looked no older than 19) and as she approached us she let out a startled squeal and cried when I reached out to touch her.Zungus, light skinned, we truly are. The crowded dozen of children gathered at a little distance, the smaller ones peeping behind the elders. Kyson and I got up to chase them around the brick buildings, and the kids warmed up exceptionally fast to us (and our cameras). They chased us around and showed us where they lived, as well as where they bathed, washed clothes, and drank from in the river stream nearby.

Helaine asked a woman if we could see into her house, showing us where they cooked food, went to the bathroom, and stored items. The kitchen was composed of three large rocks, burnt black by fire, a red plastic plate of potato leaves, and another bowl or two. There were two small square-cut holes for ventilation (aka, there is no ventilation or way for the smoke to get out, no oxygen in the 2×2 room at all). The bathroom was situated directly next door, and you really had to watch where you stepped because there were little piles of human excrete in the dirt. The woman lived 5 stone steps above the kitchen in her little house, and herself had about ten children, with another one in her arms. She was nothing but smiles for her children and her life there though.

We stayed in their humble home for a little, and then bade them goodbye, and “Zkomo”, or thank you, and headed down a little dirt path. On the way down, we noticed that the forest grew brighter, as trees were more scattered. Tree stumps were visible from the road, and thethwack, thwack, thwack of an axe hitting a tree stopped us in curiosity. Roda explained that sometimes it was one person cutting down the tree, or sometimes even five children cutting it down and bringing it down the mountain. The government has tried to stop deforestation (by tree-cutting and burning), but laws fell on deaf ears. Trees were shaved down to bare stumps, left to dry for a few days, and collected down by children.

As we were walking further down to the main road, Naisi Road, the little group of children ran up to meet us, holding my bottle of madzi, or water, cheering as they saw us. As they ran around us in circles, laughing and chattering, we played with them and learned a little more about the joys of being kids. They sang “Follow the Leader” and “Chiki chiki chiki”, clapping and jumping and squatting and running in beat. I taught them how to skip, leading them down the deep red dirt road (and almost landing on my face after tripping on a rock). They said “tionana” before we reached the houses on the bottom, and ran back up, following the leader, a little girl in blue (she’s such a diva!). We also said bye to Grace and Roda, and spent the rest of the day exploring the Zomba mountain, its botanical gardens, the government/Parliament buildings (Zomba used to be the capital of Malawi, and still houses much of the government), and exteriors of the houses.

What a beautiful day we had!

 

It’s Some Kind of World Out Here

Coasting down the bumpy road at a speedy 90mph, dodging potholes and pedestrians and bikers alike, we set out from the Chileka, Blantyre airport into our hometown for the month.

The very first thing Helen (our host for the month, although she is off to Canada with her husband starting today!) points out, is the amount of charcoal traderson the road. Pushing their overflowing bicycles topped with burlaps sacks (yes, SACKS of this stuff!), we see maybe over a dozen of these bikes on our hour long drive, pushing and dragging and shoving their teetering bikes on the rocky dirt roads of Chileka.

Charcoal trader on the road from Blantyre to Zomba

And this is why Kyson and I are here for the month, to conduct research on Malawi’s communities, the environment and economy surrounding energy. Already we have realized that this is a grandiose task.

Although it is the first day, we are seeing Malawians everywhere! And by everywhere, I mean EVERYWHERE, visibly. There they are, always in groups, talking and smiling and laughing together, catching glimpses at us while we try to soak in everything about their culture, while they do likewise. On the streets, there are people dressed in traditional garb, women in long dresses and hair tied up in cloth, balancing wrapped vegetables and sticks for stoves, sitting out in old gas stations, minding their “Bend-over Boutiques” (donated clothes from first-world countries sprawled out on blankets to sell) or vegetable stands, sitting in front of hand-painted “Salon” signs. Men are walking around with friends, chit-chatting. And children are all over the streets, helping mothers or walking with friends. Even at 10AM, many children are not in school so we asked Helen about the state of education. There are some private primary schools, and a high school, but not necessarily everyone can afford to go.

We spend about 5 hours at the Chileka Shopping Centre (or “mall” as they call it). Yes, a SHOPPING CENTRE, while Helen runs some errands and we find lunch. We wandered for days in a pink version of a Wal-Mart (really, there are pink smiley faces and a “Everyday Low Prices” sign), then a Safeway-like store.

game Supermarket

Albeit, we are totally seeing the “upper east side” version of Malawi, I’m sure, what with the shopping mall being the first we see, then living in this phat (yes, phat.) sprawled out house on a mountainside in Zomba, Malawi.

In a way, I think I’m totally fortunatethrough my experiences and living in California— duh, you say— but I’ve been involved in poverty-stricken areas, aka Tijuana, and some slummy looking places, as well as growing up in a ridiculously diverse and accepting area such as the Bay. As well as traveling and getting shitted on by locals (re: Kenya experience.) I mean fortunate as in I think that sometimes I am desensitized to what should be a huge stimulant experience. Maybe it’s good? So I can see the root problems? Or maybe it’s bad— I think that it’s only temporary, for me, and there is too much that I cannot, as one person, can fix. I don’t know. I see shopping malls and this house, and I appreciate what I have, but I also want to camp out with the wild dogs and mosquitos in the Zomba plateau without internet or food for a month. Sort of. Kyson and I definitely packed for a whole other experience, but what we do have will definitely come in handy (ie, 20% DEET mosquito repellant).

Other yummy food I’ve discovered (and probably won’t ever eat): fried mice on a stick. They sell them on the side of the road, little kids running around with mice on a skewer. Mmm!!!

Introductions to the people we have met so far:

Helen & Paul: Our courteous hosts for the month. Unfortunately, they are back to Canada for reasons

Stephanie, Paul, Helen, & Kyson

Helaine: My roommate for a night! Brazilian Helaine is a bubbly, humble and friendly woman out in Malawi to “do God’s work.” She is veryyy sweet, and I’m hoping to learn some Portuguese with her! She works with orphans and other kids and teaches them English. Or, a lot of them teach HER English and Chichewa, and she teaches it to children who only speak Chichewa. She didn’t know English a year and a half ago when she got here, and has picked up quite a bit since then (but accented by Chichewans). Helaine tried to go to Madagascar (because she only spoke Portuguese) and Angola, but she says God directed her to Malawi, and now she is very happy here!

Stephanie & Helaine

Dr Lunogelo: Our new Tanzanian friend whom we met in line at the airport (a 45-minute wait that was, sadly, not the worst part of our experience at the Nairobi airport). He is the Executive Director of the Economic and Social Research Foundation in Tanzania, and came to Nairobi for the IDRC’s 40th Birthday. That is, the International Development Research Centre, which is a public corporation to bring environmental, economical and social benefits to the developing world.

Marla: Our new Peace Corps friend, hopefully we will meet up with her again! While at the shopping mall, she stopped by to say hello to Helen, and we inputted her number into our new (ah, aka ghetto) cell phone.

Grace (Mama Zidana): The fashion designer I met before boarding our plane in Nairobi. She has come out to Blantyre and Lilongwe to visit her family, where she is from. She has started her own micro-franchise, called Angel Fashion Accessories, (hasn’t set up her website yet), in Nairobi. I will be keeping in contact with her hopefully, and I want to swing by her house (where her business is run out of) when we go back to Nairobi! She was wearing one of her own creations— a beautiful skirt and top and scarf, made from her own textile designs as well!

Buti & Molly: Our Great Dane and Mastiff dogs, very friendly, enormous and old. I watched Marmaduke on the Emirates flight, so I was SUPER excited to come home to my new biiiiig dogs! Kyson feels at home and misses Yohji (his massive dog in the States).

Peti (I think): Our black cat. My nose/allergies are not that big of a fan of her, but she keeps out of my way and my allergies are a great deal better than in the States. We had a staring contest while I was brushing my teeth this morning— I lost, but saw her smirk at me.

We also have two African women (Roda and Grace) in the house, and are about to meet tons more friends! We’re headed out to the Zomba plateau and hills for some hiking and to gain familiarity in the town centre. See you soon!

-Stephanie via http://www.stephaniewu.tumblr.com/