A Few Anecdotes

Allow me to set the scene, I'm sitting in the home of my dear friend, confidante, and adopted mother, Mama Chavula. As a family, we're sitting down to dinner. Once again, I've singed the prints off my fingers as I pried the top nsima patty from the pile. While this is a nightly affair, always I'm the first to peel off the top patty, the last one into the serving bowl and that final spoonful that came from the bottom of its cooking dish, steaming enough to cast a mirage in the air just above the serving dish. But this night was different. As we ate Erita, the sister-in-law to Mama Chavula, was cutting up a carcass of sorts. She sat with all of us while we ate, serrating bits of pork away. Well the rest of us were in the middle of eating, she's set slicing and dicing. It was a tad revolting, please note I'm still an avid vegetarian, even in Malawi. I queried her as to what part of the animal she was amputating, her response: “chamuganganga” meanwhile grabbing at her breast. Oh indeed, she was cutting away the teats. It was this response, the indicating of her breast, that led to my explosion. If nsima was a tad runnier it would have come streaming out of my nose. I burst out laughing along with the rest of the family.

There is a supreme difference in parenting techniques from Malawi to America. As per usual, I'm sitting over at Mama Chavula's watching Erita force feed Eugene, her firstborn son. She holds the phala, the cornmeal porridge, in her hand and holds it up to his mouth, making him swallow. He slowly gurgles it down, making funny sounds all the while. But clearly he in no way enjoys the phalli. At other times, Mama Chavula feeds him and it sounds as if he's being tortured. She forces the spoonfuls of porridge down his throat as he screams bloody murder. I have a hard time watching it or even listening to it. Not to mention this is generally while the rest of us are eating dinner; his screams are hardly ambient white noise. Compared to what I can only imagine is a western approach, we encourage babies to play with their food or coax them into eating with airplane personified baby spoons. Not here. As Mama Chavula says, he has to learn to take his phala, he can't stay on the teat forever. I suppose that's a fair point, but the tough love approach is so …. tough. How is he supposed to eat his porridge if he's force-fed it? We need to bring a little fun to phala time.

I just ate a vimpwete. It's a spiky fruit, green in color and covered in small spikes. It looks similar to a cucumber, simply covered in small "horns." And that's exactly what it tasted like, like a cucumber. I rather liked it. Now I just need to grow some dill and I could make a fabulous cucumber dill sauce.

Wow, I just had an amazing afternoon. One of those afternoons that make me smile and love life. I went for a run this afternoon, as I often do when the sun starts to set and the heat begins to dissipate. I head over to the football pitch and run a few laps in the last hour of daylight. And as I ran a few laps around the football pitch, I rounded the bend a group of five pregnant women came out and announced they were going to run with me. Off we went, me leading the pack, followed by a trail of five pregnant women. And I don't mean women in their first trimester either, these women could have their water break at any moment, bellies so round and bulging there is no way they could see the ground in front of them as we ran. But they kept on, we ran three laps, jogging at a slow pace, but they managed. I couldn't help but laugh and revel in the moment. I felt euphoric. It was really something. I laughed so hard that afternoon, never had I experienced anything like it.

I'm sitting on my front porch, watching a gaggle of birds walk by. It's amusing to watch for the birds aren't all chickens, in fact only two are chickens. The chickens are the momma hens, and their chicks, they are the be-speckled, blue-necked birds here call guinea fowl. It's such a funny concept. When the hens are roosting, atop their meagre amount of eggs, you swap the chicken eggs for the guinea fowl eggs and allow hatching and tending to run its course. The chickens don't seem to notice the switcharoo, they raise the fowl like their own. Off they go to roam the village, the guinea chicks, eight or so and the momma hen. Such a motley crew, but they never fail to amuse me.

Simplicity

It's interesting how sufficient, how surprisingly content I feel doing simple tasks. I can only call it a sort of soul sufficiency. Such days I spend sitting out on my porch, shelling peanuts and beans. If I may add, the beans, homegrown from the garden and fresh off the stalk. I spent one fine morning harvesting my whole crop. I let my hands takeover and allowed my mind to wander. My thumbs developed small blisters as the routine of the cracking and splitting traced itself onto my hands. As I sat and shelled with Mphatso and Mama Chavula, people dropped by for a brief hello, marvelling that I could indeed shell my own peanuts. And as I described my intentions for the peanuts, to make ground nut flour, which is quite the involved process requiring me to pound the nuts to a fine powder, my visitors were a little more impressed.

And my day continued, I hand washed my laundry, sewed a curtain, cooked a little dende on the fire. It was a productive day yet utterly simple. It was beautiful sitting there, shelling peanuts, the cool post-rain wind nipping at me, a little sunshine peeking through the rain-tinged clouds. I felt at peace. Here was where I was meant to be.

I just read though the Four Great Vows of Buddhism, and the last: However incomparable the Buddha truth is, I vow to attain it. I deliberated on it. Perhaps that is the Buddha truth of sorts, the seeking of the space in time in which you feel at peace. The serenity contained in such moments is overwhelming in its truth. Its trueness to thought, to action, to speech. The efficacy of the moment reinforces my sense of self, of why I am where I am, reinforcing that I am where I'm supposed to be. My path, my current position it's just so exactly right, in as few words. Is that what the Buddha truth could be? Is that what finding “the way” could be alluding to?

It seems it could be so, in the simple pleasures, the simple actions, perhaps that is a source of oneness. The motion and action of the body unites with the fluidity and mental wavelengths of mind. Hm, something to ponder on.

What I know is that I treasure the moments I feel so clear sighted and attuned to my being, when the observation of my presence overcomes my acting self and I can appreciate and enjoy just being. Those are the times I strive for.

Updated Please Send Me List

Well hello, so I've received a number of packages from friends and families back home. To all of you, many thanks. You've made my humble existence easier to bear. But since I posted the initial list I've received many of the items on it multiple times. Thus, I'm updating this list with items that I'll never have too much of. So feel free to send anything from this list it will also be greatly appreciated and cherished.

Candy, hard candies (butterscotch disks are my favorites)
Chocolate, Reese's, Snickers, Ritter Sport
Incense
Clif Bars and/or other protein bars
Tea, green tea and herbal are my favorite!
Cat treats
Vitamins
Quinoa, whole grain pasta
Lotion
Face wash
Soup packets
Anything where the instructions are just add water

Please send any (or all!) items to the following post office box shared with my new roommate, Paul Utterback.

Chelsea Mertz, PCV
c/o Paul Utterback, PCV
PO Box 68
Mzimba, Malawi
Southeast Africa