A Hitchhiker's Guide to Africa

I had a surreal moment when hitching back to Mzimba last Wednesday. I found myself in a minivan packed tight as sardines with an array of neon dresses. A van so full that the front passenger seat was pushed all the way forward, my knees abutted the glove compartment dimpling them wit the Toyota logo. My giant pack lay atop my lap, my head barely peaked over the top. My sack of vegetables was wedged beneath my legs. The driver, one of the newly immigrated Chinese flooding into Africa right now, greeted me. His English was minimal. He was nice enough to pick me up, but our ride most mostly silent. Each time we approached a road block, he'd roll down his window while maintaining a steady gaze forward and hand the police officer a 100 kwacha bill (that's effectively $0.30 now). They take it and open the gate. He manages to say, “Police corrupt.” I acknowledge this and suggest it's quite true. We continue on with the sounds of Chinese pop songs to fill our ears. I read a bit to pass the two hours or so until we reach our destination. As I sat there, folded tightly into that cramped seat and occasionally trying to find something simple enough to say, I realized that this is my life here. I travel from place to place upon nothing but the generosity of other's. And the places and situations I find myself in are often comical. Or at least that's how I choose to look at them. That very morning I was on the side of the road just outside Lilongwe. I'd been there long enough for a few cars to pass and indicate that they were just around. It was starting to get irritating. The sun didn't help matters, Malawi seems chronically short of shade. I stuck my hands in my pocket, harrumphing, when I found a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup I'd put there that morning. It was a delight, melted a bit from my body heat and the unrelenting sun, but I still licked the wrapper clean. Just as soon as I did a fine white sedan pulls over. I run up and lean into the window to ask the driver how far he's going. If I'm to find a car that's only going to take me a couple kilometers down the road when I need to go 400km, it's not really to my advantage. Often people stop with the intention of taking you to a bus stage, which is in the center of some small town. However, that's completely antithetical to my hitching strategy, which relies on me looking destitute in the middle of nowhere, people then feel pity and stop. Thus, I ask to know whether they're going the distance. This gentleman demurs. He quickly snaps, “It don't matter how far I'm going, whenever someone offers you a ride, you get in.” I briefly reflected on this and how my mother would have a differing opinion. I don't ponder long though and I open the door and shove my bag across the leather of the spacious back seat. This man informed he was once the premier boxer in Malawi, Ben Chitenje. He went on for a bit, reminiscing on the old days or, as he put it, educating me on vital sports history. I nodded, giving him peremptory gestures. It's in my best interest to agree, if not verbally at least by nodding, with the driver – I want to get where I'm going after all. After a spell, he pulls over at a convenience store and gives me a 1000 kwacha. I'm to buy us all drinks. I do so and come back out, handing out the sodas and then handing him back the change. He won't accept it. I'm to keep it. I attempt to challenge this assertion, but he's not the type to back down. So I shrug and settle back in with my Coke Light, gaze out at the quickly passing scenery; that's just the way it is. We reach his destination, just before Kasungu, about halfway to Mzimba. He lets me out in the middle of a trading center. I walk out of town. I need to find a spot where I look appropriately pathetic. I settle down after a kilometer or so and as I turn around a shiny, new truck is swiftly making it across the stretch I just walked. I start to wave my hand up and down. They don't seem to be slowing and when they pass I curse under my breath. I walk back over to my pack when I hear a honk. I turn, they've stopped a bit up the road. I run up to it. It's a truck full of immaculately dressed tobacco buyers. They tell me to get in and off they are, speeding along. They offer me a cake, they all seem to be eating one, I oblige, this is my lunch today. They can only take me as far as Kasungu, but it's OK, I do need to get on the other side of that town if I'm to find anything going the rest of the distance. The driver seems very keen on my strategy. He suggests driving me to the opposite side of Kasungu and leaving me in a bare patch of nothing on the side of the road. As discourteous as it sounds, it's exactly where I wanted to be. I pull out my bags, settle them beside the tarmac and look up. A stuffed box of a van is hurtling up the road at me. I extend my arm and flutter it up and down. He slows down and stops before me. I lean into the window and the Chinaman says, “Herro, how are you?” He's going straight to Mzimba, my destination. No need to peddle myself at the turnoff to Mzimba. No need to hassle another driver to complete the distance. This is my last ride of the day before my matola takes me home. I relax, well as much as I can in this cramped space. I pull my book out of my bag. I'm reading the The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Let's see how they do it in other dimensions. Hitching is an unpredictable way to travel, but it never fails to entertain.

Flora and Fauna of Zomba Plateau

Chance and the Youth Troupe

Last week was marvelous. I felt that things were moving forward just as they should be. A moment of sheer certainty, my place here has had meaning. As someone who once explained their belief in déjà vu to me. They suggested that it’s a moment to tell you your life is on the right track; harmony and balance are present. I’m quite partial to this belief. I’m rather prone to déjà vu myself. It happens with startling frequency. And each time that moment of queasy verisimilitude happens, I eschew the cause to this.

One of these moments occurred as I sat by watching the youth club for Mhalaunda perform a drama and HOPE kit activities. They are preparing for the upcoming Youth Day at Embangweni, a small town roughly 15km from where I stay. Youth Day is a summit for youth, to display different activities they’ve been working on, to network with other villages, to dance, sing, and eat in the company of hundreds of other youth. It’s an understatement to say they’re excited. This is huge. They’ve been practicing for weeks now.

Chance is the one directing the “troupe.” She’s Mama Chavula’s niece, a girl I’ve grown quite fond of. She also was selected to represent Mhalaunda at Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) this past August. After watching her grow so much in that short week, I then asked her to be one of my esteemed counselors at Women2Women in December. Chance is taking it all in stride; she’s becoming quite the leader, shepherding her peers to be assertive and self-confident.

This week, she’s playing the role of director. She’s suggested the other members of the troupe play out several outcomes to a scenario, the boy-meets-girl type. One girl was to reply to the scenario that she’s not interested in what the boy has to offer; she wants to focus on school and abstain from relationships. One to reply that the boy and the girl may marry, but only if he remains faithful. One replies that they may have sex, but only if a condom is used. And the last pair, to continue a healthy, happy marriage the man and woman plan to be faithful while still using condoms.

And Chance directed the whole production, giving pointers, suggestions, supplying a way of phrasing to the actors. These actors are the youth of my village, the nurse’s daughter, the headmaster’s son, the reverend’s girl, the various kids (I suppose I should say adolescents) I see on a daily basis. Then upon the close of the drama, they performed the bridge activity. Chance, demonstrating for our small rehearsal audience, explained its symbolism. The bridge lies across troubled water full of dangers, herein recognized as snakes, crocodiles, and hippopotamuses. The plethora of dangers are an allusion to perils in life, those posed by early marriage, dropping out of school, unwanted pregnancy, etc. Across the troubled water there at first lies one bridge of two colors, one side white, and the other blue (this is essentially a long stick with a width of an inch and a half). Chance asked each of the actors to attempt a crossing. After much fanfare, they are of course practicing being theatrical here; many fall off, splashing into the waters of uncertainty. Only two make it across safely. Chance elucidates. The white and blue bridge is to symbolize abstinence and being faithful. Yet few cross to their future relying on that method alone, hence the two lonely actors on the other side. Chance adds on to the bridge, a counterbalancing stick of yellow, making the cross all the more facile. This part of the bridge is condom use and accurate information about sex. Each of the actors then crossed the dual bridge. This time everyone made it across, making that final step with an exuberant cry of “Nditha!” Meaning “I can!” An affirmation that one may pursue their future without being mired in the dangers that afflict life.

It was well done. A performance that’s sure to knock the socks off the other programs at Youth Day. The kids think they have a showstopper and I tend to agree.

I sat and observed the show, only to participate when I crossed to give my peremptory “Nditha!” I recognized that my role was only to advise and otherwise marvel at the agency Chance has taken in this instance. It felt good. I know that Chance has adopted and incorporated the many teachings she’s been exposed to through GLOW and Women2Women. She’s effloresced under mentors and proper role models. And I’ve had the pleasure of watching her bloom. She takes such initiative and care, now steering her peers to be more self-assured, confident, and well-informed. Her guidance is empowering more now. She’s paying it forward.

I looked on and marveled. A bit proud. I know I’ve had an impact with at least one young woman – and by the transitive property perhaps more. But even the thought that Chance will go on empowering others that makes all my time here worth it.

Chance and me at Women2Women