Malawian Mannerisms

Here are some thoughts on Malawian mannerisms.
There are several behaviors that I can’t seem to wrap my head around, behaviors where the two parts don’t make a whole. For instance, Malawians eat their meals with their hands, but don’t lick their fingers afterward. Malawians eat nsima, a corn polenta/porridge thing that serves as the base of every single meal they serve here. You eat it by taking a chunk with your hand, ball it up, and then dip it in the dende, the relish, which are the side dishes. This is generally something like beans, cooked greens, meat (if they eat it), or soya pieces (which are surprisingly delicious). Anyhow, nsima is part of every meal and that’s how you eat it and in the process your fingers get pretty sticky. And, you think it would be common nature to lick your fingers after such an endeavor, but no they just wash their hands. I’ve yet to see them stick any fingers in their mouth in fact. It makes me feel rather ridiculous to lick my fingers in consequence also, damn it.
As I said they eat with their hands, they basically do everything with their hands. They touch burning coals from the fire with their bare hands. They cut tomatoes in their hands, no problem, and add it to whatever dish they happen to be making. They handwash clothes, scrub out massive stains with nothing other than their hands. I need to work on making my hands Malawian-friendly so I can do some of these more arduous tasks. I can barely grab one of the nsima patties from the dish because they’re so hot, let alone anything else. I guess my work is cut out for me there.
So another Malawian mannerism, women breastfeed anywhere and everywhere with little modesty paid to whoever might be in view. They just whip out a breast at the drop of the hat, or here at the first cry of the iwe. They whip it out say in a village meeting (and the Chief might be mid-sentence), or standing in line at the bank, or walking through the market they swing the baby around to suckle (they wrap their kids in a chitenge, a long piece of fabric, wrapped around so they carry them on their back). It’s bizarre how commonplace it is to see a woman breastfeeding. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I still stare each time I see it; I really need to get used to it so I can quit feeling like a pervert every time I see a large breast hanging free from an open shirt. But, the kicker is Malawi is a very conservative country when it comes to dress and custom. Modesty is a pillar of culture here. So, only in the cities, the larger cities at that, do women even wear pants. All skirts or dresses worn come well below the knees. Low-cut shirts are extremely rare, I’ve seen very few that even dip below the collar bone in the village. Needless to say, I feel kinda slutty walking around in my knee-length skirt and wife beater. I wish I would have brought some more full coverage shirts and skirts. It’s just such a shame since it’s in the mid to upper 80s like every day, so spaghetti-strap tanks are really the most ideal.
Some other interesting things I’d like to comment on. The word “sure” seems to suffice as an answer to just about everything.
Say: I like your hair, it looks very nice today.
Response: Sure?!
Or
Say: Are we going to town today?
Response: Sure. Sure.
Or
Say to the grocer: Will bread be in tomorrow?
Response: Sure. (even though it won’t be in for a week)
Which leads me to my next point, Malawians also don’t like to be the bearer of bad news. They don’t want to disappoint you. So, if you ask something where the outcome/answer is either unknown or not what you want to hear, they assure something else. Take the question posed to the grocer about the bread, he tells me “sure” or “probably” every time I ask, no matter when the actual shipment is coming in. Or
Say: How far is Embangweni from here? (A question I asked in the middle of my bike ride to a nearby town)
Response: Sure, it’s just there, not far. (And I rode my bike for another half an hour before I arrived).
Matolas are another interesting experience here in Malawi. They are the most widely available form of public transportation. And, it’s another place where custom doesn’t exactly meet practice. A matola is generally a sketchy looking pickup truck where everyone squishes into the bed, along with any katundu, luggage or parcels, and many large 50lb bags of maize or sugar or cement (which always seem to be in transit to some place). Anyone and everyone squishes in. A driver and I guess what you would call a toll-taker operate the vehicle. The toll-taker hollers at anyone standing along the rode asking if they want to ride and they will pick up absolutely anyone, even if the truckbed is overflowing with people or in danger of bottoming out. Credit to Malawians though, they always seem to make it work, everyone always fits and I’ve yet to actually hear the car bottom out when traversing some of the more treacherous dusty road escarpments. At one point on a particularly crowded matola, I was sitting against the truck cab on a bag of maize meal, my legs facing away from the cab and straddling the woman nearest me. No one seemed to mind that I was quite literally straddling her and occassionally she would swap at my foot for some unknown reason. Anyhow, I was quite thankful to be wearing pants on this day (I was in the city to pick up some supplies) rather than a chitenge, I’m not sure what the outcome of that situation would have been otherwise.
I also just got a kitten, I’ve had him for a week now (I got him September 10, I’m not sure when you’re going to read this). His name is Panda and he is quite entertaining and makes me feel less crazy for talking to myself around the house. The story of how he got to my house is rather amusing. So Malawians are kinda weird when it comes to cats. The custom is to carry it in a canvas bag (say a pillowcase) and once the cat is in the bag you are not supposed to let it see where you or going. You are also not supposed to talk with anyone while you are in transit with the cat for fear of letting the feline know your whereabouts. So, if you are traveling with a cat or with someone else traveling with a cat, you are to shush anyone who talks to you and indicate that you are traveling with a cat, by holding up the bag and making meowing sounds. The trip on the matola with the cat was rather interesting to say the least, holding a cat in a bag while straddling a lady and being the only white people around (my friend Ray was traveling along to bring the kitten). Oh yes, we were a spectacle.
I’m sure this list will only grow with time. I plan to make this a series. I hope you enjoyed the beginning.