10:45pm. This time tomorrow I will be en-route to JFK. Perhaps somewhere high above the Atlantic ocean. It hasn’t really sunk in that we’re leaving yet. If you told me that we had to pack teaching boxes for camp tomorrow morning, I’d believe it.
I wish I had time to detail the events of our last weekend together: two nights at Lake Malawi…laying on the beach, eating fresh Chambo for dinner– a traditional Malawian fish (not to be confused with Chamba :), watching the sun come up at 5:00am this morning, bargaining at the craft market…and enjoying a wonderful (and delicious) meal at Michael and Amanda’s house tonight. But given that it's well past ten, and thus, well past my bedtime here...and given that my belongings are still scattered all over the floor in my room…I’ll keep it short…and leave you all with an experience – one hour of one day – that to me, seemed to characterize my four weeks here in Malawi.
It happened at the soccer game we went to last Sunday at the stadium here in Lilonwe. Despite overcast skies, the 8 of from World Camp, along with Chikabachi, one of our Field Staff, and his 5-year old daughter, drove across town to catch the match at 2:30. I couldn’t tell you who was playing – a blue team and a black team, maybe. But that’s irrelevant.
There were no seats in the stadium...not even metal benches, just a terraced landscape that wrapped around the field. When we found an area that wasn’t infested with ants, we sat down. I was on the end…no one to my left.
After half time, a group of girls started to approach us…giggling at the sight of azungus. They settled down nearby. Soon, however, they inched over...all the way until one girl was seated directly next to me, our knees touching.
“Muli bwanji,” I said, smiling and surprised. “Ndili bwino, kai aynu,” she said. “Ndili bwino, zikomo,” I answered. The girl laughed at my Chichewa. “What’s your name?” the girl in the sunflower dress asked me in surprisingly good English. "I'm Kayla." “Kay-ra,” she repeated. “What’s your name?” I asked. She answered, but it was a name I had never heard before and probably couldn’t even repeat it at the time. The next several names weren’t any easier. I did understand, however, that they were 12-13 years old, the majority in Standard 8 or Form 1.
While it had been drizzling during the first half of the game, the rain began to pick up around the 60-minute mark. I had forgotten my raincoat and umbrella back at the house, and was becoming a) cold, and b) increasingly concerned that my white t-shirt would soak through. I began to scan the stadium for shelter. Then, out of nowhere, a little arm reached across my shoulder and pulled a piece of fabric over me, so it was draped over my head, covering my shoulders and back. Four of the girls were using it to protect themselves from the rain, and they extended it so I could squeeze under it as well. It was a tight fit, and I was tempted to tell them not to worry about me, but they were smiling at the prospect of sharing their fabric with an azungu, and honestly, I was grateful to escape the rain.
The girl in the sunflower dress and I talked like that – tucked under the fabric – for the rest of the game – about her family, where she went to school, the U.S., the fact that I wasn’t married (which was the most shocking of all…) Later, at the game’s end, all the girls wanted to hug me goodbye. “Have a nice journey,” one shouted. The girl in the sunflower dress said, “It was very nice to meet you.” “It was nice to meet you too,” I said. She turned to walk away, but then stopped – as if she had an afterthought. “You’re my sister now,” she said, looking at me directly in the eye. I smiled. “As you are mine,” I said back. And you know, she may not be able to pronounce my name...nor may she even remember me a year from now, but this wasn’t the first time in Malawi someone who I had just met, someone who I barely knew, welcomed me into their family. For the entire time I've been here I’ve been continually impressed with the openness…the friendliness of the population.
And so, as I sit here the night before I leave…and play and replay the events of this month in my mind, the first memories that come to mind are not the ones in which I am sitting in the van gazing out at the maize-covered landscape (although it is beautiful), nor the ones in which we are at the primary schools, sharing bowls of nsima for lunch (although this happened often), or even the one of the lion eating the zebra on safari (although that was wild). The first images I see are the faces of the people I’ve met here. And if I ever come back to Malawi – I imagine it’ll be to reconnect with these people. Or hopefully meet others like them.
But for now, goodnight…and here’s to one last evening sleeping under a mosquito net.
Submitted by: Kayla Kawalick
No comments:
Post a Comment