Clifford Kasiyamphanje

Clifford is my driver. He is the best looking of all of the drivers. My first driver, Buba, was the second best looking driver, but he was no fun. You know how that goes.

Clifford fancies himself a Malawian gangsta rapper. He loves to have his picture taken in gangsta wrapper poses in beautiful places throughout Malawi. I have to admit that he pulls it off. Clifford is 28 yeqrs old, not married and has no children, unusual for Malawi. On the many job applications he has submitted, since the Medicins sans frontieres job is time limited, he says that he is a married man because the unmarried don't stand a chance of employment.

Clifford comes from a family of seven siblings. He's somewhere in the middle. He is also the only one of the remaining siblings, his older sister died of AIDS leaving behind an orphan, who has even remotely regular employment. I must say that he is a damn good driver in a country where there is only modest regulation and that which exists is only to collect revenue for the state. Driving is a formidable task here in Malawi and he is a natural.

At one point Clifford confessed to me that his dream is to open an orphanage, take in all of the children and take care of them. His nephew is head over heels in love with Clifford. There is no doubt that he is quite a charming person and a responsible one, as well. He says he doesn't feel comfortable marrying before he has saved enough money to support a wife. Secretly, I think he really enjoys his freedom and has no intention of ever marrying. All of the other drivers I've met are married, most of them begrudgingly (eg, Buba: I married too young. All my wife does is complain, but I call her everyday. I don't want this driving job to end.)

Clifford and I have the best time driving around the country together. I tell him tales of New York and he tries (in vain) to teach me more than the basics in Chichewa (my vocabulary is eclectic: rainbow, tomato, witchdoctor). We've driven off in many sunsets together.

Maureen and the African Tailor

Have you ever tried to explain the color orange to a blind man? Who doesn't speak your language. No? Then I don't recommend trying to explain what patchwork is, let alone an entire quilt to a tailor who would much rather make you something more suitable. Like a dress.

I explained the process to one tailor, complete with diagrams and measurements. I considered it a test run, because I didn't bring the fabric (oh such beautiful fabrics to be found here in Malawi!). We made an appointment for me to return once he understood the concept. When I returned with the fabric, he was gone. Shop closed, no one knew what had happed to him gone.

The next day I moved to a new town and was bound and determined to get this quilt done. Why I had fixated on the idea, other than the fact that I am buying fabric uncontrollably and making a quilt seemed to justify my many purchases, I have no idea. Round 2 of quilt explanation was conducted with my trusted driver, Clifford. At one point he looked at me in frustration for clarification in how he might better explain the idea. Of course he had been speaking in Chichewa and I really had no idea where he had lost the thread so to speak, but finally a light bulb went off with the tailor. I left the fabric and we were on our merry way.

I stopped by the next day to assess progress. He had understood! Many stripes were sewn together and the quilt was well underway! I returned the next day to a smiling tailor who proudly announced that he was finished. He handed me the quilt and waited for his money. As I unfolded it, I realized that something was dreadfully wrong. My quilt was for a giant--a tall skinny one! Instead of making the quilt eight squares by nine squares (the easiest part of the concept!), my quilt was 10 squares by five squares!!!

Another explanation session ensued. This one slightly more heated on both sides. Finally, he agreed that I should come back Monday. I have failed to mention that the quilt is absolutely gorgeous. I need to preface my next statement with this fact. Even though I made absolutely no mention of the American tradition of including minor imperfections in the quilt, my tailor embraced this notion from the start! Yes, the quilt is definitely not as ordered, but judge for yourself if I did indeed do the right thing.

The quilt--before and after

Who is St. Montfort?

Why he’s the most popular saint in town! He is to be found as the patron of many a church nationwide!

Malawi is quite the religious country. One must belong to an organized religion, preferably Christian, unless you are among the 15% of Muslims who primarily populate the southern part of the country. One notable concentration of Muslims lives in Zomba and several surrounding districts where I spend quite a bit of time.

In this country, there can never be a mosque without it’s Christian church counterpart located within 100 meters. However, in Zomba and environs, it is the reverse: there can never be a church without it’s associated mosque. The predominant religion in any area is expressed by an intriguing mix of old (remember construction is with mud brick and anything that survives a few rainy seasons may safely be considered old) and new dominant houses of worship, punctuated by the occasional minority religion house of worship in close proximity to its dominant cousin.

Interestingly, the Bishop of Malawi’s main, and may I say extensive and elaborate, residence is located in Mangochi—the heart of Islam in Malawi (as is a rather large seminary, which is situated on the only hill in the region that overlooks Lake Malawi). The grand and elegant central mosque, meanwhile, is located in downtown Lilongwe in central Malawi, where many fewer Muslims reside. Just an observation.

Then there is the story of the Black Missionaries—Malawi’s answer to Bob Marley—and beloved by Christians and Muslims alike since they are the ONLY famous band in Malawi. It seems that the lead singer died in prison several years ago, though the successful (and very hardworking, two shows nightly every weekend that I’ve been here) band has somehow managed to survive without the charismatic leader.

What did this great man die of? Never a straight answer on that one, but TB has been mentioned more than once, so that’s my story and I’m sticking with it. What is he famous for (other than his music and the fact that he died in prison)? He is deemed by many to be a political martyr because of the prison manifesto he wrote condemning the former president for favoritism towards Muslims. (Mercy me, there were even rumors of al-Queda involvement, but I think the addition of this information to the legend is of quite recent origin.)

Hmm, not all peace and harmony here in south central Africa as I had originally supposed. What? What is that you ask? Why was he in prison in the first place? Oh, that little detail. Here lack of clarity prevails and speculation is not random. His strongest followers—all heavy marijuana smokers, a plentiful and widely used substance blind to religious beliefs—insist it was political persecution. However, drug offenses being what they are world wide (and Malawi is no exception) I have my suspicions.

But back to my original thesis: Who is St. Montfort? Ask a typical Malawian and the answer will be ‘Oh, you know, there’s St. Peter, St. Paul, St. Joseph, St. Montfort...’ I always wondered who that quiet guy off to the side was in all of those medieval paintings was, now I know!

My favorite office in Malawi

The best office in the world is in Mulanje--Malawi's island in the sky. Behind me is a massive mountain that erupted from the earth. In front of me is a staggeringly beautiful view with a mountain in the distance rising from the plains that are covered with lush tea estates that I cycled through yesterday. Around me is a beautiful garden filled with fruit trees and other flowering tropical delights!

Initiation

The sun was a great red orb hanging low in the sky last night in a sunset that lasted a full 30 minutes. In fact, that sun had been acting strangely all day. Yesterday at the end of our walk to the waterfalls that we never saw, as we were laying like lizards on the smooth rocks next to the Likabulula pools, I opened my eyes to peer up at the clouds. Through them I saw a full white, bright circle that I initially mistook for the moon, even though I suspect that the moon is a waning crescent at the moment. Once again it turned out to be the unusual sun.

After a series of extremely hot days, the weekend has turned out to be cooler and cloudy after a night of strong dry winds that knocked the electricity out on the Phalombe road, the wires loosely draped across the road, electric poles on either side slanted at unnatural angles. The road was marked, as it always is when some unknown danger lurks just beyond, by the green leafy branches torn from a nearby tree. Even those few drivers who actually possess the orange reflective safely triangles that they prop appropriately in the road, augment these triangles with the requisite fresh branches.

This particular electrical hazard was also highlighted by the presence of two market laden cyclists who standing next to the fallen wires, staring warily. One man bent to roll up his pant legs (for safety reasons?) as our jeep slowed down to walking speed and we too contemplated the danger before us. Before anyone could decide anything, the driver rolled over the wires as Brima the doctor from Sierra Leone, made an abrupt sizzle sound. We all laughed nervously having successfully navigated our way across.

On this very same dry, dusty road, which had been searingly hot the day before, I took a drive with Clifford. We were going to visit the District Health Officer from Phalombe whose office you will recall is at the convergence of three equally unpromising dirt roads, all of which I have now traveled (and can confirm the relative lack of promise despite the frequent though often inactive signs of construction). After an uneventful, though bumpy ride out and a fun meeting with Daniel Mpemba—the sharpest and youngest of the officers with whom I have worked—we were back on the road to return the way we came.

Only this time the road was alive with brightly dressed people carrying umbrellas against the paralyzing sun, dancing and singing in celebration. They were to be found in large masses of people fully occupying the road, completely oblivious to the fact that really the road was designed for use by cars (or all wheel drives as the case may be). However, we only passed two other vehicles (one of them twice) during the entire two hour journey, you can forgive the crowds for thinking the roads were there property alone.

I knew immediately that we were encircled by people celebrating the initiation of young people into adulthood. I had been outrageously jealous that Heike (the German Doctor without Borders) had seen initiation ceremonies centering on serious faced boys surrounded by ecstatic and occasionally drunken revelers. Today was the day of girls, I realized, as I saw hooded young girls dressed in their finery being led by older sisters or younger aunts to the place of initiation. It is the first time I have seen large numbers of women NOT balancing heavy loads on their heads. No wonder they were celebrating!!

Night visitors...

Eeeeeewwwww! Yes, my friends, the photos do not do justice to the 6 inch long arachnid found outside my bedroom door nor to the 8 inch long gekko hovering just above my mosquito netted bed. Spring has sprung in Malawi and there are signs of creepy crawling life everywhere. On the other hand, the jacarandas are in bloom and I've never seen one of them before--beautiful purple flowered trees that are the tropical version of horse chestnut trees.


You'll just have to wait and imagine... they're simply AWFUL creatures but the 'Malawi is always safe and beautiful squad' has insured that unflattering pictures cannot be uploaded at this time.

Sing'anga

Oh no no no! Don't go to the sing'anga (witchdoctor)! No, baby!!!
Not when you can go to the hospital clinic instead... Oooooh-la!

Sung to a catchy tune by two singers with a full back up band including drums, two electric guitars and a keyboard all seated on the back of a highly decorated flatbed truck going about 10 miles an hour down the two lane international highway!

Sadly, this spectacle defied my photographic skills...but you get the picture.