The Zomba Road

The road between Blantyre and Zomba was the first tarmac road in Malawi, joining the colonial capital of Zomba with the commercial center of the land. Both cities have grown since independence came to Malawi in 1964 but the road has remained the original narrow, snaking two lane tarmac, now with crumbling edges and filled potholes. That is until June of this year. That is when road reconstruction began. This is something that has been talked about for over 10 year, so to see it actually happening is an encouragement on one level and a challenge on another.

The encouragement is that it will make a great difference in travel time and travel safety once it is completed. It is an indication of developmental progress being made in the country as such infrastructures are keys to progress, to growth. This is great hope for the future. The challenge is living through the construction. Preparations for this have been in the works for well over a year, as land was bought up alongside the existing road, and trees back from the roadway were bought and cut down to make way for the expansion of the road and for “diversions,” Malawi’s alternative to detours. A diversion is a temporary dirt roadway parallel to the road being constructed. In June the diversions were started and subsequently the actual road construction was begun at the locations where the diversions were build. The project is moving forward with gusto. Almost 40 kilometers of the 70 kilometer road has diversions, and construction, at various levels, is underway.



Minibus zooming along the diversion.

Last week, I had to make a trip to Zomba. I was warned that the diversions would be rough on my small car, so a friend offered to drive her 4 wheel truck, since we also had items to transport. I was grateful for the higher and smoother ride – not that it was all that smooth, given the makeshift nature of the road. The idea is that the diversion is only temporary. It is just cleared dirt, roughly provided to make vehicle passage possible around the work. The diversions are dusty at the moment. Once the rains come, they will be muddy and rutted. But they serve their purpose. Speed limits of 40 kilometers per hour are posted, which slow travel considerable. In places that is not even a safe speed, but the minibuses don’t take that into consideration. They still feel they need to make time to make money, so they only go as slowly as the traffic in front of them, and pass as soon as they can, raising a screen of dust. This gives graphic meaning to the phrase, “Eat my dust.” The old trip of an hour took us an hour and 50 minutes.. This will increase as the work areas expand over the next 2 years of the projected time of construction. We arrived dust covered – passengers and vehicle. Since this is the primary access to Zomba from Blantyre, I’m sure I will be adjusting to the dust and the roughness. As I contemplated this on the long trip back, I realized it could be worse. I could be sitting still in traffic on the Parkway East in Pittsburgh, trying to negotiate the construction of the Squirrel Hill Tunnels, taking an hour to go 5 miles. At least traffic is moving on the Zomba road – dusty but moving.

A Tire Saga

Car tires take a beating here. Between the rough roads that cause suspension and balance problems and obstacles that easily puncture tires and the heat that weakens them, tires need constant watching and frequent changing. Even when you’re careful, you will still have tire adventures.

I was driving back from Zomba the Wednesday day and was stopped at a police check, a routine event. The office who stopped me said that my one back tire looked worn and I should check it. When I got home, I did and it was worn, the result of a suspension problem that had been corrected, but not before damage had been done to the tire. Yesterday I asked Maxwell to change it with the spare. He had difficulty, since he had loaned the tire jack to Sam Ncozana and hadn’t gotten it back. He borrowed one from the mechanic here at the Synod and changed the tire, but reported that the other tire was worn as well. This all happened late in the afternoon. The problem was that we did not have another spare and today, Friday, is a holiday here and everything is closed. We didn’t have time to get new tires. I had planned to drive a some folks to Nyala Park in Chikwawa as a holiday treat, but that was out of the question with worn tires. We canceled the trip for another time. I knew the tires were not so bad that I couldn’t go to the church this afternoon for a meeting, so I went ahead with those plans.

As I drove along the main road, on the way to the church, a fellow pointed at my front tire, not the one I had been worried about. I pulled over to discover that it was going flat. Now I was away from home, a small distance, true, but away, with a flat tire, a worn spare but no jack. I called Sam for help but he was out of town for the holiday. I called Maxwell, but he was away for the day, too. I tried calling some of the church members who were to be at the meeting I was to attend but could not reach them. Then Sam called back and said that he had called his friend Iman to come and assist me. He is a fellow who had driven for me once, so I know him. Sam has known him since childhood, a delightful young man. In less than half an hour he was there with his cousin Christopher to assist him. He knew I had no jack, but the one he had was made for his big truck and the wrench was too large for the lug nuts on my car. He needed to get a different one. He said he would take me home and then get a different wrench. I said I would stay with the car, to be certain it was safe.. As we were discussing this, Amos, my night watchman arrived. Maxwell had called him to come and do what he could to assist me. He would stay with the car and Iman could drop me at the house. That was settled. But Amos was concerned about me getting into a car with a stranger. I had to assure him that I knew Iman and I was safe. He was assured and off we went.

Within an hour they returned to the house, the tire changed. So here I sit in the comfort of my home and Iman, Christopher and Amos all back to their own business. I won’t be able to attend by meeting today (ahh shucks) and I’m not certain how many tires I will need to buy tomorrow, but I have been well cared for in the midst of tire problems. I am blessed.

Police Voices

Choirs are common place in churches in Malawi. Limbe has seven of them and they take turns participating in the services. So it takes a lot for a particular choir to grab attention. But this past Sunday a choir sang at Limbe that caused me to pause.

First it was a men’s choir. That in itself is unique. Women sing in Mvano choirs and even travel to one another’s churches, especially to other districts of the country, to share music and experiences. Young men sing in youth choirs and occasionally the young men will form a quartet within the choir, but they are clearly youth, young men not yet married. It is most rare to have men’s choir.



Christ's Ambassadors singing at Limbe



But this choir was even more distinctive. These men were all police officers, posted at the Police Training School (PTS) in Blantyre. Limbe has a prayer house at the PTS site. It is under the session of Limbe CCAP, which means that it does not have a large enough or steady enough eldership to support a church. Since the majority of the folks at PTS are in training, they are there only a year or so and then are out in the field, assigned to other locations. The instructors at PTS are consistent, but they are not numerous enough to support a church, so they remain a prayer house of Limbe. Police officers in Malawi have a spotty reputation, to say the least. Some are aggressive, if not violent. Some are heavy drinkers and some are corrupt, willing to take bribes for anything from a small traffic offense to a major crime. Especially after the riots of July 20, 2011, people are suspicious of police officers because of the violence that happened at what was to be a peaceful demonstration. But that is not all police by any means. This choir is made up of police officers who have made a commitment to Christ and want to have a positive witness with their lives. They call themselves Christ’ Ambassadors. They sing to the glory of God and they sing to make a statement about who they are as men of God. It was thrilling to hear their strong voices raised in harmony and praise to God. The congregation was as impressed as I was. They applauded and asked them to sing a second song. The officers agreed. The congregation showed their approval by standing and clapping with them as they sang. It was a stirring moment and a powerful witness to Christ’s power in a man’s life.

Day's Inn Malawi

Hospitality is part of life in Malawi and it is a big part of my home, since I help to coordinate the schedules of visitors to Blantyre Synod, especially international visitors. That is one of the reasons that I have a four bedroom house. It functions more like an inn than a house – Day’s Inn Malawi. That is the name some of my friends have given it Sometimes it fits, like now.

About two months ago, we made arrangements with the Synod of Zambia to host their Women’s Desk Coordination, Rose Haraba, and provide training for her. I worked with our Women’s Desk Coordinator on the details, but the one question was where would she stay? With me, of course. I have the room. She arrived June 4 to stay for three weeks of training. In the meantime, my Australian friends ran into a snag. Grace Bandawe, where they always stay, had been overbooked so we needed to find accommodations for some of them. John and Sue, expats here from Australia, could take three and I could take three, as long as two were married and could share a room. I knew there were two married couples on the trip, so that would work. It was all arranged. They arrived June 13 and that gave me a full house. While Rose here by herself, Thomas came down for a few days and filled one of the spare rooms. They had a great time together (Chikwawa Shopping). He knew the schedule and left shortly before the Aussies arrived.



Day's Inn Malawi



The Aussies have an ambitious schedule and are out in the rural areas of the Synod for parts of each week. The three who are staying with me are among those who travel. Diane is working at Chigodi Monday through Thursday and is staying there during that time. Her husband Doug and his building partner Steve are out at work sites Monday through Friday. This week they are staying at the sites. I thought that would leave Rose and me alone this week, but on Monday afternoon Rev. Bessie Liwonde, one of my former students who has adopted me as a mom, arrived with the announcement that she would be staying through Friday while she attends a conference here in Blantyre. I knew Steve’s room would be empty, so we quickly rearranged a few things and changed the bedding. She will leave Friday morning. We will change the bed and prepare the room for Steve’s return, like any good inn would do. But Day’s Inn is more like a Bed and Breakfast, as folks get a night’s sleep, a hardy breakfast and are off for the day’s activities. Evening dinners may be for those who are staying here or for them and a number more. Friday of this week the Aussie team, Rose and whoever else is around will be here for dinner. I’m counting on at least 16 at this point. Reservations are not required.

This is not unusual. This is the norm for the busy season of visitors. I jokingly call this “Alendo Season.”  (Alendo means visitor.) Last year I had a period of four months in which I had just two days when I did not have overnight guests. It makes life interesting. I get to know so many wonderful people that I would not have the opportunity to know otherwise, from all over the world. In the next few weeks, before I leave for the States, there are folks coming from Korea, Ireland and the US to add to my Zambian and Australian friends. Then my Malawian family and friends come and go as well. It is a delight to have an open house and help people feel part of the Warm Heart of Africa. But the truth is that I am not doing anything unusual. This is Malawian hospitality. It would be unthinkable to not welcome folks and make room for them in your life. A Malawian proverb says that a house is blessed if it has visitors. Mine is greatly blessed

The Aussies Have Arrived

Partnership takes many faces. Actually, no two partnerships are alike, just as no two people are alike. That is as it should be. So the Australians of the Presbyterian Church of Victoria bring their own flavor and style when they come to work with their partners in Blantyre Synod. And work is the operative word. They come to work alongside their partners.

The preparation for this work began in January when they began gathering materials and plans for what they would do while here for a month. The materials were particularly important. They gathered tools for roofing and mechanical repairs. They collected sewing materials and machines to assist in tailoring classes, books and computers for classroom instruction. The list seemed endless as they filled two forty foot sea containers for Malawi and one for Zambia. These arrived two weeks before the Australian team did, (see The Container) so that everything was in readiness for their arrival. In the meantime they were gathering the team that would use these materials – 2 auto mechanics, a computer tech who also would work with the builder, 3 ladies to teach home crafts at Chigodi, 2 young girls to work with youth, a nurse and 2 pastors. Emails flowed back and forth between the Generals Secretary and the leader of the team, the 2 Australians who are in residences here at the moment and various team members, and Chigodi staff and the ladies who were planning projects for the Chigodi skills class. They had collected money to support these projects as well and that was wired. On this end, we purchased the materials that were not shipped but were needed for these projects – iron sheets for roofs, plaster board for ceilings, car parts. All this awaited their arrival.





Mvano welcoming their Aussie partners



Aussie Team being welcomed



The Aussies arrived on Wednesday to a warm welcome at Chileka Airport, with the Synod officials, the Partnership committee members and Mvano to sing. Despite the fact that they had been traveling for 32 hours, they were ready for a welcome dinner that evening. But that was the end of the festivities. Thursday it was to work for the whole team. The team leader, Rev. John Wilson, and his colleague Rev. David Brown met with the General Secretary and finalized preaching and teaching schedules. The mechanics reported to the Synod garage to begin machinery repairs – cars and other motorized equipment. The builder and his assistant were on the roof of a house at Chigodi by 8:30 a.m., repairing the roof so they could then replace the ceiling in the rooms affected by the roof’s leaking. Everyone else was following up with the folks with whom they would be working, to be certain that everything was in place. Over the weekend, they led a seminar in Zomba, and visited a prison and then were in 3 different churches on Sunday to preach and share. They had arranged for Bibles to be bought here and distributed them to the churches they visited.

As I write, the groups are at work all over the Synod. Two are working with the Youth Department in the schools, 3 are at Chigodi, 2 are roofing a church, 2 are repairing machinery, 1 is working with BSHDC at the medical clinics and the 2 pastors are conducting a pastors’ workshop. This program will continue for the month they are here. Their energy and their giving is a blessing to all they come in contact with. The impact of their time here will be felt long after they return to Australia. That is the blessing of partnership.

Chikwawa Shopping

The Women’s Desk Coordinator from Zambia Synod is in Blantyre for three weeks of information exchanges. Yesterday was the only free day on her schedule so we decided to take advantage of it to take her to Nyala Animal Park in Chikwawa. Thomas was in Blantyre for the day as well, so he joined me, our guest Rose Haraba and Maxwell, who was eager to drive. We set off in a light rain, with confidence that as we drove down to the lower Shire that the clouds would clear. We were correct. As we started the descent on the winding road, each turn brought a better view of the landscape and clearer skies. We could see the charcoal venders along the side of the road. Thomas said he had promised Terse, my housekeeper, that he would get her charcoal, since it is cheaper in the rural areas. I said we couldn’t do for one staff member and not the others, so I would buy for each of the staff on the way back. Maxwell was thrilled. But this introduced a discussion of other goods that are available at a good price in the lower Shire, a fertile growing area. Suddenly the trip had changed from sightseeing to shopping, but on the way back, they promised.



Giraffe inspecting the car



Nyala is a small animal park located on the Illovo Sugar Plantation. It is small in the physical size and small in the animals’ sizes – antelope, zebra, giraffe and monkeys mostly. I was the only one who had been there before, so there was great enthusiasm for the sighting of animals. I drove through the park, since I know the roads. Maxwell and Thomas took advantage of the sunroof of the car by opening it and standing with their heads out to get a better view of the animals. They took the pictures from their enhanced vantage point.  Rose sat in the front with me, delighted to have such a close view of the animals she had only seen in pictures before. The animals were cooperative and poised for us in the middle of the road at some points, just a few feet from the car.



Thomas negotiating



This was meant to be the high point of the trip and we did enjoy it, but the real delight came as we started back to Blantyre and Thomas began his negotiations with vendors all the way up the mountain. The roadside shopping commenced just a few kilometers outside the park when we stopped for maize – corn – on the cob. There were some women at the side of the road with stalks of maize. They rushed to the car as we pulled over. Thomas jumped out and engaged them in conversation, as if he had known them all his life. After about 5 minutes of discussions, he motioned for Maxwell to open the back of the car and the ladies dumped an arm full of cobs into the car. Thomas climbed in, waving to the ladies, everyone satisfied with the transaction. At the market area at the foot of the mountain we stopped again. Here the car was swarmed by vendors with all sorts of produce. The main objective was to buy small birds on a stick, a delicacy, from Thomas’ and Maxwell’s perspective. Rose was enthused for the purchase as well. I asked Thomas to negotiate for bananas, a much safer food, from my perspective. Most of the vendors moved to the back of the car with Thomas, but one persisted in ask me to buy her papayas. We finally agreed on a price and I sent her to Thomas for payment. When he finished his business, we had 10 sticks of birds, a bunch of bananas, 4 papaya, and a bag of masawu, small berries, for Maxwell’s wife. Negotiating takes time. These transactions took about half an hour.



Thomas and Maxwell with
the purchases



As we climbed the mountain, we inspected the charcoal sellers. Thomas indicated one place for Maxwell to pull over. He got out and negotiated for some time but then got back in the car. The prices were too high. We moved on to one further up the mountain. We were looking for 4 bags, one for each of my staff members and one for Thomas’ sisters. After ten minutes of discussions, he decided to buy two there, since the seller had come down in price, but not as much as he wished. But Maxwell had found brooms that he was very pleased with. The produce was moved to the back seat and the charcoal and brooms placed in the back of the car.  Further up the mountain, Thomas spotted another vendor he thought looked like he would negotiate well and we pulled over. This one was willing to come to a better price, but the problem was that he had no change. I had run out of small bills and all I had were the new MK1,000 notes. That is too large a bill for a small roadside vendor, but Thomas didn’t let that stop the transaction. He flagged down a passing car and asked the driver if he might have change for MK1,000. He did. Thomas finished the negotiations with the vendors and carefully closed the tailgate of the car. The back was loaded with charcoal. As we proceeded up the mountain, Thomas regaled us with details of the lives of all the folks he had negotiated with, including the gentleman in the car who gave him change. In the midst of his negotiation, he had made a point to make the conversations personal. While this is Malawian, it is also Thomas, my social son, who can turn a purchase into a social contact and an opportunity to witness. From his perspective, the negotiations were the joy of the trip. From Maxwell’s the purchases themselves were. From Rose’s it was the animals. From mine, it was the fun of watching all of this unfold around the car.

Bad Dog Bruce

Bruce, the bad dog, has struck – again. Bruce is supposed to be our watch dog, but the only thing he seems good at watching for is trouble to get into. His favorite thing is pulling clean clothes off the wash line and dragging them through the dust or enticing his companion Diesel to play “tug of war” with the clothing – baby’s diapers, skirts, bras or hand crochet doilies. He is not fussy. His next most favorite thing is digging. He was a Houdini at digging his way out of his fenced enclosure, until he got too big. Now he entertains himself digging up whatever Maxwell, the gardener, plants.



Bad Dog Bruce



Last Monday, Maxwell got some cuttings of Pampas Grass to serve as a border along the walk and along the fence. He planted along the walk first. His plan was to compost the area around the fence and then plant it the next day. He was very proud of the walkway planting. It did look nice. Tuesday morning about 7 a.m. Maxwell impatiently knocked at the front door. When I opened it, he demanded that I come out and see what “my” dog had done to his newly planted walkway. When he is bad, Bruce is “my” dog. Every new plant had been dug up and more holes added to the path. I suppressed a smile as I reminded him that this was the dog that he had begged me for for months and had promised that he would care for him because we needed the security of a dog. He sneered that the only thing that dog secured were holes, and he walked away. He was not claiming ownership of such a bad dog. He spent the day replanting the pathway and working on the fence area. By dinner time the replanting and new planting were complete. Amos, the watchman, was given firm instructions by Maxwell to keep Bruce out of the gardens when he was turned loose to “guard” the area after dark. Amos just smiled and nodded. He would do his best.



Amos and Maxwell building the fence



Wednesday morning the insistent knock came again. Bruce had ignored the walkway but had started on the area in front of the fence. Amos had stopped him, but only after he had dug up half the row. I suggested that maybe Maxwell needed to fence the area, until the plants had taken root and matured to the point that they were no longer of interest to Bruce. Maxwell’s face brightened as he envisioned a fence. By lunch time he and Amos had the materials and by dinner the bamboo fence was erected. He and Amos were certain that it would stop the digging. I was hopeful, but not as certain. But they had a plan. Amos kept one of the bamboo stocks and used it as a rod, a deterrent any time Bruce came close to the fence during the night. Bruce soon lost interest in the plants and went looking of other trouble to get into.

All was quiet the rest of the week. This morning, as I left for church, Bruce scooted past Amos and out the gate as I was driving out. This afternoon when I returned, Amos greeted me with a question. Had I gotten a rooster that I had not told him about?  I said no and asked why. He said when he captured Bruce this morning there was a rooster with him in the yard. Amos had put it in the empty pen we have in the back yard, to keep Bruce from eating it. It seems that in his brief escape from the yard, Bruce had stolen a rooster. He had chased it into the yard, planning it for his dinner, I’m sure.. As I write this, Amos has taken the rooster and is searching for its owner. Bad Dog Bruce is in his encloser. He has struck again.

The Container

From time to time International partners of the Synod send shipping containers of donated goods for use by various ministries within the Synod. The arrival of one of these containers is always a big event. One arrived from Australia this week and there was a great flurry of activity and excitement.

This particular container, 40 feet long, was shipped before Easter. We have been anticipating its arrival. But the process is always a bit complicated. Malawi is a land locked country so that sea containers arrive in ports in Mozambique usually, are offloaded to waiting trucks and then are hauled to Malawi. At the border, they are met by customs agents and Malawi Revenue Authority (MRA) agents and escorted to the shipping terminal in Blantyre, where their accompanying paper are inspected and cleared. They are then hauled to their destination but cannot be opened until the MRA officials are present to inspect the contents, to be certain that they match what has been declared. It can take a week or more from the time the container arrives in Malawi until it is delivered to its destination. Once there, it cannot be opened until the MRA’s agents are present. We knew the container was in Blantyre. We were just waiting. It arrived on Monday morning about 9 a.m. Everyone gathered – the labors who would unload the container, the two Australians who are here in residences and had helped to load the container, members of the Partnership committee who are responsible for these international connections, the Synod staff from departments that were to receive contents, and those who were just curious to see what was going on. I was there as part of Partnership and as one whose department (Chigodi) was to receive some of the boxes. Everyone was there except the MRA folks. Our liaison from the Partnership called them. They were coming. When they hadn’t arrived by noon, we called again. They said they would be there after lunch, so we all took a lunch break, to gather back at 1:30 p.m.

My friends from the partnership were at a disadvantage because they had not planned for lunch, so I invited them to my house, along with the Australian couple and a friend of theirs. We were seven in all for a “potluck” lunch. It was great time of storytelling and culture sharing. We were back at the site at 1:30, but the MRA agents weren’t. We called again about 2:30 p.m. and they said they were coming. They arrived at 3, took one look at the container and said there was not enough time to unload it. They didn’t realize (for some reason) that it was a 40’ trailer. They were expecting a 20’ container and this would take too much time. They would come back on Tuesday at 8 a.m. So we all went home, more than a bit disappointed.



Beginning the unlaoding



Tuesday the MRA agents were as good as their word and were here at 8 a.m. along with the shipping agent, who is a CCAP member. The crowd of onlookers from the day before had grown, so there was a throng to witness the opening. John, from Australia, had the honor of sawing off the lock to open it, while the MRA agents sat in chairs that had been provided for them and watched the proceedings. There was a great cheer when the locks came off and the door was opened. The container was packed from floor to ceiling, front to back with boxes – small, medium, large, and irregular shaped, all hand packed and labeled by church members in Australia with great care. They contained medical supplies, sewing materials, books, used clothing, bolts of cloth, mechanics’ tools, filing cabinets. The list seemed as endless as the boxes did. A relay line was formed and the boxes were handed down from the trailer to men who shuffled them to various piles around the trailer, according to the labels – Synod, Zomba, Chigodi, Orbis Project, BSHDC, Mulanje Hospital, Education Department. The MRA agents just sat and watched. Finally they asked to examine one of the smaller boxes that was marked for Chigodi. I was called over to witness the opening. They opened a box marked “wool.” Inside were 20 skeins of yarn. The MRA agents closed the box and handed it back, without saying a word. They seemed disappointed. About 5 minutes later, they got up and left. The container was not even half unloaded. The shipping agent then came over and explained that the MRA agents waited Monday, hinting that they should receive payment to NOT come to the site. He told them he was not authorized by the church to make any payments. The church doesn’t function that way. Then they said they needed to be there since sometimes people try to sneak cars into the country in containers marked otherwise.  He assured them this was coming from honest people. Then they wanted to see the small box because they said that people sometimes ship money in boxes marked otherwise. They asserted that from their experience, people are dishonest. That is why everything was delayed. My Australian friends and I just shook our heads and continued to unload the container.



Moving Synod boxes to storage



The container was emptied in about 2 ½ hours, with 20 young “porters” shuttling boxes and creating large piles. But the job was not done. The piles had to be moved to secure locations. The Synod’s boxes were moved to two storerooms, making way for a large Synod truck to be moved into place to load the various other piles and transport them to their secure storage until they could be unpacked. Chigodi’s 208 boxes were the first to be moved. They came to my garage until they can be moved to Chigodi. This involved loading them on the large truck, driving them to my house and unloading them into the garage. This was a great deal of handling of each box, from container to pile to truck to garage. Some opened from the rough handling.  Maxwell was there to greet us and to supervise the unloading and storing in the garage. He and the Chigodi representative from accounting watched carefully to be certain that the young porters did not help themselves to any content that might ”fall” out of boxes that were now not as securely closed. I would never have thought of that. Both said that people are not always honest with goods like these. They need to be watched carefully. Maybe the MRA agents were right. The same process happened with the stacks for all the other locations. The Synod truck made four such trips that day. The last of the piles was loaded on a truck from Zomba about 4 in the afternoon headed back to Zomba. The goods had been received. Now the fun begins as we distribute the contents to those for whom they were so generously intended. The goodness of international friends is sometimes overwhelming and greatly appreciated.

New Money

With the devaluation of the kwacha and the increased cost of things, the government decided to print new currency. The largest bill we have had is the MK500, which with devaluation is worth about $2 US. Withdrawing MK30,000 for the bank ($120) I come away with 60 MK500 bills, quite a wade to carry around. The decision was to print a MK1,000 bill, the first of its kind. Then the thinking was to reduce the size of the bills, to cut down on paper costs and to make the handling easier.



Old and new money



Actually, the plans were set under the late President’s reign, before devaluation, but he died before it was accomplished. He wanted his face to appear on all the new bank notes. After his death and with the announcement of the devaluation (from official price of MK160/$1 to MK 250/$1), the need for a lager denomination was even greater. The decision was made to put the first President of Malawi, Hasting Kamuzu Banda, on the new MK1000 bill and to change the faces on all the other bills but the MK500 which would continue to carry the face of John Chilembwe, the one regarded as the father of freedom for Malawi. His face is on all the old paper currency. The Mk200 features Rose Chibambo, the first female cabinet member, and the only person featured who is still living. The MK100 features James Fredrick Sangala, the founder of the Nyasaland African Congress. The MK50 has the face Inkosi Ya  Makhosi Gomani II, Philip Zitonga Maseko, the most development conscious paramount chief in the 1940’s and 50’s. On the MK20 is Inkosi Ya Makhosi M’mbelwa, Lazalo Mkhuzo Jere, the most fearless leader of the northern or Jere Ngoni, who mobilized his people to support the Nyasaland African Congress and Dr. Kamuza Banda in the 1950’s. All the new bills are smaller than the old ones

The new bills were issued on Wednesday. There has been great conversation about them. Everyone is eager to see them. Today when I went to the ATM, the machine dispensed the new bills. I was surprised. They are much smaller. Of course, they are new, so they are crisp and easier to handle, but even so, they look and feel different. Yesterday, Maxwell requested that as soon I got a new bill that I show it to him. He was curious. He is not alone. Even at the ATM, as the money was dispensed, folks were stopping before putting the bills in their wallets and examining them. There was conversation about how to handle them, mixed with the old bills, which are still legal tender until May 22, 2013. So until then, we have two sizes and a new denomination. This is a lot to be absorbed and to get used to. There is reason for conversation. We will become used to them and handle the two sizes for the next year, but for the time being, it is a novelty.

The Round House

My friend Silas has more inventive ideas than anyone I know. He is always working on something innovative. That is even true when it comes to building his retirement home. He wants a round house. This has been his dream for many years. It is now becoming a reality.

Most people laughed at him when he said that, but he was not fazed. He made the plans.  He consulted an architect who has as much imagination as Silas. (He has an elevated soccer ball shaped house that has 6 floors, so a round house was no challenge for him.) Silas’ son Sam is a contractor and was eager for the challenge. Construction began in earnest about three months ago. Last week I had the opportunity to see the site I have been hearing so much about. The building is at the roofing stage, so the shape is clear and the room arrangement settled. It is impressive already.



Entryway, facing bedroom window



The entryway is cut into the circle of the house, forming a porch that is framed on either side by two large arched windows, one looking out from the master bedroom and the other from the dining room. The entry door is glass paneled to let light into the living room. That is the primary entry point to the house, although there is a kitchen door as well. The living room is circular, the inner circle of the house, as it were, with two archways, one leading out to the circular hallway that is behind the living room and the other to the dining room. From the living room, we took the tour beginning with the dining room, to the right as you enter the house. It has two rounded walls, one concave and the other convex, but the end walls are flat. On one is the window that looks out onto the porch. On the other is an archway that leads to the hall. The hallway curves along behind the living room, forming a small interior circular pathway through the house. Off it are the kitchen, two bedrooms and two bathrooms. At the far end of the hallway is the master bedroom, and the archway that goes into the living room. We had come full circle. The master bedroom is large, with a master bath off it. The one window looks at the porch and a second one, one the curved wall, looks out on the garden that has already been planted and will be maturing with time. The design is simple, but functional and all round.



Master Bedroom



The roof will rise to a peek, like a village house with at thatched roof, but this one will be covered with tile. The challenge, according to Sam, has been to find tile cutters who can manage the circular roof. He has just hired some who have done this once before. He is hopeful. While the structure is unfinished, the lines are clear and the design is inspiring. Sam says it will be ready for occupancy in August. I am so eager to see it when it is finished. As always, I am amazed at my friend’s imagination and ingenuity – and determination to do what others wouldn’t even dream of.

The Agent

Renewing my Malawian driver’s license became another cultural experience. I got the original in Zomba, a small town with a small office for motor vehicle issues. Silas took care of the details for me, so it was no problem. But I had to renew in Blantyre. Silas’ son Sam offered to help. He has taken care of most of my car issues. We were delayed in doing this because the Road Traffic office did not have the paper to process things and then did not have a functional camera for over two months. I have been having Maxwell or Sam drive for me since I was “illegal” if I drove. The police would not recognize my valid US driver’s license or my international license. I needed a Malawian license. I was thrilled when Sam said that the paper and the camera were finally available. Off we went as quickly as we could.

The first stop was in Ndirande, a crowded township near the Synod. There we needed to collect the Agent, a young man in jeans and a t-shirt with a pink backpack over his shoulder. This is where my cultural education began. An agent is someone who knows the workings of the Road Traffic offices and who can get things done faster. He takes care of running the forms from office to office for his client, for a small fee (about $8). This seemed reasonable to me, since the whole system baffled me. He had told Sam that I needed duplicate copies of my old license, my passport and my Temporary Work Permit, plus having the originals with me. He also recommended that I wear my clergy color. It would help expedite things. I was prepared. When he got in the car, he handed me an official Road Traffic form to fill out that asked for basic identification information and the copies I was carrying. I filled in the form as we drove to the Road Traffic office and gave everything to the agent.

When we arrived at Road Traffic, Maxwell parked the car and the agent and Sam led me to the first office we needed to visit. We passed an outer waiting room that was full and proceeded to the secretary’s office. She smiled and greeted me as she received the papers from the agent. She motioned for me to be seated in the only vacant chair in the area, which happened to be across from her desk. She looked over the forms, spoke to the agent and then took the forms into an inner office. She returned within five minutes with the forms signed and instructed the agent to take the forms and my money to the next office. I could remain where I was. I produced the needed money, took out the book I brought along for just such a situation and began reading. The agent left to process the payment for me. He returned in about 30 minutes and handed the papers to the secretary. She added a further stamp to them and handed them back, with instructions to take me to have my photo taken. I followed him outside and into an adjoining building, going past a long line of folks standing with forms in hand, waiting. The line wound into the building and down a hallway that provided seating for those further up in the line. We passed by all of them and entered the office they were waiting to enter. I felt guilty. Once in the office, I was instructed to take the last seat and wait. The agent handed the papers to the young woman behind the desk who was taking the photos. She handed them back and grumbled that I should wait. I had the distinct feeling that, while this happened all the time, she didn’t fully approve of those with agents jumping line. I wasn’t sure that I did either, but I had done it. I waited, moving up a seat each time she processed one of those ahead of me. As I got to the head of the line, another young woman entered the office with a bag of French fries and a soda for the photographer. It was tea time. But the photographer did not fully stop work; she merely ate, chatted with her friend and continued processing those waiting. I was impressed with her diligence. Others might have taken the full break. Finally my turn came and I stepped up to sign the electronic pad, enter my finger print electronically and finally have my photo taken. The photographer signed my forms, returning them to me and instructing me to return to the first office. I exited the office and sheepishly began to walk past all those waiting to be photographed. About half way down the hallway lineup, one of those seated stopped me to ask a question. She is one of the members of the Friends of Chigodi committee. She inquired about our last meeting, which she had missed. We chatted briefly, with no mention of my “cutting line.” She seemed unfazed by it. I was still feeling guilty.

As I exited the building, the agent found me and led me back to the first office. He instructed me to take a seat in the waiting area and he further processed the forms. He took them to the secretary and together they left the office. I resumed reading my book. About half an hour later the secretary returned with an official form with my photo and finger print. She told me it was my temporary license, good until August 20, 2012. By that time I should have my permanent license, but if not I could come to have the temporary renewed. They still did not have the paper for the card licenses. I thanked her and left. The agent was just outside the office, waiting for me. I thanked him and paid him. He left to help someone else. The whole process had taken 2 ½ hours. When I got into the car, I asked Sam about the procedure of an agent. He explained that those without an agent would be there for the entire day and may even have to return the next to complete the process. Agents were a way of those who could afford it to speed up the process. Anyone could do it, if they could pay. The Road Traffic office did not object because it kept people happy in the midst of a time consuming exercise. That is just the way business is done. I wonder about the ethics of it, but I still thanked God for the agent.

No Fuel - No Go

Or the best laid plans of mice and men. That is where we are living at the present. The fuel situation has not eased, although there is hope and promise. The Zambian government has promised fuel to help ease the Malawian shortage and assist with transportation for the late President’s funeral, but so far it has not arrived. There are rumors that fuel should be coming soon from South Africa, but these are only rumors at this point. In the meantime, there is little or no fuel. It comes in an isolated tanker or two at random intervals.



One of the smaller lines for fuel



Last week, I had guests from Zambia. They were able to drive because they brought their own diesel in jerry cans. There was none to be found in Blantyre. Maxwell and Sam Ncozana hunted all over Blantyre for petro or for diesel. Late Thursday afternoon Sam called to tell me to get Maxwell to drive the car to a certain station because a tanker had just arrived. I was skeptical. I had heard this before, only to have the fuel end well before the line did. We were low on fuel and I didn’t want to spend the little we had on hope only. But Sam was optimistic, so I sent Maxwell. Three hours later he returned with a full tank of petrol – more fuel than we had had in months. I was elated and hopeful again. (It doesn’t take much to get my hopes up.) It was only later that I learned that money had changed hands to make this possible. But we had fuel.

That was wonderful for here in town, but the real issue was diesel. I had planned a trip to remote Chiuta Presbytery for a training class on Monday. The terrain was too rough for my car, so Sam was going to drive me in a Land Rover. That required diesel. He also had a group coming in on Saturday for whom he was providing transportation and he needed diesel for them. He was optimistic, so I joined him and made the final arrangements for my Monday trip. Saturday he bought what he needed for his group from the black market, but we lacked diesel for our trip. He was going in search of it in town, saying the black market was just too costly, up from $30 a gallon to $40 a gallon. There is a limit to what is tolerable. On Sunday when I talked to him, he was no longer optimistic. Blantyre was devoid of diesel. He had spent most of the day searching. He went outside of town to a station about an hour away that was expecting a tanker load and got in the line to wait. The problem was that there were a number of large trucks from the sugar plantation in front of him and he was concerned that the fuel would be gone before he got to the pump. Then he called to say that they were not going to off load the fuel until Monday morning and there was no way he was going to get fuel in time for us to get to Chiuta for the training. We would need to cancel. Reluctantly, I did so. I knew there was no choice, but I was deeply disappointed. I had really been looking forward to this training. I knew that I couldn’t reschedule it for at least a month because of other commitments, if there were fuel then. It was hard to tell the participants, who had re-arranged their schedules for this time that the event was not going to happen. Fortunately, they are gracious Malawians and understood and accepted this without complaint. I was crest-fallen.

Monday morning Sam called to say that we had made the right choice. Even though he had spent the night in the lineup, he was turned away because the large trucks were to get the diesel. The smaller vehicles were sent away empty. He came home to get some sleep and then search again later for the elusive diesel. Hopefully this situation will change with a change in government, but that will take time. In the meantime, when there is fuel, we go but – no fuel, no go.

Canadian Farewell

I said goodbye today to my mission colleagues from Canada Glenn and Linda Ingliss who are retiring after three terms of service over the last 30 years. It is hard to see them go. They have been faithful co-workers and good friends to many of us as they served with the Presbyterian Church of Canada in a wide variety of capacities in the Synod.



Glenn at the Synod Farewell



Their first term of service was in the 1980’s when Glenn was newly ordained, when they had one daughter who was just a toddler, and when Dr. Banda was President for Life and Malawi was under one party rule. Glenn was the associate pastor of St. Michael’s and All Angels and was the Synod schools’ chaplain. They left to return to Canada with two children and lots of mixed emotions. They returned in the 1990’s with three children as Glenn served as the Director of Church and Society at a pivotal time in the development of democracy in the Malawi and of the social witness in the church. Linda got involved with the children’s education but also with a group of handicapped folks in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city. This has developed into a major interdenominational ministry in Ndirande Township and has become a major part of her life here. They returned to Canada when their youngest daughter needed to find her Canadian identity as a maturing teen. They returned in the 2007 to assist the Synod to rescue the struggling Development Commission (BSHDC), formerly the Project’s Office, which was facing some difficult times. Glenn was not certain about heading a development program. He was just a pastor, he protested. But he was a pastor with a heart for the marginalized in society and with keen administrative skills. He also had the confidence of the international partners and donors because of his breadth of experience in Malawi in over 20 years. Because of these combined gifts, he has been able to rebuild the ministry of the Development Commission and expand it into an integrated ministry that addresses issues of livelihood security, vulnerable children, governance, gender and health. He has trained and handed over the leadership to a capable Malawian woman who will continue the growth of the ministry. Linda has seen the building of a home for some of the handicapped adults in Ndirande that gives them safety and care even as the weekly program has grown in ministry. She has been involved in music leadership at an informal worship time each Sunday evening at St. Michael’s and has trained a number of young folks to continue in leading the service.

                                

But even more, they have ministered to individuals' lives in so many ways. That has been born out in the number of farewell events that have been held in the last month, from official functions by the Synod and BSHDC to informal dinners and teas to express thanks and good wishes. We hope in all of this they have felt our love and appreciation and know the hole they leave in our lives as they retire. I know how much I will miss their wisdom and counsel and their friendship. Their house has always been a gathering place for people, Malawian and expatriates. They always had a cup of tea, a biscuit and comfy conversation. We will miss them. I will miss them.

Easter 2012

Today is Easter Sunday, the celebration of the power of the resurrection and the victory of life over death. As the Christian church, we celebrate it every year and routinely look for new meaning and applications for our daily lives. In Malawi this Easter, we do not have to look hard or look far. The power of the resurrection is all around us in a rather bazaar way.

The President of Malawi died suddenly on Thursday of a heart attack. This is the president who has been slowly dragging the country into dictatorship and into economic collapse. There have been calls for his reformation or for his resignation but he adamantly refused to hear what his critics had to say, instead threatening to silence them and enlisting the police to assist him in such action. Many people have been praying for solutions for the country’s struggles. But no one expected the news that the President had succumbed to a heart attack. Actually, we here in Malawi did not officially get the news until Saturday morning, although most knew the truth much earlier through the international news media. Several of the President’s cabinet members suppressed the news to give them time to plot a way around the Constitution which stipulates that the Vice President is the first in line of succession in the event of the President’s death. There had been much bad blood between the President and his cabinet and the Vice President. Some cabinet members wanted to prevent the Vice President from taking office, thus continuing their control of the affairs of State. Again, there were many who prayed for the right thing to be done. Behind closed doors there were discussion and plots, warnings and counsel given in all directions. Tensions were high and concerns higher that there might be a government coup and that Malawi would join other African nations in a period of chaos rather than expereince a smooth transition. Finally on Saturday the announcement was made that the President had died and arrangements were made for the Vice President to be sworn in.  She was peacefully sworn in late Saturday afternoon. In her inaugural speech, she called for peace and unity. Her words brought hope to the nation for the first time in months.

This morning, as Easter dawned, there was a tangible sense that Malawi had the hope of new life, that the power of God to bring resurrection was not just a matter of history, as important as that is, but was also a reality in our lives as we have seen the hope of new life in the smooth transition of power and in a new government focus. God is alive and working in the lives of his creations to give life and hope. That is the message of Easter from scripture and the message of Easter 2012 for the residents of Malawi. Praise God.

Extravagant Caring

Sugar is a staple of life in Malawi, or at least it has been. Many times I have teased my sons about how much they uses in their tea and both have commented that it is available because it is grown here and it makes life much sweeter. In the midst of the hardships of life, a little sweetness is a good thing. Malawians are addicted to their sugar. When the church zones come to visit the manse, in their regular package of care are ten 1kg packets of sugar

But all of that is being reexamined in light of the current economic struggles. This time last year a packet of sugar was MK79, or about 53 cents at the exchange rate at that time. In February that same packet was MK210 or $1.27 at the present exchange rate. But at the beginning of March, sugar became scarce.  The reason is unclear. Some say foreign exchange shortages, some say fuel shortages, some say export priorities. Only the company knows the whole truth. But sugar supplies have been dwindling. Three weeks ago most stores rationed the purchase of sugar to two packets per customer. Then for about a week, there was no sugar at all in the stores. This week, people are alerting one another when sugar is being delivered to a particular store, so friends can get in line to purchase their two packets at MK500 per packet or about $3 each. Sugar has become as precious as fuel, which is equal to $10 a gallon at the pump or $30 a gallon at the black market, the only place it is generally found these days and people sit in line to purchase it. Now we are standing in lines for two to four hours, just to buy 2 kgs of sugar. The police are sent to the stores to keep order.

When the manse visit for this month was scheduled, I figured that if there were two packets of sugar, I would know the depth of commitment the congregation has in giving to their pastor. With the scarcity and the cost, any giving of sugar would be extravagant care. Last evening, the zones assigned to Manse B (Manse A is the senior pastor’s home and Manse B is my house) came with their monthly gifts. I was overwhelmed when they presented me with the usual 10 packets of sugar. This is extravagant caring! At least 5 people stood in long lines for untallied time to purchase sugar at a king’s ransom for their pastor. This is in an economy with more than a 50% inflation rate in the last 6 months. People are struggling to make ends meet and these generous people showered love on their pastor in the form of sugar packets. I am humbled by their extravagant, sacrificial caring.

Jack Fruit



Janet Cutting the Jack Fruit



One of the adventures of Africa is being introduced to new foods. Some are delightful surprises and some of just surprises. One of those surprises came in the form of Jack Fruit. At least that is what I was told it was called. I don’t know its right name. It is larger than a football, roughly the same color and shape, but with a surface of small spikes covering the dimpled skin. I’ve seen these for sale at roadside stands on the Zomba road and thought of stopping, but lacked the courage.

Monday my colleague from PC(USA), Janet, who was visiting from South Africa, took the plunge to buy one and bring it as a gift. She said she remembered them from Thailand. One of the reasons I never bought one was that I didn’t really know what to do with it once I got it. Janet said she had seen the street vendors in Thailand handle them so she was willing to tackle the task. I let her. It proved to be a task.

She began by gingerly cutting into the rind, careful to only go about an inch deep, so as not to damage the fruit nestled in the stringy membrane protected by the tough rind. When she had scored the entire fruit, she pulled it apart, revealing a phallic like “pit,” no doubt the source of the common name, and thousands of stringy, sticky petals, each about an inch long, that concealed the buds of fruit. These had to be pried away from their protectors and then a small pit extracted from the center of each bud of fruit. There were about ten of these buds buried in the petals. This extraction process took about 30 minutes. We tasted and laughed as Janet extracted them and I held the bowl to receive them and de-pit them. The buds had a nondescript, slightly sweet taste. We observed that it was hardly worth all the effort and no doubt the reason it was not a popular fruit treat. We ventured a guess that it had been some inquisitive monkeys who first discovered the center of the fruit and they had a more direct way of extracting the meat than we did.



The fruit is the dense area to the left of Janet's fingers



Only after we harvested all the fruit buds did we learn the real challenge of the fruit and why it is not popular. Janet’s hands were covered with the sticky substance that protected the fruit. She suggested that I clean up the rind while she washed up. That was more easily said than done. The rind was easy enough to bag in plastic and throw out, but getting the sticky off Janet’s hands was another matter. Dishwashing soap and water didn’t touch it. Vim (Malawian Ajax) only made her hands red and tender, but no less sticky. The soap treatments were only causing the substance to become white and more pliable, but not removing it. I brought out some Wet Ones, hoping the alcohol would do the trick. Fifteen Wet Ones later, the sticky was mostly gone, having slowly rolled off in layers with each succeeding wipe. The rest of the evening Janet rubbed her hands. They became diminishingly sticky as she rubbed and peeled off the remaining residue of the adhesive-like film that defied soap and alcohol wipes. By time for bed, she was comfortable that she would not stick to the bedding, at least. We voted to leave this fruit to the monkeys.

Goodbye and Hello

The transfer of pastors in Blantyre Synod is an opportunity to witness the Body of Christ in action. That was certainly the case on Tuesday as Rev. Bona departed from the manse at Limbe and the new pastor, Rev. Kamponda, arrived. Rev. Bona was going to Mawiri congregation in Liwonde, about a two hour drive north of Limbe. Rev. Kamponda was coming from St. Michael’s, about 7 miles away in Blantyre. The exchange was scheduled that the Bonas would leave at about 9 a.m. and the Kampondas arrive at 2 p.m. In between time, the mvano (ladies of the church) would clean the house.



Truck loaded with katundu



By the time I arrived at the manse at 8:15 a.m. the Synod truck was half loaded, the emptying of the house of boxes and furniture almost complete, everything not yet loaded sitting on the porch for packing. It took a bit more time than expected to fit all the household items on the truck and accompanying vehicles and to securely cover them against the rains with a tarp. There were plenty of church members, especially the youth, there to assist. They climbed on the top of the load, passing ropes from one side to the other, being certain that everything was secure. About 10 a.m., we all gathered in the empty manse living room for final farewell speeches and a sending prayer. After hugs and private goodbyes, the family got into the vehicles that had been arranged. A car and two pickup trucks loaded with fragile items and with people, the Bona family and elders and youth to help unload, led the convoy, with the large truck with all the “katundu” (luggage, stuff) bringing up the rear. The first three vehicles pulled out of the parking lot but before the big truck could move, the elder who was directing traffic waved it to stop. A truck loaded with the new pastor’s katundu was arriving. After that truck pulled into the parking lot, the Bona’s truck was flagged to leave and join the convoy.

The ladies were in a bit of a panic. Since they were not expecting the new pastor’s things until 2 p.m., they felt they had plenty of time to sweep and scrub the manse and cook food in preparation for the new residents. As the truck moved into place to begin the unloading, the women’s coordinator gave instructions for the katundu to be placed on the porch while the house was cleaned. The ladies moved into action, sweeping, mopping, and scrubbing at lightning speed. By the time the truck returned with a second load, the house was clean and the women had moved all the katundu into the designated rooms to await unpacking. As the second load was being dispatched, the Kampondas arrived, escorted by elders, youth and mvano from St Michaels, just as the group from Limbe had gone with the Bonas to assist them. The session clerk and mvano from Limbe greeted the new pastor and family with singing and dancing. The St. Michael’s mvano joined in as they escorted everyone into the living room, now strewn with boxes and unplaced furniture, for welcoming speeches and a prayer for blessing on the house and the occupants. After saying farewell to the St. Michael’s delegation, the women disappeared to the kitchen at the mvano house just next to the manse to finish preparations of lunch for the new arrivals. They would feed the family and then help with the unpacking, staying until the family was settled. They would prepare dinner for them and then leave for their own homes.

As they were doing this in Limbe, the same thing was happening in Liwonde for the Bona family. The transfer had been complete and the Body of Christ was functioning well, caring for the pastors who would care for them for the next several years.