Date: Sat, 29 Sep 2001
From: Abigail Stamm
Subject: lunzu/terrorists (malawi)
18 September 2001
As I struggle to stay awake long enough to write this before I forget it, I know the latest chain of events in my life is not over. It could last two days or two years. I have no idea. I have included three stories here, pretty much in chronological order of events, since they all happened at the same time. First, the Peace Corps retreat, second, events at my school, and third, local reactions here to the terrorist attacks.
It began about ten days ago, last Thursday. I got a letter from Cindy, a Southern Region health volunteer, concerning an HIV/AIDS education retreat she had arranged for secondary school students in Southern Region. It was addressed to my counterpart (the teacher I work with most closely) for HIV/AIDS, but I read the whole letter before I realized this. The teacher was invited to join her or his chosen students for the last two days of the retreat. There were two problems with the letter. First, the retreat was in four days and I would not see Madam Kunda, my counterpart, until the next day. Second, I had not gotten the information to select the students.
I gave Madam Kunda the letter on Friday anyway and she said she would go on very short notice without the students. Mr Mopiha had no problem with her missing school. He is our deputy headmaster and has been acting head since our head left in May. In Peace Corps Malawi lingo, that makes me headless. (Unfortunately, the Ulongwe climate is not kind to horses, Rebecca.) Being headless has not changed my life much, except that I am now the official typist. I refuse to type anything in Chichewa (I have enough to type in English) and I throw a fit when anything is given to me at the last minute. For some unfathomable reason, some of the teachers get annoyed when I routinely put teaching ahead of typing. I went to school again Saturday. I was not obliged to go, but I had promised Mr Mbewe I would help prepare the Form 4 students for their national secondary school exit exams.
Class on Saturday went relatively smoothly, except that I ran the class and most Form 4s are not used to my English. None of them are used to how I run class. (When I told them to take out their notes, they thought I must have lost my mind. Students copy notes from the teacher's notebook after class. Never mind that even if I did have such a notebook, I did not know I would be teaching until I walked into the room, so I did not even have a lesson plan.) I gave them an assignment. We would be looking at various cells under the microscope (many thanks to those who sent the slides -- the microorganisms are the most popular) and they had to draw what they saw. At this point I expected the Form 1 cry of "But we haven't pencils!" Instead they continued to stare at me. I got them to talk only by threatening that if they could not tell me about amoebas (or whatever the slides showed), I was keeping the slides.
When I had tired of lecturing to a brick wall, I took about half a dozen of the better students to the laboratory to help me set up the microscopes. At least they now know how one works. Sadly, even though the school has had microscopes for enough years that no one remembers who donated them, none of the students had used them until I arrived. They are expected to learn microscope use in Form 1. Once the microscopes were set up, showing plant cells on three and microorganisms on four, I asked those students to look at all the microscopes and draw what they saw. I tried to put duplicate slides on different magnifications. Meanwhile, the other 40 or so students were taught (lectured at?) by Mr Mbewe until I sent word for him to send half a dozen more. These students simply repeated what the other had done, saving me the frustration of trying to explain anything. By the time all the students were outside, I was bored.
Maybe two hours had passed and my attention span does not last that long. I asked Mr Mopiha to help explain since he is taking distance education classes in teaching science anyway. After an inexplicably long time, Mr Mbewe also joined us. Then, whenever my attention started to wander, I just eavesdropped on them answering questions, partly for my own review and partly to ensure that they spoke in English. Yes, it is much easier to learn in your native language, but the national exams are in English.
After the microscopes and slides were put away and the students had dispersed, I went to the headmaster's office, where Mr Mphwina, the Form 2 science teacher and my pseudo-counterpart for science teaching, was going through textbooks. Our textbook order from last spring (the rainy season here) had finally arrived. The moment I stepped into the office, Mr Mphwina started to hand me various science textbooks to get my opinion. I looked through them one by one, making comments as I went without censoring anything I said. Mr Mphwina half-listened. He just wanted to hear if the books were good or bad and how they could best be used. Mr Binali, a math teacher and the only non-Christian on staff, listened more carefully. About the sixth book I critiqued, I opened it to the sex education chapter and happily noticed that not only did it talk about condoms and ujeni birth control, but also had excellent diagrams on how to use them. The next page had graphic diagrams of sexual intercourse, which I rarely see in the States, never mind Malawi. This outburst got opposite reactions from the others. Mr Binali said something like, "Madam Stamm! How could you talk about that?!" Easy, I have to teach it. Mr Mphwina asked calmly, "So is it a good book?" It takes a lot to faze Mr Mphwina. I have already surprised him too often. I just started laughing at the incongruity.
While I was sitting on the floor going through books, Mr Mopiha came in with the mail and handed me a letter. It was from Cindy about the retreat. It described what kind of students she wanted and included the note, "I know this is last minute. Apparently the first letter I sent never reached anybody. Don't worry about registration. Just send the students." I handed it to Mr Mopiha, thinking if the students were supposed to arrive Monday, there was no way we could send any. He got really excited, asked those of us present for names of potential students, and rushed off to find his choices at their homes. His choices for the most part were not my choices, but at least someone was going.
Sunday was uneventful. Monday we saw the students off, escorted by Madam Kunda. I was told the DEO (District Education Officer) wanted me to go to his office in Balaka that morning. I called instead and was told he had gone to Ulongwe. If so, he never came to the CDSS. Wednesday, he called again and said I had to go pronto. I said no. I think this shocked him. He told me about some form I had to fill out for the Ministry of Education, as if it was my fault, then he admitted it was last minute because of an oversight on their part. "But this form is very important," he insisted. "But my Form 3s, who I teach in ten minutes, are very important to me," I responded. He did not catch the play on words, but Malawians do not seem to be as interested in word play as many Americans. I also pointed out that as the DEO, he should appreciate the importance of class and not encourage teachers to skip. They skip enough on their own. I said I would see him Friday.
Tuesday afternoon, my neighbor Mr Zembani came to my door and asked if I had heard on the radio about the United States. I told him I had not. He said that two big buildings somewhere in the United States had been attacked by terrorists and many people died. Basi. He did not know where or how. He did say something about airplanes and a trading centre, but since any small town in Malawi with a national store qualifies as a trading centre, that did not help me at all. The only other useful thing he said was that there would be footage on TV Malawi the next night. His family has a television.
Wednesday, after the frustration with the DEO, then teaching a lesson that went very badly, I went home at noon with a headache, largely from the heat. We are entering the hot, dry season now, so I have had headaches midday almost every day for the last week. I am not looking forward to October. I got two phone calls Wednesday afternoon. The first was at my neighbors' house, the Howahowas. They sent Prescot, the Zembanis' son and the only child in the village that I like, to get me. It was the DEO again. This time he had a new tactic. In his office then was Nancy, the only other education PCV in Balaka District now that Miah is gone. She assured me that she had talked to the Peace Corps and whatever this form was, it was legitimate. Then she invited me to join the group at the retreat on Friday.
The second call was from the Peace Corps itself. Mr Zidana, an English teacher, biked to my house to get me ASAP and I happened to be right in the middle of bathing. Using bucket baths, washing one's hair alone can take between 15 and 30 minutes, so I took a while. Then I returned to school. Somehow I managed to arrive as the phone was ringing off the hook and no one else was in the headmaster's office. So I played secretary for ten minutes. It's remarkably easy. Once most people realize I am not fluent in Chichewa, they hang up without trying. They get frustrated when they try to call repeatedly and I am the only one around to answer the phone.
Last in the chain of callers was Inez from Peace Corps. She was contacting all volunteers to see that we were safe following the terrorist attack. I finally got most of the story from her. Her primary concern was that because I live in a Muslim area and the terrorists were believed to be Muslim, the Muslims here might decide to turn against me. I assured her that I had not had any problems, nor did I expect any. The only reaction I have gotten at all was, "Pepani (sorry) about what happened in your country. No one here will make trouble for you." I promised Inez that except for going to Balaka and the retreat on Friday and Saturday, I would stay at my site in case she needed to contact me again. I learned Friday that this call was at the beginning of the Emergency Test that they had planned to run in September anyway. It was a lucky coincidence that the attack happened the same month. That night, I saw the footage and honestly do not recall my reaction now. Partly disbelief. Partly a sense of unreality because it was happening on the opposite side of the world and except for all American expats in Malawi, especially government workers, suddenly being put on alert, it had almost no relevance in my life.
Thursday was uneventful. My classes went fairly well. Thursdaynight, Mr Zembani told me he had heard an announcement on the radio that all PCVs were supposed to call Lilongwe ASAP. I called Friday from the DEO's office and found out that officially, I had been contacted already. I filled out the paperwork, making the DEO who wasn't even there very happy. Then I traveled west from Balaka and south on the Ml to Lunzu Agricultural Centre, the site of the retreat. I arrived in time for morning tea.
I sat in on the second session of the morning. The assignment was to sit with the rest of your school and work out a plan for your Life Skills (a.k.a. HIV/AIDS awareness and education) club. My school does not have one, though we have a similar Anti AIDS (EDZI Toto) club, so the students decided to create it. The four founding members who attended the retreat are Modester Dzonzi and Sapuwa Nsapela, a girl and boy from my Form 1A class, and Mwai Kanike and Benard Kwenyengwe, a girl and boy from Form 2. By the time I arrived, Madam Kunda had been there about 24 hours already and Benard had earned himself a reputation as "the philosopher" according to just about every teacher present. I imagined the times Craig and I had gone to some public event as children and he had gotten a similar reputation. Benard is not my student unfortunately, but he periodically asks me for help writing essays and was a member of the writing club before it died. I do not know Mwai, but am told she is the best female student in Form 2. Modester and Sapuwa are both good students for different reasons. Sapuwa is intelligent and capable, but tends to get bored. At the beginning of the year he regularly caused trouble in class, but does not act up so much now. I wish I could figure out what caused the change. Modester is passing in my class (along with about 25% of the others) and is well behaved, but does not participate much. I think that is because her English is poor and she is nervous to use it.
I was the only PCV present at the session, which my students loved. Sapuwa was sick for about the first half, but joined us later. The first chance he got, he asked me why I had not been there since the beginning of the week. He was upset that I had not been, since Pierce, Angie, and Evan, also PCV teachers, had been. He requested that I join the students for all future life skills events and I told him I would try. If Peace Corps let the volunteers attend all such events, I would, but they are afraid that if we did, we would be away from our sites too much.
Madam Kunda has more freedom, since the Ministry of Education is not that strict, so she should be able to accompany them for all life skills events with no problem.
After lunch, the students performed dramas they had written. The dramas were in Chichewa, but I could usually figure out the general plot. The groups were broken down into pairs of schools and Ulongwe worked with Namwera. At afternoon tea, the judges talked about which actors and dramas were the best. Evan, Nancy, Jason, and I sat in on the conversation even though we were not judges. The Ulongwe/Namwera group won with Pierce the only judge disagreeing. He had voted for his school.
Then Evan turned to me and asked, "Who won?" I started laughing. "Our, schools." He is the Namwera PCV. He did not believe me until Pierce confirmed it. Then the best actors in each drama were selected. For the first three dramas, the choice was unanimous. In the Ulongwe/Namwera drama, the judges were divided between Benard, who had played the teacher, and a Namwera boy who had played the unfaithful boyfriend who gave the main character HIV or some other STD. They finally asked everyone at the table. That accomplished nothing, since Evan and I abstained for fear of being biased and Nancy, the only one left as Jason had left, had not seen that drama. Pierce decided it by flipping a biscuit (we did not have any coins on hand and the biscuit was round). The Namwera boy won. Conveniently, the winners were two boys and two girls. I took photos of my students receiving their prizes and participation certificates and also ended up being back-up photographer purely because I was there and had a camera.
That ended the week except for a party at the end and frisbee/hackysack games outside. We teased Jason because he was "too clean." He lives about 7 miles from Lunzu and had biked over every day. In anticipation of the party and after being told he could stay at Lunzu that night, he went home to wash and get an overnight pack. When he returned, he had pale feet, being both clean and untanned. I do not know how; my feet are so tan that half the time I can not see the dirt. All over Malawi, PCVs have a reputation for never being quite clean. New trainees are often told, "You can't be a PCV. You aren't dirty enough!"
I only attended the end of the party that night. The students enjoyed it. Some of them preferred to do stretching exercises or run around instead of dancing, which amused us. Pierce, who guarded the door, played "monkey see, monkey do" games on the verandah with the children who live there. He would do some stupid karate or dance move and they would imitate him. Evan got in on it for a while too and the iwes (children) loved it. About 9:00 p.m., the party ended and the students were escorted back to their dorms, first the girls, then about ten minutes later, the boys, "to avoid pairing." I helped clean up. By then the counterparts/Malawian teachers had all gone to bed. When everything was finished, the PCVs who were still awake sat on the front porch to watch for wandering students and I passed around cookies that I had brought. I could never bake at all in the states without a ready-made mix and even that usually didn't work out, but here I can bake fairly well. I am not sure how I will do when I have access to a real oven again, since I do not have one here. It does not matter anyway. PCVs tend to greet anything homebaked with a celebration.
The next morning, I sat with the PCVs for breakfast. For the first time in weeks, I saw a Malawian newspaper. Several articles made reference to the terrorist attacks in the States. At the end of this letter, I have included some of the more amusing quotes and volunteer responses that I could remember.
The other PCVs went to Blantyre and asked me to join them. For many reasons, I declined. I chose instead to travel back to Ulongwe with my students and the Namwera group. We caught transport out of Lunzu fairly quickly. The minibus had planned to go to Zalewa and turn around, but when we told them eleven of us wanted to go to Balaka, they changed their plans. Minibuses can usually hold 18 passengers, not counting children and those standing, but are designed to hold 14. At the Balaka District border, our minibus was stopped at a roadblock and searched by police. My Peace Corps I.D. saved me from being searched, but the Malawians were not so fortunate. We crossed the border, then almost immediately, the minibus was confiscated. I am not sure what was wrong with it. Sapuwa was also led away and it took a while to find someone who could explain the reason to me. It turned out they did not like his trousers (pants), which were army camouflage, for some incomprehensible reason. I asked when the border patrol had added fashion police to their list of duties, but the best answer I got was, "It just is." They confiscated his trousers and let him go. (Lynn, be warned. If you ever visit Malawi, do not wear camouflage.) Madam Kunda told me she had warned Sapuwa, but he had not listened.
We waited for a while at the border and I got reprimanded by one of the officers for doing something I was apparently not supposed to do. This had no effect on me whatever, except to file it away for future story ideas. I guess I walked someplace where only guards were allowed in my wanderings (I have a lot of trouble standing still) and crossed the border at the wrong place to rejoin my students. I said "Pepani" (sorry) and continued wandering. Finally, a bus came that brought us as far as Balaka turnoff, where we caught a matola, a pick-up truck used for public transport, to Balaka Bus Depot. It was just our luck that it started to rain at this point. Apparently mid-September is the very short (two-day) rains before the hot season hits full-force. I left my students there to run to the PTC, a national supermarket chain, to buy flour. Flour is expensive by Malawian standards, so it is not sold in my village. I returned to the depot just in time to join them in the coaster that they had caught (a small bus of sorts) before it left. We traveled east to Mangochi Turnoff. On the way, the coaster stopped twice. I was sitting next to the engine panel, which they pulled up each time, smashing my foot. I know nothing about engines, but from what I could see, this one was held together with spare parts of whatever looked like it might fit. The thing that I guess would be the fan belt kept slipping off. It looked like an inverted rubber tire to me.
At the turnoff, we waited for two hours. Since it was still raining, most of the others huddled at the shelter by the bus stop. I quickly tired of waiting and went to explore the market. Saturday is market day both at the turnoff and in Ulongwe and I am presently hunting for a Halloween costume with no success. Sapuwa joined me. I found nothing, so we returned to the bus stop to wait for transport heading north. The others had left the shelter and met us there. Once again, I tired of waiting. It was lunchtime and we were all hungry, so I bought a bunch of bananas to share with the others. A couple times, transport came, but not everyone would fit, so we waited. I was told each time that I could go on alone and Madam Kunda would stay with the students, but I saw no reason to rush, so I stayed too. At the bus stop, I also ran into one of my new Form 3 students, Alex James, who just transferred to Ulongwe this term. He recognized me, but I did not recognize him.
We finally caught an overcrowded Shire bus in which we only barely found standing room. After maybe ten minutes, half a seat freed up next to me. A young child occupied the other half. Normally, a woman who sat in such a seat would take the child in her lap and be content. I still do not like touching children (the ones at San Miguel excepted - at least they were clean and relatively respectful and disease free) and had my backpack in my lap anyway. Fortunately, the trip tends to take only half an hour and we were charged less money than I have ever been charged in my life. Normally it costs 40 kwacha (about 50 cents), but they charged us 25 kwacha and amazingly did not overcharge me. If they had, my students would have corrected them anyway. Even more amazing, for once I was not the only azungu on the bus, but I did not get a chance to speak to the other two, who were buried in books.
Back in Ulongwe, I desperately had to find a chimbudzi (toilet), but waited at the depot long enough to see my students off and walk part of the way with Madam Kunda. Sapuwa joined us, but met up with some of his friends on the way. The others went in different directions, Benard to his village and the girls to the mission, where they board at the hostel. I returned later to the market to buy some food, but found nothing that would work as a costume. I found a random pastel Chinese embroidered shirt though. I have noticed that the best place to find clothes from around the world is the local markets. I have found Indian, Pakistani, Finnish, Chinese, Kenyan, and obviously many American and British clothes that I have identified so far.
When I returned to my house, I had planned to start writing this right away, but Prescot invited himself over to play with the cats. I have two now, Cyrus the golden longhair and Skraeling, the ujeni village-cat shorthair who likes to hear himself talk. Amayi (Ms) Zembani tells me "zovuta," both names are too hard for her to pronounce. Kuvuta means to make trouble (Malawians say make instead of cause) and that should be Skraeling's name. He is litter trained, but gets into moods in which he urinates everywhere.
Today is Sunday. I skipped church to write, but it is possible the priest did a moment of prayer in mass for the people who died in the attacks, even though, as the newspaper stated, "No Malawian is reported among those killed when terrorists attacked." Tomorrow, the four students who attended the retreat will talk about it at the assembly and I have asked Sapuwa and Modester to prepare something to say in Form 1 about their experiences last week. On Friday, they want to have their first Life Skills Club meeting. I plan to be there unless something unforeseen comes up and I have to leave that weekend. By default I ended up being one of the two club patrons. Unfortunately, both patrons are female. For some activities, it is advisable to have a male patron to lead boys-only discussions.
I think that covers everything. Sorry for the abrupt ending. More in future messages.
Abby
P.S. A week later, Benard introduced the club in assembly. Sapuwa and Modester gave a presentation to the Form 1A class. I gave them permission to speak in Chichewa, but only if they translated into English. In response, Modester spoke first in Chichewa, then Sapuwa gave a second speech in English. Most of the information overlapped. A few times, Sapuwa struggled, trying to figure out how to explain a concept in English. Then he would revert to Chichenglish, a pidgin of the two languages. On Friday, about 40 students attended the meeting and Madam Kunda led a song and dance warm-up. They sang an anti-AIDS song in Chichewa. I have asked for the lyrics and translation, but have not yet gotten them. Benard also led part of the meeting. It was primarily in Chichewa, but I could usually follow what was being said. If I needed clarification, Madam Kunda explained for me. Fridays at noon will now be the regular meeting time. It is the free period when the Muslim students are all at the mosque praying and as the other teachers say, most of the rest of the students are being Muslim for the day.
Information continues to pour in about the terrorist attacks. For the most part, Malawi supports the USA, but does not understand the military action against Afghanistan. I can't help much, as most of my knowledge of the Taliban is about their mistreatment of women, not about bin Laden. I have seen the images, both on TV and in magazines (somehow this week's US NEWS & World Report found its way to the transit house). But it still seems unreal, like a bad movie or something. We are no longer in a state of alert here, but are trying to follow what is happening to the volunteers in Turkmenistan.
Address: Ulongwe CDSS, PO Box 43, Ulongwe, Balaka, Malawi, Southern Africa.
=================================================================