The Good, the Bad & the Ugly
August 30
Some aspects of life everybody has to deal with in Blantyre – or at least everyone with money, which I guess is not that many – are staff & electricity.
The good.
Evans, or as he spells it, Evance. We were quickly introduced to the rather foreign concept of house staff through all the other stories from expats in town, and everyone seemed to have a tale of woe regarding theft, inefficiency, demands for loans, etc., etc. Interestingly, the concept of paying someone to spend their day potentially rifling through your personal life was not something we were particularly looking forward to, and before coming here weren’t particularly keen on involving ourselves in. This, we quickly realised, was not a particularly viable perspective with so many people in such desperate need for work – not to mention the time it would drain from our lives maintaining such a beautiful, but extensive garden. While sitting on Tom’s konde watching the sunset and sipping a Green one afternoon, not long into our time here, we had our staff issues sorted out then and there.
Tom & Janette had one of their staff currently working part time as a guard and gardener. Given he has a wife and seven children to support - the norm in this part fo the world - he was naturally quite keen on some extra work. This fit in perfectly with out plans, allowing him three extra days per week at our house playing ‘jack of all trades.’ Admittedly, when he asked us how to use the ‘floor machine’ on his first day as he pointed to the vacuum cleaner (carpet not being a big feature of many houses here), or when we saw his rather questionable attempts at ironing (you’re meant to iron the creases out of the clothes, right?), we had our doubts. Yet before long we realised we had stumbled upon a rather dedicated ‘house boy.’ Evance arrives at least half an hour early each day to give the Silver Stallion his morning bathing – cleaning cars is another national obsession here (and water, unlike in good old Oz, is something which falls in ready supply). He does our dishes, hand washes our clothes, polishes the floors, cleans the bathroom, sort of irons the clothes (unless I manage to hide them from him first), maintains the garden, tends the vegetable patch and takes care of any other odd jobs that we need doing that particular day. Despite our initial trepidation, this is definitely something we are becoming far too used to very quickly!
The bad.
Electricity & water, or lack thereof. Generally, when you flick the light switch at home you expect electricity. Most of the time, with a few turns of the tap in the bathroom or kitchen, running water is the presumed result. Think again. Blantyre, in all it’s claims as a ‘city’ still has a good number of problems – much like Evance and our clothes, there’s more than a couple of creases left to iron out. The number of blackouts, or 'power shedding' as it is dubbed here, are disturbingly common. Given the electricity company cannot supply enough power to the Blantyre city grid, they simply shut down selected areas for a few hours at a time. In fact, some areas lose power so regularly that they publish the times in the national newspapers… novel, hey. Fortunately our suburb of Namiwawa isn’t as affected as some (for example, the College of Medicine guest house where we first lived when arriving), and we often go weeks on end without any problems, only to be hit by a spate of power cuts over several days – I guess that’s one the perks of being in an area that many government and business personnel live. The real problem hits when the hospital has no power. We don't have a generator, other than for the four intensive care beds usually reserved for adults, meaning that all oxygen concentrators (we don't have piped oxygen from the wall) cease to function, syringe pumps are useless after the batteries run out, you examine children by torchlight and theatres simply make do. Not something you want to experience as a patient.
Water is the other rather haphazard commodity. Although we had a wonderful supply when we first moved in (to the point where we were questioning what everyone else was whining about… and not just the Brits), we would later discover that mornings without any water at all are not altogether uncommon. The only saving grace is that most houses run hot water via a geyser, meaning that this holds a certain amount of ‘backup’ water, so you can usually squeeze out enough for a quick shower. In saying that, one particular weekend a few months in we were to experience the entire city being without water for 48 hours thanks to a blown transformer at the water board. People were wandering the streets with buckets searching out village bore holes, buying up bottled water from the stores for drinking, bathing in public swimming pools, you name it. And their solution to the water crisis? Sack the Water Board CEO, of course.
The ugly.
Clement. Okay, so we have had a bit of a win with our first staff member, Evance. Not so our second. We live in a compound with five houses in one fenced area. Mike, one of our several expat neighbours, has his company sort out our night guard (a necessity for most houses here unfortunately). This works well in that we don’t have to worry about organising his employment or references or payments, but means that if things go wrong it is difficult to do anything about them.
Perhaps the warning bells should have sounded when Clement, our rather eccentric guard, was on while we had a dinner party one night. Jackie, one of our guests, arrived with a bottle of wine. After being asked to move her car by Clement when she first parked as she was blocking someone’s access, she handed him the wine for a moment and promptly obliged. Upon returning for her wine Clement looked at her.
‘Ma’am, I think I’ll need a glass,’ he said rather seriously, holding up the bottle.
Although we laughed this incident off, putting it down to what we naively presumed was his bizarre personality, things rapidly escalated from there. All too commonly he would be found fast asleep in his little booth despite your car sitting at the gate honking repetitively, he often staggered to the gate when awake, and one night even refused to let one of the tenants out of the compound. He asked for advances on his pay, stating that he hadn’t been paid and was starving, then was unable to be woken for the rest of the night as he sleep on the ground, obviously smashed. When we told Mike, who had been holidaying at the time, he issued him with a written warning rather than firing him (something you apparently must do first here, or risk being taken to court by your employee, regardless of what they have done), but it wasn’t long before he began drinking again. The straw that broke the camels back was to be when Mike himself returned home one night to find Clement unconscious in the middle of our carpark. After he eventually woke, in complete confusion with his boss standing in front of him, he proceeded to strip naked. A rather sad story, but not a person we could sustain as an employee. Wallace, our new guard, is delightful.
30/8/07
23/8/07
Aug 23 - What's the point
August 23
It is extremely hard getting through a day of work at QE without a feeling of helplessness or hopelessness washing over you at least once or twice. The disastrous resource limitations, the overburdened medical system, the unfortunate lack of a good work ethic of many here, and the horrendous array of devastating illnesses that this country deals with on an alarmingly regular basis – they all contrive to give some reasonably trying situations. The cultural differences (and not just language) that make communication so difficult, to the sheer impossibility of getting anything done within the hospital, from a simple medication order to a ‘standard’ blood test – we cannot prescribe three times a day dosing for medications for many children because the nurses simply don’t have the time. But it’s far worse than this. The government cannot supply even the most basic medications to those who desperately need them. Every time a donor supplies more money for extra staffing in critically understaffed areas, the government reduces their own funding because they feel that they are now giving too much to an area that is already receiving funding from elsewhere. Sustainability is a completely foreign word to many here; productivity or advancement unthinkable. But can you blame them? The cost of maintaining the roads annually would be the entire country’s GDP. Malawi is one of the worst countries in the world to live in according to the World Health Organisation, where everything and anything that is accomplished seems to take ten times as long as it should, then promptly falls apart anyway. One can’t help thinking that if foreign aide and international personnel suddenly pulled out of this place it would collapse… bloody quickly. Yet this very foreign investment that is theoretically training the country to look after itself, is often doing just as much harm as good. A daunting and some would say fruitless task of development given the presence of foreign aide engendering a ‘they will just do it for us’ attitude in the first place. Catch 22, right? Then there’s the misappropriation of foreign monies by various bodies, poor communication and subsequent duplication of many non-government organisation services, inappropriate restrictions or conditions from misinformed yet often well intentioned donors, and the list goes on. So what’s the point? Not for the first time, after a particularly long and trying day it is difficult to not come back to these thoughts and wonder what difference we are actually making being here. And you wonder why a Green tastes so good at the end of the day!
But then you can look at it from another perspective. Do we actually make a great difference on a day to day basis in Australia, a country with such lofty standards of living and advanced health care standards (for the most part), indulging people in the illusion of medical illness with expert committee-derived social diseases that some would argue are a result of our own society and its expectations anyway. If we leave here another equally qualified and committed person is ready and willing to take our place. Yet by simply being here in Malawi maybe we are contributing something more realistic in our own little way, yet not being able to see it on a day to day level through the constant barrage of negative experiences on the medical front. We are helping to educate a new and previously untapped breed of Malawian medical students, instilling a modicum of dedicated work ethic simply by leading by example, bringing our high quality specialist education and possible funding sources to a resource poor setting that desperately needs them, and spending our own money in the country we are working in, helping the economy of the place by small amounts here and there (except at Shoprite and Game, that’s money straight into the pockets of South Africans). A difficult and unanswerable series of thoughts and questions, and ones that are quite refreshing, yet frustrating, to have to deal with on a regular basis.
It is extremely hard getting through a day of work at QE without a feeling of helplessness or hopelessness washing over you at least once or twice. The disastrous resource limitations, the overburdened medical system, the unfortunate lack of a good work ethic of many here, and the horrendous array of devastating illnesses that this country deals with on an alarmingly regular basis – they all contrive to give some reasonably trying situations. The cultural differences (and not just language) that make communication so difficult, to the sheer impossibility of getting anything done within the hospital, from a simple medication order to a ‘standard’ blood test – we cannot prescribe three times a day dosing for medications for many children because the nurses simply don’t have the time. But it’s far worse than this. The government cannot supply even the most basic medications to those who desperately need them. Every time a donor supplies more money for extra staffing in critically understaffed areas, the government reduces their own funding because they feel that they are now giving too much to an area that is already receiving funding from elsewhere. Sustainability is a completely foreign word to many here; productivity or advancement unthinkable. But can you blame them? The cost of maintaining the roads annually would be the entire country’s GDP. Malawi is one of the worst countries in the world to live in according to the World Health Organisation, where everything and anything that is accomplished seems to take ten times as long as it should, then promptly falls apart anyway. One can’t help thinking that if foreign aide and international personnel suddenly pulled out of this place it would collapse… bloody quickly. Yet this very foreign investment that is theoretically training the country to look after itself, is often doing just as much harm as good. A daunting and some would say fruitless task of development given the presence of foreign aide engendering a ‘they will just do it for us’ attitude in the first place. Catch 22, right? Then there’s the misappropriation of foreign monies by various bodies, poor communication and subsequent duplication of many non-government organisation services, inappropriate restrictions or conditions from misinformed yet often well intentioned donors, and the list goes on. So what’s the point? Not for the first time, after a particularly long and trying day it is difficult to not come back to these thoughts and wonder what difference we are actually making being here. And you wonder why a Green tastes so good at the end of the day!
But then you can look at it from another perspective. Do we actually make a great difference on a day to day basis in Australia, a country with such lofty standards of living and advanced health care standards (for the most part), indulging people in the illusion of medical illness with expert committee-derived social diseases that some would argue are a result of our own society and its expectations anyway. If we leave here another equally qualified and committed person is ready and willing to take our place. Yet by simply being here in Malawi maybe we are contributing something more realistic in our own little way, yet not being able to see it on a day to day level through the constant barrage of negative experiences on the medical front. We are helping to educate a new and previously untapped breed of Malawian medical students, instilling a modicum of dedicated work ethic simply by leading by example, bringing our high quality specialist education and possible funding sources to a resource poor setting that desperately needs them, and spending our own money in the country we are working in, helping the economy of the place by small amounts here and there (except at Shoprite and Game, that’s money straight into the pockets of South Africans). A difficult and unanswerable series of thoughts and questions, and ones that are quite refreshing, yet frustrating, to have to deal with on a regular basis.
11/8/07
Aug 11 - Mulanje Massif
August 11-12
The other extreme of the hedonism and pure relaxation of Lake Malawi is the second jewel in Malawi’s crown, the Mulanje Massif. It’s a strikingly high plateau that rises dramatically out of the flat escarpment only eighty kilometers southeast of Blantyre… another perfect weekend getaway for us. And having a 3000-metre high trekking paradise in your backyard certainly isn’t something the average Australian is accustomed to, so we were keen to capitalise on this.
A series of well maintained huts up on the plateau itself (equipped with sleeping mats, blankets, cooking equipment, crockery and cutlery… as long as you're a member of the Mountain Club) and seemingly endless different treks up there make this destination enjoyable and completely different every time you venture up, and that’s without even taking into account the vegetation and weather changes as the year moves through its seasons.
The other extreme of the hedonism and pure relaxation of Lake Malawi is the second jewel in Malawi’s crown, the Mulanje Massif. It’s a strikingly high plateau that rises dramatically out of the flat escarpment only eighty kilometers southeast of Blantyre… another perfect weekend getaway for us. And having a 3000-metre high trekking paradise in your backyard certainly isn’t something the average Australian is accustomed to, so we were keen to capitalise on this.
A series of well maintained huts up on the plateau itself (equipped with sleeping mats, blankets, cooking equipment, crockery and cutlery… as long as you're a member of the Mountain Club) and seemingly endless different treks up there make this destination enjoyable and completely different every time you venture up, and that’s without even taking into account the vegetation and weather changes as the year moves through its seasons.
Our first trip up, heading towards the peak of Sapitwa, which at 3001-metres above sea level is the highest of the 59 recognised peaks, was with a huge group of twenty expats from Blantyre… not your every day trekking group. Despite this the speeds of different walkers soon had us into smaller more manageable groups, allowing us to relax and enjoy the endless views as we climbed the rather steep ascent to the plateau – an unavoidable initial slog regardless of which path you choose. With the 1000-metre high escarpment stretching into the distance in every direction around the massif, every walk here affords incomparable vistas with each new turn – the current one being no exception. Small villages appear more and more like ant colonies the further you climb, smaller mountains waver in the mirage of distant perspective and dry season dusts, and small fires, both legal and illegal, dot the mountainside and surrounding land begging for the drenching of the wet season which hits in November and transforms the country.
The huts on the plateau, Chisepo being the one we were heading towards, are well built wooden constructions with communal sleeping space for a varying number of people – although with more you can always sleep out on the verandah during these drier months. A local hut attendant takes care of the place on a daily basis, keeping the fires going, fetching water if required and cleaning the pots and dishes after each meal, with the general principle of leaving a small tip for each night you stay to supplement his forestry wages. We also generally take porters and guides up the mountain. Not because we cart extraordinary amounts up or wound have excessive difficulty finding the paths, but mainly because it is their only form of employment, and the set rates are very reasonable, providing a good source of income for otherwise struggling families. Many of them are also nice young guys who are good at what they do.
Sapitwa itself is a remarkable peak, with a nice scramble over large rock formations to reach it. The views from the top, to which only a handful of us decided to trek the following morning, are quite incredible, with one entire side of this expansive massif looking out towards the north of Mozambique and on to the Indian Ocean. Despite the knee shattering 6 hour 2000-metre descent, and the fact that the other trekkers had mistakenly taken our lunch from the hut we returned to leaving us with nothing, we were completely intoxicated with Mulanje. Peter’s goal is to climb to the plateau once for every month he is here – we’ve decided we like the sound of that. And the best bit about it all? The pizzeria with authentic pizzas and bloody cold beer back in Mulanje town… a just reward for a weekend of activity.
3/8/07
Aug 3 - Lake Malawi
Skewered Mice & The Malawian Highway
August 3-5
Sitting at a beachside bar, music wafting over you, looking out at the last remnants of light slowly melting into the crystalline waters of the lake as you order another Green. It’s not exactly Africa as the locals know it, but it’s hard to beat. The still waters of the lake dance reflections of the soft distant string of lights that line the horizon. This is not the opposite shore, but the multitude of fishing boats that trudge out for their working day, clocking on every sundown and fishing religiously through the darkened hours to earn a living. Peak hour here is a few extra ripples in the glassy surface as the vessels move out to their hunting ground. Then, with their day well under way and most others sleeping in their mud brick or thatched straw housing, you can see it. From the banks of the lake, where the tourist lodges ply their trade to the comparative wealth, you can gaze out at what is colloquially known as the ‘Malawian Highway.’ And I must say, it’s the best damn highway view going around.
Sitting at a beachside bar, music wafting over you, looking out at the last remnants of light slowly melting into the crystalline waters of the lake as you order another Green. It’s not exactly Africa as the locals know it, but it’s hard to beat. The still waters of the lake dance reflections of the soft distant string of lights that line the horizon. This is not the opposite shore, but the multitude of fishing boats that trudge out for their working day, clocking on every sundown and fishing religiously through the darkened hours to earn a living. Peak hour here is a few extra ripples in the glassy surface as the vessels move out to their hunting ground. Then, with their day well under way and most others sleeping in their mud brick or thatched straw housing, you can see it. From the banks of the lake, where the tourist lodges ply their trade to the comparative wealth, you can gaze out at what is colloquially known as the ‘Malawian Highway.’ And I must say, it’s the best damn highway view going around.
Lake Malawi is the third biggest on the continent. Its shores form a spine for tourism down the country, both figuratively and literally. Lodges catering to backpackers, package tourists and expatriates alike serve pizza and omelettes, throw on dance music at the drop of a hat, and are more than ready with a cold beer or a glass of Malawian Gin. Cape Maclear, rivaling Nkata Bay in the north for the crown of biggest tourist trap in the country, is a stunning promontory of white sand beach that pits the true disparities of wealth in this country side by side. The local village is a characterful ramshackle affair that is hardly glanced at by the tourists who head straight for the walled enclosures of the lodges. It is an absurd dichotomy, considering the debaucherous wealth within the walls and the flagrance with which it is dispensed here, but that is unfortunately the reality of this country. The ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’, side by side, like it or leave it.
Despite these negatives, Cape Maclear is gorgeous, and is it little wonder that it has developed into the place that it has. For us it is the perfect setting for a weekend away from the working world of Blantyre. Small private huts that front directly onto the fine sand, a lodge that is secluded up in the northern corner of the cape, and perfect clear weather ideal for lounging on the beach or in the water… schistomsomes and all. It seemed that every man and his dog from Blantyre had descended upon Chembe Lodge this particular weekend, meaning that the place was crammed with expats there for one thing only… to party. This meant that our weekend was dominated by the generosity and hospitality of others, and by a supply of every drink you could imagine.
Chembe is owned by Aubrey, a loud, heavy drinking South African who was here for the weekend from Blantyre with a group of friends. He has built his own house next to the bungalows and decked it out with the purpose of entertaining. A pool table, dart board, huge bar and big speakers all get a thorough workout by everyone he can find to invite back to his place, meaning that every night there is simply one enormous party. Not exactly how you would choose to live every day of your life, nor what I would want to do every time I came to the lake, but great to get to know a few people and get away from Blantyre for the weekend.
The trip to the lake is not without highlight either – even dismissing the crater that Katharine, our friend who drove us there, managed to career straight into. Small villages dot the roadside, people congregating beside this vein of activity, with market produce being vended to every passerby who slows. Tomatoes, green vegetables, onions, shoes, bicycles, chitenjes (the material that the females use for sarong-style skirts, baby carrying and anything else), pottery and even mice. Yes, mice. Boys dangle these appetizing little babies out in front of you five or so to a skewer, having been barbecued whole and ready to sell. They catch them using small fires to attract the rodents, then cook them up to earn a few extra kwacha. So if you’re hungry on the way to your relaxing weekend getaway and you’ve forgotten to throw an apple or a bag of chips in the car, fear not, you can simply grab a half dozen mice to much on. Mmm, mmm.
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