Jul 13 - The End of the Beginning

July 13

With our first entry exactly one year and one day earlier, we now prepare to depart this amazing country, our lives completely changed by what we have done, seen and given in Malawi.

After an amazing string of going away parties, dinners, showers of gifts of appreciation, speeches, songs and cakes and photos and so many brilliant friends, it all culminates in the mixed feelings of leaving this stunning country, yet happy to head home and see family and friends.

The work we have done here has given us both immeasurable experience and opened our eyes to a world that cannot be realistically imagined for those who have not been here and seen with their own eyes. One of desperate and unrelenting poverty, of a devastating lack of education, medicines and basic sanitation, of death and disease so common that one is simply numbed by its omnipotence. Yet a warmth and welcoming from the people that is second to none, of smiles that melt your heart on a daily basis, of a country that earns its moniker ‘the Warm Heart of Africa’ with consummate ease. Despite every frustration, and believe me there’s certainly no shortage of them around here, there is nothing we would change from our time here. And we have had the opportunity to meet so many interesting people from so many different walks of life, both Malawian and mzungu, who will all now drift their different ways as we do ours.

With all the various prints, souvenirs and photos that follow us home, none will compare to the memories of the lives we now have here and that very, very accurate expression about this vast continent: ‘Africa, it gets into your blood.’ Let’s just say that this is simply the end of the beginning.

Jul 12 - I Will Never Forget

July 12

It is hard when you live in a country such as Malawi, possibly the poorest non-worn torn in the world, to not been somewhat jaded by the constant asking for money or other handouts from locals here. It is not altogether surprising, with them constantly seeing our relatively ridiculous wealth, but it remains difficult to deal with on a day to day basis nonetheless.

Yet with the time having come for us to organise moving – our sixth time in the last seven years, so something we are becoming somewhat proficient at – we were exposed to a very different level of appreciation with some of our parting gifts to Malawians. We gave Evance, our very trusty staff (something which many people here have interminable difficulties with in Blantyre), many of our belongings that we felt we wouldn’t need to take home with us. Many old clothes, chitenge material, bundles of small coins and various other odds and ends. His response to our parting gift was an overwhelming smile from a very grateful man. ‘Thank you. You are definitely looking after my wife and my family, thank you, thank you.’ He certainly likes saying ‘thank you.’

We gave our local banana boy – the kid who sells us bananas by lingering around outside our local shop – 200 kwacha yesterday. He offered us some bananas, but I refused, telling him that this was simply a tip for being such an honest and friendly kid, never even thinking to try and rip us off. His English isn’t that good (and our Chichewa is embarrassingly poor outside a hospital), but his friendly smile that we’ve come to know so well beamed broadly across his young face, ecstatic in the knowledge that our simple little offering (less than A$2) would be the equivalent of ten or twenty banana bunch sales.

Charles, our night guard on our property, who we share with the other residents in the adjoining houses, is amazing. You can’t blame these guys for sleeping through the hours of the early morning, when most of Blantyre lies in slumber and very few people come and go, but every time you arrive home, whatever the time of night, Charles is always quick to heave open our stupidly heavy iron gate and greet you with a friendly zikomo, ‘thank you.’ Through the year we have sometimes brought him left over food and asked him to leave the container outside our door in the morning. His parting gift from us was a sleeping bag to help shield him from the cold of the winter months in his tiny little concrete guard’s room beside the gate.
‘Zikomo kwambiri. Thank you very much.’ He beamed irresistibly. ‘I shall give you back the container, yes.’
‘No Charles,’replied Heth, ‘that’s the cover, you put the sleeping bag back in it each time you have finished using it. You should keep that container.’

Finally Peter, the staff boy who lives on our property. He is employed by the owner of the complex, our next door neighbour, and mostly works for her. Yet without us ever asking, he is always out there taking out our rubbish or cleaning our car if Evance isn’t around. He fixes cracks in roofing tiles, sweeps around our front door and whizzes around looking after so many little communal areas without complaint, and he’s always the first with a ‘good morning Sir, good morning Madam’ the moment we leave the house each day. His gift was a collection of clothes to add to the meagre 2 pairs of pants he currently owns, as well as a sleeping bag to help keep him warm at night in his small staff house.
‘Thank you madam, thank you,’ he bowed gratefully, ‘I will never forget.’ A huge smile split his face in half for the rest of the morning.

Jul 5 - 'Haves' & 'Have Nots'

July 5

You would not be altogether wrong for thinking that on first glance this country is completely devoid of any middle class. And even after living here for a year, it becomes plainly obvious that this small but growing proportion of the population is not readily seen. I have read somewhere that Malawi has the second greatest wealth disparity in the world. I’m not sure I completely believe this statistic, but what is starkly evident is that there is an unfathomable rift, which remains ever widening, in the wealth of this country. And never before has it been so evident to us than tonight at a going away party we attended for a couple of our friends.

The house it was being hosted at was a Malawian British-Indian’s who currently works as the Standing Consulate General to the British Embassy. A man who owns many businesses around town, and who’s two sons use it to entertain on a scale more lavish than anything I have ever seen. A house so large it has separate entertaining and living wings, an enormous mirrored jacuzzi and full size billiard table and a bar that wouldn’t be out of place in a night club. The gardens look like the set from a Jurassic Park movie by night, the vast expanses of manicured tress and garden beds stretching out into the floodlit darkness further than the eye can see. Staff waited on us with all manner of food being cooked up on the four level barbecue with the full bar keeping the thirstier going, and the dance floor with permanent mirror ball and smoke machine pumped out tunes. It was a completely surreal experience to be in a country like Malawi, with unimaginable poverty living literally on the other side of the gargantuan walls of this residence, to be having a party in luxury the likes of which even wealthy Australia would have trouble competing with.

Interestingly, driving home passed the ex-president, Muluzi’s house, apparently even bigger than the one we had just come from, we thought about it all. In Australia if we saw a property or wealth such as that we wouldn’t immediately feel that they were taking from others around them many so sorely needed dollars, but here its simply different. It is difficult not to think that these people, simply making a life by running their successful businesses in town (a little different to the politicians… but that’s a whole new kettle of fish), are somehow cheating this country, taking more than their share. Either way, Malawi is littered with the ‘Haves’ and the ‘Have Nots,’ and never before have they seemed so apparent.

Jul 4 - A Full Circle

July 4

The stodgy white that was being served out from the large cooking pot wasn’t exactly inspiring. We had been here long enough now to know the right consistency of the Malawian national dish. Evance, our house boy, said he knew how to make nsima, but with our ten or more guests already sitting on our khonde, we were beginning to doubt it somewhat – and they were Malawian, they would know the difference. Nsima, beans and masamba (pumpkin leaf in ground peanut flour) for the Malawian touch, then some roast chicken and potatoes along with salad for the Western touch. At least we had an excuse: Mzungus attempting to cook Malawian food.

Heather’s palliative care departmental team lunch went well, with the Malawians mostly sitting there quietly smothering their food, salad included, in layers of salt, while they devoured their soft drinks with an almost religious fervor. The few mzungus tried to keep conversation flowing, but that’s just the way it often is. We ended with a present giving ceremony of sorts, the Malawians dropping to their knees to hand us our gifts for Heather’s unpaid help the whole year. A beautiful African wall hanging, a large chitenge and a far from beautiful Malawi carved statue letter holder. And for “mister,” a touristy black Malawian t-shirt. All very thoughtful indeed, and Heth even managed to almost hold back tears while she spoke… how very brave she is.

It was after lunch, with everything cleaned up and myself having gone back to work with the car, that Heth noticed. Walking towards Queens rather than taking the minibus, Heth was struck more than usual by the cacophony of action on the streets, the overwhelming lack of white faces, the friendly 'hellos' with beaming smiles. It wasn’t lost on her that these were the feelings identical to the last time we were without a car, back when we lived in the wholly uninspiring College of Medicine guest house with the grumpy cook, Kingsley. Before we had slotted comfortably into the Blantyre social scene and knew the ins and outs of living in an African city. Back when Heth was without a job and would walk the streets battling with lethargic Malawians organising our brand new expat life while I accustomed myself with the workings of a completely foreign hospital setting. It wasn’t lost on her that our life, in this last year, had indeed turned a full circle. This weekend we would lose our ultra-comfortable bed to the new owner, next week the car, and next weekend the house. Soon after that we will be making our way independently to Lilongwe, bags in hand being the only possessions we have in the country, on our way to the airport. And with all these feelings, whether or not by nature of what we had mentally prepared ourselves for next, she thought to herself, its time to leave.