You know how sometimes it has been so long and so many things have passed that need describing, that you don’t know where to begin? And so instead of beginning, you swear that you will write tomorrow. And then the next day, and then the next. And then some months pass.
So it is. I’ve been here in Malawi over 14 months, and in Balang’ombe over a year. This is my home. But the disconnection is still there. I still wake up and wonder where I am, and I still dream about shopping in America. I sleep and I’m in IKEA. I wake up to feed my chickens. I sleep and I’m in Sephora, buying mini bottles of Burberry Brit.
A while ago I woke up to find a green mamba, the same color as my bright lemongrass, sliding through my garden. We locked eyes and it slithered as I grabbed Kitty and flung her into the open window to safety. (I guess I know now how I react to danger- at least when my cat is around.) I went to grab my camera, but the mamba was gone. That day I took my neighbor’s advice to cut my grass. I have a hand-scythe that slices chunk by chunk through the viny, tough greens left over from the rainy season. I took the clippings and made nice beds for my chickens. Baby started laying eggs again last Thursday.
Shortly after the mamba morning, I returned to find my garden beds all scuffed up. Wilfred apologized. There was a rabid dog stuck in my garden- it couldn’t find it’s way out for a long time. Wilfred waited for it in the dark, outside my gate while I was spending the night in town. He “took care” of it for me. Over the next few weeks he took care of three more rabid dogs. I called the PCMO, panicking. “I feel like my environment is trying to kill me.”
“You’re in Africa. Some of the things around you are dangerous. You can deal with it.”
“Ok.” Deep breath.
I bugged the district vet tech for some rabies vaccine for Kitty and Inno, and when I finally got my hands on a vial, I gave the injections myself. Twelve days later, Inno came home bleeding.
I called the PCMO again.
“How long does it take for the rabies vaccine to start working?”
“Ten to fourteen days. Watch for abnormal behavior.”
I have never owned a dog before, and everything that Inno does, the half-wild, inbred, dumb mutt that she is, started to seem abnormal. I asked Wilfred if he would “take care” of Inno if she had rabies. Yeah. A good neighbor is one that will take care of things.
But Inno is still alive. Its been six weeks now since she got the vaccine. She grows and grows and does stupid things like chase around Wilfred’s anemic little runt, Precious, until both of them are just rolling in the ground, panting and exhausted. Kitty looks on judgementally.
Then the President died. I was helping to delver a baby when I got the text. I took it around to all of the other staff in the Health Centre. Everyone already knew that he was dead. He had been dead for two days, but this was the government finally confirming it. And all of a sudden, the country where I had been raging and bellowing about womens’ rights had a woman President. A week and a half after the First Lady came to Balang’ombe for World TB day, she wasn’t First Lady anymore. Today the Kwatcha has been formally devalued; a move that the IMF has been prodding Malawi to do for three years. The fuel lines are gone. The sugar rationing has stopped. Things can change so quickly.
Right now I have the blues. Every once in a while life stops becoming a pleasant swim in warm blue oceans and the water starts to bowl me over. My footing gets lost. And so I’ve spent a lot of afternoons sitting on my back steps, staring at my chickens and trying to cheer myself up. I’ve had long talks with the PCMOs, and they are encouraging. I remembering how fortunate I am. I think of things I am grateful for, things that make me smile.
I know I’ll get better and the storm will pass and I will be back out there swimming along, basking in the ebbs and flows of my community. Till then I’m hanging on, knowing that wherever I go, there I am. I am American but I am not. I am Malawian, but I am not. I am only me.
