Discoveries and Thoughts: I was feeling reflective today.

Parachute Games
Ladies at the Boarhole
Can you find the Azungu?

There are things I never even thought I’d do. Situations in which I could not even imagine.
Today I found myself in a surreal environment where these things became reality. I found myself standing in a dimly lit Malawian classroom surrounded by 8 teachers holding a banana to my crotch and calling it a penis. All in the name of education. My experience continued as I demonstrated how to put on the condom and rubbed the lubricant I all over my face. I blew up the condom and finally ended the demonstration by eating the penis. Hey its Africa, we cannot waste a good banana. I think there were a few things that saved me from ultimate embarrassment. The teachers do not understand my English and thankfully they seemed to be able to laugh along with me as we practiced correct condom procedures. I learned today that not only do the students need instruction on how to use a condom, so do the teachers.

Last week the students talked about how “azungu” are different from black people because we cannot dig a toilet. Tomorrow we are going on a home stay and in preparation I have been thinking about how my “survival” knowledge based on growing up in the States will not help me here. Not surprisingly the villagers in Malawi do not need to use computers, read traffic lights, drive cars or use a dishwasher. But there are so many other things that are culturally not relevant. Tinfoil, no use for that. They haven’t even heard of it. And glue. How to open it, squeeze it, use it, another unnecessary skill. These things seem so foreign to me. In my American brains everyone knows how. But to a Malawian I know so little. I don’t know how to dig a toilet, to harvest corn and make it into nsima, to make a bed mat from straw or cook a chicken plucked from the front yard. As much as I look around and see things that the Malawians do not know, I realize that I know much less. Survival in our world is all about technology and nothing about actually survival. Our basic needs are all at our fingertips. Many Americans refer to this as a third world country. If it ever came down to actually surviving, I know the Malawian villagers would be much more successful than I.

There are things that a 8 year old should do. They should ride bikes. Play in the mud. Do homework and take tests. Eight year olds should go to school, make friends and have fights. I see them playing football and getting hurt, falling down and getting back up again. I hope they believe in magic and Santa. An eight year olds life is full of mystery of excitement and finding their way. They are testing their parents, annoying their teachers and laughing the day away. Eight year olds are plastered in my memory, sitting in my classroom. Their images bring smiles to my lips and sometimes tears to my eyes. I think of all the life they have to live, the endless possibilities. And then the bomb, the breaking of my American thoughts. 50% in our current village are having sex. My stomach drops and I almost want to tell the teacher he is wrong. I want to figure out where the language barrier has gone off track. Maybe there is one student or two, but this cannot be the norm. But this is Malawi and when I assume I tend to be wrong. I am constantly reinventing my ideas of people and situations. The longer I am here, the more I think of my students saying they would like to not have school. That this would be cool. I want to bring my experiences back to help show them a world much different from ours. I want them to see the opportunities they have. I want them to enjoy being 8, and to help them learn how they can impact their world. I would love to make some sort of connection between our schools and here. Where my students can learn about different cultures and can help support those who have less.

Today in a chat with the teachers I told them my favorite food was ice cream. They looked at each other and laughed. Yes, they knew of ice cream they told me. But still they gave me funny looks. Then came the question they all wanted to ask. Is ice cream my typical meal, like nsima which they eat at every meal. I had to say no, but wouldn’t that be great.

Tomorrow night is our home stay in the village. I am excited but nervous. It will be a long day on Friday because we have been told that we will not get much sleep. We will lay on the ground, most likely with the sheep or chickens. We will not be eating with the families ourselves. the water the cook with could make us very sick. But I hope to help them prepare their food and play with their kids.