Pumpkin season is upon us. And what can you make with pumpkins? A mess! Here's a mess I put in a pot, but it totally worked out:
1 pumpkin, peeled and cleaned
2 cups water
1 tbsp oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 or 3 cloves garlic
2 tsp ginger
2 tsp cumin
¼ cup coconut milk (optional)
1 tbsp garam masala or favorite curry powder
Chili powder or crushed red peppers to taste
Salt and pepper to taste
Boil the pumpkin in water until mushy, mash with a fork. Meanwhile, sauté onion, garlic, and ginger in a sauce pan, stirring constantly (don’t let the garlic brown or it will get bitter). Add the onion, garlic, ginger, and remaining ingredients to the boiling mashed pumpkin. Allow to simmer uncovered until thickened. Serve hot with rice and chapati.
Monday, February 27, 2012
One Year Ago Today, Part 2
It was one year ago today that I touched down in Malawi. Touching down in Malawi is completely different from the One Year Ago Today in which I boarded a plane in America. This is when my African life re-education began. Here are some examples to illustrate my re-education:
1. When going to the bathroom, don’t forget to bring toilet paper. Also, don’t forget to bring it back with you or your neighbors will steal it.
2. Good fences don’t make good neighbors. Good fences just make it a little more difficult for your neighbors stare at you and comment on how much you need to slash the grass in your dirt front yard. It’s unsightly. And also, you really need to mop your floors after you sweep. Good fences also just encourage the goats to knock the whole thing down to get to your tomatoes, as opposed to bad fences which they can just shoulder a hole through.
3. Children are not for nurturing. They are for carrying water and yard work.
4. Axes and hoes can double as toys for toddlers.
5. A 4x2 meter piece of cloth is really all you ever need to leave the house with.
6. Hitchhiking is the only way to travel.
7. Oh, don’t mind that slobbering stuttering man all up in your face asking you to marry him and getting really worked up when you say no. He is drunk. Ha ha!
8. Malawian: “Who was that Azungu boy at your house this weekend?”
Me: “Just a friend, he was here to give a business training at the school…”
Malawian: “Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding?!”
9. In Malawi, the question “at which Church do you pray?” is the equivalent of asking someone in America “where are you from?” or someone in England “where did you go to school?” The answer “I don’t go to Church” is completely unacceptable. It would be like saying “I’m from Mars” or “I went to school up your butt and around the corner”. Better to just make up a church. Oh, you’ve never heard of it? Yeah, they don’t have one here in Malawi yet. Beats being called “a Jewish”.
10. Malawian: “You have been away for some time now. We have been missing you. Why didn’t you invite us to your wedding in Mzuzu?!”
Me: “What?? I didn’t have a wedding in Mzuzu. That rumor is completely false.”
Malawian: “Why didn’t you invite us?!”
11. When riding crammed in the back of a pick-up truck that should have been sold for scrap metal in the early 90’s with 20 other people and a chicken, there is always room one more…and their bike.
12. Being fat is desirable. As an American in a foreign culture, this is fine, in theory. But after a year of being called fat, oh you are getting fatter, can you even fit in this chair?, when I know for a fact that I am NOT fat and yes, duh I can fit in that chair, it’s MY chair in MY house PLEASE leave, I can tell you the theory is false. This particular part of the re-education process is failing.
13. “Give me (money, biscuit, dog, food you were about to put in your mouth, fill in the blank)” is a perfectly acceptable way to ask for something.
14. Lying about things, especially small things, is much more common than getting the truth. Example: Its 2 o’clock now, what time does the bus leave? Answer: 3 o’clock. When actually the answer is 8 o’clock, or tomorrow morning, or you just missed it.
15. Greeting someone, anyone within a 3 to 20 meter radius of you is essential. Failing to do so labels you as a rude, cold person.
16. “Karibu nsima” is a call to free food cooked by your neighbor. But beware the fried usipa.
17. Older babies are in charge of the supervision and education of other slightly younger babies.
18. Only nsima is food. This part of re-education is also failing. Nsima is not food.
19. When someone knocks on your door, no matter how short the visit, the first thing you must do is bring chairs out to your front porch for their sitting pleasure. Indicating the ledge of the porch as a sitting area is always met with confused glances and a shorter visit due to the fact that the conversation will take place standing up.
20. A 23-year-old childless unmarried woman is an old maid and must be married off with due haste. So, if anyone outside my village asks, yes, I am married. No, I do not need a second Malawian husband. And while we’re at it, no, I do not want to be your friend only because you want a friend that is white.
21. Cockroaches and mice are a fact of life and kitchens. So are snakes and lizards of gardens and mango trees. So are chickens pooping in your house if your door is left open. Oh yeah, and that one time when I was reading in my living room and in walks a goat. Even Doug was taken aback and didn’t know what to do about it. Turns out the goat was just coming in to say “what’s up”. Or maybe it was “give me money”. Can’t really tell, he had a strong accent.
1. When going to the bathroom, don’t forget to bring toilet paper. Also, don’t forget to bring it back with you or your neighbors will steal it.
2. Good fences don’t make good neighbors. Good fences just make it a little more difficult for your neighbors stare at you and comment on how much you need to slash the grass in your dirt front yard. It’s unsightly. And also, you really need to mop your floors after you sweep. Good fences also just encourage the goats to knock the whole thing down to get to your tomatoes, as opposed to bad fences which they can just shoulder a hole through.
3. Children are not for nurturing. They are for carrying water and yard work.
4. Axes and hoes can double as toys for toddlers.
5. A 4x2 meter piece of cloth is really all you ever need to leave the house with.
6. Hitchhiking is the only way to travel.
7. Oh, don’t mind that slobbering stuttering man all up in your face asking you to marry him and getting really worked up when you say no. He is drunk. Ha ha!
8. Malawian: “Who was that Azungu boy at your house this weekend?”
Me: “Just a friend, he was here to give a business training at the school…”
Malawian: “Why wasn’t I invited to the wedding?!”
9. In Malawi, the question “at which Church do you pray?” is the equivalent of asking someone in America “where are you from?” or someone in England “where did you go to school?” The answer “I don’t go to Church” is completely unacceptable. It would be like saying “I’m from Mars” or “I went to school up your butt and around the corner”. Better to just make up a church. Oh, you’ve never heard of it? Yeah, they don’t have one here in Malawi yet. Beats being called “a Jewish”.
10. Malawian: “You have been away for some time now. We have been missing you. Why didn’t you invite us to your wedding in Mzuzu?!”
Me: “What?? I didn’t have a wedding in Mzuzu. That rumor is completely false.”
Malawian: “Why didn’t you invite us?!”
11. When riding crammed in the back of a pick-up truck that should have been sold for scrap metal in the early 90’s with 20 other people and a chicken, there is always room one more…and their bike.
12. Being fat is desirable. As an American in a foreign culture, this is fine, in theory. But after a year of being called fat, oh you are getting fatter, can you even fit in this chair?, when I know for a fact that I am NOT fat and yes, duh I can fit in that chair, it’s MY chair in MY house PLEASE leave, I can tell you the theory is false. This particular part of the re-education process is failing.
13. “Give me (money, biscuit, dog, food you were about to put in your mouth, fill in the blank)” is a perfectly acceptable way to ask for something.
14. Lying about things, especially small things, is much more common than getting the truth. Example: Its 2 o’clock now, what time does the bus leave? Answer: 3 o’clock. When actually the answer is 8 o’clock, or tomorrow morning, or you just missed it.
15. Greeting someone, anyone within a 3 to 20 meter radius of you is essential. Failing to do so labels you as a rude, cold person.
16. “Karibu nsima” is a call to free food cooked by your neighbor. But beware the fried usipa.
17. Older babies are in charge of the supervision and education of other slightly younger babies.
18. Only nsima is food. This part of re-education is also failing. Nsima is not food.
19. When someone knocks on your door, no matter how short the visit, the first thing you must do is bring chairs out to your front porch for their sitting pleasure. Indicating the ledge of the porch as a sitting area is always met with confused glances and a shorter visit due to the fact that the conversation will take place standing up.
20. A 23-year-old childless unmarried woman is an old maid and must be married off with due haste. So, if anyone outside my village asks, yes, I am married. No, I do not need a second Malawian husband. And while we’re at it, no, I do not want to be your friend only because you want a friend that is white.
21. Cockroaches and mice are a fact of life and kitchens. So are snakes and lizards of gardens and mango trees. So are chickens pooping in your house if your door is left open. Oh yeah, and that one time when I was reading in my living room and in walks a goat. Even Doug was taken aback and didn’t know what to do about it. Turns out the goat was just coming in to say “what’s up”. Or maybe it was “give me money”. Can’t really tell, he had a strong accent.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Mefloquin Misery
Common side effects of Mefloquin:
Vivid, violent dreams
Insomnia
Memory loss
Mood swings
Depression
Bouts of explosive anger
Hair loss
Hallucinations
Heart beat irregularities
Note: Mefloquin can lay dormant in your system, so if you do not experience side effects immediately, not to worry, you still have a chance a few years down the line.
Mefloquin is the prophylaxis drug of choice of Peace Corps. It is a potent anti-malarial taken once per week. It has never been tested for use over 6 months. It was commonly used in the Vietnam War by US troops but later found that it had a high correlation with suicide rates among said troops. It’s now also on the “drugs to not give to people” list in the U.S. Why is it the drug of choice? Because it’s cheap. And we’re not IN the U.S.
Most people end up switching off it at some point in their service. My buddy, Sol, switched after a few months when he started having violent hallucinations of killing people in his village. Another guy I know saw rats running up his curtains and people in his house. Most people who switch have sleeping problems and depression. I fall into the category of “most people”.
I hadn’t really had a strong reaction to Mef until recently, after a year of being on it. Around October/November I started having these horribly disturbing dreams filled with gore and ghosts and stress in vivid colors, usually neon green or bright red. I’ve been really upset these last few months about everything with very angry but suppressed mood swings. I won’t go into detail on here, but it was like a seething anger. I couldn’t see anyone I didn’t consider a legitimate personal friend without wanting to yell at them. Most of the people I see are Malawians, so it really didn’t bode well for them my impression of Malawi during these swings (and even still, I’m trying to undo this annoyance I’ve built up toward them now that I’ve calmed down a bit).
So this had been going on for some time and I still hadn’t really made the connection between my depression, dreams, and mefloquin. I kept my mood pretty much to myself, I only ever shared my stand-out dreams with a friend or two, who just thought of them as cool stories written by my subconscious brought on by eating too much before bed, and mefloquin never really came up. Until one night about four weeks ago, I found myself bawling in bed about how sad and lonely I will be when my future husband dies before me and leaves me very old, alone without my other half, with grown children who don’t want me, to await death by myself. Granted, I’d just finished rereading Water for Elephants, which is told from the point of view of an old man in such a situation, but I was surprised at how acutely I felt this non-existent future husband’s loss. I told my mom about it the next day, I think I freaked her out. Something was definitely not right with my head.
The Peace Corps Doc has since switched me to Malarone, which is just as potent but has minimal side effects and is much more expensive. After three weeks, Mef is out of my system and the results are obvious. It’s like I’ve detached an anchor from my insides that was dragging me down that I didn’t realize was there. It’s still a little soon to test out the dream thing and the angry mood swings, and I’m still not entirely happy (I AM still in the 11-15 month sophomore slump period of my service), but I’m not a mess. I was, decidedly, a mess a month ago. I can go to school without dread of being in a room full of teenage Malawians who don’t want to be in school any more than any other teenager in the world. I can have visitors at my house without wanting to tell them to get the f*** out. I can endure cat calls in town without seeing red. Doug can eat my lunch off the counter and I won’t have serious fantasies of animal abuse. I can smile walking through my village when I greet people (I couldn’t fake it before, my face literally wouldn’t let me, permanent scowl). Yeah, a month ago it was really bad. It’s made all the difference getting off of it, thank god. My service has had a complete turn around and I can’t imagine it being that bad again (let’s hope).
Now I’m telling everyone to get off it asap, side effects or not. It’s just something that should never be in our systems. Peace Corps shouldn’t put us on it in the first place, and then make it a med sep (short for medical separation from Peace Corps, essentially a forced ET, or early termination of service) offence if you don’t take it and get Malaria. My sitemate, Alan, says he’d rather get Malaria than be on Mef. He’s on Doxycyclin now, the second choice of Peace Corps (I was on it for a day, actually, right when I got to country, but had a bad reaction to it almost immediately. Among other side effects, it makes your skin more sensitive to the sun and I had the worst sunburn of my life within hours of taking it). He says he still would rather not be on something as crazy as these prophylaxis drugs for two years and part of him would still prefer Malaria, but at least it’s not Mef, and at least he’s still here. So far I’ve gotten at least Robert to convert, he’s also on Doxy as of yesterday. He hasn’t shown any symptoms of side effects of Mef but I’m interested to know if he notices any differences regardless.
So, here’s to Malarone, and here’s to not wanting to maim anyone anymore!
Vivid, violent dreams
Insomnia
Memory loss
Mood swings
Depression
Bouts of explosive anger
Hair loss
Hallucinations
Heart beat irregularities
Note: Mefloquin can lay dormant in your system, so if you do not experience side effects immediately, not to worry, you still have a chance a few years down the line.
Mefloquin is the prophylaxis drug of choice of Peace Corps. It is a potent anti-malarial taken once per week. It has never been tested for use over 6 months. It was commonly used in the Vietnam War by US troops but later found that it had a high correlation with suicide rates among said troops. It’s now also on the “drugs to not give to people” list in the U.S. Why is it the drug of choice? Because it’s cheap. And we’re not IN the U.S.
Most people end up switching off it at some point in their service. My buddy, Sol, switched after a few months when he started having violent hallucinations of killing people in his village. Another guy I know saw rats running up his curtains and people in his house. Most people who switch have sleeping problems and depression. I fall into the category of “most people”.
I hadn’t really had a strong reaction to Mef until recently, after a year of being on it. Around October/November I started having these horribly disturbing dreams filled with gore and ghosts and stress in vivid colors, usually neon green or bright red. I’ve been really upset these last few months about everything with very angry but suppressed mood swings. I won’t go into detail on here, but it was like a seething anger. I couldn’t see anyone I didn’t consider a legitimate personal friend without wanting to yell at them. Most of the people I see are Malawians, so it really didn’t bode well for them my impression of Malawi during these swings (and even still, I’m trying to undo this annoyance I’ve built up toward them now that I’ve calmed down a bit).
So this had been going on for some time and I still hadn’t really made the connection between my depression, dreams, and mefloquin. I kept my mood pretty much to myself, I only ever shared my stand-out dreams with a friend or two, who just thought of them as cool stories written by my subconscious brought on by eating too much before bed, and mefloquin never really came up. Until one night about four weeks ago, I found myself bawling in bed about how sad and lonely I will be when my future husband dies before me and leaves me very old, alone without my other half, with grown children who don’t want me, to await death by myself. Granted, I’d just finished rereading Water for Elephants, which is told from the point of view of an old man in such a situation, but I was surprised at how acutely I felt this non-existent future husband’s loss. I told my mom about it the next day, I think I freaked her out. Something was definitely not right with my head.
The Peace Corps Doc has since switched me to Malarone, which is just as potent but has minimal side effects and is much more expensive. After three weeks, Mef is out of my system and the results are obvious. It’s like I’ve detached an anchor from my insides that was dragging me down that I didn’t realize was there. It’s still a little soon to test out the dream thing and the angry mood swings, and I’m still not entirely happy (I AM still in the 11-15 month sophomore slump period of my service), but I’m not a mess. I was, decidedly, a mess a month ago. I can go to school without dread of being in a room full of teenage Malawians who don’t want to be in school any more than any other teenager in the world. I can have visitors at my house without wanting to tell them to get the f*** out. I can endure cat calls in town without seeing red. Doug can eat my lunch off the counter and I won’t have serious fantasies of animal abuse. I can smile walking through my village when I greet people (I couldn’t fake it before, my face literally wouldn’t let me, permanent scowl). Yeah, a month ago it was really bad. It’s made all the difference getting off of it, thank god. My service has had a complete turn around and I can’t imagine it being that bad again (let’s hope).
Now I’m telling everyone to get off it asap, side effects or not. It’s just something that should never be in our systems. Peace Corps shouldn’t put us on it in the first place, and then make it a med sep (short for medical separation from Peace Corps, essentially a forced ET, or early termination of service) offence if you don’t take it and get Malaria. My sitemate, Alan, says he’d rather get Malaria than be on Mef. He’s on Doxycyclin now, the second choice of Peace Corps (I was on it for a day, actually, right when I got to country, but had a bad reaction to it almost immediately. Among other side effects, it makes your skin more sensitive to the sun and I had the worst sunburn of my life within hours of taking it). He says he still would rather not be on something as crazy as these prophylaxis drugs for two years and part of him would still prefer Malaria, but at least it’s not Mef, and at least he’s still here. So far I’ve gotten at least Robert to convert, he’s also on Doxy as of yesterday. He hasn’t shown any symptoms of side effects of Mef but I’m interested to know if he notices any differences regardless.
So, here’s to Malarone, and here’s to not wanting to maim anyone anymore!
Out with the Old, In with the Chew
After mourning the loss of little Nyama, I have now successfully acquired a new kitten! Chewy, as in Chewbaca (I’m also hoping the name will encourage her to chew on the mice that are eating all my tuperware). She looks just like him, if here were a tiny calico kitten. She whines a lot like him too. Like a lot, she never shuts up. And she’s vicious. She’s almost got Doug beat in Ruler of the House. He knows that even though she is a fraction of his size, she is meaner and badder than he’ll ever be, with his floppy ears and his puppy dog eyes. She’ll march right up to him, hiss, swipe, and eat his food before he can even lower his tail. Actually, I’m a little worried she’s crazy. When she eats she makes this “nom nom” noise like a man-eating monster. Last night she decided to throw up all over my bed and my room, step in it with all four paws AND drag her tail through it, and track it all over the house. Didn’t even phase her. But she IS a supreme cuddler. Not last night though, she was banned from the bed in all her vomit glory.
Friday, February 24, 2012
One Year Ago Today
It was one year ago today that I boarded a plane to Philadelphia to begin my Peace Corps service. In honor of this momentous occasion, I will dedicate this post to discussing the Americanness I have left behind (and also took with me).
I remember the night before my departure from San Diego being sleepless and emotional. The tears started at Katie Rider’s house, where it finally hit me (hours before my flight), that I was leaving for two years and I had no idea what waited for me in Africa. She started crying and I started crying and then I kept crying. So, thanks for that Katie. The crying finally stopped when I ended my twenty-year streak alone in my Big Girl Bed. I woke my mom up in the middle of the night to sleep with me, works every time. But I was a wreck.
A year ago today and so much and so little has happened. Turns out my little break down wasn’t warranted, they never are. Actually, as it turns out, Malawi is quite underwhelming. Once I got past the culture shock, the nsima, and the chimbuzi, and the Africa, and the lake, and being the only white person in a 15+ km radius, life has settled into something much more boring than it is in America. Consider your typical day in America. You wake up, shower, eat, work, eat again, go do stuff, eat again, watch tv and sleep. But here, there’s no tv, no showers (they’re called buckets here), and no work. That leaves eating, sleeping, and doing stuff. You’d think that’d be “the good life,” and it is to an extent, but really, what it is is underwhelming. I’m not bored, oh no, the “doing stuff” part of my day certainly keeps me busy (ya know, gardening, sweeping my dirt yard, cooking over fires, reading, pretending I know what people are saying to me in Chitonga, seeing if Doug will eat anything I put in his mouth, including the neighbor’s baby), but one day melts seamlessly into the next. Before you know it, its dark outside again and Malawi is closed for business.
Here’s what this underwhelming yet culture-shocking year has taught me: I am undeniably, incontrovertibly, unquestionably American. I was definitely born in the right culture. Some people, you’ve met them, just don’t fit in America and would be much better matched to somewhere like England, or France, or Iceland. I, however, fit in America. I’m sarcastic and friendly-when-I-wanna-be. I’m Jewish but also a little Buddhist. I like my space. My friends are my friends and strangers are weird if they talk to me on public transport. I always have a water bottle handy. I have an inflated feeling of self-importance. I think it’s rude to walk into an acquaintance’s house unexpectedly. I’m a woman with a college degree and no husband and carry every self-righteous prejudice that comes with those qualifiers. I delight in variety in my diet. Dogs are pets, not target practice. I’m restless and can’t stay in one place very long, always gotta hit the road. Please. And thank you. Asking someone to borrow money is uncomfortable. I could go on…
These are all things that are common in America but exactly the opposite in Malawi. But here’s the hardest one, where my Americanness comes painfully into direct conflict with my Malawian Peace Corpsness: I love not doing anything of consequence, but I can’t enjoy it unless I feel like I’ve done something worthwhile recently. I feel useless, fat and restless when I have completed nothing in a 24 hour period. I’ve taken to make lists of things just so I can cross them off so I can fool myself into feeling I’ve accomplished something (like, 1. Wake up, 2. Make food…). Malawians can and do sit all day doing nothing but chatting, taking breaks from sitting only to eat nsima (still not food). I don’t get it! If you moved these sitting Malawians to Anywhere, America, they’d be called bums. I find myself judging them, just as an American would judge a bum. I can’t enjoy this “good life” because I have this I’m-not-contributing-to-society guilt! There’s gotta be a break in it for me. Some spurt of creativity or high productivity. Unfortunately, those are surprisingly hard to come by. Motivation is sucked away in this environment, if it ever was here in the first place. Their lack of motivation and activity (gossiping and planting maize excluded) is contagious. I’m stuck in the Doldrums.
I guess I should have warned you at the beginning of this post about the One Year of Service Blues. It’s common in the life cycle of the Peace Corps Volunteer. Between months 11 and 15 of service a volunteer will likely experience symptoms of worthlessness, apathy, moodiness, and my favorite, impatience/intolerance of host country nationals (I’m quoting here). I won’t go into detail, but if you’re curious, just ask my parents about the recent break downs and harsh words I’ve been spewing about my lovely host country nationals. Apparently it goes away… I’ll believe it when I see it. My attitude certainly has improved since I got off mefloquin, my profilaxis. Forcing myself to be busy at site also helps a lot. I recently replanted my depressingly overgrown garden. We’re going simple this time, one row of chickpeas next to one row of eggplant, and one row of green peppers. That way I’ll be able to tell the food from the flowers. (But my cucumbers are coming in nicely!)
So, as I was saying, one year ago today I was boarding a plane which would propel me into my Peace Corps service where my Americanness would come into sharp focus. It’s true, you don’t realize the extent of your culture until you’re in a different one for a long period of time. I can eat with my right hand like a pro, squat over a hole in the ground with precise aim, carry a bucket of water on my head, build a cooking fire in under a minute, and hold conversations in a dying language with village chiefs, but I don’t belong here. If I were meant to be comfortable and live normally in a tiny obscure African village, I would have been born into a tiny obscure African village. That’s something they don’t tell you about Peace Corps before you join. No matter how well you speak the language, how many friends you make, how well you integrate, you don’t ever belong there. And you can feel it, every day. A year of living in a village with the same people and I’m still a novelty to them. I’m still Azungu, I’m still something to stare at and laugh at when I speak in Chitonga. I still can’t just walk into the market to buy tomatoes. So far I’ve had the up’s and down’s that I was expecting and I am now well aware of what was waiting for me in Africa. These aren’t bad things, not at all. I’m still having the Peace Corps experience. Apparently, it’s a necessary, unavoidable part. But I’m ready for the next stage already… I hear the next stage is acceptance, like I’m going through the five stages of grief or something.
I remember the night before my departure from San Diego being sleepless and emotional. The tears started at Katie Rider’s house, where it finally hit me (hours before my flight), that I was leaving for two years and I had no idea what waited for me in Africa. She started crying and I started crying and then I kept crying. So, thanks for that Katie. The crying finally stopped when I ended my twenty-year streak alone in my Big Girl Bed. I woke my mom up in the middle of the night to sleep with me, works every time. But I was a wreck.
A year ago today and so much and so little has happened. Turns out my little break down wasn’t warranted, they never are. Actually, as it turns out, Malawi is quite underwhelming. Once I got past the culture shock, the nsima, and the chimbuzi, and the Africa, and the lake, and being the only white person in a 15+ km radius, life has settled into something much more boring than it is in America. Consider your typical day in America. You wake up, shower, eat, work, eat again, go do stuff, eat again, watch tv and sleep. But here, there’s no tv, no showers (they’re called buckets here), and no work. That leaves eating, sleeping, and doing stuff. You’d think that’d be “the good life,” and it is to an extent, but really, what it is is underwhelming. I’m not bored, oh no, the “doing stuff” part of my day certainly keeps me busy (ya know, gardening, sweeping my dirt yard, cooking over fires, reading, pretending I know what people are saying to me in Chitonga, seeing if Doug will eat anything I put in his mouth, including the neighbor’s baby), but one day melts seamlessly into the next. Before you know it, its dark outside again and Malawi is closed for business.
Here’s what this underwhelming yet culture-shocking year has taught me: I am undeniably, incontrovertibly, unquestionably American. I was definitely born in the right culture. Some people, you’ve met them, just don’t fit in America and would be much better matched to somewhere like England, or France, or Iceland. I, however, fit in America. I’m sarcastic and friendly-when-I-wanna-be. I’m Jewish but also a little Buddhist. I like my space. My friends are my friends and strangers are weird if they talk to me on public transport. I always have a water bottle handy. I have an inflated feeling of self-importance. I think it’s rude to walk into an acquaintance’s house unexpectedly. I’m a woman with a college degree and no husband and carry every self-righteous prejudice that comes with those qualifiers. I delight in variety in my diet. Dogs are pets, not target practice. I’m restless and can’t stay in one place very long, always gotta hit the road. Please. And thank you. Asking someone to borrow money is uncomfortable. I could go on…
These are all things that are common in America but exactly the opposite in Malawi. But here’s the hardest one, where my Americanness comes painfully into direct conflict with my Malawian Peace Corpsness: I love not doing anything of consequence, but I can’t enjoy it unless I feel like I’ve done something worthwhile recently. I feel useless, fat and restless when I have completed nothing in a 24 hour period. I’ve taken to make lists of things just so I can cross them off so I can fool myself into feeling I’ve accomplished something (like, 1. Wake up, 2. Make food…). Malawians can and do sit all day doing nothing but chatting, taking breaks from sitting only to eat nsima (still not food). I don’t get it! If you moved these sitting Malawians to Anywhere, America, they’d be called bums. I find myself judging them, just as an American would judge a bum. I can’t enjoy this “good life” because I have this I’m-not-contributing-to-society guilt! There’s gotta be a break in it for me. Some spurt of creativity or high productivity. Unfortunately, those are surprisingly hard to come by. Motivation is sucked away in this environment, if it ever was here in the first place. Their lack of motivation and activity (gossiping and planting maize excluded) is contagious. I’m stuck in the Doldrums.
I guess I should have warned you at the beginning of this post about the One Year of Service Blues. It’s common in the life cycle of the Peace Corps Volunteer. Between months 11 and 15 of service a volunteer will likely experience symptoms of worthlessness, apathy, moodiness, and my favorite, impatience/intolerance of host country nationals (I’m quoting here). I won’t go into detail, but if you’re curious, just ask my parents about the recent break downs and harsh words I’ve been spewing about my lovely host country nationals. Apparently it goes away… I’ll believe it when I see it. My attitude certainly has improved since I got off mefloquin, my profilaxis. Forcing myself to be busy at site also helps a lot. I recently replanted my depressingly overgrown garden. We’re going simple this time, one row of chickpeas next to one row of eggplant, and one row of green peppers. That way I’ll be able to tell the food from the flowers. (But my cucumbers are coming in nicely!)
So, as I was saying, one year ago today I was boarding a plane which would propel me into my Peace Corps service where my Americanness would come into sharp focus. It’s true, you don’t realize the extent of your culture until you’re in a different one for a long period of time. I can eat with my right hand like a pro, squat over a hole in the ground with precise aim, carry a bucket of water on my head, build a cooking fire in under a minute, and hold conversations in a dying language with village chiefs, but I don’t belong here. If I were meant to be comfortable and live normally in a tiny obscure African village, I would have been born into a tiny obscure African village. That’s something they don’t tell you about Peace Corps before you join. No matter how well you speak the language, how many friends you make, how well you integrate, you don’t ever belong there. And you can feel it, every day. A year of living in a village with the same people and I’m still a novelty to them. I’m still Azungu, I’m still something to stare at and laugh at when I speak in Chitonga. I still can’t just walk into the market to buy tomatoes. So far I’ve had the up’s and down’s that I was expecting and I am now well aware of what was waiting for me in Africa. These aren’t bad things, not at all. I’m still having the Peace Corps experience. Apparently, it’s a necessary, unavoidable part. But I’m ready for the next stage already… I hear the next stage is acceptance, like I’m going through the five stages of grief or something.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Chips Mayay (aka Chips In or Around My Eye)
Here's a Nkhata Bay favorite! It's one of our favorite breakfasts and makes for great hangover food...if you're into that.
½ kg potatoes, sliced (the thinner the better, I prefer them unpeeled)
Enough water to cover the potatoes
Oil for frying
1 medium onion
1 medium tomato
1 green pepper
1-2 cloves garlic
2 eggs, beaten
2 tsp crushed red pepper or chili powder
Salt and pepper to taste
Place sliced potatoes into large pot and cover with water. Bring contents to a boil and drain (boiling before frying makes frying take less oil and time). Fry potatoes in large saucepan until desired crispiness, might take more than one round to fry them all. Remove potatoes from pan and sauté vegetables in left-over oil. Add enough potatoes to at least cover the bottom of the pan. Pour beaten eggs over the vegetables and add red pepper, salt and pepper. Allow mixture to fry until bottom is golden brown. Slide the contents of saucepan into large plate and flip back into pan. Allow other side to fry. Enjoy! Best served with either avocado or ketchup. Consider experimenting serving with left-over beans or chili on top! The possibilities are endless!!!
½ kg potatoes, sliced (the thinner the better, I prefer them unpeeled)
Enough water to cover the potatoes
Oil for frying
1 medium onion
1 medium tomato
1 green pepper
1-2 cloves garlic
2 eggs, beaten
2 tsp crushed red pepper or chili powder
Salt and pepper to taste
Place sliced potatoes into large pot and cover with water. Bring contents to a boil and drain (boiling before frying makes frying take less oil and time). Fry potatoes in large saucepan until desired crispiness, might take more than one round to fry them all. Remove potatoes from pan and sauté vegetables in left-over oil. Add enough potatoes to at least cover the bottom of the pan. Pour beaten eggs over the vegetables and add red pepper, salt and pepper. Allow mixture to fry until bottom is golden brown. Slide the contents of saucepan into large plate and flip back into pan. Allow other side to fry. Enjoy! Best served with either avocado or ketchup. Consider experimenting serving with left-over beans or chili on top! The possibilities are endless!!!
Garlic Sauce
In the most recent package my parents sent me a gallon Ziploc bag of garlic sauce. The story goes like this: they requested some garlic sauce at the pizza place for their daughter. The pizza place said “they’re 50 cents each”. The mom and dad said “rephrase, we want garlic sauce for our daughter in the Peace Corps in Africa.” The pizza place went into the back and returned with a bag of garlic sauces for the mom and dad’s daughter in Africa fo’ free!
I want to make note of how wonderful garlic sauce really is. In the year I have been away from These United State, garlic sauce has, in fact, not lost its tasty glory. It is exactly how I remember it. Garlic-y, buttery, salty, saucy. I would drink it. I would! But it just complements bread so well!
Also, shout out to my grandparents! Major props on the package! The salami!!! And the cheese!!! I had a glorious valentine’s day in which I splurged on whole wheat crackers in Mzuzu and sat making little cracker, cheese, salami tower sandwiches. Doug was also in cheese heaven, licking the cheese wrappers. And those tortillas were a great bonus! Quesadillas topped with quacamole made with avocados from my tree outside! It was almost TOO good to eat. But I ate it. Yes, I ate it.
I want to make note of how wonderful garlic sauce really is. In the year I have been away from These United State, garlic sauce has, in fact, not lost its tasty glory. It is exactly how I remember it. Garlic-y, buttery, salty, saucy. I would drink it. I would! But it just complements bread so well!
Also, shout out to my grandparents! Major props on the package! The salami!!! And the cheese!!! I had a glorious valentine’s day in which I splurged on whole wheat crackers in Mzuzu and sat making little cracker, cheese, salami tower sandwiches. Doug was also in cheese heaven, licking the cheese wrappers. And those tortillas were a great bonus! Quesadillas topped with quacamole made with avocados from my tree outside! It was almost TOO good to eat. But I ate it. Yes, I ate it.
Nyama No More
That was fast. She ran away the week I got her because I left for a night. Poor thing, either eaten by a snake or drowned in the middle of rainy season.
No worries, the Pastor's cat's kittens are about ready to be taken home. Now I can lose a second cat! Name suggestions?
No worries, the Pastor's cat's kittens are about ready to be taken home. Now I can lose a second cat! Name suggestions?
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