I am without words for the support that has been aimed my direction--in word, thought, and (financial) deed. I think I said this before, but letting peoples' words and kindnesses into you is something I wish for everyone.
A few excerpts from Fall 2007 follow for those of you who are new to my total cluelessness about southern Africa. They were written almost a year ago already and context might make them more lucid, but welcome to it anyway:
(Written from South Africa)
I endeavoured to get gas for the first time yesterday. One doesn't pump their own gas here, it's done for you and then you tip the attendant. Well, I left my house with R216, which, despite being just over $30, seemed like plenty of cash to fill up the (small appliance sized) tank, which needed about 3/4 tank. I gave R2 to Balthazar, the guy who watches my car in the beach parking lot while I run. (People make a living here watching cars in parking lots. It's a livelihood.) So I pull up at the Mobil, proud of myself for knowing how to unlock the gas cap and tell the guy to fill up the tank. He starts the pump and then says something about popping the hood, which I did not remember happening when I watched my dad get gas. So I say, "No. No. That's okay, I don't need that." He says, "Yes. Pop hood. Pop hood." I'm thinking he wants a bigger tip and am trying to insist this is all unnecessary. He ends up reaching into my car and popping the hood for me. I sit there and ponder how I'm being taken for all I'm worth and as he's showing me the dip stick, I turn around to see the pump at R214. "Stop. Stop," I say. By the time he stops it, and then tries to helpfully top off the tank, we're at R220 and in my flustered state, my two coins have gone flying under the seats and I can only come up with one. I have R212 to pay for R220 worth of gas plus tip. This makes me feel horrible and like a dumb out of towner. I produce my R212 and say, "This is all I have." "Oh," he says, "the cash is shot." "Yes," gas station man, "the cash is shot." So I have to drive home to get more money, promising I'll be back in 5. It was more like 12, but I went back to give him his money. What I still don't get is how that tiny little car could eat $30 worth of gas.
The pace of life here is quite different than at home. People take a full hour for lunch. Everyone leaves at 1 on Fridays, every Friday. People work a little and play a little and take their kids to the beach all the time. (Is this what California is like?) I'm mostly loving the pace, but the do-er in me sometimes rams her head into a be-ing wall and it hurts. Well, T.I.A. That stands for This Is Africa. We say TIA a lot. "You buy electricity at the gas station?" "Yes. TIA."
(Written from Malawi and part of a list)
6. i will be riding a bike as my main form of (independent) transportation. (i knew i rel
earned to ride this summer for a reason.) bikes outnumber cars where i am living 24:1 (estimated) and there is one paved road in my 'town.' my bike is not of the mountain or road variety...it's kind of what you think of when you think of what your grandmother might have ridden when she was a girl in north dakota in 1942 on a dirt road and red dust everywhere. please picture me on this bike, with a falling down skirt (i might have to find a button and sew it on) and add in the staring/waving/azoongu calling from item number 4. nice. i have seen malawians pile four people on these bikes. i'm not ready for that.
11. everything in malawi is negotiable--INCLUDING THE EXCHANGE RATE. I find this somewhat offensive. I find it hilarious that I hate the bartering as much as I do given my previous line of work, trading. Part of the problem is that ultimately, I'm trying to talk someone out of about 67 cents, and it just seems mean/unnecessary.
Many of you have told me to, 'Please be safe.' There is something about Malawi, and Africa as a whole, I think, that dwarfs a person. I've never felt as small as I do in Africa and never been so aware of the fact that I'm not in control...of anything. There is no pretense, illusion, or vague sense at any time that one is in control. (From things as small as reliable electricity and choices at the grocery store to the big ones like the irrelevance of time, the size of the sky and closeness of the sun and potential famine and disease that is more likely to kill you than not.) I've done things in Africa that I wouldn't in a million years do at home, because I deem them reckless--ride in a car with kids on my lap, hitch hike, eat goat, fly Air Zimbabwe next week ;). I'm being 'safe,' but as I know it here. I've discussed this phenomenon with a bunch of people and we all agree, the underlying current here says, 'There are so many other big, bad things that might get you,' or, 'Death is an intimate, immediate part of daily experience,' that I find myself abandoning, for the better, things that bind me at home that make me feel in control. I wonder, when I get home, if I'll remember the vast vulnerableness I feel all the time. I could say a lot more about the value we place on life in the developed world vs. not so developed, how no one will talk about AIDS despite the fact it's killing everyone, and what powerlessness breeds, but I'll save it for another time.
The pace of life here is quite different than at home. People take a full hour for lunch. Everyone leaves at 1 on Fridays, every Friday. People work a little and play a little and take their kids to the beach all the time. (Is this what California is like?) I'm mostly loving the pace, but the do-er in me sometimes rams her head into a be-ing wall and it hurts. Well, T.I.A. That stands for This Is Africa. We say TIA a lot. "You buy electricity at the gas station?" "Yes. TIA."
(Written from Malawi and part of a list)
6. i will be riding a bike as my main form of (independent) transportation. (i knew i rel
earned to ride this summer for a reason.) bikes outnumber cars where i am living 24:1 (estimated) and there is one paved road in my 'town.' my bike is not of the mountain or road variety...it's kind of what you think of when you think of what your grandmother might have ridden when she was a girl in north dakota in 1942 on a dirt road and red dust everywhere. please picture me on this bike, with a falling down skirt (i might have to find a button and sew it on) and add in the staring/waving/azoongu calling from item number 4. nice. i have seen malawians pile four people on these bikes. i'm not ready for that.11. everything in malawi is negotiable--INCLUDING THE EXCHANGE RATE. I find this somewhat offensive. I find it hilarious that I hate the bartering as much as I do given my previous line of work, trading. Part of the problem is that ultimately, I'm trying to talk someone out of about 67 cents, and it just seems mean/unnecessary.
Many of you have told me to, 'Please be safe.' There is something about Malawi, and Africa as a whole, I think, that dwarfs a person. I've never felt as small as I do in Africa and never been so aware of the fact that I'm not in control...of anything. There is no pretense, illusion, or vague sense at any time that one is in control. (From things as small as reliable electricity and choices at the grocery store to the big ones like the irrelevance of time, the size of the sky and closeness of the sun and potential famine and disease that is more likely to kill you than not.) I've done things in Africa that I wouldn't in a million years do at home, because I deem them reckless--ride in a car with kids on my lap, hitch hike, eat goat, fly Air Zimbabwe next week ;). I'm being 'safe,' but as I know it here. I've discussed this phenomenon with a bunch of people and we all agree, the underlying current here says, 'There are so many other big, bad things that might get you,' or, 'Death is an intimate, immediate part of daily experience,' that I find myself abandoning, for the better, things that bind me at home that make me feel in control. I wonder, when I get home, if I'll remember the vast vulnerableness I feel all the time. I could say a lot more about the value we place on life in the developed world vs. not so developed, how no one will talk about AIDS despite the fact it's killing everyone, and what powerlessness breeds, but I'll save it for another time.
So. That was last time. Now there's this time...
