The last time I stepped out of my duplex on the road into the sunshine was back before the beginning of April, in the last few days of Term 1 at SV CDSS. The weeks leading up to my exodus were nothing special in the daytime hours, but the nights were the opposite; I was pretty sure my house had become a haunting ground for some local miscreant drunks and as a result, had a string of sleepless nights and tough days at school. As the paranoia creeped in, I became irrationally afraid something horrible was going to happen and, even worse, that I had been the one who was stupid enough to fail to prevent it AND to fail to mobilize my neighbors/other local resources to stop those after-dark visits. True, Pc bought me two toy alarms for when I feel like I'm in danger, but they hadn't prepared me at all for dealing with the actual situation of prowlers looking in my window for ANOTHER easy score. The first being my cell phone, of course. It's a fact, sad to say, that alf of PCVs here employ night guards, for a very good reason.
So the day when I flew from that house was dressed in drama from top to bottom. First it was uncontrollable crying on Sr. C in the staff room at school because I felt scared and absolutely helpless. I had tried to solicit the help of 3 powerful men: my landlord, who had been a member of parliament back in the day and who brushed off my requests for a security fence and screened windows; my police officer neighbor, who made empty promises to patrol our houses at night while he was at work; and the SV CDSS Head Teacher who took no steps to use his influence to get a guard installed ASAP and instead belittled the problem blaming "witchcraft," which he also insisted doesn't exist. Obviously, those failed attempts and even resistance to finding me a better house contributed to my feeling pretty vulnerable. So when Sr. C asked an innocuous question like, "how are you?" the brick walls all crumbled. She doesn't upll any bullshit - she knows the precarious position of women here, and understands how that combines with Malawians' visions of me as a donor here: namely as a big pink target. So it was after that and following a long afternoon of discussions and mediation that she welcomed me to take refuge at the Catholic mission with the other sisters, Sr. J Chisale and Sr C Mbawala (Agogo).
I was only there for a few days before leaving for In-Service Training in Dedza, where as previously described, I met with other Edu Vols I'm close to. I was with them for more than 3 weeks including vacation. Upon returning to SV, I was told there were 2 vacant houses available for me to choose from. Soon after that I moved into the teachers' house at school that had been recently vacated. That move almost didn't happen - and took a few days - because of the issue of transport. I was a hotly contested burden between the Sister and HT, but I finally arrived - it was after dark of course when everything was moved into the house and I had no idea where most of my survival gear was packed. The first few days were surviving on oatmeal and sleeping under a mosquito net. My new neighbors, the teachers and their wives, were not particularly hospitable so it was a lonely time too. I remember being a little peeved I didn't get any dinner invites that first night when I arrived at dark aka eatin time -- not even tupperware nsima - and that feeling unfortunately carried over into my general first impressions of my new, relatively well-off neighbors. These are the folks who have TVs with DVD players but who can't put themselves in the new girl's shoes for a few minutes? There was also - still is - lots of confusion about my strange habits concerning my house.
The main difference that seems to separate me from my neighbors is that of inside/outside uses of a house. That and my freedom and penchant for meeting other people for meals or general hangout time away frmo home. Since I'm away a lot, that's pretty strange to a lot of my neighbors, esp. the wives, because their world includes few excuses for wandering from the kitchen or collective brood of kids. Sometimes it's the market or church choir practice, but rarely is it the house of someone in a separate part of the community just in order to chat. They have each other to chat with and for most intents and purposes, that's just fine. For me however, I put a high value on the friendships with those I know well so I seek them out. It also helps to be mobile - thanks to the PC mountain bike!
The way houses are used here is also predominately as a sleepign place and receptable for all the opulent trappings of salaried Malawians' new wealth. All the important family activities still take place outside of these huge, plush houses. For me though, as our Western culture dictates, my place is inside the house more often than not. For one, it's a safe space where I don't have to speak Chichewa or wear ankle-length skirts with a slip underneath if I don't want to. But it's also where the furniture is. I guess I'm not used to sitting on the floor yet, like the true Malawians do.
So that was a little discursive, but that's how I ended up in a teacher's house and a little bit about how it's been adjusting to life here. It hasn't been a perfect transition because I don't really know peopel very well yet, and they don't know me well enough to know my schedule. But we will get there, slowly but surely - pang'ono pang'ono. I'm also getting a fence and a kitchen counter soon! Excitement.
Doing my Job - some extracurricular math tutoring
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