A World Within a Week

April 5th
It's only been a week. That's incredible to think. What has felt like months; what has squeezed aside this whole lifetime before it to make room for 'Muli Bwanji's, Kwacha-conversions in tumultuous markets and grilled chip stands (fries) at 'luxury' hotels, daily pills that make me extra-sensitive to sun and sunscreen applications in a 90 degree African sun that burns brighter and hotter than I've known before, and the throng of people I meet daily that are genuine and calm and wonderful... this all has come to pass over the span of a mere week. There is so much to speak of and not time enough to share everything, but I guess that's why I have a camera with me.

The first thing I noticed while shopping that still kinda creeps me out; long-lasting milk from Zambia that stays good at least until November without a fridge. Complement that with malnourished eggs that come out of the shell a pale faded yellow and there are some things that food-wise take a little time to get used to. Like nsima, the staple dish of every Malawian made from boiled maize flour and water. If a Malawian is offered every dish imaginable and gourges their bellies without scooping by hand this porridge-like substance, they would relate that 'they haven't been fed any food'. They had plenty of relish but no food. Granted, I've never been opposed to eating weird, dull, or monotonous; like sustaining on crackers and cheese religiously on Scouting camping trips. But it should be noted that cheese is super expensive here and cream cheese is a distant legend. It's like trying to explain what snow is to people that have only felt the luxury of ice and the blessed season of torrential rain. What they do know are 20-minute sunrises and sunsets that demarcate your day making 9pm feel like midnight, and the danger of walking about in darkness first for the desperate crimes that occur in an otherwise gentle city and second for the malaria that decimates your health to feverish and nauseous pain on the rate of seasonal allergies. Milky and creamy whites of eyes are the fated labels of this lifetime of mosquito transactions.

What I've come to learn is the pleasure from an afternoon breeze wafting through your house when every window is screened and open and the sweet smell of vegetation and chirping of birds that replaces those of industry. Or the mass cultural acceptance of children in the villages, having mastered the thumbs-up and 'hello', come and run to greet the rare foreign visitors that are walking around their yards. There are those things that are unreliable like electricity or the prices for some who see my skin as an invitation to temporarily ease their lives. But on the whole of those locals that are greeted in Chechewa, I am met with smiles and a warmth that Carrboro has on its best days.

My days have taken on the mold of rising with the heat of the sun around 7am and preparing my gear to follow Finn and his visiting friend Andy. They've developed a bit of a jamming relationship with the Kumbali village band, a group of self-taught and dedicated Malawians who have taken to the generous instrumental and managing offerings of the village's director Scott Gray. It's been incredible to hang out and listen to this improvised mix of styles, some of them hearing Appalachian or Irish tunes for the first time and laying afro-rhythms on top. I've witnessed this fusion of musicians on such a regular basis. It's incredible how music in this first week has brought so many people together. It inspires my work on this project, compelling me to double my efforts and shed as much of myself as possible for the sake of presenting a fuller picture.

If music be the thread of this Malawian story, then the individuals are the knots that bind and strengthen their communities and my hope for a world too often jaded by bad press. The more one explores ways to improve a given situation, it's tempting to stop short at these negatives and egocentric criticisms that isolate and distance rather than unify. But our trip to Senga Bay gave witness to Richard, an unabashed and courageous man whose status presented him with an opportunity to travel the numerous villages surrounding his home and spark dialogues on this epidemic. He has since, from years of work, created a nutrition center for dozens of infected children that provides three meals a day as well as teaching means of artistic expression like songs or theater. He brought us through 4 villages and introduced us to some of the children and their families including some that Finn has collected narratives from. I can't describe these lives nor can I speak clearly of my feelings as we were ushered from home to home. Smiles and deep eyes, me a western male carrying a shiny plastic camera, homes built of necessity and earth, collections of curiosities tailing our tour, sounds I can't translate and words I can't produce....
We leave this place to step onto the tickling sandy beaches of a hotel that is hosting a concert starring Peter Mawanga, the socially-conscious Malawian musician whose collaboration with Finn on an AIDS stories album has brought me here. I look out past the 40-foot boulder stage backdrop onto sparkling waves beneath golden(magical) african clouds and wonder what the Mozambique mountains on the horizon see when they look back at me. I lay my sunburned body down inside a mosquito net and sigh. I'll sweat but I won't dream.