"So what's the point of being here?" Deep Thoughts, at least they were back then

Friday, March 11, 1994, 11:45 PM
I normally go to bed 3 hours earlier, but tonight I played "Anaconda" with Gary, J + J, and Steph. It was good fun - I finished up the evening even.

I tried to call JR for his birthday today, but the phone went dead as I was trying to call him. Ah yes, and I got my birthday present from my brother yesterday: Star Trek Memories! I've already read a third of it.

Mrs. Ntata's mother passed away yesterday, so she's gone for a while and I've taken over her math classes, so I really don't have any time to think anymore. I really look forward to my weekends now.

Saturday, March 12, 8:45 PM
I just had another "Yes Paul, you ARE on another planet" experience. The Zomba Music Society came by our school and the girls performed some traditional dancers. Yes, I was asked to participate but no, I respectfully declined. Certain things they find amusing simply boggle my mind. For instance, one of their dances consisted of them jumping up and down for a while in a circle (about 30 of them), and then pounding a fist on the ground and passing an object around the circle, starting with anything they can find at first, like a piece of paper on the floor, to somebody's shoe. All the while they're singing.

My dog Reality and a friend's dog scheduling
their afternoon naps at the same time

It's an hour later from the last page I just wrote - I've been over at Eva's talking. I think I'll relax for a little while now and get ready for my marking tomorrow: 300 quizzes plus assignments. Yahoo!

Sunday, March 13, 1:30 PM
All right, it's Sunday afternoon, I've just finished lunch, and it's pouring rain like you wouldn't believe. So I thought this would be a good time for some "Deep Thoughts."

Let's see. Next week marks the sixth month of my stay here in Malawi, and I've definitely settled in. I won't go as far as to say things are becoming routine, because they aren't (and I certainly don't want them to be). Every day I can choose to do something different. Now, about my usefulness here...

Are the girls learning math? For the most part, no. Perhaps five or six girls per class understand most of what I say, while the others are lost somewhere in another world, answering only Yes or No in unison when I ask them questions. Most of them just don't get it. So what's the point of me being here? While education is at the forefront of what I'm doing, I know down inside that it's not the most important, lasting impression I'll leave for most girls. It's the times I coach them at volleyball, or crack jokes, or play chess or Frisbee with them, that I think they'll remember. It is somewhat saddening to conclude that there are just some girls who will not learn, and you have to live with that.

Something I would really like to change is the way certain teachers teach (or, in most cases, NOT teach). Unfortunately, I know almost any attempt I make to suggest an idea will be greeted by smiles but I know nothing will happen. People are too set in their ways, and they don't want the new kid on the block telling them what to do. The only ray of sunshine in this darkness is the way Mrs. Ntata reacts to my ideas; she genuinely seems to be interested in what I have to say. She's also only 27, which explains why.

The rain's stopped; so have my thoughts for the moment

Monday, March 14, 5:45 PM
I'm f**king whipped. Nine periods plus an hour and a half extra teaching to the Form 4s. I can't even think anymore.

Postscript 2011: These four entries, written over the same number of days, reflect the schism forming between the life I had in Canada and the one that was taking shape in Malawi. I clung to my friendships with the other Canadian volunteers, playing cards with them on a regular basis and spending long evenings enjoying their company and the Carlsberg Greens that were a given. I felt tremendous joy whenever the mail came and I got a package from someone back home, as was the case with my brother's gift. I felt sadness when I tried to make a connection, like phoning my friend JR, only to have my need to speak to a childhood friend cruelly trampled by Malawi's piss-poor phone lines. 


In retrospect, my perceived alienness of the girls dancing might have been warranted back then to the young man that I was, but it's nothing compared to the stuff I've been fortunate enough to see since then. To say nothing of what took place a little while after this dance when the Gorilla Man came to visit (we'll get to him in another entry). It's a realization for me that there can be a thin line between what we perceive as foreign...different...strange...unlike me...and it doesn't take much of an effort to see that this continuum can descend into fear, intolerance, hatred, and discrimination. So if there was any value of my two-year stint as a volunteer teacher in Malawi, it showed me that "different" for me is "normal" for someone else. 


As for my "Deep Thoughts," the question I asked, "So what's the point of being here?" is one I have not ceased to ask. When I get a good answer, believe me I'll share it with you.

Friday, January 14, 1994

10:35 PM
Steph just came over and miserably beat me at that bead game, bao I think it's called. Those American girls from Namibia left yesterday morning while I was hungover from the night before - we had a great time. On my way to get beers with Elizabeth, we stopped for a few at the bottle store for a few Browns [Carlsberg beer with a brown label that was slightly sweeter than the regular Carslberg "Green"] and a little more, as it turned out. I only bought two beers for us, but that good old Malawian hospitality handed us three more beers each in the space of 20 minutes. We stumbled back home and had a great dinner at Eva's. I went to bed at midnight, then got up at 5 to prepare my classes. Boy, I was tired. Only one thing could wake me up:


Tom! [As in Tom Cochrane's Life Is a Highway.]


I blasted the song in my ears and as the song was playing, Jean Marie woke up and wished me a good morning in her t-shirt and panties, followed by Jennifer a couple of minutes later wearing mot much more. Jean Marie asked me what I was listening to and when I told her Life Is a Highway, she said "Oh wow, that's my favourite song!"


God I should have proposed right there.


Then Jennifer came in and told me she loved the song and she'd seen Tom in concert before leaving the US. I was in my glory.

The card my friends gave me before leaving
Montreal in September 1993.

In other news, I owe about a dozen letters to people who have written to me, but I'm afraid I've been procrastinating. But I should get to writing something soon.


Postscript 2010: When I started transcribing these blogs, the original intent was to reflect on my teaching practice. While the memories of Jennifer and Jean Marie and the others have faded over the years, I clearly remember how I felt during, and after, teaching my classes that day: lousy. The fact was I was taken aback by the presence of all these beautiful young women staying at my home - and understandably so, for they were beautiful and let's face it, such an occasion never presented itself to me back in Canada. But I suffered dearly on that day not only for being hungover but for teaching the worst class I have ever taught. I was teaching the youngest students, the Form I girls, about geometry for the first time, and I was completely unprepared. I fumbled through the entire class and probably confused the hell out of them. It was a valuable lesson for me: to always be prepared for a class, and at least try not to be too hungover. For the rest of my days teaching in Malawi, I can safely say I was always prepared. As for hungover...it was never as bad as that one time. But knowing what's written in subsequent journals, I find it prudent to create a "Carlsberg" tag in this blog at this point in the journey.


I ended this journal entry with a reminder to write to friends and family who had written to me over the holidays. No gift was more precious than the letters I received from all of them. And knowing me so well, three people wound up sending me the same Star Trek calendar.

Thursday, November 18, 1993 St Mary's Day

I just taught Form I's this morning - God it's gonna be hard to make them understand. Since it's St. Mary's Day, I thought I'd hand out Canada pins to all the teachers. Now everybody's walking around wearing them. Mrs. Lisimba even put on two of them as earrings - it was hilarious - I couldn't help but crack up. 


Wednesday, November 24, 7 AM
I just had one of Mr. Lathrop's Cuban cigars last night. Whoa! It felt absolutely wonderful ...for a while. I guess the combination of the cigar along with the mefloquine and a tomato sauce that made me cry it was so hot turned out to be too much for my poor body. [I eventually got really sick that night.]


I was feeling a bit pissed off because I found a hole in my goddam tooth yesterday. It's not big, but I want to get it fixed before anything worse happens. And of course it's a pain in the butt trying to phone anyone around here, so I couldn't get hold of any dentist. On top of that, my Form I students are out to lunch! You really develop a sense of patience around here.


Postscript 2010: Patience, indeed. The tooth surprised me. One morning, I went in front of the mirror, and there it was, a tiny black hole in my central incisor. Never did figure out how it got there. Who knows, it may have been a chunk of rock from a nasty batch of Chibuku. Regardless of how it got there, the matter was resolved eventually, but finding a qualified dentist was a challenge. The phone worked infrequently (and it was locked in a wooden box on top of that) and if I ever managed to speak to anyone on the other end, they would not understand me (nor I them). I asked good old Hanik, a fellow teacher, if he knew of a dentist. "Of course," he told me. "There is one just close by. He can fix you for about 10 kwacha." Great, a dentist who can fix a damn hole in my tooth for a dollar. I wound up going to Blantyre to see a dentist, in a trip that involved a fair amount of gunfire (but more of that in the next entry).


As far as my teaching abilities were concerned, I was easily frustrated by the new students, the Form Is. Most had never had an "azungu" teacher before, so probably had a tough time understanding my accent. And their work ethic was not admirable: they simply stared at me. After a couple of classes, my frustration grew and I wrote in large letters on the board: YOU WRITE WHAT I WRITE. Worked for a few minutes. What was particularly painful to realize was that many of the students lacked basic mathematical concepts, and it was clear that their lack of knowledge had been compounded by years of inadequate teaching. By the time the average student reached Form I (the equivalent of first year junior high), they should have been able to add and subtract whole integers and fractions, but such was not the case with at least half my students. This made things difficult because the starting point in the curriculum was that this knowledge was a given. It was, to put it mildly, a struggle from the start.


Also, here is the first mention of the vilest drug I've ever taken in my life: mefloquine. Looking back, I cannot imagine what the hell was going on in the heads of the WUSC officials back home who thought this anti-malarial drug was in any way beneficial. Here's a description found on Wikipedia: "Mefloquine may have severe and permanent adverse side effects. It is known to cause severe depression, anxiety, paranoia, aggression, nightmares, insomnia, seizures, birth defects, peripheral motor-sensory neuropathy, vestibular (balance) damage and central nervous system problems. Central nervous system events occur in up to 25% of people taking Lariam [mefloquine], such as dizziness, headache, insomnia, and vivid dreams." So go ahead, give it to the WUSC volunteers! Thankfully, it is no longer the drug of choice for prevention or treatment of malaria.


Granted, I should not have consumed my weekly pill with some Carlsberg beer, spicy tomato sauce on my spaghetti and ended the meal with a fat cigar. The nausea recounted in this journal entry was the worst I've ever felt, but it was not the most unusual side effect; that's dealt with later.


And finally, a mention of "St. Mary's Day." It's not like we had many games to play other than volleyball, soccer, and dodgeball, but it was an excuse for all of us, students and teachers, to go out to the pitch [the grounds] and enjoy the sunshine. I played soccer in a game of teachers vs. students in which I believe we lost miserably (and we were really trying).

Wednesday, September 29, 1993

I've been in Africa for ten days now. I daresay I'm getting used to the pace of life around here. I had my first staff meeting today; I tried not to volunteer for too many things. I asked for the drama and chess clubs, and I also got stuck with something called "Top of the Class," whatever that means.


I don't start classes for another 3 weeks; I'll be teaching Forms I and III Math, for a total of 28 periods per week. It looks like it'll be a lot of work.


I arrived in Lilongwe on the 19th with the other volunteers and had our orientation there for five days. We all had a great time. I got to stay with Gary and got the opportunity to know him better. I'm glad that we get along well together; I can see him as being a good friend. He and I are both stationed in Zomba, along with Jason and Janine.


My living accommodations are more than what I expected. I own half of a newly-built house containing a living room, kitchen, shower, bathroom, 3 bedrooms, and a balcony with a garden on the side. I'm sharing the house with a woman named Eva from the Peace Corps whom I'm getting along well with. She teaches biology at my school, she's a bit younger than me and has beautiful eyes. 


My worker is an 80 year-old man by the name of Mr. Ntambo. This guy just doesn't quit. He arrives at the house at 6 AM, waters the gardens and plants, cleans my house and Eva's, washes and irons my clothes to perfection, and even goes to the market to buy food for me if I ask him. And he still asks for more work. He kills me. Also, whenever I greet him and say hello, he answers back by saying "Thank you" all the time.


Postscript 2010: I was young at the time, only 23. I'd left home for work for a few months at a time prior to leaving for Africa, but this was a big step: to leave friends and family for two years. I was excited, nervous, and upon the advice of a Canadian ex-pat who'd lived in Africa for years, I left home without having any expectations - and was pleasantly surprised with everything that came my way (well, almost everything). And I recently caught up with Jason and Janine, 17 years later - strong friendships stand the test of time.