Contrary to my last not-so-upbeat post, coming back to Ifumbo from my visit home has been one of the most exciting, affirming, and gracious times I've ever experienced. The reason being the Twiyule Women's Group, who are an absolute gem. I am thankful beyond words to have the opportunity to be apart of their success. When I look in retrospect, we didn't have a lot going in our favor. Wachi was the one who directed me to them because he knew they'd be hard-working and serious. We made peanut brittle to sell... our profits totalled 3,000 kwacha (roughly 20 dollars). A considerable amount for a villager, but divided between 16 women? Meager. Kim came last April to teach them how to make pumpkin bread, Christina came that September to teach them crocheting and sustainable design. They would diligently come to my home every Thursday and it became sort of a social club. As the months passed, I became uneasy with how little we had to show for ourselves on a profit scale. What I didn't realize was how important those months actually were, establishing a trust and friendship. We'd sing and dance in my little house, the babies would crawl all over and pee on my floor (fortunately, my floor is cement), and the women would inevitably compliment me on my growing "amatanga" (Lambya for butt). The language we shared is a mix of broken Lambya, broken English, and lots of laughs. I began to see everyone's personality shine through. Lucy Muyila, the sassy old woman who demands respect. Elina Mifungwe, the lady with a sweet face and a quick giggle. Namusompha, the young mom with a ill-tempered baby. Maria Simwayi, the big lady who inevitably shocks and amuses the group with her bluntness. It took 7 months for our bakery proposal to be finally be approved, T.I.A. to say the least (This is Africa). Never once though, did the women ask where the money was. They stayed united, all 16. It's been 18 months since we first met and I beam now every time I walk by the market place. Constructed at the market is a mud and brick building- the bakery, their office. Behind is an oven made with a barrel drum. All 5,000 bricks were molded painstakingly by the women. They bake three times a week and sell everyday in the market. Word has been travelling fast about the women since there is no bread in all of Chitipa district (really). It's all imported from the district south of us and needless to say, the price is way out of range. We're currently working to expand our business to the civil servants of the area who have set incomes and a desire to buy loaves of bread (many villagers opt for the scones because they're more affordable). I accompanied the women on the walk to Kaseye to market our product, about 10 kilometers from Ifumbo. Along the way, Elina looked at me and said, "Kala, I have a question for you." Taken aback by her choice to use English, I replied, "Yes?". Elina looked at two other women and giggled surreptitiously. Composing herself, she finally asked, "Do you make monthly period?". We all erupted into laughter and when I said yes, they all responded, "Tuswiga! Tuswiga!" (We're surprised!). I could not stop laughing the whole walk. To think back on our first meeting when we all were shy and hesitant, I would have never imagined being asked about my menstrual cycle. When we finally reached Kaseye, we were welcomed by hospital attendants and teachers. Orders were set and at our meeting, we calculated that we could double our profits. Cheers and dancing immediately accompanied this revelation. I was chatting with Wachi about how all the time we've spent together, meeting with the women, waiting for our funds to be approved, and organizing builders and the smaller details. All three of us played an integral component in what we have; we could not have achieved what we have without each other. Wachi knew to go to the village of Motela to form a women's group. Born and raised in Ifumbo, Wachi knew these women were special and would take the work seriously. The women are the heart of this project (obviously), the ones who make the bread, who molded the brickes, and who organize themselves into leadership positions. We meet every Thursday but they meet on their own as well Sunday afternoons, something I find very promising. And with me being affiliated with Peace Corps, I had access to the African Development Fund to get funding. We're all so connected in this, it feels natural to write "we" to describe it all. As the women were laughing and making scones two weeks ago, I told Wachi how the fruits of our labor were finally showing, explaining the expression. He smiled and agreed, replying, "Yes Kala, our fruits are indeed showing."

3/21

Waiting for Lufita transport, it smells like shit and I’m being stared at once again. I’m hungry and sure my house is disgusting. Infested with cockroaches and mice. Welcome back to the village, Kala. Jonathan was supposed to meet me and Wachi here about an hour ago to deliver the oven for the women, he’s not here, not entirely sure what’s going on. Back to no plans and randomness. Some woman asked me to pay for her potatoes to be transported to Ifumbo, an obnoxious conductor asked me to pay for the transport fare of 2 younger girls. Welcome back, azungu. I managed to adopt 3 dogs as well; I’m tired and just want to lock myself inside my house and sleep. I’m already sick of being a spectacle… it’s only been 3 days back. I miss California, I miss feeling supported and comfortable. The borehole’s been an ever long issue; I got angry after getting off the phone with Shankar (the Indian contractor) and threw my phone against a wall. I wasn’t angry at home, I am here. I wasn’t self-conscious at home, I am here. Did realize how hard this shit was until leaving it behind for a month. I just want to be in my house…

Night

My house is a mess but I know I need to rest and clean it tomorrow. I’ve been frustrated and tense all day. Back to dirt, back to no electricity and running water, back to poverty, back to jealousy. The car going to Ifumbo originally said no to taking the oven and said we should hire a private car (because I’m an azungu and have an inextinguishable source of money). I stood in his way while he was driving and put up a fit. He gave in and said he’d charge me 1000 kwacha, I said no, 300. Jonathan is asking for more money to make the bread trays, the builder is asking for more money for the bakery. Some woman claims she owns the land the bakery is on and is asking for money as well. Jesus, these people get so greedy. I know it’s because they have virtually nothing, but it’s not right that they pick on the women while I’m away. Communication is so passive around here and it’s tiring for me to always have to assert myself and be the bad person. Miss Jenna and Ivy a lot. Felt like crying a few times today, held it back. Learning to use my voice without the tears, it’s a work in progress but it’s definitely getting better. Learning to be firm, assertive, and calm. I think I’ll take pictures of the sunflowers tomorrow. I need to quiet my mind and go to sleep.

3/24, Nightime

Feeling a little better. A storm knocked down my bafa fence so I still had to take a whore’s bath inside, but as least I’m on clean sheets and cooked on my paraffin stove (pasta… not bad). I tied up the dogs, they’ve been quiet so far, fingers crossed. They scare my neighbors away with their barking and disrupt my peace. I know they’re sweet animals but they’re needy. Can’t blame them, they were locked up for days and then relentlessly spoiled for the past 2 years. I was only expecting to be a foster mom for one of them, not 3! I’m meeting with Hon Chimango (the woman MP from Camp GLOW) on Thursday, hopefully we can arrange something with the Girls’ Club. I feel happy being involved again.

3/25, Morning

The dogs are turning out to be ok…I’ll keep them all for the month. I want a hammock day today. Isaac gave me a book last week that I’m eager to read. The dogs basically act like Toby did, they jump and bark when people come to my house, but calm down immediately. People are just so scared of dogs, I have to keep telling them that they won’t bite and demonstrate by putting my fingers in their mouths (the dog’s mouths that is, bahaha). And Zuba’s reluctantly adjusting to the dogs… maybe the zoo will be just ok. Chrissy’s been hanging out with me a lot, she’s a sweet girl, I think I’ll paint her fingernails today. Glad to be back in Ifumbo, was walking to Wachi’s house and admired the sunflower fields, green mountains, and Kaseye River. It’s so beautiful here, so the projects are going slow, it’s a Kala day today, and much appreciated

Pictures of my baby niece! Nicknames include Lumps, Lumpy, Ivy-Chan, Fatty McFatterson, Diaper Butt, Ginger Snap, and Peanut. She was born on October 6th... so when I came home to visit she was 5 months old. Past her larvae stage and utterly adorable. Some of my best moments at home were napping with her and Jenna on the aerobed.

Getting this borehole drilled has been trying to say the least. I went home for 3 weeks and arrived back in Malawi on Friday. Ideally, I would have preferred to hop on a night bus and get to Chitipa as soon as possible, but I needed to harass contractors in the capital for the well.

A few months back, the Chitipa District Water Officer referenced me to a man named Sikwese, a borehole contractor from Chitipa. I emailed Sikwese in November to set up a program. Weeks passed and no response. I didn't want to idly wait around so I returend to the water officer and obtained Sikwese's phone number. Same story. I would called Sikwese whenever I was in an area of cell phone service, but alas, no response. Miraculously, I got in touch with the man in January (two months later)... and he was conveniently in Chitipa visiting his family. Trying my best not to have an attitude, I asked him why he didn't return any of my emails or phone calls. He averted his eyes and giggled nervously, explaining that his Blackberry phone sometimes has problems. Really? That's the best excuse he could come up with? Looking in retrospect, I should have taken that as a red flag and tracked down another contractor, but I continued working with him. Bad move.

So Sikwese came to Msangano the next day at 8 am ("American time" I emphasized). We drove to the site to introduce him to village headman and scope out how accessible the roads were. The roads were acceptable, but Sikwese's interaction with the village headman was not. He barely acknowledged Village Headman Mamuswelo and gave off a standoffish vibe. From my experience, I've seen a big disconnect between people in the rural areas and people in the city. Sikwese is a man from the city who has a car, lives in a comfortable home, and has a salary. Obviously this lifestyle seems light years away to the people of Msangano. There's often a reluctance for people in the city to come to the villages, even when it's their job (i.e. building boreholes, teaching business, etc). I was getting bad feelings about Sikwese the more I saw him interact (or excuse me, barely interact) with the community. He exuded a harshness and bit of arrogance... however, we all were reliant on him to drill this well. After all was said and done, Sikwese told me he'd come at the end of January to drill the borehole. All I had to do was call him and ask when.

Now, it's about a 45 minute bike ride, through the dust and hills, to get to an area with cell phone service. I know I maintain a good attitude about most things... but doing that bike ride every day just to have my calls ignored is completely unacceptable. I would call and receive a "User Busy" response... meaning the man was screening my calls and blatantly ignoring me. I never realized how much I took direct communication for granted until meeting Sikwese. As it turns out, the project was going to be delayed indefinitely, and instead of telling me that, Sikwese was just ignoring me and hoping the problem would somehow disapppear. Two weeks passed and I borrowed a phone from my friend Will... thinking maybe Sikwese would pick up because it wasn't my number showing up on his phone. Sure enough, Sikwese responded with a chipper "Allo?" after the second ring.

I will admit I didn't do a very job at listening in that conversation.... instead it was me expressing my frustration with him for ignoring me, over and over and over. I didn't need to repeat myself as often as I did but I was worn down thin. Anyways, Sikwese apologized and told me to call him on Friday at 11 am so he could tell me when he'd come to drill. And ladies and gentlemen, what do we think happened when I called him on Friday at 11 am? "User busy". I continued to call him, fuming with each ring. He finally picked up and I lost it. I told him he was irresponsible, unreliable, and that the only reason he had his job was because he's a man. Yes, the last part wasn't relevant but it was a chance for me to get out pent up frustrations I've experienced with men in Malawi. So Sikwese was fired. And it felt pretty damn good saying, "You're fired!"

There's a huge fuel shortage in Malawi and the contractors I've been getting in touch with are reluctant to come all the way to Chitipa for just one borehole. If there were multiple boreholes to be drilled, it'd be more profitable and worth their time. Not only that, but Chitipa is the only district in Malawi with unpaved roads, and come rainy season, it's difficult to transport those big machines through the mud. Many contractors are saying their interested and will call me.... but have not followed through. It's seen as rude to tell someone "I'm not interested" or "I don't want to work with you". Which is driving me crazy because I'm being ignored and wasting my energy.

But, there is a bit of hope to all of this. I met an Indian man today who is doing borehole construction in Karonga, a district just south of Chitipa. Meaning instead of traveling 2 days from the capital to Chitipa, it'd only be a half day trip. He too seemed a bit wary about going to Chitipa, but I stayed in his office and wouldn't take no for an answer. And this sounds god-awful, but trying to smile at him seemed to help my case as well. He appeared to be the most direct with me as well, which I take as a good sign. So he said he'll email me tomorrow and see what he can do. I made it clear he needs to email me tomorrow (not next week) because once I'm in Ifumbo, no cell phone service or email. He looked at me quizzically and asked, "Why do you live there?", chuckling to himself. At this point I'm beginning to wonder the same thing myself....

So I ask for anyone reading this, please send positive thoughts into the universe for the Msangano borehole project. Say a prayer, do a dance, offer a slaughtered lamb. Because if these villagers were able to contribute 600 dollars in one month, and the people who read the Daily Breeze were able to entirely support the project in but 2 months, that has to mean something profound. So many of us are involved, please let's stay connected until it's a success. In the meantime, I promise to control my temper and do my best to be delightfully persistent. So please all, send out some good hope for all of this. It really will make this work.

Grandma (agogo) who lives down the road from me. She usually opens her mouth and shows me her missing teeth....

Dry Season, valley behind my house.

rainbow outside my door :)

glow girls. the afterschool club at the secondary school. we do skits on self-esteem and empowerment.

the ifumbo borehole

my little ones :) (suwi, abby, and joy)

my friend luckness.

To the Readers of the Daily Breeze, Melissa Pamer, and my family and friends,

Thank you, thank you, thank you for the support and interest you all have given to the borehole project in Msangano, Malawi. I am humbled beyond words at the tremendous response to the article Melissa Pamer wrote. The money you have donated will go directly towards constructing a deep, protected well at Msangano rural health clinic. Finally, safe, drinking water will be available for this vibrant, hard-working community. Your incredible support has demonstrated generosity, empathy, and concern. I am proud to be from the South Bay and it has been such a joy linking my hometown to the rural community that I have been living in for the past 15 months.

Wachi Nyondo introduced me to the people of Msangano in January of 2010. As Melissa mentioned in the article, Wachi has been “my everything” throughout this journey. Any project that I’ve been involved with has been identified by him. Because he is born and raised in the community, he knows which community groups are dedicated and serious. At the beginning of my service, Wachi kept telling me how Msangano community would be “verrrrry happy” if we managed to do a water project. Not knowing what I was getting myself into, I agreed to visit the mountain village. We walked for two hours under the hot sun, me trekking behind Wachi’s bouncing gait. When we finally arrived, we were welcomed by 700 people sitting in the shade of the mango trees. The villagers had prepared chicken, beef, and rice to say thank you... it was already assumed we would find the funds to build a borehole. The village headmen of the catchment area then greeted me and asked if I was ready to give my speech in Chilambya. Floored (and completely unprepared), I stood awkwardly, essentially introducing myself and saying I’d do the best I could to help, emphasizing that this borehole wasn’t guaranteed be a success. I was 21 and straight-out of college. What did I know about fundraising? Regardless of my warning, the people of Msangano cheered enthusiastically and I went home that night in a bit of a panic.

Months passed and I spent a lot of time with the people of Msangano, listening to their stories and observing their appalling water supplies in both the rainy and dry seasons. Children were suffering from diarrhea, the elderly were turned away from the health clinic (due to no available water), and women were exhausted from back-breaking hours of carrying water to their families. Water was a dire problem in Msangano, something had to be done.

While I often feel uneasy about my implications in the village (i.e. the Westerner coming in and “providing” solutions), this borehole project has helped transcend those worries. It honestly feels like I’ve done nothing, but in actuality, I’ve had the opportunity to exchange skills and see collective change led by Wachi and the Msangano water committee. I credit Wachi completely for his ability to assess and seek out dedicated community groups. Msangano ensured that they had gender equal leadership and have been 110% committed to bringing safe water into their community. They are the ones who fundraised 100,000 Malawi Kwacha (roughly $666) in one month, hauled river sand for incredulous distances, and molded bricks. I simply had the pleasure of getting to know them and figuring out how to collect the money. And what I realized is that it would be completely impossible on my own. Thank you to everyone back home who supported Msangano’s vision for clean water.

Wachi always tell me “little by little makes a bundle” whenever I tell him my frustrations with how slow development can be. He usually laughs at my “Americanness” and thinks I’m strange for making a schedule or focusing on a result. Being here has made me see, however, that good things can only come with patience, open ears, and empathy. A year ago, I would have never imagined how involved the South Bay would be with this project. Thank you Melissa Pamer, for your interest in writing the article and eager initiative to gather details. Thanks to my family and friends back home for being my rock and helping spread the word. And thank you to the readers of the Daily Breeze for the time you took to contribute to this project. Most of you don’t even know me or Msangano village for that matter, and yet you took the effort to help out. Because of your generosity, life for the people of Msangano can shift from one of survival to prosperity. More importantly, you’ve proved how interconnected we all are and how capable we really are to make positive change.

Thank you (Wasalipa sana),

Kara Bellucci

Every Peace Corps volunteer is issued a bicycle from the office before they move into their villages. These bicycles are mountain bikes from South Africa, complete with 6 gears and a tool kit. We were told over and over, “Do NOT lend out your bicycle in the village.” The reason being that the spare parts are also from South Africa (i.e. expensive) and only available at the capitol office. The local bicycles, in comparison, are dilapidated, one-geared contraptions. While I feel ostentatious riding a shiny mountain bike around the village, the gears are highly needed with all the hills in Chitipa.

Upon my arrival to Ifumbo, I kept getting an earful about Ethan, the volunteer before me. They raved about him being a “big, strong man” with “large muscles”. And just by being a big, strong man with large muscles, he was highly esteemed. Especially for his superhuman bicycling abilities. I was told he’d ride up the Ifumbo Mountains, no problem. A feat that I’m certain no one is capable of, even big strong men with large muscles. He also would ride to Chinunkha Secondary School twice a week and never have to walk his bicycle up the hills. When I’d intervene and explain that I can do the same, people would respond, “No Kala, it’s not the same. Your bike is soft.” (i.e. your bike has gears, i.e. you’re not as strong as Ethan). An acute irritation bubbled inside of me and I decided right then and there to make it my mission to bike all the Chinunkha hills, no problem. I biked through dust, I biked through mud, determined to make it up each and every hill. I started becoming obsessive; whenever my legs would shake and give out, I regarded it as a mini failure. This was all in the name of equality! I was my own activist, fighting for my own cause. And after a few months of consistent uphill bike riding, I was riding all the hills just like Ethan did, and feeling consequently smug and eager for people to watch me ride.

Months passed at site and I came to know people better, recognizing who was related to whom and remembering names. The requests for using my bicycle were becoming frequent, and not thinking much of it, I usually lent it out. Everyone shares here; I figured I should, too. Because people ride dilapidated, one-geared bicycles though, my shiny, 6-geared mountain bike was a treat. My bike would often be returned to me set on the most extreme gears, the brakes usually worn out (I need to give a lesson in brake pumping now). On one of my particular uphill rides, the chain kept skipping and I realized the gears were completely destroyed. I kept cursing at myself for being so inept at fixing things… I’m the daughter of a mechanic; I should have spent at least a little time working with my hands. Alas, I angrily pushed the bike uphill and Mr. Simfukwe, a teacher at Chinunkha CDSS, stopped to talk with me. We chatted about the weather, the students, and simple pleasantries. I was relieved; it took my mind off the bike, until Simfukwe broached the topic of Ethan. “You know, Kala,” he began, “Ethan used to ride all these hills, no problem. He was a big strong man.” Exasperated, I quickly interjected, “Simfukwe, I ride all these hills, too! I’m just the same! My bike is just having problems right now!” Simfukwe chuckled and replied the dreaded response, “Oh Kala, it’s different, your bike is soft.”

Le sigh.

If you do not appear African in Malawi, people will normally yell at you, calling you either mzungu (white person) or machina (Chinese person), sometimes alternating between the two just to get your attention. “Ma” is added before adopted English words. Examples include masweetie, macomputer, madraft, mawindow, matrousers, machair. When I ask my kids what they learned in school, they usually respond “masums”. Even Yotham’s neighborhood kids call him Maguy. Anyways, mzungu/machina rage is present in my everyday life, manifesting differently depending on the situation.

Situation 1

I’m travelling, carrying my overstuffed backpack in Chichewa, Chitimbuka, or Chitonga territory. Because my language in Ifumbo is a minority language, I’m usually out of my comfort zone and unable to communicate past the standard greetings. Children, teenagers, or men leer at me, yelling “MZUNGU! MZUNGU! MZUNGU”, bolder in numbers. I exhale deeply and trudge on. If the harassment continues, I can at least say “Iwe, basi!” (i.e. enough!). This however, amuses the perpetrator more and fuels louder “MZUNGU”s or “MACHINA”s. It’s kind of like an “It speaks!” reaction. If I’m not in a patient mood, I’ll throw rocks at the name caller. Usually though, I exhale heavily and buy a soda to placate my moods.

Situation 2

I’m in Chitipa, outside of Ifumbo where people don’t know my name. Someone comes up to me (almost always a man) and says “Mzungu, bo?” or “Machina, bo?” (Bo is the equivalent to Hey, a shortened version of Bonjour so I’m told). Feeling self-righteous, I look the name caller directly in the eyes to make him uncomfortable and say “Mutakakoleaghe ukuti mzungu! Ute we mufitu!” (Don’t call me mzungu! Your name is not black person!). The name caller then erupts into laughter and calls over all his friends and tells me to repeat what I just said. By this time, I’ve just drawn more unwanted attention to myself and walk away.

Situation 3

Chinunkha Primary School. A place I avoid like the plague. The problem is I have to cross the school yard whenever I’m biking to the boma or trading center. Imagine a sea of 300 children, dangling outside the windows, stopping in their tracks just to yell at me. “CHINNNAAAA! MACHINAAA!! MZUGU! WAYA KWI MZUNGU??!!!” (Where are you going, mzungu?!!). It’s awful, I’m usually covered in mud, dehydrated, and feeling pathetic. To make matters worse, they run after me as I cross the river by their school, watching in awe as I carry the bike on my shoulder (praying I don’t fall face first into the water). I’m way too outnumbered in this scenario; I just keep my head down and move as fast as I can. Otherwise, I’ll erupt and throw a tantrum… a mzungu spectacle for the children to talk about for days!

Situation 4

Ahh Ifumbo. My home. All I hear is “Mwaghona, Kala!” because in Ifumbo I’m a human-being with a name, not a light-skinned freak show. An occasional machina or mzungu may come about, from a child or perhaps a visitor. Luckily, I don’t have to say a thing; the community polices and protects me. And actually, they get pretty indignant about it, too. It’s a nice feeling. As I’ve been told over and over, it really isn’t a big deal to call out someone for being different in Malawi. But growing up in a nation where staring or mocking someone is a BIG no-no, it’s a difficult thing for me to adjust to. And I know I never will be ok with being called mzungu or machina, and that’s just ok. I don’t plan to spend the rest of my life in Malawi. Still more, the people of Ifumbo know it bothers me and they look out for me. So in the end, I’m a pretty lucky mzungu to have such a great community.

This was a very memorable Thanksgiving. Adam, Colleen, Briana, and Will (all Chitipa Peace Corps volunteers) came to my house on market day. Will and I had been busy writing out a Thanksgiving menu, shopping for produce, and collecting fancy ingredients from America (i.e. olive oil, gravy packets, instant stuffing, dried cranberries, spices). We loaded our backpacks with onions, tomatoes, potatoes, goat meat, bananas, mangoes, eggs, and cabbage. As we waddled home, we laughed at how much food there was going to be. Adam and Colleen arrived on transportation an hour later, proudly presenting us with a bloody bag of beef, fresh from their local butcher. Wachi’s wife Lucy was coming over in the afternoon with a chicken for us to roast as well. Goat, beef, and chicken… gluttony is what we do best. As the day progressed, we drank lemongrass wine from plastic cups, getting more and more giddy for the feast to come. Everyone was assigned a different task: mashing potatoes, stewing the goat meat, chopping mangoes, killing and cleaning the chicken. Wachi’s kids hovered around my house, excited whenever steak meat was passed around. It was a great day, Wachi’s family stayed to experience their first “Thanksgiving”. I told Wachi and Lucy they have to eat until they feel sick… it’s an American tradition. His little one Suwi fell asleep after eating, clutching a chicken bone. We ate out of a hodgepodge of silverware, dishes, and bowls. I saved the blue plastic plates and forks for Wachi and his family. My meal was eaten with a spoon out of a Tupperware dish. It was really fun, I felt so happy just looking around at everyone feasting in my little house. All the Malawians exclaimed how they felt like they were “in America!” eating all the rich food. It was a really special and memorable way to celebrate, and an affirmation how much Ifumbo feels like home.

Moto means fire. Let’s continue…

It was Monday last week around dusk. I had just finished a meeting with the AIDS ToTo Club at the secondary school. Listening to them sing and dance is always a joy. As I biked home, my thoughts began to wander and I realized I had only 9 months left in Ifumbo. 9! Single digits! With the end within view, I started daydreaming about possible options for post-Peace Corps. I could go to Nkhatabay and work at a lodge. I could extend another year in Ifumbo. I could try to find a job in Mzuzu. I could venture to Mozambique and get scuba certified. My excitement dwindled, however, upon the realization of my projects, or lack there of. As I’ve mentioned before, my expectations for myself have shifted considerably being here. Originally, I came to do a lot of great projects and help out in any possible way I could. As time progressed though, I realized this has been a journey for me, and I firmly believe it’s just as valuable to sit with someone and chat all afternoon as it is to build some monumental library. I can say out of many volunteers, I’ve been more resistant to pessimism because I have really wonderful relationships in my community to sustain. But on that bike ride, I started getting down on myself for my borehole and bakery project. Neither had really blossomed into fruition… and it had been more than a year. Simply stated, a “results-oriented”, American version of me was oddly coming out that evening.

My thought process continued when I arrived home. Zuba greeted me and absent-mindedly, I decided to burn my trash (a weekly routine). I received 2 packages that week and had a bunch of cardboard and empty bottles I needed to get rid of. I burn my trash in my outdoor kitchen because I don’t like making a scene. If I burned my trash outside, the kids would come around and try to take the bottles and miscellaneous papers, which would consequently makes me feel like the wasteful American with too much (which is true… but I don’t need to flaunt it). Anyways, as the fire was going I added some more cardboard (not wise) and went inside... still getting down on myself for my projects. Within minutes, my thatched kitchen roof was up in flames.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Panicked, I grabbed a bucket of water and tried hurling it upwards toward the flames. The water basically fell onto me, along with burning grass, searing my arm. The flame continued with vengeance. My efforts to extinguish the roof were futile and the flame hungrily jumped onto my fence and bafa (all made from the same dried grasses). Spiwe, a neighborhood kid, came by and watched me with saucer eyes. Angrily, I yelled at her to go get help, which probably sounded something like, “You kid! Go! Get your mom! Help! Arrrgg!!” Another minute passed and about 20 villagers were at my house, pulling down grasses from the roof and pushing down my fence so it wouldn’t continue to burn. That’s Malawians for you, this amazing, innate quality to help. I stood back, looked at the pink flames ablaze and felt like a complete idiot. All of Ifumbo could see this. The fire finally went out, leaving my yard in a mountain of rubble. Thankfully, nothing serious was damaged, except for my vines and plants. Spiwe’s grandmother came up to me, hunched over from years of farming. She took both of my hands into hers and looked at me with empathetic eyes. “Peppani, Kala” (I’m sorry Kara), is all she said and my eyes immediately welled up as I looked around at all the ash. I was planning a big Thanksgiving feast at my house at the end of the week and had no idea what I was going to do.

Wachi pulled down a tree branch and immediately started sweeping. He kept comforting me, telling me he’d find the grasses and get help. I started to help and but ended up hacking up a lung with all the dust. He laughed at told me to sit. As I watched him, so eager to help out, I asked him:

“Hey Wachi, do you remember last year around this time? I left for a training and said I’d be back in 2 weeks? And then I ended up being away from Ifumbo for 6 whole weeks?”

Wachi slowly turned to me and replied, “Yes muyemba, I remember.”

I sighed. “The reason I was gone for so long is because I didn’t want to come back to Ifumbo. I really missed America and was thinking about going back home. I was very unhappy here, Wachi. But when I finally came back, you greeted me immediately with a big smile. And then taught me how to cultivate. And then introduced me to the women’s group. And honestly, if it wasn’t for you and your family, I would probably have left Ifumbo. You do so much for me, keep me happy, and give me so much…”

My voice trailed off and I started to tear up. It’s not culturally appropriate to cry, but I figured what the hell, Wachi means the world to me and thinks I’m a weirdo anyways. What difference would a few tears make? I would have loved an eloquent, on-the-spot speech to have blossomed, just to properly convey how incredibly important Wachi and his family is to me. Wachi got embarrassed at my tears and replied, “Oh muyemba, you don’t have to worry about your kitchen. We will fix it! I can find grasses. And your projects, you know, things just work slowly here in Malawi. Panandi panandi, little by little makes a bundle, eh? You know, you chat with the villagers and have a good heart. Don’t worry, don’t be upset.”

I sat there amazed. Worrying about my “work” progress is a big factor to why I absent-mindedly burnt my kitchen, bafa, and fence down. And yet here was Wachi encouraging me. He wished me goodnight and went home and I sat inside, exhausted, covered in ash, and ate an instant TV dinner that my Grandma sent me. Within minutes, I was fast asleep.

The next morning, I woke up to the sounds of Wachi coughing. He was diligently sweeping my yard, removing the rubble. It turns out he was up until 4 AM looking for grasses because they are so scarce this time of year. That’s Wachi for you. Goes out of his way to make sure you’re happy and well. I sat overwhelmed, thankful. How was I ever going to express how much I appreciated him? He told me that he hiked a mountain to find network and called Mr. Banda, the Peace Corps Safety and Security Officer. Calling Mr. Banda had crossed my mind, but with no network, I quickly forgot about doing it. Mr. Banda thanked Wachi profusely for all his help and joked that he was a better Peace Corps Volunteer than me because he checks in with the office. Oops, haha.

That afternoon, I made tuna melts (without the cheese of course) and had an American lunch with Wachi and his family. They were elated…. So was I. Wachi kept smiling as he ate his sandwich and triumphantly proclaiming, “I am in America! We are the Nyondo family, the black Americans!”

In two days, the kitchen, bafa, and fence were completely refurbished. After living here for some time, that kind of efficiency is unheard of. Wachi was even planning on going to Lilongwe that week to visit his relatives, but decided to stay in Ifumbo so he could help me. An incredible man, a family man, a man who has devoted more time than anyone I know in Malawi to make sure I’m happy and comfortable. It was very humbling, it made me realize how much more damage could have occurred if 20 people didn’t show up, how at a loss I would be to get everything rebuilt and collect materials, and how connected I am to the community, especially with Wachi and his family.

Abon is a really good kid. Ok, he’s 20, he’s only 2 years younger than me, but he feels like a little brother I never had. We both like to joke around with each other. I mentioned how I learned Spanish in school and he comes over from time to time with his notebook, asking for me to write out Spanish. I call him Senor Sanchez and we greet each other in Spanish whenever we pass each other.

It was a Sunday afternoon and I had just gotten back from church, feeling exhausted. It wasn’t the usual singing service and Wachi and his family weren’t even there. So I sat for 4 hours on an uncomfortable, backless pew, listening to Reverend Kalagho preach and yell up and down the aisles…. probably about the sins of premarital sex or the frivolousness of gender. I ended up sneaking out… however, I’m sure being who I am in Malawi, I wasn’t all that inconspicuous. All I wanted was to read to have the afternoon to myself. Within minutes, I heard an “Odi! Odi!” at my door. Who was waiting for me? Abon, with a big smile.

“Como estas Kala?” Abon eagerly greeted.

“Muy bien Abon, y tu?”

“Ahhh muy bien!” He literally said through his smile. “I came to show you my guitar!”

Abon showcased his 4 string-handmade guitar. I welcomed inside and he began to play. I recently inherited a drum from a friend and decided to have an impromptu jam session. Well, before I continue, let me say that I have zilch musical talent and accepted the drum because I wanted to look cool… and it looks nice in my house. Abon started teaching me simple beats, ones they play at funerals or the traditional dances in the fall called Maripenga. I focused really intently and started getting frustrated. My head could process the beat but my hands would spaz out. I started to feel like I was 16 on the high school basketball team again… thinking way too hard, fearing a mess up. Before I knew it, Abon started laughing uncontrollably.

“What? What is it?” I demanded.

(Laughter continued).

“What Abon? What’s so funny?”

Abon finally gained his composure. “Oh Kala, your face was so serious, that’s all! The drum should be fun, you play from your heart!”

“Well I’m not Malawian!” I snapped.

“Just relax, try again.”

Soon enough, a smile escaped me. This was supposed to be fun; I was only making myself angry. And you know what? I got the beat down and we had a jam session! About an hour later, a smile spread over Abon’s face and he asked about the wine recipe I received from Peace Corps. I wrote it down for him and he happily thanked me. He then asked for a cup. Now, this homemade wine is potent, and I wasn’t about to let him stumble out of my house to his grandmother. So I gave him half. When he was done, he laughed and asked, “Perhaps I should drink some more?”

“Go home Abon!” I laughed.

He’s a good kid, and promised to keep it a secret that I have bucket wine at my house. After all, if he told, he wouldn’t get to drink it anymore.

Christina’s visit to Ifumbo was a really nice one. We hiked the mountains, made Zuba dance, cooked extravagant meals on a paraffin stove, and chatted with the neighbors. But most rewarding was her teaching the Twiyule Women’s Group sustainable design! Christina spent six months in India working for an organization called Conserve India, where they fused plastic bags, old bike tires, and other types of trash to make hand-bags, wallets, and other products. Trash is a problem in Malawi. There isn’t sufficient infrastructure for proper disposal of waste. People throw their plastic bags (jumbos) anywhere, littering wherever they go. I’m guilty of it, too. When Mom and Dad came to visit, they were horrified to see me throw a bottle out of the car window. The thing is though, when there aren’t trash cans available, you litter out of convenience. Everyone else is doing it. When we stopped along the way to Chitipa, my parents asked the postmaster if there was a trashcan available. He laughed and said no. They proceeded to tell him how you can be charged a fine if you litter, which he found hysterical. It’s a big problem…. But in a country where one out of every eight people is infected with HIV, safe drinking water is a privilege, and maternal mortality is ever rising, litter doesn’t take a precedent. Malawi is a beautiful country, with lush rolling hills and a gorgeous lake. It won’t stay that way if the litter continues. Once again, another battle. And being seemingly the only one who will take the time to find a proper waste bin can seem miniscule. Yet it is one step in the right direction, and that in turn influences others which leads to change.

So Christina instructed the women to collect plastic bags lying outside the Ifumbo market place. The ground is covered in them… and if Christina hadn’t pointed it out, I would have never noticed how beautiful the shades of blues and greens they come in. After collecting the bags, the women washed them and hung them to dry. Then they cut them into long strips which we tied together and then crocheted! It was a great afternoon, they were so excited to learn from Christina, who they endearingly nicknamed “Kiri”. Plus the restless babies got to play with all the bags which kept them entertained. Christina was impressed with how quickly they learned to crochet…. And I felt really proud, too. It was a great experience, first Kim taught them to bake pumpkin bread and then Christina taught them sustainable design. It was a memorable and fun afternoon.

a blood orange sun ascends upon the sleepy village

and the mango tree awakens

stretching her arms in a thousand thankful directions

alive and well

an emerald foliage nestled between the northern hills

birds flutter and trill

as the brown grasses crackle into the fire

morning smoke

foreshadowing the heavy day’s heat

as the October earth lies withered and hardened

aching for the cool azure rains

of a December memory

abundant transformation

of wet, rich organic growth

meanwhile,

mothers meander along the dirt paths

pounding, shoveling, balancing, ridging

their backs swollen with bundled babies

all the while singing and swaying

to the rhythms of their tireless ploughs

Mama Malawi

She rises before dawn

to a world of imagination

a world of desperation

to a people rich with laughter and song,

her language rolls and blossoms

into a brilliance we all belong.

Vaida’s wedding to Kelvin Mushani was a lovely day. The two have been together since they were in secondary school, and as Kelvin sweetly explained to me, marrying Vaida on September 3rd was his “dream come true”. When Kelvin was in Form 4 (i.e. his senior year), he spotted Vaida at school. Immediately, he went to the local reverend and claimed that he wanted to marry “that one” because she was so beautiful. The reverend approached Vaida the next day, explaining that she had a suitor. Vaida was only in Form 2 at the time and opposed getting married before she graduated. The reverend relayed Vaida’s wishes back to Kelvin (who mind you, still had not introduced himself to Vaida). Kelvin agreed to wait for Vaida to finish school and in the meantime, moved to Lilongwe to pursue a career as a police man. When I asked Vaida if she wanted to marry Kelvin, she laughed and said initially no, but explained that he had a good career and would provide for her. More often than not, marriage is for practical reasons. Love hopefully develops with time.

People often scold me for being American because divorce is so prevalent in our country. As a local reverend explained to me, divorce is common in America because “women don’t know their place in the household and try to make too many of the decisions”. Interestingly enough, his eldest daughter is pursuing a university degree and he tells me over and over again how important it is for her to have a career and make her own decisions. People and cultures are complex, especially in an increasingly connected and developing world. Such holds true in terms of gender. When I talk with young women here, there’s this incredible pressure to find a career and be independent, basically emulating Western, post-feminist notions of being a woman. At the same time, there is a flagrant expectation to provide for the family and obey your husband. It’s always a struggle for me to separate my reactions and ideas of gender when listening to others. For example, Vaida would tell me over and over how she hates the idea of not finding a career and being expected to start bearing children once she’s married. She tried a few months back to find a job teaching, but with the limited jobs available in Malawi, she stopped searching. Kelvin has essentially made their decisions, asking Vaida to move to Lilongwe and live in the police housing with him, away from her grandmother and family. From the village perspective, this is an amazing opportunity for her to leave the rural community and live in the city. From my individualistic American perspective, it saddens me because Vaida’s agogo (grandmother) means the world to her and I know how much Vaida loves Ifumbo. Kelvin even decided that their wedding was to be in Lilongwe instead of Chitipa, meaning Vaida’s family would not be able to attend due to the distance. When I asked Vaida why she didn’t say something she responded firmly, “It’s not a wife’s duty to argue with her husband.” I can tell when she would speak to me that she believes this is the best decision for her…. and as much as I can disagree, it probably is. Following your own happiness can be a very selfish pursuit, especially in a collective society. So I figured the best I could do is to be there to support Vaida in her wedding and wish her the best.

So the morning of September 3rd came around, and Christina, Allegra, and I set out to find the Service of God Pentecost Church in Area 24. Dressed in our conservative, springtime finest, none of us had a clue where we were going. Soon enough, we started to sweat under the hot sun as the dust billowed around us in unforgiving clouds. Typical, I can’t stay clean for more than 10 minutes. I winced as my shiny black flats pinched my toes, the same flats I hadn’t worn since our Peace Corps staging conference in Philadelphia last year. We all frantically waved our hands at the speeding cars, hoping someone would be nice enough (or at least curious enough) to pick up three white girls trying to make it across town. A fancy business man pulled over and kindly gave us a lift to the bus depot, where we were swarmed by aggressive, loud men asking where we needed to go. Upholding an expatriate facade, we talked down a taxi driver from 6,000 Kwacha (total rip-off) to 1,000 Kwacha to take us to Area 24.

The taxi driver drove up a windy, unpaved, dusty road and dropped us off at an open-air brick structure. Confused, I asked if it was the Service of God Pentecost Church and he vehemently said yes, asking for his money. We all climbed out of the car and I timidly peeked inside to see if it was indeed Vaida and Kelvin’s ceremony. Nope. I smiled awkwardly at a sea of perplexed Malawian faces and galloped away. It was now 9 o’clock, one hour after the ceremony was supposed to start. And I wasn’t a hint worried. I’ve been lost countless times in this country but someone always offers help when you need it. Sure enough, an eager policeman asked us where we were going and escorted us to the church, smiling smugly for making an appearance in town with three azungus. We answered the usual questions as we walked (i.e. What is your original home? Are you married? Where do you stay? Have you met Obama? Etc) Twenty minutes later, we finally arrived, even more dusty and sweaty. It wasn’t a problem that we were late; all we missed was the main sermon of a gesticulating, passionate reverend speaking in tongues. Vaida looked absolutely beautiful in her long white gown. And yes, I started tearing up. Amazing how weddings do that to people. They exchanged vows and kissed, yes kissed in public! In a country where handholding in scandalous, it was a shock. I was excited though, way to go Vaida!!

We were asked later to join Vaida, Kelvin, and their court in the photography session. We uncomfortably protested but lost. Having a white person at your Malawian wedding is unfortunately considered a huge honor, and so we joined the others, mismatched in the photos. It was Vaida’s wedding and whatever made her happy was most important. It wasn’t the time to go into a political conversation. As we watched Vaida and Kelvin pose for their photos, Allegra looked at me and mentioned, “Kelvin seems very gentle with Vaida.” Indeed, it was true. He held her hand whenever possible, smiled at her sweetly, and carried the train of her dress wherever she went. It was so apparent in his actions that he really loves Vaida and cares for her. It comforted me and made me happy to watch.

The reception came later that afternoon, taking place in a large dance hall with almost 400 people. Coming from Ifumbo, I’m certain Vaida was overwhelmed. Allegra, Christina, and I were all cashiers, meaning we picked up the money that was thrown around for the couple. Malawian weddings circle around money. For almost three hours, music would play and people would dance in groups to throw kwacha bills at the couple. The announcer would run up and down the aisles, encouraging people to come up multiple times and donate more for the couple. Even when I came back to Ifumbo, all everyone asked me was “How much money was at the wedding?” At one point in the wedding, the announcer explained that Vaida had three very special guests from America. She told the audience that we were going to present our gift and the crowd roared with applause. Great, they were probably expecting us to present a new car. Shyly, we gave Vaida a box of See’s Candies and a picture frame. Modest but thoughtful…. Vaida knows I have a meager allowance. I also got to see my other friend Ellen at the wedding as well, who looked beautiful as always. She’s currently going to school in Lilongwe, finishing up her degree in Rural Community Development. I feel so lucky to have made close friendships with young women here, to share experiences and learn. It was a memorable day in Malawi, to see how universal love is celebrated across the world.

Zuba is my best friend in Ifumbo. Really. I come home and tell him about my day. When I lay on my belly to read, he sleeps curled up on my back. I buy him dried fish twice a week and feed him powdered milk. I give him ear massages. Sometimes, I even make him dance (and he docilely puts up with it). About a month ago, I was leaving Ifumbo to travel to Lilongwe to pick Christina up from the airport. Zuba was scampering around the fields but I thought nothing of it, he always comes back at nighttime. Wachi called me a few days later, however, telling me that Zuba was no where to be found. Stillmore, I didn’t worry. Cats are smart; they do their own thing and know how to take care of themselves. Two weeks later, I returned to the village only to discover that Zuba was still missing. Wachi came by, explaining that the neighbors complained of hearing Zuba crying at night but were unable to catch him, he was too quick. I figured since I was home now, he’d make his way back…. Right?

Two days passed and I began to get worried. Christina and I even went out at night, searching by moonlight for my little man. No Zuba. I didn’t want to regard him as lost but it still hurt to have hope over something which I had no idea of the outcome. People in my village think I’m crazy, I call Zuba “umwana wane” which means “my child”. Animals are not doted on with affection and love like they are in America. I started brainstorming, planning to send the neighborhood kids out on a search party, promising them an entire cake if they find him. Christina kept trying to comfort me, but I grew more upset with each day. I know, it’s just a cat, but when you live in isolation, the sadness magnifies like no other. I was not unlike Tom Hanks with his volleyball, Wilson. Maybe not so dramatic, but still upset nonetheless. I even took a bucket bath at night in the freezing wind, just in case Zuba should decide to show up. I was feeling hopeless and started thinking about my days as a summer camp counselor, and about a certain camper I had.... we'll just go ahead and call her Jennifer. Jennifer was extremely sensitive, always holding my hand, kissing my belly (that’s where her mouth reached), and telling me one time that when two girls didn’t want to play with her, it “hurt [her] heart”. I started thinking about how Jennifer would feel if she lost her cat…. And consequently identifying with her. You know, that raw, hollow pain you feel as a kid when the world seems broken. There’s nothing jaded or filtered, just this bottomless sadness that you fear will never go away. That’s how I felt about the damn cat. I was just so sad, he’s my wee man.

Wachi came by three days later, excitedly telling me that his kids spotted Zuba up in the mountains behind his house. He told me to come by later in the day to see if Zuba came down to the house. That afternoon, Christina and I crossed the river to Wachi’s house; I consciously tried my best not to get my hopes up. As we approached the house, however, Wachi greeted us with a huge grin and pointed to his verandah. There scampering about was my wee Zuba! My little man! Skinny and covered in fleas and ticks. According to Wachi, Suwi went walking around calling out “Zuba! Zuba!” Zuba responded to Suwi and the two took a nap together, Zuba laying on Suwi’s face on a chair. It was the best part of my day, sitting on the couch with Suwi and Zuba on both sides of me 

Christina and I spent hours pulling ticks out of Zuba and then gave him a bath. He was a trooper but looked so pathetic like a drowned rat. All is well now, Suwi saved the day and I have my yellow cat back!

This is Agnes Nyondo. Agnes is 56 years old and lives in Mubanduke village. Mubanduke is one of six villages located in Msangano catchment area. Located on the border of northern Malawi and Tanzania, Msangano has 754 people but no protected water source. People dig shallow wells or use local streams for their water needs. As a result, preventable diseases such as cholera, dysentery, and diarrhea plague the community year after year, primarily targeting children under five, pregnant women, and the elders. During the rainy season, Agnes draws her drinking water from highly contaminated streams. It is not uncommon to see cattle drink and defecate in these streams, not to mention people bathing and washing their clothes as well. The rains also cause runoff water from pit latrines to leech into the soil. This soils the drinking water found in shallow wells, further perpetuating disease. During the dry season, nearby streams and wells wither up. This is a major problem during the months of August, September, October, and November where women may be forced to walk up to 7 kilometers to find water. If walking is not an option, community members will beg from neighboring villages and pay a fee for each bucket of water. Not an easy option when you live on less than 4 dollars a day.

To address this serious problem, the people of Msangano have formed a water committee under the supervision of their Group Village Headman and Peace Corps counterpart, Wachisa Nyondo. Their main objective is to construct a borehole at their rural health clinic to secure a reliable, protected water source. In March 2011, the water committee mobilized the community to sell beans, maize, and cassava as their community contribution. They successfully fundraised 100,000 Malawian Kwacha, or 666 US Dollars in only 4 weeks, demonstrating their determination to make this borehole a reality. The water committee has also been working in conjunction with the Chitipa District Forestry Office to plant a nursery around the borehole. The roots of these saplings will help raise the underground water table, ensuring the water stays accessible all-year round. Officers from the Department of Water and Sanitation will also conduct trainings to educate the community on how to maintain and repair the borehole, thus adding to the sustainability of this project.

The people of Msangano community are requesting assistance from the Peace Corps Partnership Program to assist with the machinery and technical equipment needed to construct a borehole. Msangano has a population of 754 people and no protected water source. The World Health Organization states that one borehole should be available for no more than 250 people. Constructing a borehole will raise capacity for community members, especially for women like Agnes. Because they won’t be consumed with finding safe water and treating disease, women like Agnes can cultivate healthy families instead. A dependable water source will provide more free time for income-generating activities, education, and farming. Life for the people of Msangano can shift from one of survival to one of livelihood and prosperity. Access to safe water is a basic necessity that no one should be deprived of. By clicking on the link below, you can donate to this project and help make this borehole a reality for the people of Msangano.

www.peacecorps.gov/donate

To locate my specific project, please type in my identification number: 614-232. That number to will identify the Msangano Community Borehole Project. Anything you can contribute will be most appreciated, we must raise $6,613.34 before construction can begin. Thank you for your support, if you have any questions you can email me at kmbellucci@gmail.com or my mama at tbylvr@aol.com.

Also, if you’re looking for ways to make your donation go even farther, check with your employer to see if they have a matching gifts program; many companies match donations dollar for dollar. Furthermore, consider forwarding this email to anyone else who may be interested in supporting me. Remember that gifts supporting this project are tax-deductible!

Please feel free to contact the Peace Corps office directly at 202.692.1682 or 1.800.424.8580 x2170 with any questions you might have. Your support will go a long way to aid my efforts in Malawi.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your support!

The measure your character in Malawi by the number of visitors you have in your home. Today was a lovely day. I woke up this morning with nothing to do. I sat in the happy corner of my living room, drinking Zambian coffee and listening to people greeting each other as they passed by. Zuba stretched and lazily reclined in a sun shadow on my floor. Shortly afterwards, I heard an “Odi!” at my door. Who could it be? Manuel, Abigail, Joy, and Suwi,Wachi’s four minis. Suwi was sitting on Manny’s shoulders and lit up upon seeing me, shouting “Kaloo!” (She’s still learning to how say my name). I ushered the kids inside and they splayed upon my floor, chattering away in Lambya. I responded with my usual “Oohoo’s!” and “Eeee’s!” to whatever they were talking about (I wasn’t entirely sure). Manny was mentioning eating sweet potatoes for breakfast and Joy chimed in. I’m hopeless with Joy. She speaks incredibly fast and has a lisp…. But I smile and act engaged nonetheless. We played with Zuba and danced and sang songs in my living room all morning. It lifted my spirits.

Later, Mirrian and Emily, my two students at Chinunkha (also the girls selected to travel to Camp GLOW) came by. We played Banana-grams on my floor which they adored and I made them spaghetti. We had a tutorial in how to eat noodles, which ended up in an eruption of giggles. I mostly listened while they chatted away, half in Lambya, half in English. They insisted on doing the dishes but I told them no, they were my visitors. As I scrubbed the plates and listened to them chat about their upcoming classes, a serenity overcame me. I hadn’t left my house all day yet I was lucky enough to have so many people come by.

At first upon moving to Ifumbo, I wouldn’t let anyone in my house. We were told to set boundaries from the get-go. Being Americans, people are obviously curious and often assume we have fancy, expensive things. We were told to make our house a home, to create a place where we can be ourselves and unwind. My house is my sanctuary; it has been the place where I would escape to when I got frustrated and tired of being treated so different. Now though, I don’t feel that way. My house is still my sanctuary but more so, it is the place I want to share with people I care about. I obviously don’t let everyone into my home, but those who I’ve made a special relationship with are most welcome. The women’s group comes into my home, Wachi and his family, Vaida and Ellen, the Mukhondia family. And I like it, a lot. For the first time, I have my own space and I love sharing it with others and feeding people. It creates a more authentic, closer connection with my community. I feel very fortunate to have visitors in Ifumbo.

Doctor John is the Peace Corps Malawi doctor. He lives in a fancy home, a home with a wine rack, refrigerator, carpet floors, oven, microwave, running water, cable TV, and electricity (plus a generator in case the electricity goes out). Because he has a real job and a nice house, he lets us volunteers stay with him when we come into Lilongwe. Our only cost is that we cook for him… which is a delight since he buys the expensive ingredients (i.e. mozzarella cheese and whipped cream).

I always feel a bit self-conscious when I first enter his home. I feel dirty and out of place. To shed light, yesterday I left Mzuzu city (the main city in the north) to travel south to Lilongwe. The dusty roads, humid air, and dilapidated minibuses left me exhausted and down-trodden from the long day. I got lost making my way to Doctor John’s house, which is off of Chayamba Road. The conversation with the bus driver went as follows:

Me: “Muli Bwa! Ndipita ku Chayamba Road.” (How are you? I’m going to Chayamba Road).

Minibus Driver: “Eh?” (What?)

Me: “Ndipita ku Chayamba Road.”

MD: “Eh?”

Me: “Ndipita ku….. shit…. I’m going to Chayamba Road. Chayamba.”

MD: “Eh?”

Me: “Cha-yam-ba. Chayamba Road.”

MD: “Ooohooo! Chilambu!”

Me: “No, no, no! Not Chilambu, Chayamba.”

MD: “I’m not getting you….”

Me: “Cha-yam-ba. Cha-yam-ba”

MD: “Ahhh! Chayamba, you should have said so!”

Me: (Curse words swirling in my head)

Well it turns out he didn’t know where Chayamba Road was. I was dropped off on the opposite end of town instead. I allowed myself to get flustered for about 15 minutes and then continued on. Such is life… having an American accent is difficult to be understood. Our vowels are more restricted and British English is taught in Malawi. Anyways, I finally make it to Dr. John’s house, exhausted and filthy. I immediately put down my bags and stepped into his real bathroom, with hot, running water. As the water ran, my dirty feet started making brown water puddles along his immaculate tile floor. To my dismay, I realized I accidentally stepped on his bathmat and left a brown footprint. The bathroom soon started flooding and I couldn’t figure out why… until I realized the shower curtain was outside the tub instead of inside. Yes, yes, I forgot about that tidbit. My shower at home is a thatched, grass fence… give me a break. I soon stepped into the shower and noticed there was an adjustable shower nozzle. What a novelty! Like a kid in the candy store, I got excited at the prospect of trying out different water sprays. Instead I managed to pull the entire nozzle off of the hose and water started spurting everywhere. Panicked, I quickly started to screw the nozzle back on, but it was too late. The mirrors, walls, and ceiling were adorned in water. I finally managed to take a decent shower, yet it looked like a hurricane hit Doctor John’s bathroom when I was through.

With big eyes, I tiptoed past the kitchen where Doctor John and a few other volunteers were chatting. I quickly hurried to the towel cabinet to clean the mess, but it was too late. Doctor John found his flooded bathroom and started laughing uproariously. He smiled and said “Oh Kala….”

Was he mad? Absolutely not. Because from 2000 to 2002 he was a dirty, bucket bathing volunteer in Trinidad and Tobago, and he too remembered all too well.

Back from Camp GLOW and I am on a complete high right now. 61 girls from all over Malawi traveled to the central region for a week long girls' empowerment camp. The theme of this year's camp was "Take Charge" which correlated with each specific day. Monday's day was themed Take Charge of My Self, in which we had workshops that covered themes of gender vs. sex, communication and body language, and self-esteem. Tuesday was themed Take Charge of My Heritage. On this day, we discussed role-models and invited influential Malawian women to speak with the girls. The highlight was Chimwemwe Banda, a well-respected anchor woman for TV Malawi. Other speakers included Dr. Mary Shawa, the Principal Secretary for Nutrition, HIV AIDS, Thembe Thadzi, the director of Malawi's National Youth Council, and Asana Magombo, the director of Go Girls, a national organization dedicated to empowering young women and girls throughout the country. My friend Ellen from Ifumbo even came as well. Even though she's not working, she's well-known in Chitipa for being a great studetn and role-model. Wednesday was themed Take Charge of My Future where we included a career panel for the campers, workshops on goal setting, and a session on pursuing higher education and careers. Thursday was themed Take Charge of My Body. On this day, our sessions covered topics relating to reproductive health, healthy relationships and sexual practices, and HIV/AIDS. Friday was themed Take Charge of My Choices where the girls talked about human rights, democracy, and public speaking. On the final day, Madam Callista Mutharika, the First Lady of Malawi, came to speak with the girls and encourage them to stay in school, make healthy choices, and be B.I.Ws (Best in the Worlds... an acronym she created). Two campers were selected to give a speech to the First Lady and ten were chosen to ask Madame Callista questions. All of them were thrilled because the event was broadcasted on the news for their families to hear.

Three of my girls from Chitipa were selected to attend Camp GLOW this year. One of them Mirriam, has never left her village and was absolutely elated. It was amazing to see the girls arrive one week ago, shy, overwhelmed, and quiet. By the end of the week, they were outspoken, singing, dancing, and happily proclaiming their ambitions and dreams. My role was the counselor coordinator at the camp. It was my job to select 6 Peace Corps counselors, 6 Malawian counterpart counselors, and 6 junior counselors (girls who had attended Camp GLOW last year). We held trainings on how to facilitate workshops and support the girls, especially since many topics were sensitive and needed a safe space for the girls to process. Our Malawian counterpart counselors were dynamic, passionate women, I couldn't be happier with them. Patricia works as an accountant, Betty as a coordinator for a Human Rights organization, Assiatu as a youth counselor, Chengatai as a community IGA advisor, Kate as a primary school teacher, and Fanny as a recent college graduate. All were absolutely wonderful with their girls. Coming from the same culture, these women the backbone of the camp. They were able to bridge ideas, share their experiences and challenges, and inspire their campers. Patricia spoke on Wednesday, telling the girls how she attended Camp GLOW in 2004. Two days before she was supposed to attend, her father passed away. She was in terrible mourning but explained that something in her was telling her to attend. As it turns out, she was invited the following year to be a junior counselor and finally came back in 2011 as a counselor. She advocates that GLOW changed her life and encouraged her to go back to school and find her career. The junior counselors were magnificent as well. When we met on Monday, I asked the girls what the junior counselors what role the JCs had last summer. They all mumbled nothing. It was important for me for the JCs to be peer educators so we practiced all week with public speaking and peer education. On Friday, they all prepared a workshop on democracy to present to their campers. It was incredible seeing them stand up in front of their peers and confidently speak. One of the junior counselors Tizo came to me in the middle of the week and asked that she could speak to all the campers. Happily we agreed and Tizo hesitantly stood in front of everyone. Tizo explained that she wanted to tell her story to Camp GLOW. Tizo is HIV positive. She contracted the disease when she was a baby from her mother. She now lives with her aunt in the north. Tizo's life is not easy, she wakes up at 4 AM to farm in order to sell her maize so she can pay for her school fees. Despite her challenges, she has dreams to becoming a nurse because she is so good in biology and mathematics. By the end of her speech, we all were in tears. Tizo inspired and touched me. Her life has been challenge after challenge, yet she remains positive and open to share her story. She is an incredible young woman, someone who I know will resonate with me for the years to come.

Last night was a candle lighting ceremony which was emotional to say the least. All the girls went around, lighting their candle and saying a few words. Living in a village for a year, it's easy to detach yourself from the pain and hardship the rural poor endure, especially with young women. Though I'll never know what it's like to be a young, Malawian girl, there's something really powerful about being a woman and sharing experiences together. As women we know how hard it can be to love yourself, how hard it can be to find your voice, how hard it can be to travel confidently towards your dreams. At the same time, we all shared this amazing bond in just one week, calling each other sister, looking to the counselors as both mother and sister figures. We shared ideas, inspired each other, and supported each other in an environment where we could be ourselves. It was an incredible experience, without a doubt, the best week I've experienced in Malawi.

Location: South Luangwa National Park, Zambia

A huge highlight of Mom and Dad's trip to see me! The animals were spectacular, our days consisted of waking up early to drive around the park, arriving back to the campsite to relax at the pool, and going out again at night to see more animals. Absolutely spectacular.... the animals were sooo close!!!

Finally arriving from a bumpy, dusty, 6-hour drive from Zambia, Allegra and I collapsed into our plush twin beds at the Kiboko Hotel in Lilongwe. Compliments to Mom and Dad’s money, I got to invite a friend on the South Luangwa safari where we spotted elephants, giraffes, bushbucks, and leopards. It was Mom and Dad’s last night in Malawi and we were all spending it at the swankiest hotel in Malawi. It’s a known fact amongst Peace Corps volunteers that if your family (or anyone with a full-time job) comes to visit you, you take them to the Kiboko Hotel and lapse in the arms of luxury. At the Kiboko, you can relax with a hot shower, gorge on the full-English breakfast (1,800 Malawian kwacha… that’s nearly 18 US dollars, yikes!), pocket the sample shampoo, and sip on a Savannah cider in the hotel’s lounge, decked out in lively African textiles. While I was caught up in the world of comfort, my fellow Peace Corps volunteers were being eaten alive by mosquitoes down the street at the Budget-In, a low-end hostel comparable to our meager allowances.

“Soak it all in, Kallah. Come tomorrow we’re back in the village,” taunted Allegra playfully.

I glanced at my girlfriend and rolled my eyes. “Can’t you let me enjoy my bwananess in peace? We still have one more night, dude!” (Bwana being the colloquial, Malawian term used to describe a rich person in the city).

But Allegra was right. Mom and Dad’s flight to Joburg was tomorrow morning, meaning once the parental s were gone, my simpleton life of cold bucket baths, candlelight, and soya pieces smothered in faux ketchup would swiftly return. It had been an absolute whirlwind vacation, travelling all the way to the northernmost tip of Malawi- my little, village called Ifumbo. Mom and Dad were celebrities. We stopped in my trading center Lufita (approximately 12 miles from Ifumbo) to buy some onions, and by the time we arrived in the village, news of their arrival had already spread like wildfire. Everyone was elated to meet them and amazed that they had travelled all the way from America. It was impossible to walk more than 15 feet without stopping to greet someone and exchange hellos. The women laughed uproariously as Mom attempted to greet in Lambya, the men were shocked to find out that Dad had no sons. We were welcomed into several homes to eat nsima and meat, a demonstration of high honor and respect. How we managed to eat and greet so many vivacious, eager families in 2 days is beyond me… all I know is that I was utterly exhausted. 2 days wasn’t nearly enough time. I joked with Mom and Dad that their stay in Ifumbo was the busiest I’d ever been in my village. So much for my usual lazy afternoons, watching the sun sink heavily behind the Chitipa mountains as I digest patties of consumed nsima.

While it was amazing bringing my parents to Ifumbo, I couldn’t be happier finally relaxing at the Kiboko Hotel. With so much travel and chatter in the past week in a half, all I wanted to do was sleep until dinner. Glancing over at Allegra dozing off, I could tell she had the same agenda. Suddenly, I was roused wide-awake.

“Damn it Allegra, I promised Tata Malongo that I’d call him once we all reached Lilongwe!”

Allegra opened one eye. “Whh…Tata who? What?”

“Tata Malongo, Wachi’s uncle,” I sighed, “He’s the one that lives in Lilongwe with his wife… remember, I told you, I walked forever with Wachi to get to their house last December? They live by the Crossroads Hotel? And they fed me chicken?”

“Oh, yeah yeah yeah, I remember. So are you going to call him?”

“Uhhh, I don’t know. I know I should….”

And I knew I should, it would be rude not to call him. But this was the first time we all could relax in a long time, considering the last time we were at the Kiboko the electricity and hot water was gone. Our days were filled with seemingly endless driving, dodging goats, pigs, drunk teenagers, and bicycles. Not to mention our 8 hour fiasco in Mzuzu where we waited all day for diesel. Thanks Malawi fuel shortage! Walking uphill for an hour (not to mention dragging my along parents, who I’m sure also were tired) just to find Tata Malongo’s house was not appealing to say the least. On top of that, I had only been there once and would probably get us all lost and frazzled. At the same time, Tata Malongo had been calling me regularly since we met in December, checking in with me and always asking when he was going to meet Mom and Dad. Neglecting him would be wrong.

“Why don’t you send him a text? At least if they don’t get it, you know you tried,” suggested Allegra.

A text! Brilliant. Immediately I started clicking away on my key pad:

Hi Tata Malongo, it’s Kara. All back in LLW, let me know if youre free to meet up. If not, no worries at all! Thanks!

Ah, indirect communication at its finest. 5 seconds later, my phone rang.

“Kallah, it’s Malongo. How long are you and your parents in Lilongwe?” demanded Tata Malongo.

“Oh, hi! Umm, just for tonight, my parents fly out tomorrow,” I meekly replied.

“Aiiii!” Tata Malongo exclaimed, one of the many vocal influxes prevalent amongst Malawians. “Then you all must come to our home tonight for nsima,” Malongo stated emphatically.

Ek. The thought of that hour, uphill walk to the Crossroads Hotel was not something I was looking forward to. Especially since it’d be dark in a few hours. Making an executive decision, I blamed my parents:

“You know Tata Malongo, my parents are very tired from the long journey today from Zambia. I don’t think they would want to walk all the way to Crossroads Hotel tonight. We’re at the Kiboko Hotel if you’d like to come see us though.”

A slight pause. “Then we have no choice but to come into town to see you. What room number are you?” He questioned.

“Uhhh, 7, but wait, what time…” Click. A funny quirk about talking on the phone in this country. People buy units of air-time by a national company called Air-Tell. These unites are bought in increments, meaning talking on the phone is a to-the-point-no-fluff endeavor for those units get used up fast. No free weekends or family plans for cellular Malawi. Talking on the phone is to the point, hellos and goodbyes is simply wasted money.

Two hours later, the Malongos arrived at the Kiboko lounge, where Mom, Dad, Allegra, and I were enjoying a drink. Tata Malongo was sporting a button up shirt and a tie, and Mama Wachi (his wife) wearing a long dress. Startled, I placed my beer behind a couch cushion, not entirely sure the appropriateness of drinking liquor in front of this older couple. We all shook hands, exchanged introductions, and chatted happily about Ifumbo, the current political affairs of Malawi, the differences between America and Malawi, etc, etc. I even showed the Malongos pictures of Wachi, Lucy, and his four minis, which brought smiles to their faces. As the conversation started to dwindle, Tata Malongo’s expression turned very serious. Directing himself towards Mom and Dad, he began, “You know it was very important for us come here and meet you, very, verrrrrry important.” I smiled politely, noticing his furrowed eyebrows as he stared deliberately at the floor in front of him. Tata Malongo continued, “We want to thank you both for encouraging your daughter to come here to Malawi. She has left Los Angeles, the second-biggest city in America next to New York.” Tata Malongo’s eyes sparkled. “I still remember learning about geography back in secondary school.” Laughs all around. “It isn’t easy living in the rural areas,” Tata Malongo professed, “It isn’t an easy thing at all. You know, most Malawians who leave the villages for the city don’t even return to see their families. They only care about themselves and stay in the city. Living in the rural areas is not easy, it is not! It is not an easy thing! If I could, I’d be back in the rural areas helping the community, but unfortunately my health is poor and cannot manage. So we thank you for letting Kallah live in Ifumbo to help the community. Verrrrry much.”

My eyes grew large, stunned at his words. There have been both wonderful and terrible moments in Ifumbo. The terrible moments vary; maybe it’s when a kid mocks the way I talk or when I hear a villager say, “You know we Africans are not as (insert positive adjective) as you azungus are” over and over. To see an interaction as “terrible” is also contingent upon my moods that day. Regardless, the common thread is feeling misunderstood. As my Aunt Darlene told me, it’s daunting to feel like you’re doing anything worthwhile when you’re just drop in an ocean of social change. Being the only light-skinned, American in a rural village(not lf-doubt, and has lead me astray from the inspiration that brought me here in the first place.

But here was Wachi’s uncle telling me living in the village is difficult, validating every petty time I wanted to be understood. Here was a man thanking me for taking the risk to be here, encouraging me that I am perhaps helping others. Tata Malongo smiled slightly, “You know, I myself have been taught by Peace Corps volunteers. Ms. Cockridge for Standard 7 physical science and Mr. Adam Jones for English. They encouraged me to continue with my education, and though they may never know it, they have done great things and helped me make a better life for me and my family. I have 7 children and have put each one all the way through school. So thank you, for sending your daughter here. You could have said no, but then me and my wife, Wachi, and Ifumbo would have never known her.”

I stared dumfounded, processing Tata Malongo’s words. His 5 minute appreciation shattered this shell of negativity that I didn’t realize I had even developed. I felt exuberant, refreshed, and overwhelmed. True, I’ll never see the impact my service will have… but I prefer it that way. In this sense, I’m not tempted to see myself as the hero, as the Westerner, and the one pushing her way. Instead, I’m an active member in a process of illumination, both my own behalf and maybe for those around me. Illumination is sitting with Lucy and Wachi’s four kids, shelling maize in the early morning. Illumination is hearing the women sing and shout “Mwaghona Kallah!” as they pass my home. Illumination is being apart of community with so little to the eye but so endless in generosity and love. And maybe there’s illumination on the flipside. Maybe inviting Mirriam Kapesa, the shy girl in my form 3 Class, to Camp GLOW, will illuminate her voice and choices as a young woman. Illumination is to share and understand people around us. And no matter how vastly different cultures may seem, all any human-being wants is the same: family, comfort, respect, dignity, and love.

So Tata Malongo, you keep thanking us that night, but really, my appreciation is for you. It’s been a year of stumbling around in the dark, question after question. Thank you for affirming why I’m here and opening this experience to one of illumination and answers.

Site visits are special mini-vacations for Peace Corps volunteers. Usually they can be disguised as a “business trip” so our vacation days aren’t tallied up by our bosses. For example, I am on a very important business trip as I write this blog entry. I travelled all the way down to the central region to visit Allegra and to teach her AIDS support group how to make masweeti imbalala (the peanut brittle the women of Chitipa make). Not only is this a business trip, but a cultural exchange as well. I came to Allegra’s site and have learned how to make authentic Indian curry, caught up on the latest with Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte from Sex and the City, and have acquired a few words in Chichewa (the language spoken in the central and southern regions). Our evenings normally consist of some homemade lemongrass wine and shadow dancing. Site visits keep us all sane. When I get ti , when I feel burnt out by the thought of another year, when missing home becomes too strong to ignore, a site visit is the perfect remedy. At Allegra’s site I can unwind, laugh at silly encounters, and just feel like Kara again. It’s enough to refuel and go back to site refreshed.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to all who have sent me letters and packages! I can’t emphasize enough the joy I get opening a package and hearing about all your lives back home. It’s like having mini-Christmases throughout the year. Maybe there will be seaweed and rice-crackers from Kaede and Akiko in Japan. Maybe there will be Pantene Pro-V hair conditioner from Mom and Dad. Maybe there will be a photo collage of the Lore family, with Rachel Lore sporting her PVBA basketball jersey. Maybe there will be candy from Mrs. Nielson, my third grade teacher, who encourages me to “sustain from time to time. Maybe there will be a newspaper from Aunt Janet and Uncle Mike. Maybe there will be southern cooking magazine from Rosemary in Alabama . Maybe there will be new novels from Mrs. Brown. Maybe there will be Haribo German candy from the Guilleaumes. Maybe there will be a new cat toy for Zuba. Maybe there will be vegetable seeds for gardening. Maybe there will be freeze-dried fruit to bake with. Maybe there will be a sketching pad and sweet letter from Jill in Santa Barbara. Maybe there will be a bundle of letters from the UC Davis Women’s Rugby team. Maybe there will be spices from India from Christina. Maybe there will be olive oil, more canned tuna, and other snacks from Trader Joe’s. Maybe there will be soap and lighters from Grandma. Maybe there will be soy face wash and nice smelling lip balm from San Francisco. Maybe there will be new PJs from Kathleen. Maybe there will be nail clippers so I don’t have to rip off my hangnails anymore. Maybe there will be a new jar of protein powder! The list is infinite; please know how grateful I am for all of you to put forth the time (and money) to send me a package. I appreciate your generosity beyond words, thank you, thank you for keeping me connected to home.

Also, I’d like to send a very special hello to Rachel Jorgenson. I hope you’re enjoying your summer with Julia and Ben and getting very excited for your first year of high school in September!

A lot of volunteers have mentioned that the projects they find most successful or rewarding are usually the anomalies that fall into place. The Chinunkha AIDS Toto Club is a perfect example. A few students came up to me some months ago, telling me about their HIV/AIDS awareness club. They were really excited to tell me about all their ideas, of the dramas, skits, and activities they wanted to perform around the community. I agreed to help out with them and came to their first meeting. They prepared songs, dramas, poems, and skits for me, it was really exciting. Our first big event was scheduled for market day. They showed up eager at my house on a Saturday morning. They had spent all month preparing and absolutely blew me away. They ventured around the market singing and announcing their dramas. Everyone in the market was intrigued as the students passed by. Quickly, their performance gained popularity and over 200 people gathered to watch. It was really cool to see. The students have also performed at two primary schools. We're hoping to extend their group to the district level, hopefully connecting them with the National AIDS Council or District Youth Office. Their great kids, hard working and positive.

Team Photo

April 26th marked a very exciting day. It was the 10th year that my mom turned 39 and the day that Kim Bui, my college roommate from UC Davis, flew into Lilongwe! Kim went off to study abroad in Ghana shortly after I came to Malawi. Her original plan was to go back to the states when she finished her semester abroad, but that plan turned into her exploring the pyramids of Egypt, shoveling frozen camel poop at a farm in Austria, teaching English in Slovakia, and finally hanging out with me in Ifumbo. It was so great catching up on the past year and how much that had changed in such a short period of time. Kim flew in from England and showered me with a cornicopia of snacks- pudding, oreos, cookies, juice boxes... it was glorious. We meandered our way up north along the lakeshore. Our first stop was Nkhatabay, a funky backpacker's district, with lots of reggea music, dancing, a swimming. We decided to take out a dugout canoe one day but failed miserably at maneuvering it. Our final solution was to have Kim sprawl out on the front of the canoe while my lanky arms tried to paddle. It worked, kind of. We ran into random ex-pats throughout the country... often seeing them multiple times as the weeks transpired. The ex-pat enclave in Malawi is an unusual one. My favorite expat is a 47 year old British man named Phil. He's a haggard man who lives in a lodge in Mzuzu. He rarely wears pants, only a chitenje cloth wrapped around him like a long skirt. The last time we saw him, his toenails were painted purple....

Anyways, everyone was elated to see Kim in Ifumbo. She was the celebrity visitor. Wachi came by the moment we got home and exclaimed, "I heard you and your visitor were traveling on the vehicle to Ifumbo!" A few days later, we bought a chicken for Kim to slaughter as a rite of passge for her being in Malawi. Kim did a magnificent job, she placed on foot on the wings and the other on the feet and sliced away. Her chicken however, was a bit more fiesty than mine and hopped around bloody and headless for a few seconds after she killed it. We both screamed in terror and delight.

The time that Kim has been here has flown by. I can't believe it's already been 6 weeks. Having her here reminded me of how much I missed life back home, how comfortable and easy it was to be around people you love, in a stable environment. It definitely made me question my decision for being here (again). With her, I had someone I could really trust and just openly say "I'm having a hard time here... I miss home." At the same time, just letting that out was this huge weight lifted off my shoulders. No more pressure to say my life is wonderful here all the time. I have wonderful people and wonderful experiences, but at the end of the day, it's still tough. Having Kim here helped me see things more holistically. She flies out on Tuesday and I'll be sad to see her go, but feeling so refreshed to have the opportunity to show her my life here. Mom and Dad will be flying in on the 19th.... updates to come, maybe photos of them with giraffes :)

Wachi and Kimbo

Killing the chicken!

Teaching the women's group how to make pumpkim bread

The kids playing drums with Kim

My "Look Mom, I'm in Africa!" photo

Lucy and Wachi

Malawian Washing Machine

Suwi and Zuba... quite possibly the two cutest creatures in Ifumbo

My Form 3 Life Skills Class

View of Ifumbo from Wachi's porch

Me and My Maize Farm

Allegra

My closest friend in Peace Corps. We were put together in the same village during our homestay experience during pre-service training. Every morning, our amayis would send us off to language classes with snacks. Allegra and I would pass each other on our way to “school” and we’d swap snacks, hugs, stories about our host families, and complaints about our bed-bugs/diarrhea/stomach problems. When I’m with Allegra, I feel completely at ease. She’s soft-spoken but provides this comfort like no one else I know in country. Allegra’s site is in the central region so I only get to see her once every two months. Regardless, we can talk for hours about anything and everything or sit around in peacefully in silence. A favorite activity of ours is watching ‘Sex in the City’ marathons on her laptop. We get sucked into this imaginary world called “New York City”, and usually get angry at Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte for having fabulous lives and outfits. Allegra came up for my birthday this past month and we’ll be seeing each other in April on the lakeshore. She’s wonderful, I’m so lucky to have her.

Vaida

Vaida has the sweetest, most gentle heart. I met her back in October in Ifumbo. Often, female PC volunteers express frustrations about their interactions being primarily with men in their community. Many women in the villages don’t continue on with their education due to early marriages, meaning they are less-confident in speaking English. I’ve been told over and over again how lucky I am to have a friend of my age and gender in Ifumbo… and it’s completely true. Often I’ll come home from teaching to find Vaida napping in my hammock with a hot meal she cooked for me. She is convinced that I’m going to starve because I don’t eat nsima everyday. Vaida has not only been a comfort for me in site but she’s given me valuable input on my projects, especially in regards to working with young women. I didn’t anticipate having such a close friend in my community, someone who I can laugh and joke with and feel like me, not the American volunteer. It’s refreshing how vastly different our lives are and yet how close our friendship has become. Vaida is getting married this August and has invited me to be one of her best bridesmaids. From what she has explained, it sounds much like a quincinera. I’ll be in a court, learn a choreographed dance, and wear a special dress. Pictures of the wedding will be posted as soon as possible… but realistically, that won’t be until November or so.

Yotham

Yotham lives in the Chitipa boma and takes care of all of us volunteers when we come into town. His door is always open to us whenever we need a break away from site and just a place to relax. Yotham has the most generous spirit. When I mentioned casually that I needed empty Fanta bottles to hold my candles, Yotham surprised me the next week with wooden candle holders. He’s always going out of his way to make sure I’m happy and comfortable at his house, whether he cooks for me or puts on movies for us to watch. Us volunteers like to cook for Yotham, his favorite dishes are spaghetti, pancakes, and biscuits and gravy. Yotham is also a huge Dolly Parton fan and a favorite activity of ours is singing off-key to “Islands in the Stream”… usually two or three times in a row. Life in Chitipa wouldn’t be the same without him.

Phil

Phil was the first person to welcome to me to Chitpa. When I came up visit in August, Phil met me in Mzuzu (the biggest city in the north) and took me to my site (i.e. talking me through the atrocious transport of Chitipa district). The very first time I biked to the boma last October (roughly a 3 hour trip), I was exhausted and overwhelmed. My brakes had given out and I ended up walking the bike uphill for most of the way in the hot sun. I finally arrived in town after 5 hours of traveling, frustrated and unsure of where I needed to go. To add insult to injury, I fell off my bike into a ditch and was convinced I was going to cry right then and there. At that moment, Phil coincidentally came up and smiled with understanding eyes. He took me to Yotham’s and bought me a beer. That is quintessential Phil. He finds you when you need it most and comforts you like no other. My first three months at site were really rough, learning how to adjust to everything. Hands down, Phil was the one who kept me positive and willing to push through. I often harass him for being ‘old’ (his 30th birthday is this month) and he consequently calls me Fetus. Phil’s goofy humor can make my keel over with tears in my eyes. We like to sing songs while he plays guitar, our favorite is “Most Beautiful Girl in the Room” by Flight of the Conchords. Phil unfortunately is now located in Lilongwe (a 2 day trip for me), but he still remains one of my closest friends in country.

The Nyondo Family

Ahhh the Nyondos! Wachi and Lucy, and their minis: Manny (11), Abby (8), Joy (4), and Lusubilo (1) or Suwi for short. They are my adopted family across the river. Some of my most comforting moments in Ifumbo have been just sitting on their porch looking out at the green valley. It can be overwhelming interacting with kids here in country, often because they look at you like you’re a freak of nature. The Nyondo kids, however, see me as me, and we love to play Chinese jump rope or tag. The kids are actually the biggest help for me with my Chilambya. I’m always given fresh maize or nsima whenever I go over see the Nyondos. The sweetness of their family life is invaluable. It’s comforting beyond words having a family to go to in the village. I know when I look back on my life in Ifumbo, the love the Nyondos have given me will resonate for the rest of my life.

Last Thursday I was waiting for the Motela Mama’s to come to my house to bake at their usual time- 2 pm. 2 o’clock became 2:30, 2:30 became 2:47, and eventually by 4:16 I realized they weren’t going to show up. The day before, I biked to Chinunkha Secondary School to help out with a girl’s club, but when I arrived, the school was deserted. As it turns out, there was a football match in a neighboring community and all of the girls had gone to support the Chinunkha team. Two let downs in two days. I swayed in my hammock, agitated and disappointed. When I get into bad moods, I’ve recently started talking to myself in second-person. I explain what precisely is triggering my mood in order to take a step back and not get upset. This time, I pulled out my journal and wrote down all the reasons I was feeling crappy that afternoon. The process was cathartic and soon enough, I filled up 3 journals pages. My list goes as follows:

You are feeling upset…

Because it’s been two let-downs in two days. Because you’ve been waiting around all day, restless. Because for the first time in your life, people tell you that you’re fat. Because your cat screams at you like you’re the worst person in the world when you don’t feed him dried fish. Because you’re American and want to see results with the community projects. Because there’s no cell phone coverage in your village. Because your language skills are plateauing. Because you’re growing resentful toward men. Because you’re hard on yourself. Because your feet are perpetually dirty. Because you’re mildly malnourished and your skin doesn’t heal anymore. Because your diet is so deficient in protein that you greedily eat chicken bones and suck the marrow. Because as much as you say you’re not, you’re lonely. Because you’re misunderstood. Because you want so bad for this to work. Because you’re afraid you’ll lose your spark. Because you want to grow. Because you put too much pressure on yourself to grow. Because you’re still figuring out your role here. Because you miss home. Because you would give anything just to have dinner at home with Mom, Dad, and Jenna and have Toby begging for food. Because no one stared at you in the U.S. Because there weren’t constant fruit flies and mosquitoes in your apartment back in Davis. Because you have to cook on firewood- or spend a third of your monthly allowance on paraffin. Because you’re here to work with women. Because you’re exhausted and covered in dirt and sweat after riding your bike to school. Because you don’t want to admit when you’re struggling. Because you haven’t had a decent shower in almost a year. Because of Malawian time. Because you miss feeling normal. Because you miss carpet floors. Because pictures are the closest thing to comfort. Because despite having an adorable home, all you can think about is sharing it with people you love. Because your best friend is a cat. Because you come home and talk about your day to your cat. Because white bread and powdered milk has become a luxury. Because you want to gain more confidence from this experience. Because you want to feel apart of the community. Because you miss Mom  Because your current novel is mediocre, and there’s roughly 500 pages to go. Because candles are expensive, and it gets dark by 6 pm. Because you miss Japanese food. Because you miss your life in Davis. Because you wear the same dirty cargo pants and sports bra nearly every day. Because despite your efforts to look asexual, you still get offended when you hear “Alini mwanavuli pamo mukulo?” (Is that a man or a woman?). Because biking uphill for an hour in the rain has become a weekly endeavor. Because you find decapitated lizards throughout your house. Because villagers repeat whatever your say in Chilambya and laugh, rather than respond to you as if you’re human being. Because your go-to meal is rice and dehydrated soya pieces. Because you poop into a hole. Because people don’t understand you have barely enough money for food. Because your studentsw try to enter your house just so they can brag about it to their friends. Because it pains you to see girls and women talk no louder than a whisper to men. Because the line between Malawian culture and your emotional reactions can be a hard one to distinguish. Because people ask you for things because you are an azungu. Because this list seems never ending. Because men can act like total clowns on market day when they’re drunk. Because an empathy for others (i.e. Americans, Asians, the mentally ill) can seem non-existent in the village. Because kids use a nasally voice to mock your American accent. Because men come to your house and ask “What have you prepared for me?”. Because you’ve substituted a pantry, fridge, and sink for plastic buckets. Because you’re learning to converse in a district that speaks over 24 languages. Because a major side-effect of your malaria medicine is an over-active bladder…. Enough said. Because nsima has no nutritional content. Because your arms are 10 shades darker than your legs. Because a letter from home can either make your cry or dance around the house. Because you spent 15 minutes admiring a newly-made, lopsided stool. Because you talk to yourself... often. Because kids run away from you, screaming with a mix of delight and terror when you approach them. Because you wanted these challenges to grow and be a better you. Because you want to be here.

It’s been six months now that I’ve been living in Ifumbo. Six months living on my own, making my house a home. About a month ago I realized it was time for me to move on to the next step- to acquire a roommate. The process was fairly simple; I casually mentioned to a neighbor that I was looking for a cat. Mice are a big problem during the rainy season and I was tired of finding chew holes in my clothes and sweeping up pellet droppings each morning. Three days a later, a brown maize sack was delivered to my house by my friend Benton (who is 7 years old). Confused, I opened the sack to find a golden hairball curled inside! It was love at first sight! It was my new roommate, Zuba, which means sunshine in Chilambya. Zuba is the name of a popular Zambian pop song, a favorite I like to dance to at night. Zuba’s my new best friend; we take naps together and lounge in the sunshine every morning. He has a knack for biting my toes and whining at 5 in the morning, but other than that, things are going great 

There are 5 volunteers located in the Chitipa district- Phil, Adam, Colleen, Briana, and me. We get a lot of flack for being so isolated up north. Whenever we venture down south to Lilongwe, we encounter the usual retorts from the “city” volunteers (i.e. “Oh, you live in Chitipa? Well I guess I’ll never see you again….”). The meandering, unpaved roads to our district make transportation really difficult. It’s not unusual to have to get out of the vehicle and push it up muddy hills as you travel into Chitipa. While some volunteers in country have site mates roughly 1K away from them, my closest site mate is a 5 hour hike up a mountain. Hours and hours of biking and walking is the norm to get from place to place. Personally though, I think we have the most street credit of all the volunteers Malawi. Despite being so far away from each other, we meet up in our boma (the district capital) once a month for family dinners. Each of us has quite the trek to get there, whether we walk for hours through blazing hot valleys or desperately clench our bicycle brakes as we cycle down steep mountains. We stay with our friend Yotham who cooks for us and houses us. He conveniently owns a bar as well ;) The boma is the place where we can relax, let off steam, be silly, and just feel like ourselves. Yotham is from Zambia and has been taking care of Peace Corps volunteers for the past 10 years in Chitipa. We jokingly call him the King of the Boma. He’s taken in 5 orphan boys to pay for their school fees and usually bosses them around to draw water for us, buy us tea, etc, etc so we can be lazy. Our days usually consist of lying around, watching movies, and eating Chips Mayeye. Chips Mayeye is a dish from Tanzania which is fried potatoes surrounded in an egg concoction, topped with cabbage and tomatoes. The secret ingredient is Red Gold, a chili sauce made in Arusha. It’s our comfort food and can be eaten morning, noon, or night… sometimes all three if we feel ambitious. Our boma trips are like mini-vacations from site; they keep us sane and give us a sense of family. As always, I get harassed for being so young because everyone is 28 and older. The Chitipans have lovingly nicknamed me Fetus. Of all the regions, the Chitipa kids are hands down the coolest. We’re so far away from everyone that we make sure to look out for each other. I love Chitipa, I couldn’t imagine my service anywhere else.

Hello all! I'm writing from Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi. My weekend has been a constant intake of food- chocolate soft serve, pizza, Chinese food, chicken, yogurt, pinapple.... I'm overwhelmed with joy :)

Anyways, I'm a committe member of an amazing camp called Camp GLOW. GLOW stands for girls leading our world and is an annual camp organized by health volunteers in Malawi. It's an empowerment camp for young women, below is a link to the website:

www.campglowmalawi.com

Watchi and I have been working with a group of 12 women from Motela Village, a neighboring community across the Ifumbo River. Watchi introduced me to them because he knows that community is hard-working and governed by a very motivated GVH (group village headman). So far, so good. We’ve met three times to discuss ideas for potential income-generating activities (or IGA for short). What we’ve decided on for our first project is peanut brittle because it’s simple to make and requires few resources (i.e. groundnuts and sugar). Every time we’ve held a meeting, it’s been on Malawian time. For example, if the meeting is set for 2 pm in the afternoon, it realistically won’t start until 4 pm. As long as I bring a book, I am happy…. Something fun usually unfolds in the waiting process. Three Thursdays ago, a meeting was scheduled for 2 pm at my home for a cooking demonstration. Around 1:52 pm it started pouring buckets of rain. The rains here are the heaviest I’ve ever seen. To put into perspective, I can fill up 3 big buckets of water in a matter of 10 minutes. To my surprise, all the women showed up at my house around 2:15, drenched in water with babies strapped on their backs. We all huddled into my kitchen and they laughed at my futile efforts to make a fire (I still have not gotten the hang of it). I used as much Lambya as I could, proudly implementing the vocabulary of a 3 year old (“Put pot on fire! Boil!”) They helped me make a huge fire and we had our peanut brittle demonstration, followed by a short business plan for the months to come. They even selected a president, vice-president, secretary, and treasurer for their group!

The peanut brittle is called “Masweeti Imbalala” which means peanut sweets. The women gave the sweeties to a man with a grocery stand to sell. As it turns out, the sweets have been so popular that the man got angry at the women, saying customers were only coming to buy the treats and not his products! The women decided to sell their products on market day. They are saving up money so they can purchase wheat flour and we’ll make banana and pumpkin bread. Very excited, more updates to come 

The stories I mostly share on this blog tend to resemble a chapter from Chicken Soup for the Soul (i.e. a funny or challenging situation which unveils a heartwarming ending). While these stories have indeed occurred, I’ve been spending a lot of time reflecting upon the difficulties I’ve encountered as a Westerner in a rural, Malawian village. This has consequently sparked questions about the impact my presence is having in my community… and about international aid in general.

My expectations for my Peace Corps service have changed drastically between now and my application process back in the States. During those last few months at Davis, I thrived off the attention from others. I was a mini-hero, being congratulated for “doing good work” and “being so selfless”. Every time someone would ask me what my post-graduation plans were, I’d simply beam with excitement. I was 21 and about to embark on a huge adventure overseas. I remember daydreaming in class about sauntering through my village, being warmly greeted and conversing in the local language. In my thoughts, I envisioned myself as mature, worldly, and humble.

The first three months passed at site, and to be frank, I was pretty miserable…. my original vision for myself seemed unreachable. Everywhere I went, I was stared at, mocked, and treated like a non-human being. I say “non-human” meaning that no matter what I did, it was a spectacle. People were shocked when I ate a banana, laughed me when I carried water, and surprised when I shook hands the Malawian way (kneeling slightly and a finger snap). Children ran after me wherever I went. When I tried to play with them, they’d run away in terror… often laughing uproariously. All of us volunteers were warned that the first three months would be the hardest, and it certainly held true in my case.

Time has passed and my community has grown accustomed to the strange “azungu” living in their village. I’ve started taking language lessons which has helped my integration and comfort at site tremendously. When I’m away, I find myself missing my community and neighbors, which is such a refreshing feeling. As I mentioned before, the biggest thing I want to accomplish in these two years is feeling connected with the community. If I can call Ifumbo my home, then I did what I wanted. Back in the States, however, I had a very different idea of personal success. I was tired of learning about social inequity in academia. Peace Corps was my chance to put my passion for social justice into action. I imagined success as working tirelessly through community outreach. That idealism was underlined by what I now see as selfishness. I wanted to be famous and feel appreciated in my village. I wanted to be that smiling volunteer in all the Peace Corps brochures.

While I’m not undermining my passion for working with the community, I’ve been awakened to my impact (which is often negative) of being a white American in Malawi. Automatically, I am regarded as the most intelligent, extraordinary person due to my outward appearance. My neighbor Abon, for example, is a 17 year old boy who comes to my house to practice English. He’s told me how much he loves talking with whites because they are all so smart. He explained how he hopes to one day “think like a white man”. When I’m in town, people whom I’ve never met have come up to me and asked me to be their best friend. Objects like televisions, computers, and even expensive foods are called “mzungu” (which means white person) in the local language. In November, Watchi escorted me around the community to survey various people and ask about problems they face in their community. Suddenly, I was seen as an engineer who could fix a broken monkey bridge. I was a donor who was asked to pay for the school fees of the orphan children. I was a doctor who was asked to give medicine to elderly woman suffering from malaria. I was continually thanked by the people for all I’ve done…. which at that time was virtually nothing. In that moment, I was repulsed by the attention I dreamt about back in Davis. It felt undeserving. My appearance in Ifumbo makes me a celebrated figure, while in reality; I’m just a college grad trying to learn how to be.

I read an article in the New Yorker that criticizes international aid, claiming it produces more harm to the host culture than actually helping it. The article argues that aid further perpetuates the idea of Western world dominating over developing countries, continuing dependency rather than encouraging efficacy. It even mentioned the Peace Corps and gave examples of young adults telling respected village headmen how they should better cultivate their farms (going against centuries of tradition). I do in fact see some of this here in country. Many volunteers are often too eager to start projects… and if they haven’t thoroughly assessed their community (and what the people really need), these projects will fail. I think there’s a strong American sentiment to be the best, to be the volunteer who can build the biggest orphanage or fundraise the most money. At the end of the day, it makes us feel like our time was worthwhile and we contributed. I’m no different. It’s exciting to share with my family what I’ve been working on when I get the chance to talk them. What’s difficult for me to interact with, however, is an ever-present inferiority complex expressed by many Malawians. Examples I’ve heard are “We are just Africans, we are not hard working like you Americans” or “We Africans have jealous hearts, so many of us will fight to be your friend because you are an azungu” or “You are the most beautiful girl here because of your long, straight hair”.

So where does that leave me now? Certainly not jaded, but more aware of the negativity my presence can have on the host culture. I said it before; I can’t change colonialism, racial divides, or inequity. At Davis, I was surrounded by like-minded, idealistic people… I never had to challenge or question myself like I do now. All I can do is be cognizant of my impact, both positive and negative, and place value in simple interactions. Laughing with the amayis, conversing in Chilambya, being given fresh maize after harvest… these are the things that will resonate with me when I look back on this experience. My expectations for myself have altered from being a hero in the village to just being simple me; and I think that’s really cool I’ve learned how to be flexible and open for change.

For most of us, we’ll probably never see the positivity that will come out of our Peace Corps service. My favorite illustration though, is our technical trainer Ezra who helped us out back in July. Ezra was really well-respected, he was dynamic, knowledgeable, and had a warm, encouraging disposition. He was great support for us during our homestay experience. On the last day of class, Ezra explained that he came from a poor family outside of Lilongwe. In secondary school, he had a Life Skills teacher who encouraged Ezra to continue on with his education and pursue HIV/AIDs outreach. This volunteer was a Peace Corps volunteer. Realistically, that volunteer probably will never know the impact he/she had. Same applies to me. It’s no longer important whether I “make a change” (and see it) because that positive change is happening within me right now, just learning to live in the moment. To me, a successful afternoon is just walking around my village, chatting about the rains, and feeling a sense of home.

Two weeks ago I started teaching at the local secondary school, about an hour bike ride from my house. The teachers gave me Form 3 students to instruct, which is the equivalent to High School juniors in the States. I’ve been teaching Life Skills on Tuesdays and Thursdays for an hour and a half. Life Skills covers a range of topics, including nutrition, gender, healthy relationships, HIV/AIDS, family values, decision making, communication skills, and sex ed…. Still not sure how brave I feel about teaching that last one. My agenda for the first day was a “getting-to-know-you” session with an interactive activity. On each corner of the room is a sign that either says Agree, Disagree, Strongly Agree, Strongly Disagree. Statements were to be read and the students would choose a corner accordingly. Examples were “There is pressure to drink alcohol at my age”, “I have a lot of responsibilities at home”, “I often feel different than my peers”, etc. About 10 minutes before I was about to enter the classroom, the headmaster informed me I would be teaching 95 students. 95?! My palms were immediately drenched in sweat and I started to prepare for the worst. What if they refused to listen? What if they threw paper planes at me? What if they fun of the way I talk? (A common endeavor from the pre-teens in my village… they learn British English in school, so American English tends to sound nasally when we speak). I tried to placate my worries so I enter the classroom confidently and enthusiastically. Immediately upon opening the door, all the students stood up to respect me and greet me with big smiles. Most were sitting on the floor due to lack of desks. I gave my go-to introduction schpeel in Chilambya and they all applauded and laughed uproariously. Every time I called on a student to talk, they stood up to give their answer while the rest of the class listened attentively. I was in utter shock… I never imagined a class of 16 year olds could be so respectful. No doubt it would have been at least 10 times more difficult to control a classroom of American students (at least from my experiences at Peninsula High). We did the activity and all the boys gravitated toward one corner of the room, and all the girls to the other. They refused to budge and mix up for two rounds. I looked around the room and asked if everyone had the same experiences as teenagers. They vehemently said no and I probed further, “Then why would we all be standing together for the past two answers if we are different?” After that, they moved around the room and seemed very engaged, which was really cool. They’re great kids and I’m really looking forward to working with them for this school term.

Watchi Nyondo is my counterpart in Ifumbo village. Meaning he is the man who has been helping me assess community needs (via interviews, surveys, and various outreaches), meet with traditional leaders, and conduct meetings. Watchi is 30 years old and was born and raised in Ifumbo. He’s active in several community groups, ranging from orphan-care groups, irrigation groups, and fertilizer distribution groups. His house is across the river from my backyard. Every morning he comes to my house to greet me (he usually laughs at my disheveled hair and the dirt and ash smeared across my clothes… compliments of making Jungle Oats on firewood). The conversation usually goes as follows:

Watchi: Mwaghona muyemba! (Good morning sister)

Me: Mwaghona Watchi! Abana buli? (Good morning Watchi! How are your children?)

At this point, a huge smile spreads over Watchi’s face and he slowly replies:

Watch: Ahh muyemba, they are just right.

And the Nyondo children are just right! There’s Manuel who is 11, Abby who is 8, Joy who is 4, and Lusuwilo (which means faith in Lambya) who is 1 year old and by far my favorite baby in the village. Watchi’s wife Lucy has been teaching me how to cultivate. Now that the rains have started, everyone is waking up around 4 am to go into the fields to farm their corn (approximately 90% of the villagers in my community are farmers). I usually go out with Lucy and Manual (who Watch affectionately calls his “Honey” and his “Manny”) in the afternoon. Lusuwilo is tied up in a chitenje on Lucy’s back as we hoe and weed. Lusuwilo is usually chattering to herself, her big eyes scanning the hillsides. It makes me ridiculously happy just watching her be content in her own little baby world. Anyways, cultivating is absolutely exhausting! I can’t do it for more than 2 hours without feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck the next morning. I am amazed time and time again how strong the people in my community are, balancing huge buckets on their heads, hauling bricks across the river, and weeding for 7 hours straight. Lucy inevitably laughs at my awkward hoeing techniques and my need to stand up and stretch almost every 10 minutes. There are usually farmers across the valley yelling out to Lucy: “Kallah amanyila pakulima??!! AHAHAHAHA!!” (Translation “Kara is learning how to farm? AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”) Once I’ve finished a ridge, Lucy goes back and redoes it, oh well. Last week as I was stretching and pretending to fix my ponytail (i.e. finding an excuse to take a quick break from hoeing) and looked out at the lush green mountains. I felt relaxed and peaceful in that moment and realized for the first time since arriving, Ifumbo finally felt like home.

Drawing water can often be an ordeal in my village due to my housing situation. Most Peace Corps volunteers in the health sector live in a designated compound for hospital workers, meaning they usually benefit from electricity, glass paned windows, and a water tap no more 15 feet from their homes (financed by the district hospital). My house, on the other hand, is not in the compound, instead it's in the community, surrounded by pigs and chickens. It's rustic.... on good days, it even has a bucolic charm. There are considerable pros and cons to being located directly in the village. Despite not having comfort amenities like other PCVs, I appreciate being visible in my community. I'm not an isolated volunteer confined to the health worker cohort. Instead, I can experience the richness of my community the moment I step outside my door. Women pop by my house to give me groundnuts and bananas, men gather at carpenter's place to sing-off key, and I can enjoy a beautiful view of the Chitipa mountains and Ifumbo river from my back yard. Living in the community has catalyzed my integration. I rarely hear “mzunugu” shouted out to me, but “Kallah” instead (the Malawian pronunciation of my name).

So back to drawing water. It's a pain and the least favorite part of my living situation because the sources are so far. Many women have asked me why I don't hire someone to fetch my water. While it is tempting, I want to limit the implications of my whiteness and it's assumed meanings of power/wealth/etc. I want to live as humbly as I possible can. So, to retrieve water, I try first at CCAP (Church of Central Africa) which has a tap and is about a 10 minute walk uphill. I usually pass an old woman named Maria who has a perpetual scowl on her face and often yells at me. I found out from Ellen that she yells at everyone, saying “I'm an old woman! Why don't you show me respect and come greet me!?” She's as bitter as a lemon, but I absolutely love greeting her. She immediately lights up and flashes her gummy smile, explaining in Lambya that she only has one tooth. As she explains this, she throws her head back and opens her mouth for emphasis.... inevitably making me laugh. After greeting Maria, I turn the corner at CCAP, holding my breath, hoping water will be “alipo” at the tap. When it is there, I am ecstatic. I fill up my bucket while I chat with the amayis to the best of my ability. They ask if my family in America misses me, why I'm not married, and if I'll find a husband in Malawi. I respond “Inga. Tasendizwe chifukwa umnandi khani. Takulonda sendizwe ku Malawi.” (i.e. Yes. I'm not married because I'm too young. I don't want to be married in Malawi). Simple conversation can boost my self-esteem just as much as successfully carrying a bucket on my head. If however, there isn't water at the tap (contingent upon the rainfalls), I walk another 20 minutes across town, past the primary school, the maize mill, and the grocery stands to the borehole. This situation is exhausting, not to mention the good chance of being started at and laughed at.

So to put this story in context, it's a bustling Saturday afternoon: Market Day. My neighbors who know me were respectful, calling me by my name and conversing with me. But because people from all over Chitipa district come to my village on market day, I was prone to harassment. Many have never seen a non-African before and I was the target for a lot of unwanted attention. As I trudged home, tired and moody (a major side-effect of the anti-Malaria medicine), I started to doubt myself for the first time. I wondered if being here was the right decision... or if perhaps I was too hasty about wanting to travel and experience something new. I am after all, 21, straight out of college, never lived on my own before, and accustomed to being with people whom I love and care about. It was unsettling to question my confidence in myself and what effect my presence will truly have. Upon arriving home, I realized my water buckets were empty and I reluctantly walked toward CCAP in the hot sun. I indulged in more “what-ifs”, missing the familiarities of home. As I approached the corner of CCAP, I braced myself for an empty water tap and a subsequent hike to the borehole, past the market, past the taunts and stares of other villagers. Much to my surprise, I found Vaida's grandmother filling her bucket at the CCAP tap (which was overflowing with water). She waved her arms and shouted “Madam! Come sit here!” and welcomed me with a warm smile. The dam I had been building all afternoon suddenly broke, and I was overwhelmed with a downpour of joy and relief. As Vaida's grandma happily chatted to me in Lambya, I marveled at how such a simple encounter could uplift me so much. I realized for the first time all day, my thoughts were focused on someone other than myself. Consequently, I felt more at peace in that moment than I had all day. Time and time again, the harder I look within myself for comfort, the blinder I am to seeing that it's in the people around me. I was dwelling on what I was missing from my life in America, rather than seeing the joys right in front of me (i.e. the lovely disposition of Vaida's grandma). If at the end of this experience, I can call Ifumbo my home and feel connected, I will achieve the core of what I want as a volunteer. It's a long way to go, but hey, I've got 2 years to figure it out.

Missing everyone in America, but working hard toward making a new home in Chitipa

Writing this blog from Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi. Yesterday was a huge Thanksgiving dinner for all the in-country volunteers at the ambassador's house. The menu included roasted pig, mashed potatoes, gravy, and macaroni and cheese. Cheese is a coveted item here in country and I cannot describe the immeasurable happiness I felt towards my mountain of food.

It was so nice reuniting with all the other volunteers from our training class. We haven't seen each other since the beginning of Septmeber when we all departed for our sites. I got to spend time with Ben and Allegra, my two closest friends in our health cohort. We drank wine, stuffed our faces, and got to catch up on the quirks and challenges in our sits. Even though I wasn't home in LA, it felt nice to have a family here to celebrate with :)

My first attempt to make cinnamon rolls... a little lopsided but that's ok. Hopefully I'll be assisting a women's group in baking in the months to come :)

My Kitchen and Bafa (outdoor shower.... really fun to bathe under the stars)

Butterfly in my yard

Spices! Thanks Aunt Darlene and Uncle Tonino

During our first three months at site, the health volunteers are not supposed to start any projects. The reason being is that Peace Corps wants us to integrate the best we can, meeting traditional and local authorities, learning as much of the language possible, and selecting a counter-part. Our counter-parts are someone who lives in the community and who will assist us during our service to implement projects.

My counterpart is absolutely wonderful. He was one of the first people to warmly greet me in my community, inviting me into his home to meet his family and feed me roasted groundnuts and eggs (protein, yay!!). He is involved in multiple community organizations, including a women's lobby group. Last week, we went to meet the village headman in my community in order to organize a women's meeting. To my delight, 17 eager women showed up. We discussed various ideas for income-generating projects in the meeting. I will be going for a month-long training next week to learn how to write grants, obtain funds from different organizations, and teach basic business skills. The women are very interesting in learning how to make jam, bake breads and cakes, and learn how to dry fruit (when you add lemon juice and sugar, it crystallizes and makes the fruit taste absolutely divine!). With these activties, the women can sell their goods in the local market and make a supplemental income for their families. The rainy season is approaching, and a lot of hunger and disease is spread in the community, especially during the months of January and February. It will be a tough time, but it's so invigorating to have such enthusiasm from the women.

The second tenative project I'm looking into is opening a youth center in the community. Through various interviews, I learned that last year, only 6 students went on to secondary school. My initial assumption was that school fees were a large hurdle, but I was in fact told that lack of interest is the main factor. A significant population of girls get married anywhere from 12-16 and an equally large number of boys abuse alcohol. With a youth center, these kids can have a place to go to for tutoring, mentornig from the neighborhood students at the secondary schools, organized sports, and HIV/AIDS outreach and dramas. Very, very excited about this prospect, more updates to come.

Cooking food is a daily activity that can either make or break my day. To start this endeavor, I select three pieces of medium-sized firewood and try my best to peel off the bark. The bark catches fire quickly so the flame can be big enough to eventually burn the wood. This peeling process often ends in chapped, bleeding, splintered fingers... as well as a few mumbled curse words (I won't post them online because there's a good chance the faculty of my elementary school will be reading this in the days to come). I usually strike about 5 matches until the bark can catch fire. Once this happens, I frantically grab a plastic plate, waving it emphatically over the flame, desperately hoping that it stays burning. As I'm doing this, I'm sitting in a squat-like position, feet flat on the floor, limbs awkwardly folded about. When my fanning arm gets fatigued, I proceed to move onto all fours to blow on my half-lit embers. This usually ends in more cursing, as well as coughing, spitting, and liquid seeping out of my nose and tear ducts at an alarming rate. When the fire can finally maintain itself, I've somehow made it a personal routine to sing "Burn baby burn! Disco inferno! Burn baby burn!" and continue on with my cooking. More often than not, I'll turn around to find a couple of neighborhood kids giggling at me, the crazy white girl who wears trousers, struggling over making a fire. Whenever I'm with Vaida or Ellen, it takes them roughly 2 minutes do this entire process... and they somehow stay immaculately clean.

Hmmm... if the opportunity arises, I might invest in a paraffin stove....

Saturday is the busiest, most social day in the village. It is market day and the third largest market in the entire district of Chitipa. Venders travel from the neighboring mountains to sell their goods. Often, you'll see women well into their seventies, carrying huge bundles on their heads (weighing anywhere from 40-80 pounds), walking with canes and spryly descending down the steep inclines... it's absolute jaw-dropping. Most of our produce comes from Tanzania (my site is roughly 2 km from the border). The market is filled with people, vendors shouting "Caribu!" to shoppers. Being the only light-skinned individual, I am especially harassed, usually because it's assumed I have kwacha bills cascading from my pocket. This is far from the reality, our average Peace Corps monthly salary approximates to $126 a month. Food, however, is especially cheap in my area, I can buy a huge sack of mangoes for what calculates to 4 dollars... not bad. My usual response to the shouting vendors is "kwenya bulo" which means just looking. In the market, you can find avocaodos, tomatoes, mangoes, papayas, guavas, beautiful chitenje cloths, soap, dried fish, and freshly slaughtered goat meat.

I've been lucky enough to make two friends in my village, Ellen and Vaida, both young women my age who speak English. Ellen and Vaida have a stand in the market where they sell rice, eggs, and chicken... meaning I don't have to cook on Saturdays AND I get to eat protein :) It's a lovely day of the week in the village, when I can find decent internet, I'll be sure to upload photos.

We made it!!! After a five hour plane ride from LAX to Philadelphia, an 8 hour plane ride from New York City to Amsterdam, a 9 hour plane ride from Amsterdam to Nairobi (via KLM…. kudos to the Dutch, they really know how to fly), and finally a 2 hour plane ride from Nairobi to Lilongwe! I was greasy, gassy, dirty, and exhausted, but absolutely thrilled to step off that final plane. We all arrived at midnight and were met by our country director Vic (who was wearing an adorable bow tie) and a group of current volunteers. Excitedly, they waved a Peace Corps banner and welcomed us off of the plane. It was so unexpected and sweet (the first of many little surprises in PC training). We were all shuttled to a hotel to finally shower and sleep and were given welcome gifts of juice and cookies.

After 3 short hours of sleep under a mosquito net, it was time to start the day. We were shuttled in Peace Corps vans to the official office in Lilongwe. There we were met by more enthusiastic volunteers who gave us welcome cards signed by the current volunteers. It was a bit overwhelming considering my internal body clock (is it morning in Japan? Afternoon in LA? Evening in Amsterdam?) but really affirming and exciting…. Ahhh, I’m actually here!!! We also got our vaccinations from Evelyn, the Peace Corps nurse, who all the volunteers assured us gave the best hugs in the world. I certainly benefitted from her hug after being a pin cushion 

Later, we drove to the Dedza College of Forestry where our first week of training will take place. Outside my window I saw goats along the road, outdoor markets (commonly called the Bend-Over markets because all the clothes are on the ground), and women balancing water, firewood, and miscellaneous bundles on their heads, wrapped in their chitenjes (a multi-purpose article of clothing, can be used as a baby carrier, towel, cover up, jacket, table cloth, napkin, skirt, purse, etc). Oddly enough, seeing everything around me didn’t feel like too much a culture shock. It was different, yes, but more so relieving to finally be here in Malawi.

When we got out of the shuttles, we were met with more hugs by the language and technical trainers at Dedza College. The trainers sang a welcome song for us in Chichewa and softly swayed to the music. They exuded so much enthusiasm; I’m really excited to get to know them for the next 10 weeks. Once again, we were given welcome gifts in our dorm rooms! I received a Peace Corps bag, a chitenje, stamps, stationary, notebooks, and pens. It’s like summer camp in Malawi!

I'm in a hotel in Philadelphia.... I should be long asleep but nerves/excitemet/adrenaline is keeping me wide awake. We had our group orientation today where we got to meet all the volunteers going to Malawi. There's 36 of us total, half teachers and half community health advisers (like myself). It's such an interesting dynamic finally meeting people who have been through the same agonizing application process and rollercoaster of being invited to serve. After we turned in all our paperwork, our staging coordinator congratulated us, for we transitioned from Peace Corps applicants to Peace Corps trainees (yay!!!). There was a lot of great energy in the room and I'm really excited to connect with these volunteers.

Fun story! I was on the plane ride from LAX to Philadelphia yesterday morning. Anyways, I was running on 2 hours of sleep, not to mention jetlagged from the plane ride from Japan. There was a nice couple who sat down next to me in row 25, so I smiled and shortly passed out... probably snored a wee bit since I'm congested at the moment. I woke up to hear an announcement for the flight's descent, and pulled out my Peace Corps invitee packet to verify where I needed to be to catch a shuttle. The woman sitting next to me excitedly asked me, "Are you going to Malawi??" It turns out she and her husband are in my training group and will be vounteers with me! Mr. and Mrs. Murphy... they seem like an amazing pair. Chris (the husband) actually served in Nepal in the mid-90s and is coming back for another round of service! So exciting.

I'm going to try to get some sleep. For the first week, we'll be bunking in the Dedza forest and then meeting our host families come week 2. I probably won't have internet for a while, but I'll do my best to update this as soon as I can.

Mom and Dad- I promise you'll be the first ones I contact as soon as I get the chance, I love you and miss you

Just came back from an amazing 10 days in Japan. I can't get over how beautiful the country was and how welcoming, sweet our relatives were :) Since I'm jetlagged and in desperate need of sleep, I'll paraphrase from my travel journal (the cute one that Paola, my rugby rookie, gave to me!)

6/19

Rode Korean Airlines to Tokyo. Watched a depressing British movie called "The Scouting Book for Boys".... it was raved as the "Romeo and Juliet for the Skins generation". When the lead girl died in the end, I realized I should have watched "How to Train Your Dragon" instead. A 5 year old hapa girl was sitting in front of me and sticking her tongue out... naturally, I reciprocated the facial expression. When we landed in Narita airport, I got to practice my Japanese with a stranger: "Limo-bus doko dess-ka?". He cracked up and gave me directions in English. Everyone was cranky by 8 pm due to the jetlag, but a little ramen and Asahi was the perfect cure before a deep sleep.

6/20

Jetlag had a glorious effect and we all woke up at 6 AM, reading to sieze the day. Mom's student's Emi and Ami have an uncle who lives in Tokyo, and he met us in our hotel lobby that morning. He walked us to another hotel where he arranged a tour of the city for us (soo nice of of him!). As we drove around in the bus, Jenna and I marveled at the adorable Japanese kids walking to school. They all had matching hats, knee socks, and backpacks, my heart melted :)

Our first stop was the Meinji-Shrine, which was a beautiful lush green garden. On the wall were prayers that people wrote, and someone wrote "World Peace". Ahhh, there are indeed idealists around the world. Our second stop was the Imperial Palace, where we met another traveler Elena. Elena spoke Korean, English, and Japanese... she was wonderful to explore the city with. We also saw the Asakusa shrine, which was beautiful. There was one area where you shake a metal tube an pull out a fortune. Jenna got a bad fortune and implored Mom to buy her a goodluck bracelet to counteract the fortune. I told her she's the reason this shrine makes money ;) For lunch, we ate a restaraunt that overlooked Tokyo Bay, and made another friend, Ernest, who was from Spain. With my high school level Spanish, I served as a mediocre interpreter for the afternoon.

That night, Emi and Ami's uncle and grandfather took us out for an AMAZING 8 course dinner. They were so generous, and after a couple shots of sake, sleep was much needed.

6/21

Took a day trip to Yokohama to visit Mom's friends Tetsuo and Nobuko. A little stressful trying to figure out the train system, but we prevailed. I think we should of made tacky T-shirts that said "Bellucci Family Vacation: Japan 2010" to wear in public. Tetsuo took us on another tour where our adorable tour guide introduced us as the American family. To our surprise, we were met with a warm round of applause! We meandered through the Sankien Garden which was absolutely breathtaking. We also hit up a park that overlooked Tokyo Harbor and walked through what Tetsuo called the "Rodeo Drive" of Japan. Mom saw two schoolgirls and took their photo, the one on the left didn't seem too enthused.

6/23

Travel day to Kyoto from Tokyo... successfully lugged all our bags and made our way to the Kiroki train. I read "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" for most of the way. I bought postcards when we arrived in Kyoto... so begins my new chapter of letter writing to family and friends. Mom's cousin Masako and her husband Hideye met up with us that night and took us to the Gion district, which holds so much history all the way from the feudal eras. The buildings were remarkable and we even saw women dressed in kimonos walking through the narrow streets.

6/24

Ah, hands down, my favorite day! I ate a riceball for breakfast, thinking it'd have a salmon center. Turns out I got fish eggs... but they were pretty good. A little on the salty side, but I figure I'll be eating far more interesting things in Malawi...

Anyways, I'll let the pictures convey how beautiful Kyoto is. We visited the Nijo Castle, the Golden Pavillion (Rokuon-ji Temple), the Imperial Palace, and then Nara!! At Nara we got to feed deer because they are considered messengers of God. They were a bit vicious if they could smell cookies on you though, one bit my skirt. We also had the pleasure of seeing the Todaiji temple, which held a spectacular bronze Buddah statue. The last stop was a Shinto shrine with hundreds of lanterns. Beautiful day.

6/25

Travel day! Successfully rode another train from Kyoto to Tokyo Station to Niigata (Grandma's hometown, where the family shrine is). We bought bento boxes to nom noms on and arrived in Niigata in mid-afternoon. That night we met up with Uncle Mike and Aunt Janet in the hotel's sky lounge (or shall i say sky rounge, hehe) for a drink. We later found a sushi place over the river and ate in a tatami room :)

6/26

Met up with Aunt Janet, Uncle Mike, and our cousin Kaede to go shopping in Niigata. There was a weekend swap meet going on as we walked around, and sure enough, there were more adorable Japanese kids running around. There was a booth where an artist was drawing animae style portraits of kids sitting across from him. Excited, I asked if I could have my picture drawn to bring home as a souvenier. The women working the booth gave me a puzzled look, but sat me down at a chair. Excitedly, I waited for my artist to sit across from me, but instead they gave me color pencils and a black and white picture of a princess to color in. Embarassed, nodded my head in an awkward semi-bow and excused myself from the booth with a quick "Sumimasen" (which translates to "I'm sorry" or "Excuse me".... a choice phrase throughout the trip).

That night, we met with all the relatives for dinner at the hotel. Seeing grandma's sister Michiko was uncanny because they have such strong resemblances. I met my other cousin Kazuma, his parents Ken-ichi and Masako. Kaede came along as well with her parents Hideye and Masako. All the relatives greeted Mom as Bocu-chan, which means little boy in Japanese because Mom had no hair when she was little (hehehe). Mom made Michiko a beautiful book with black and white photos of Grandma when she was young in Japan. Everyone eagerly bent over to watch Michiko open the book. Kaede translated for Michiko, who told us all how it seemed like a dream for her to finally have the family members from America here in Japan. It was a very special, touching moment and so beautiful that we could all be together.

6/27

It was raining all day in Niigata, which seemed fitting because it was the day of Grandma's ceremony. All the relatives scrambled into a couple of taxis and made our way to the Buddhist temple across town. There we stepped into what looked like someone's home and waiting in a tatami room while drinking tea. Hideye passed out a family tree he put together of Michiko and Keiko (my grandma)'s families. We were shocked to see that Kaede and Akiko (Michiko's grand-daughters) had the same exact birthdays as Jenna and me! It was amazing. When the Buddhist monk summoned us, we made our way upstairs to where the ceremony would be held. Waiting for us was a breathtaking shrine with gold leaves descending from the ceiling and steps leading up to a Buddha statue. On the steps was fruit and other adornments. It was fascinating to look at because you know each object has a deliberate purpose in creating a sacred shrine. We all kneeled before the shrine to say a prayer and pinched what seemed like incense three times. Because it was a sacred site, there are unfortunately no photos of this. During the ceremony, we listened to the monk chant and played our own drums to a beat to ensure Grandma's spirit would make its way to heaven. After the ceremony, we all made our way to the family shrine outside to place Grandma's ashes into it. We huddled beneath our umbrellas as the sky began to pour. It felt connecting, sorrowful, and true.

Later that afternoon, we all had sushi as a restaraunt Michiko recommended. Dad and Kazuma bonded by talking about cars.... though I don't think Kazuma understood as much as Dad thought he did ;) It was a wonderful afternoon and so special how connected I felt with this new family whom I met just a day earlier.

6/28

Last day spent in Tokyo. Went to the Tokyu plaza to buy Yoku Moku cookies, tea, and other souveniors for family and friends. I ended up sleeping the rest of the afternoon because I was starting to get sick :(

Went to Roppongi to eat at a restaraunt called Gonpachi where apparently Kill Bill was filmed. We met with the cousins (Kaede, Akiko, Kazuma) and Aunt Janet and Uncle Mike. Lots of food and lots of sake. Kazuma and I were making faces at each other for most of the night since we couldn't communicate very well. He cracked me up, I'll have to come back to Tokyo and drink sake with him ;) Mom told me I was brave like Grandma, venturing to Malawi just like she ventured to the U.S. It was a perfect way to end the trip and we all bought ice-cream after a gluttonous meal.

Just finished graduation weekend and I am an official UC Davis graduate (yay!!). Mom, Dad, Jenna, Grandma, Aunt Darlene, and Uncle Tonino flew up to Davis to celebrate. Being the good Italians we are, the entire weekend revolved around food :)

On Friday morning, my directors Sheetal and Tameka planned a banquet to celebrate the interns of the Multicultural Immersion Program. It was a beautiful celebration where Marvyn, Brandy, Kenny, Alisa, and I were honored for all the workshops we've planned and facilitated throughout the year. Later that evening, my family and I attended the Women and Gender Studies banquet for all the 2010 graduates, where I received a fabulous purple boa. It was nice having these smaller, more intimate celebrations to counteract the mayhem Saturday's graduation. That night, Kim, Brooke and I shared a punch bowl at Ket Mo Ree (for anyone unfamiliar with this drink, it's a ridiculously sweet beverage with a mix of unidentified liquor), and took Jenna out dancing in downtown Davis. Christina met up with us later, despite the fact she had to wake up at 7 am for her 9 am graduation. You're the best :-*

The next day, I got to wear my dorky graduation outfit: an oversized black robe, the purple boa, an awkward hat, and a gold stole. The ceremony for the College of Letters and Sciences lasted roughly 3 1/2 hours.... I should have brought a journal (or a flask?) to keep me entertained, hahaha. Anyways, Brooke and Michelle were able to scrounge 2 extra tickets and attend the ceremony as well :) That night I ate an AMAZING filet mignon dinner with lovely champagne. Thank you family!! Amidst all the food, my parents brought up the important question of where to eat the next morning. Black Bear diner won, and Grandma kept trying to feed me her extra bacon.

On my last in Davis, Brooke took Michelle, me, Aunt Darlene, and Uncle Tonino berry picking on a farm. When I exchanged teary goodbyes with Aunt Darlene and Uncle Tonino, we laughed that our goodbyes were located in the middle of farmland. Typical Davis. That night, Kim, Christina, and I rode the tandem bike around town and relaxed in the quad. The night air was warm, the grass was soft, and it was a perfect way to spend the last night in Davis with my family

Came back from a wonderful mini vacation! After my last day of school, I booked out of Davis and flew home to spend time with Mom, Dad, and Jenna. Mom took me shopping for stuff I'll need for the Peace Corps (I know, it seems counter intuitive to be buying things... but trust me, they were much needed).

On the right is a picture of Mom looking over the packing list the Peace Corps sent me. It was lovely day, we shopped, ate, and held hands :) Plus, I found a copy of the Lonely Planet's guide to Malawi and Zambia! Yay!! Jenna also popped by and surprised me with a grab bag of goodies from the Army Surplus store (recommended by Ian of course). They gave me a swiss-army knife, bug repellent, 3 dehydrated meals (haha), a G-tool (it works as a shovel, pick, and chair), a flashlight, a 5 piece-cookware set, a portable shower, waterproof matches and a holder... the list continues on. Needless to say, I'll be prepared roughing it, and probably the target of ridicule by my Malawian villagers.

The next day, I spent time with Mom's kindergarteners. Mom told all of them them that I was moving to Africa and wouldn't be back until they were in the 3rd grade. Needless to say, their eyes got huge... I can imagine 2 years would seem like a lifetime to a 5 year old. Anyways, we played Indian Chief, Spiders and Flies, Red Light Green Light, and Mr. Fox during recess. No tears or boo-boos this time :) Mom got mad at me when I left the classroom cause I jokingly said "See you all in the 3rd grade!". Apparently, her little one Erin was upset about me leaving and that comment had potential to offset her tears. Oops :-/

I came home to organize my stuff and was really shocked at how much stuff I've accumulated over the years. I invited Clay over to keep me company... he ended up trying on my clothes and taking photos of himself (typical), hahaha. It really impacted me to see all my stuff fill an entire living room though. I ended up donating 5 huge bags of clothing, books, stuffed animals, and miscellaneous items to the Goodwill. How can I, just one person, have so many material items? Not to mention, things that I can't bear to part with (i.e. an inordinate amount of books). Even as I write this, I'm thinking about the huge backpack and luggage piece I'll be taking to Malawi, and that feels unsettling knowing I'll be with people who probably have very little. Partaking in this experience feels right to me for a multitude of reasons. One huge factor is the ability to finally to put my privilege as a U.S., middle-class citizen into positive action and be changed by the people I'll be living with.

It's Monday afternoon and I should be starting to pack my things and getting ready to move back home on Sunday. I will be graduating from UC Davis this Saturday and taking my last drive down the I5 to LA. There, I'll spend a short week with my family and friends and then leaving for Japan! I will make sure to update this blog with photos from Tokyo, Kyoto, and Nigata. My family and I will be taking my Grandma's ashes with us for her funeral and meeting up with all the relatives. Mom has the whole itinerary planned, some highlights include perusing through Tokyo, visiting a deer sanctuary (where you can apparently feed the deer!), going to a Sake brewery, visiting our Japanese family and friends, and of course eating till we burst. I can't tell you how ridiculously excited I am for the food. Itadakimahss!! (translation: "Let's eat!") Plus, it's not rude to slurp your noodles! Don't worry Mom, I won't embarrass you too much ;)

I'm so thankful to spend my last week with my family in Japan. It will be really special being in such an amazing place with Mom, Dad, and Jenna before I leave. When we get back, it will be the 29th of June... giving me roughly a day to pack for the next 2 years on Malawi. My chaotic, thrilling schedule for the next month is as follows:

June 7th-11th: Say goodbye to my vibrant, amazing friends in Davis. Pack my belongings.

June 11th: Mom, Dad, Jenna, Grandma, Aunt Darlene, and Uncle Tonino arrive in Davis for my graduation!

June 12th: Graduate from the University of California, Davis!!! Yay!!!

June 13th: Be emotional and say my last goodbyes. Drive home to LA.

June 13th-19th: Say goodbye to my friends back home.

June 19th-29th: JAPAN!!

then....

June 30th: Fly to Philadelphia to meet my cohort of PC volunteers.

July 1st-2nd: Intensive staging in Philadelphia, receive all my shots and vaccinations.

Then, all of us volunteers fly to Amsterdam, connect to Nairobi, and finally arrive in Lilongwe (the capital of Malawi). We'll be at our final destination on July 4th.

I'm expecting lots of smiles, laughs, and tears (A LOT of tears). Keep you posted on the excitement to come :)

It's finally here!!! My official invitation to serve as as a Peace Corps volunteer!! Ahhhhh.

I can't describe how immeasurably relieved I am to be holding this blue envelope. This eight month process has been a rollercoaster. I've been anxious, excited, disappointed, thrilled, confused, bothered, happy, and now elated. After months of waiting for my medical tests to clear, I've finally received my invitation and can confidently proclaim: I'm joining the Peace Corps! Thank you Kim, Christina, Brooke, Michelle, Aunt Darlene, my MIP family, Jenna, Dana, Clay, Jillian, Kevin, and Mom and Dad for listening and comforting me these past few months. Your love means the world to me