Company

Last night when I was about to brush my teeth, a spider scurried across the bathroom floor and up the wall, all very quickly, planting himself underneath the sink to the left of the piping. Though I was feeling brave having just nabbed a mosquito with a small crinkle of toilet paper, I backed out of the bathroom and assumed a position a few feet beyond the door, keeping my eyes fixed on this new sighting. The spider was bigger than I would have preferred: his body around the size of a quarter and each of his eight legs appeared around an inch. Emily was on the phone, so I waited for her to get off (I think a sign of maturity) before requesting her back-up.

Me: Emily, there's a spider in the bathroom.

Emily, approaching: oh a wall spider, they're okay.

Emily, having approached: Hm. That one is pretty big. Let's take a picture on your phone and ask the watchman.

This was a good idea. The watchman had arrived early and had presented us with a large bag of limes.

We/Emily bravely took the shot, and then I continued to observe the unflinching beast while Emily went to query our protector outside.

Emily, overheard by me: hi, we have a question. This spider. Do you recognize it? Is it a dangerous one?

Watchman, overheard by me: Oh yes. This is a very dangerous one.

Emily: is it poisonous? Do they bite?

Watchman: Oh yes. Very poisonous.

At that, Emily reentered the scene, instructing me to back away which I already had.

Me: So what do we do now? Can the watchman come here and help?

The next thing I knew the watchman was in our hallway, then our bathroom, then face to face with the monster. It all happened rather quickly, but with a series of movements that involved both foot and hand swatting, the watchman destroyed the spider. It was kind of dramatic.

Me: Are you sure it's dead?

Emily and I had hopped away laughing/freaking during the feud but were now creeping back to survey the damage.

The watchman pointed to 3 V shapes on the floor,

Watchman: These are his legs, he is dead.

With that, we thanked our watchman profusely, quickly got ready for bed, and retired to under our mosquito nets, fully appreciating this barrier between the company in the night.

Making time

I left a small damp towel draped over the wooden arm rail of a chair in our living room overnight, and I feel badly because I think the wetness lifted off the stain. In the shape of a rectangle there's now a white, foggy demarcation; it looks like condensation on a rear view mirror. Emily told me it'll get better and not to worry, so I won't. 

It's Sunday morning, and I'm sitting outside before I go to the church service. This weekend ritual has fit neatly into my time in Malawi: I go for the choir, the music. To be honest, during the previous two services I attended, my thoughts ended up revolving around my grandma. I don't have much more to say about that, but I've appreciated this designated time to let my mind go to that place. I knew before I came to Malawi the importance of reserving time for harder to swallow thoughts, but I didn't know I'd find that time amidst those practicing a religion not my own.* We'll see how I feel after today's. 

Yesterday Emily and I went to Mzuzu for the afternoon. We visited an Internet cafe where, for the first time, I saw a Malawian acknowledge that time exists. Minutes to 12pm, the shopkeeper promptly booted us off the computers: it was closing time. Aside from that, if I haven't mentioned it already, the concept of tracking time or timetables doesn't quite exist here. Or if it does, it's in a loosely abided and rather abstract form. Malawians are gracious, friendly, and do not rush. Just like New Yorkers.* Perhaps this way of life is not compatible with sticking to a clear-cut, clock-watching schedule. Notably, I scarcely encounter watch-worn wrists, and clocks in public places are a rarity. 

Ironically, Malawians are also very fond of programs, as in formally outlining the order of events that will unfold during a particular occasion. As in, we are very much looking forward to your visit to our village on Wednesday. We will make a program. As in, Wednesday will be interesting. In addition, I've been informed that program-outlined events essentially require a guest of honor, who is further expected to give a speech. The Sunday church service program always sets apart time for visitors to come before the congregation and introduce themselves. Ideally, on our first Sunday two weeks back, there was a large group of students visiting from Europe who overflowed the space in front of the pulpit and who we graciously shared the spotlight with. That, and the fact that Emily spoke for both of us, greatly reduced the pressure. 

So I think that's all for now. A look at the week ahead, fast? Every Tuesday the young local ex-pats (their word, not mine) gather for dinner. On a rotating schedule, one person plans the menu and buys the ingredients and then everyone cooks together. Notably, this Tuesday America will not only play in the World Cup, but will coordinate the weekly meal. As for tonight, a much needed trial run. 

Stay tuned,

Rebecca

*I hope I'm not starting to sound too lofty. I'm not actually eating that well. 

*On the record, I've never completely agreed with this assessment of New Yorkers. To be continued...

An Update on a Quiet Saturday Night

Dear Reader (Mom),

I haven't written much over the last handful of days. I think I covered a lot of the broad strokes in past posts, and lately my experience has been more about the details. The day-to-day experiences and interactions are borderline indescribable; the frequent and random conversations with locals are difficult to recount. I think it's only after the culture shock settles that you really begin to inhale the culture. And boy, has it been breathtaking. 

This past week, we conducted an additional 2 focus groups, trekked to a far off village called Luhomero to visit a friend of Emily's, and spent some time in the hospital. We navigated electrical outages, water outages, a snake encounter, and transportation methods that just don't exist in America. We became a little more adventurous with the food- tasting Irish potatoes which are basically chunks of potato cooked roadside in a pan of sizzling oil suspiciously proximal to raw meat, street bought bananas with deceptively brown peels, and local donuts which are essentially deep fried dough. Personally, I've become significantly more tolerant of bugs and small reptiles, have mastered my French Press coffee maker, and am working on speaking slow. I'm also sleeping well, eating well and reading almost every day. A mystery novel at the moment. I do not know the last time I've behaved this wholly. 

Our research is challenging, but interesting. Have I mentioned what we're doing? I believe I have. We've revised our questions a little bit and are learning a lot about the use of traditional healers (we go for certain diseases like pneumonia... pneumonia is a pain in the legs), the challenges in accessing the hospital (we make a stretcher out of branches and carry the sick person there), and the experiences Malawians have at the hospital itself (sometimes if you go to the hospital often, some of the health workers ask "oh, you've come again. Why are you back again?"...as if somebody applied to be sick). We're also mastering the setup of the Malawian governmental health care system, and are quite literally learning the lay of the land. As in, Emily, seemingly displeased with the collection of maps we had taken photos of on my iPhone, this morning started drawing her own. 

So I don't know: I feel like I've just arrived but at the same time as if I've been here for a while. You're not tourists, you'll be around for a while, so I'll give you a better deal on these bracelets, an artist told us this morning. There are times when I close my eyes (or probably actually just keep them open), but picture precisely what might be going on in NYC at the given moment: I miss it, but know it'll be thriving when I return. When I'm not internally transporting there myself, I've tried to explain to the locals what home is like for me. The grid of paved concrete I think is hard to believe (see: the Tarmac Road), and the concept of Central Park obscure (And people live in this park?). In a van yesterday a born and raised Malawian pointed out a two-story building, the only two-level in Ekwendeni, and I told him that in the States I live on the 24th floor. 

Right now, I'm on the first floor, of the vacated doctor's house, sitting on my bed in the garage (it's cozy by the way). The electricity is going in and out but I'm waiting for it go out for good. Every other Sunday, for around 24 hours, the power turns off for scheduled maintenance. I made my coffee in advanced, though, and have my flashlights at the ready. Tomorrow'll be a good day. 

Love,

Rebecca 

Here, they run on empty

There's a phenomenon in Malawi called "flashing", which means you call someone, let it ring once, and then hang up. The expectation is that the person you are trying to reach will call you back, using their minutes to finance the call. I don't know if this is common around the world, but purchasing minutes here means you buy these barcode-sized plastic cards that contain a scratch-off. Under the metallic silver is a 12-digit number that you plug into your cell phone to reload. There are no long term service plans, no monthly bundles: Minutes, by both tourists and locals, are bought as needed. 

If you had told me in advanced where you were going, I would have bought gas in Mzuzu and it would have been cheaper, Febias, our taxi driver, told us this morning. It is Tuesday, June 24th, and at around a quarter to nine we were on our way to conduct our third focus group. Minutes into our trip we were already pulling off the Tarmac onto a parallel dirt road; we stopped in front of a man sitting on a short stool next to a cardboard box. 5 liters, Febias told him, at which the stool-sitter reached his hands into the box and revealed two large plastic containers of deep yellow liquid. The local gas station. 

We had spoken to Febias yesterday to arrange the transport, but being the organized yet still not most organized girls in the world* had been unsure at the time of the phone call which of the three villages scrawled in Emily's notebook was our actual destination. Ultimately, we confirmed we were heading to Embombeni, and 5,700 kwacha of gasoline later, we were off. 

Look, they run on empty, Emily had told me when we first arrived in Malawi. She had gestured towards the gas meter on the taxi's dashboard, and sure enough the needle was hovering in line with the 'E'. Since then, reflexively, my eyes always hone in on the dial when I enter a car. And since then, reliably, the needle is always in the same general location: at or below the 'E'. 

It's like food; you but what you're going to eat and that's it, Febias explained, fueled and back on the road. With gas, we buy what we need because usually you are borrowing someone's car, so you only buy what you will use. Again, as needed. 

It's been a common theme, here, in Malawi. The running-on-empty way of life. Emily and I discuss it frequently, and she had observed it the first time she was in Africa, four years ago, as well. When we make plans with people --to sit for tea, to meet children and wives, to visit health centers-- calendars are always wide open. Tomorrows are always empty and free. Life is lived in the day, in the moment. And I don't know, yet, if this is a sign of a desperate, developing society-- one in which you focus, solely, on the day in front of you, because in terms of what's for sure -and for the sake of survival- that's all there is. Or if it's a sign of a society wise beyond its years. A society that on some level realizes that tomorrow doesn't necessarily matter, that the point is to be in the moment, the day, the conversation. 

I couldn't help but notice today, at our focus group, the postures with which the men sat. On blue plastic chairs in a circle, on the porch of an abandoned brick home, shaded from the sun by a tin overhang. Calm, still, like slouched statues almost, the men were so intent on the moment. They so clearly had nowhere else they wanted to be (or if they did, in their body language it was not advertised). It still gives me pause when we say goodbye and the villagers thank us. 

So to conclude I don't know. I think the truth is that when you're just getting by, as a lot of Northern Malawians are whether it's seen that way or not, the focus is on the present because it has to be. I think that's at least part of it. I'll think about it more. 

Here's to the now,

Rebecca

The Watchman

I'm pretty sure it rains overnight here, where I am, in Malawi*. It does not rain, my Dutch housemate corrected, as I peered out the window at the damp grass and watermarked concrete. But it's wet out every morning, I replied, peering with increased intent. Around the perimeter of our house is a scooped out moat-like concrete structure, about 2-feet wide. I believe its function is to catch roof runoff during the rainy season. That's a poor way to describe it; I'm sure there is a better way and I'm sure this structure has a name. In Tumbuka, I'd bet it starts with the letter M. A lot of Tumbukan words start with the letter M, which just happens to be one of my problem letters*. 

I'm awake right now, under my mosquito net and in my bed. It is a handful of minutes to six. I was awoken by the cell phone ring of our watchman, beyond the (garage) door. Did I mention we have a watchman? I didn't quite understand what this meant the first few days here, either. We have a watchman, I was told, he comes at night and we have to make him tea. 

Initially, the word watchman conjured up an image in my mind of a tall stately officer in one of those small British guard hats*. Was this because my English housemate was the first to tell me about him, so now every time I say the word watchman in my head it is in a subtle British accent? Maybe. But anyway I pictured our wahchmun rounding on our and our neighbor's houses 2 or 3 times overnight, maintaining a steady marching pace in his blue trousers with shiny buttons down the legs. 

Oh Rebecca, how incorrect. You know that lawn chair that sits by the back door, the one you tried to move into the sun last week that promptly fell apart upon lifting? That's the watchman' chair! Right by our back door, in the pitch darkness relieved only by sprinkled stars, sits our watchman over night.

I've only seen him in the shadows, when I've handed him his tea thermos and biscuits, but I think that he wears one of those track suit zipper-ups with that scrunchy rain- proof material on the shell. Apparently our watchman changes every night, they cycle. I really have to get to know them better. I'll work on it. Back to under the mosquito net...

This past night, I'm sure it rained. You would hear the rain on the roof, my Dutch housemate had continued. Awoken by the watchman's phone, I'm kept awake now by a billowing wind that sounds like crashing waves. A lot of the windows and our garage door have cracks and crevices, where wood and metal panels don't line up perfectly, and through these openings I think this loud hissing noise is created. I also hear rain, which I'm sure is accumulating in that moat-like structure. Maybe my housemate, let's call her M, is right.

I'm going to get out of bed now. It is Sunday morning, and at 8AM I will accompany Emily, M, and the Ekwendeni community to church. When we leave the house in a few hours, our watchman will most certainly be gone. Our watchdog however, Duncan, I'm sure will be nearby. Did I mention we have a watchdog?

Have a good day and night,

Rebecca

*See blog URL.

*A problem letter is a letter, usually a constant, that you have trouble recalling pronouns with which it starts. As an example, I struggle with Matts, Michaels.

*I'm sure these have a name too. 

On and Off The Tarmac

There is one main road in Northern Malawi: the Tarmac. It is paved, and it is one lane each way. When we travel to Mzuzu, the largest nearby city, we pay less than 1 USD each for a 30 minute ride. We pack like sardines into a minivan with as many passengers as can squeeze. We've only stalled once. More on that later. 

This past Thursday, we took the Tarmac in the opposite direction, to Chilida. Accurately, we took the Tarmac for a third or so of the journey, and then turned off onto unpaved dirt roads for the rest. The dirt roads wind right through the fields and greenery and mountains. They're red-orange and of thin sand consistency; the granules readily rise into the air when driven or walked on, they creep into and line the soles of my sandals and dye the rubber bottoms of my walking shoes. The red-orange roads form an interdigitating network for mostly foot traffic, but bicycles and vehicles as well.   

Some of the more accessible villages (like Ekwendeni where we are staying) are right off the Tarmac, while the majority -like Chilida- are much deeper into the land. These are more difficult to reach. 

Driving on the unpaved, dirt, hilly roads was an experience. We sat facing sideways in the back of the Mobile Clinic van; hugging the earth, seatbeltless, we felt every bump. The benches we sat on lined the windows, they sat 4 on each side. 

At one point during our trip we stopped before a wooden 1-lane bridge, probably around 100 meters across. Gladson, one of our two interpreters, got out to confirm the durability of the wooden panels that comprised the bridge prior to our crossing. He wielded a panel into place, and waved the van onward. He also shooed a herd of cows attempting to cross the bridge in our direction- they'd have to wait their turn. They built this bridge ten years ago, he told us proudly. 

We were hitching a ride with the Mobile Clinic to Chilida to conduct our second focus group. Almost every day, the mobile clinic navigates these red dirt roads to the more remote villages and provides services. That day, it was an "Under 5" clinic, and after 45 minutes of driving we turned off the dirt road into a clearing where dozens if not 100 mothers and their Under 5s had gathered. Standing out in the sun, all faded bright skirts and short hair and a gaggle of children. They were waiting. 

We conducted our focus group in the back of the van: Emily, me, our two interpreters, six mothers from Chilida, and four infants sitting on laps; knee to knee we sat. We talked to the women for around an hour about their utilization of the hospitals, traditional healers, and how they pay for, choose between, and transport to and from these providers. 

When we finished, we ate Obama rolls and drank Fanta with the mothers. Emily is doing a parallel study on the food preferences of the villagers we meet; findings pending. 

Back out of the van, we sat crosslegged in the dirt with the mothers while they waited to be seen. They tried to teach us Tumbuka, via charades- symbols were our common ground. For some reason the only word that stuck for me is hamba, which means leaf.  

The mothers were there all day; they came with patience and their children's health record booklets; without cell phones or food. They breastfed when their babies cried. They laughed when Emily and I took photos of a peculiar and colorful insect. They got a kick out of my iPhone camera. And sitting in a line on the ground of what felt like an abandoned, doorless, electricity-less brick hut, they helped expose the thighs of eachother's children as vaccines were administered by gloveless hands. They're scared of injections; that's one reason people don't go to hospital, we were told during the focus group.  

When they were finished seeing the provider, they scattered from the clearing in different directions, on foot, for home. 

Now, I'm sitting in my front "yard" again. Picturing those mothers who seemed to have arisen from the woodwork to provide this care for their children. In the clearing, surrounded by barren land for acres, we gathered that Thursday afternoon. The mothers had this timid pride that I can't quite explain yet. In one month they will return. 

Why we came

It’s been a while since I’ve attempted to do something with absolutely no preconceived notion as to how it’s going to unfold.  First days of class, work, hospital rotations; meeting advisors, significant other’s parents, new roommates—there are all these firsts that we partake in during our lives. But the night before they take place, when the anticipation is  fumbling our attempt to fall asleep, we’re picturing something in our minds.  There’s a scene we can kind of imagine; I do not know if this is making sense.

Our first focus group, which we conducted a few days ago, came with no such images. Or if it did, now that I’m status-post, I have no memory of what they were. It’s like trying to picture how you used to picture Harry Ron and Hermione prior to seeing the movies.  I’m sure my visual imagination had been at work, reading Years 1 through 8, but now Daniel, whatever his name is, and Emma are all I can see.  I still don’t know if I’m making sense.

Let me try to make this make sense.

Emily and I traveled across the world to visit the villages of Northern Malawi.  Our goal is to understand the barriers to access and utilization of the hospitals, including issues with transportation and sociocultural barriers. I think in our introductory meeting last week, our interpreter Elina paraphrased our aims well. In her words our goals are to understand:

1- Problems which make Malawians not access hospitals.

2- Types of diseases Malawians go to the hospital with versus opting for traditional healers.

3- If provided with a bicycle ambulance will they access the hospital more than now.

To accomplish these aims, we are visiting 10 villages at varying distances from the local hospitals. In the villages, we will conduct focus groups with 4-8 village members. One focus group down, and we already have some interesting information (data?) to spill over. I have a lot more to say about the women we met and the stories they shared, but I think I’ll come back to that at another time.

So you see: It’s not really all fun and games under the sub-Saharan sun. Speaking of, have I mentioned the gorgeous weather? It’s funny I haven’t because I often like to say that if I weren’t going to be a doctor I’d be a meteorologist. Note that I like to say this, I’m not 100 percent certain it’s true. I was much more impressed with meteorologists when they had blue screens and not touch screens as their weather maps. How did they know where to point?

With enough sense to end this post now,

Rebecca

Foodies

Last night, Emily and I made broth for dinner.* This is the list of things Emily did wrong, as outlined by her and as jotted down by me during the kitchen session. One, she threw out the packet which contained the cooking directions. Two, she forgot to set a timer. Three, she forgot to use a pot with a handle. Four... four I hesitate to share, but she had in her head that my decision to document the activity instead of partaking was the fourth. It was broth, I repeat, it was broth. 

The food situation in Malawi has been rather tame. Remember how I always say that I love chicken so much, I could eat it for every meal. No? You don't remember that? Well I've said it -I'm sure- and meant it. And now, my chicken dreams (darn malarone) are a reality, as chicken is the backbone of my diet. Usually, it's 1/4 or 1/2 of a roasted chicken with rice or "chips" (thick potato fries) on the side. Often, the rice is served with a red sauce that my brain is interpreting as tomato sauce and not ketchup because those of you who know I love chicken also know that I have choice words for ketchup. 

For snacks and lunch, we turn to the bread products, including "Obama rolls" (apparently named prior to the presidency) and old-fashioned PB&J. Obama rolls are a white bread slightly larger in size and rounder in shape  than a brioche hamburger bun. They're (relatively) soft on the inside and crispy on the outside, and they have a ting of sweetness to them. Of note, I've only had 1 Obama roll so far but anticipate more. Second note: tomorrow I will have N'sima with dinner, a Malawian grain staple. To follow-up. 

Emily and I have been impressed with the baked goods and meals whipped up by both our housemates (which we have 2 of, by the way) and by those in Ekwendeni who have had us over for tea. Resources, cooking appliances, and occasionally even electricity can be limited so food production is no small feat. My mother is a professional chef, justified the very kind English housemate yesterday evening, as Emily and I sipped our curry broth and she enjoyed the meat and pasta dish she threw together from leftover groceries. Of course she is, I thought. And by thought, I mean I think I said this aloud. 

So let's conclude this food-focused post on an upbeat note, with a fast word on coffee- a Malawi export and an AM requirement of mine since around the seventh grade. Upon arriving in Ekwendeni I quickly secured the coffee making staples: coffee, sugar, milk. The milk is powder, the sugar granulated brown, and the coffee... The only problem with the coffee is that I am befuddled as to whether it is instant or regular. I've tried to make it both ways and am still unsure (which is sad), but I think I've remained sufficiently caffeinated nonetheless. 

Alright. I've said a fair amount about food for now. For those keeping track, I'm sitting in the front yard at the moment. There's a man hacking down maize 50 meters in front of me, and there is a rooster cooing. It's only 4:30PM but we'll shortly head to the Ekwendeni Guest House for dinner: from coop to kitchen to table takes some time. 

Until I write again (and write about our first focus group, I'll try!)

Rebecca 

*The Ekwendeni Guest House where we eat most meals was unexpectedly closed upon arrival. 

The mountains

On our way to Ekwendeni, we phoned Dr. S, our physician-contact person (of last post's triumphant post-script). She informed us that there would be a vacant home for us to stay in that belonged to a doctor currently back in the States; we could stay there for a month until another doctor arrived. This would be better and cheaper than the planned Ekwendeni Guest House. Hello, this is Rebecca. We are now staying with a friend and will not need to stay in the Elwendeni Guest House. Thank you. Send message.

We arrived in Ekwendeni just as dusk was rolling in. I'm waiting for that dusk right now, sitting on the front stoop of the American doctor's home. Ekwendeni is built into a hill and less than six yards out from where I sit right now is a downward slope. Straight ahead of me, deep in the distance, are mountains. My landscape terms are escaping me at the moment (or, more likely, I just don't know any), but I feel like you'd term it a valley between me and these mountains in the distance. Maybe not. Let's go with valley for now. Immediately, I'm surrounded by wild green. There are birds chirping and bugs buzzing and leaves of every shade bristling quietly in the soft wind. The sun is setting to my right, and now that I'm listening more closely I think I hear singing or chanting or the laughter of children somewhere not that far off. Looking up, the sky is a light bright blue that becomes more pastel and ultimately a light orange pink by the time it meets those mountains-- the ones off in the distance, straight ahead.

I'm told I'm easily amused, but this is rather surreal.

When I return inside, I'll head towards the room Emily and I are staying in. For those yet to be informed, our room goes by another name, and that name is The Garage. We prioritized sharing a room, and by that I mean that when we first got here and I mildly panicked I decided and Emily agreed we'd share a room. I'd expand on that but why spoil the sunset with chatter about anxiety. There's beauty to enjoy.

Will write again soon,

Rebecca 

Arriving North

I'm greatly looking forward to my mother's trip to Malawi (which is happening by the way; more on that later) because I believe it will answer the age old question: if you can't see the encompassing structure surrounding you (as you can't a mosquito net in the dark), does claustrophobia exist?

Do you enjoy, reader, my constant references to The Mosquito Net? Prime blog real estate, section A1: I'm quite fond of them you see. Of note, it is the cool dry season in Malawi right now; mosquito sightings have been few and far between. 

Yesterday, Emily and I traveled to Ekwendeni, the city where we will spend the next two months. Our need to go with the flow hit like a tidal wave as we began our 200+ kilometer trip north. There will be two seats for us together, correct? we inquired, our eyes tracking our bags as they disappeared ahead of us into the bus but incidentally catching the stares of the locals in the windows, already clearly packed tight.  Yes of course, of course, 2 seats together. And 4,000 kwacha extra because we are making room for your suitcases.

Standing in the aisle of a bus for 2 hours is an interesting ordeal. Emily and I have uncovered an uncanny ability to zero in on silver linings, and highlight them. This truly is the ideal situation, we mused, standing wide-based and facing sideways to retain or balance. The scenery -from the non-seated position- breathtaking; the side conversations -from many sides- unique; the bus odor -from an elevated height- less malodorous.  In the ongoing debate of whether we are tourists or locals, our experience with the National Bus Company standing section clearly canceled out the fact that we were blatantly ripped off on the bus fare. See, a silver lining: we're calling this one a win-win.

That was a snapshot from yesterday, though, and today's today. There's a lot to say about today, our first full day in Ekwendeni.  I don't think I'm ready to break down some of the more to-be formative scenes yet (the hospital, the city, our living accommodations). I will say though that we spent the morning at Ekwendeni hospital and during morning report, a more senior overnight nurse directed frustration towards a younger nurse who reported no overnight events in the maternity ward.  How can she say no events? The nurse with grey wisps of hair scowled, after her younger colleague had left the room. Yesterday, Mr. D succeeded in carrying out a twin delivery; one of the babies was breech.  How can she report no events, when this was so special? A debate ensued over whether morning report is supposed to reflect the prior 24-hours, or just the prior night.  But I don't really think this was about logistics.  I think the point was to acknowledge a medical success, to appreciate a triumph-- here's to not taking positive overnight events for granted.

~Rebecca

PS: Also today we had a very interesting meeting with the two translators who will be aiding us in our research. We saw the sole doctor here complete a flawless LP to rule out bacterial meningitis in a 6-year-old with probable cerebral malaria, we heard the same doctor tell a 27 year-old she has untreatable ovarian cancer, and we yet again witnessed the same MD diagnose miliary TB via a chest film (on actual film). And then we left for lunch.

Tourists for a day (or a summer)

Sleeping under a mosquito net is a lesson in preparedness.  It is imperative to gather all the things you may need (and to complete all the tasks you have planned) prior to tucking yourself in. The first night I settled in after 3 tries; the second night it only took 2. 

Yesterday (Wednesday), we behaved as Lilongwe tourists should.  It was also Emily's birthday: Happy birthday Emily!

We started by wandering through the marketplace, where men, holding an article or two clothing, literally lined the paths to show off their merchandise. Standing shoulder to shoulder, their arms and fingers acted as hangers and hooks for the one shirt or pair of pants or skirt chosen to represent the entirety of what the vendor had to offer, strides away back at their stand. Picture the human tunnels cheerleaders form for the footballers to run through onto the field. Then reread this paragraph. 

Through the market and onto the National Bus Company we went, to stake out the bus schedule to Ekwendeni, where we will travel to today and where we will be for the next 2 months.  The bus yard was a scene, and I'm sure I'll have more to say on that experience after our bus ride today.

Our third destination was the Tobacco Auction House.  Cos, our cabbie, jump-started his car and away we went.  Unfortunately, we arrived at the trading house too late and the tobacco auction had concluded for the day.  But en route, we had a conversation with C about his experience with the healthcare system in Lilongwe.  He told us about his interaction with the private hospital sector a few years back, when he had malaria. He told us about the painkillers one can obtain from pharmacy (Aspirin, Bactrim, Brumo). I just tried to google Brumo, but on first glance have been confronted solely with articles detailing Bruno Mars' prior arrests for drug possession.  I'll try again later.  C explained that in the city, people seek out the hospital when pain medication fails, or when one is so weak they cannot walk or attend work.  C would never not opt for a private hospital, the alternative being the public hospitals 100% government funded.  "Check ups" or their equivalent are not commonplace. C is saving money to finish his studies in finance. His father is a pastor. 

Presently I'm waiting for Cos to pick us up and take us back to the bus yard. He said 15 minutes so naturally it's been around 30 and'll be -I'm sure- a little longer. Yes, in fact Cos just called Emily citing a "traffic jam" as the reason for the current delay. I'm sitting outside and it's quiet and peaceful out.  I'm surrounded by a lot of green, including little trees in the shapes of chickens.  It's cool out, temperature wise, the sky is a bright white-gray.

Will write again, and will make Emily write soon too.  

Rebecca

First impressions

Greetings from Lilongwe, Malawi's capital city! I'm sitting on my bed at the moment, under a mosquito net. 'Sit under' is a pretty literal description: it's still dangling --mistletoe style-- from a hook in the ceiling. Before bed I'll untie the net and tuck it under my mattress to form a sort-of tent. I will then not get malaria.  

We arrived in Lilongwe earlier today, around 2pm local time. Upon leaving the airport, the landscape was the first to grab me and I had immediate flashbacks to arriving in Mumbai in 2006 and enjoying nothing more than to drive around the city with the windows down, taking it all in. There's nothing like seeing a new city for the first time. And the less like your own, the better.

Reel in on today: one of the first things to notice here --the reason the landscape grabbed me-- is the sky.  "We come from the United States, New York City," Emily explained, in peace and with patience to our cab driver. "There, you can barely see the sky beyond the very tall buildings". And here... here, is the complete opposite. Here the sky rolls boldly in every which direction. At its lower margin it collides gently with the dried earth but aside from that it is massive and expansive and panoramic. It's a thick milky blue generously sprinkled with puffy clouds. It is beautiful, and it will be photographed at a later time.  

I know I'm not really saying that much: I'm leaving out a handful of mini- sagas that took place en route and on destination. But before I sleep I wanted to post this first impression.  I'm going to be missing the Bachelorette this summer; so tonight, the sky gets the rose.  

Final preparations / preparing finally

Well, I'm now approximately 1.5 days out from my departure. I'm surprisingly calm, though this is very well a before-the-storm phenomenon.  I have some time to kill at the moment because I'm trying to log into the AAMC website and as always have forgotten my password and am waiting for my temporary password email. This is a predicament I find myself in on a sadly regular basis.

Today I finally made it to the stores I meant to go to over the last two weeks.  I visited Target as well as REI. REI is a very cool store and made me feel like an amateur.  I think the store clerk/ranger thought I was a moron: I could see it in her eyes/smirk as I thoroughly contemplated which mosquito bed net to buy.  My father also picked out some water purification tablets for me (take that, giardia), as well as a magnetic backgammon set which is a game I hope Emily enjoys to play.

My mother just called to me from the other room to confirm Malawi does not require a visa for entry, as well as to ask if it will be "easy for me to send pictures". Her exact question was: "I forget, will it be easy for you to send pictures?" As in, we've already had this conversation.  

I hope, reader, you enjoyed the abrupt tone of this post.  I was very efficient today, and my writing appears to be reflecting that.  I think my e-mail has arrived so I'm going to go tend to that now.  

Until next time (or until I'm in Malawi!),

Rebecca

Bus stop considerations: still in America

I think my mother misunderstands the internet.  I conclude this based on the things she asks me to look up for her.  "Google the flower shop".  "Google how this particular slab of beach was ruined by that particular hurricane." "Google fish restaurants." "Google why all the people in this beach town have Irish flags on their front lawns."  "Google which fish restaurant is better." I dunno - these aren't the world's best examples. I usually bring my A-game when I boast about my mother's tech savvy. I'm going to miss her!

Clearly I'm not in Malawi yet, but I better leave soon because I think I've exhausted all of the pre-travel topics. By exhausted I obviously mean that I ever so gently touched upon: why i'm going, when i'm going, where i'm going, what i'm packing, and how this trip will change my life. So what else can I say?

For those on the edge of their seats, the elusive IRB-I (pronounced 'erby or 'IRB international') came through last night and our project has alas been approved.  Life's no fun if you're not drumming your fingers until what feels like the last possible moment. As I may or may not have mentioned previously, Emily and I have been concocting our project since around February. It's been cool, or so we keep on saying, because we kind of had the opportunity to develop our research from the ground up.  The topic is very kid-friendly, therefore, and the practicality and purpose of it makes a lot of sense to us because hey, we came up with it. It's been exciting albeit mildly anxiety provoking to have others weigh in on its quality, but we've gotten some top-shelf guidance. I want to use this forum to explain what we're going to try to do, but don't have the energy to do that now.  I'm waiting for a bus, you see, so I have to focus on that.

Will write again,

Rebecca

Feather weight

If you're in the majority, I've yet to properly say goodbye to you.  Don't worry, though, I plan to return. Only one person has acknowledged the possibility that I will: Fall in love with Africa and its people (or a person) and not come back. But I'm not really anticipating that will happen. I spent this past weekend in Brooklyn and fell in love with it and its people, so... I'm not really sure where I'm going with this. Go Brooklyn!? Nets 2015!?

I'm truly thrilled about my upcoming trip to Malawi, Africa. It'll be cool to have this experience that I think, in retrospect, has been pending for quite some time. I did not study abroad in college, so though I've done a fine amount of traveling, I've never been away for such a prolonged amount of time. More importantly, I've never traveled with the intent I'm traveling with now: to actually do something.  I don't pretend to know more than I do, but I'd like to believe that even if my 3 years of medical schooling amount to something humble, they at least amount to something.

When I was younger (and perhaps more thoughtful than I am today), I used to ponder the following: if I put one feather on a scale, the needle wouldn't budge. In my little mind this meant it weighed nothing.  But how many feathers would I need to put on the scale before a weight would register? How many nothings, clumped together, would total a something? "Good question!" my dad would respond, often from the front seat of the family car. Looking back, I'm sure what he meant was: what the fuck is she talking about, but that's neither here nor there*.

So now I know that there's a tenth and hundredths decimal place, and likewise realize that as a youth I probably confused my parents. But I think this abstract imagery of my yesteryears is apropos: hopefully all the weightless facts and figures I've accumulated over the last gazillion years of schooling will all clump together in Malawi-- and something that tips the scale will occur.

Best,

Rebecca

*its definitely there.

ENFP

Could I be a worse packer? No- the answer is no. When I did the Myers Briggs Personality Test a few months ago and ended up clustered with a group of people who liked to plan and prepare for vacations, I had a bitch please moment. I am the worst packer on the planet. And remind me at a later time to expand upon just how lousy I was at the Myers Briggs Personality Test. As in, if it were a graded exam I would have failed. Getting off track; so let's refocus.

On June 9th I leave for Malawi and prior to that I must pack. It's not a choice, says my mother, who also advised I watch "youtubes" "of Malawi" to help direct my packing list. Oh Silly Mom. Now I'm watching Jennifer Lawrence talk show clips again. This is counterproductive.

These are the headers on my packing list so far: Clothes, Toiletries, Other, Shoes. It's important to always start with headers (remember: according to M and B this is my thing). The "Other" category is by far the most intriguing, and will also be by far the largest pain in the ass to compile.  Even though it's beautiful out, "frisbee" and "four books to read" don't grow on trees. Some other things I must gather are my "long skirts" and "loose shirts", as the dress code for Summer 2014 is highly specific.

I'm actually going to actually go pack now, or at the very least resume my post on a lawn chair in the backyard. I want to go to the beach on Wednesday.

Tbc,

Rebecca 

Introduction

In eight days I depart for Malawi, Africa. A more specific address --as Emily and I were asked to provide on multiple occasions over the last 3+ months-- is N/A. Moments ago when I sat down to commence this blog, I attempted to do so on the laptop I plan to bring with me to the sub-Sahara. It is a non-Mac, and I am spoiled, so the fact that the desktop clock stated the year was 2012, and the fact that the anti-virus software stymied my attempts to go to google.com frustrated me. I made the decision to trek upstairs to my bedroom to get my MacBook Air, Mr. Sleek by comparison, and this is what I'm typing on right now.  The battery is draining fast because I'm apparently overdue to "Service Battery", and the computer fan is making this whistling sound*. This laptop is barely three years old and has already instigated many arguments between yours truly and the Genius Bar(tenders). So alright; I see what you're seeing: maybe the problem isn't Toshiba and Apple but Me and Myself.  Maybe in my possession things tend to break and I then get frustrated when they don't work well. Maybe NYC and all my high-tech toys have turned me impatient. And maybe, or let's make that last one hopefully, Malawi will turn me back.

I feel like maybe I've misrepresented myself.  Those who know me well know that to a debilitating extent, I'm a stop and smell the roses kind of girl. There's this ridiculous air freshener commercial on TV (or there was a few months ago, I hope it's off the air now) that observed how we stop and smell roses, not stop and hear them or look at them or taste them.  So stupid. No shit.  But anyway yes I am the one who stops and acknowledges the roses, the one who has taken the same walk from Home to Gramercy Park dozens if not a hundred times without boredom. I am the one who can never think of a 'fun fact' to share during meet and greets because I like the simplest of things*. But the flip side of my coin is most definitely that I seldom sit still. Malawi, will you change that as well?

So to conclude (paragraph 5 conclusions are so 3rd grade), in Malawi we'll see if I overcome two of many weaknesses. I hope to slow down and branch out at the same time. Maybe 'overcome my weaknesses' is too dramatic. Maybe I'll Evolve two of my Facets. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

To be continued...

Rebecca

PS: This wasn't really the direction this post was supposed to take, but I haven't written in a while so I'm not going to be that hard on myself.  I think what I meant to write about is this: Once in Malawi, we plan to conduct a research project, as long as IRB International (IRBI?) gets around to  green lighting  it.  The pronoun change that began  in this post-script (the we)  is because I'm not going at this alone --  thank gosh-- but with Emily, who, along with significant amounts of encouragement from others (you know who you are [SK]), planted this blogging idea in my head in the  first place. We'll see how it turns out...