Numbers 11 and 12

Hey, you know what this means: I scribbled enough in a word document entitled Personal_Statement.doc that I decided I deserved to doodle here as well. Let me get you up to speed.

Yesterday Emily and I completed our final two focus groups in a village called Kapondero. It's right past Luhomero, we told our taxi driver, Phillip, when we bumped into him the day prior and haggled for a ride. 

You told me it was right beyond, he told us en route, as the rain slashed down hard and Justin Bieber serenaded, but then I looked into it after you left and I realized it was much farther. Good thing I got extra fuel. 

Oh, Phillip. You know what's cool about Malawi? You actually see your taxi drivers again. Like, daily. Randomly. They become pals. Sometimes they call to check in. 

The day, in great part due to the company, was epic. The roads (which are a barrier to healthcare access, btw) were extra rundown and 45-minutes or so into our ride we came to a stop in front of a small pond/river interrupting our path. Phillip and Gladson (our interpreter supreme) got out to survey the situation, and I took photos. 

It fast became clear that we would not be crossing the water body in the car, and it was time to start footing it. In the rain, with a crate of 18 glass bottles of Soda and backpacks busting with 20 Obama Rolls, with long skirts and wet hair and 1 small striped umbrella and 1 smaller leopard-printed umbrella and with a laugh track self-supplied, we began our trek. 

The water was the only real obstacle; it involved holding onto outstretched arms and deeply rooted water shrubs and   balancing on wobbly stones. 

I'm a little concerned about your balance issues, Emily's caught telling me on one of many videos. 

Let's restart the 6-week praziquantel post-exposure prophylaxis count. 

Well needless to say, over the river and 30 or so minutes later we ultimately made it to our destination. Even taxi driver Phillip ditched his car and came along for the walk, which at the time didn't even strike me as unusual it was so typically Malawi. 

We then proceeded to conduct two focus groups in a row, me leading the first (with Emily typing) and the opposite configuration for the second. 

I don't know if it was the weather or the journey there or the people or on our last day us finally getting the hang of this focus group thing; I have a feeling it was probably a recipe of all of the above. But the focus groups were some of our best yet. 

They say you're done gathering qualitative data when responses start repeating themselves (they become saturated) but the other seemingly cool way of confirming you've conducted your fair share is immersion begins. 

While conducting, sitting in a circle with this group of selfless strangers, you're no longer distracted by the situation and the peoples faces and the tape recorder and what question you're going to ask next-- you're suddenly and beautifully totally and defiantly emersed and enjoying it and listening. That's what yesterday was about, more than any groups prior, and it was really cool. 

The walk and ride home were really memorable too. We spent the first have chatting and laughing and recounting stories and jumping out of the car once or twice to take videos and photos. And then Emily and I, I think, spent the second half of the ride just sitting quietly in the backseat. Thinking and watching the clouds and landscape creep by. 

It was the fourth time we had taken this particular off-road route, the one that snaked off the main road and to Luhomero and beyond. Four is a funny number because it's not too-many-to-count but it's not too-few-to-not take notice. We've traversed it on foot, in cars, while pushing stalled cars, and in the back of flagged down pickup trucks. It's a route I want to remember. It's a route I don't think I'll forget. 

Remind me to tell you about the rock on the mountain.

See you,

Rebecca