Easy laughter

I hope, faithful reader, that we're on the same page: my life is not as cheery and giddy and easy as this blog portrays. I'm lucky, no doubt. I've had a pretty solid last two months, for sure. But the world can be dark and dreary at times and I most certainly have had plenty of moments in my life that have been drenched with anxiety and apprehension and insecurity and even full-out sadness. You -well some of you more than others- know this.

I just wanted to begin with that, because this is I believe the only post I've titled prior to writing. 

I know laughter isn't always easy.

But laughter in Malawi does come easy, and loud, and often. This past Sunday in church there was a "fundraiser", which basically involved walking to the front of the church following the offering and donating more money.  The MC screeched into a microphone, music boomed from a dinosaur of a speaker, and people danced down the aisle and danced in their seats. The girls from N. Ireland, Emily, and I were hysterical.* 

Later in the day, we sat on the front porch of the Guest House with R&A (of N. Ireland): eating peanut butter sandwiches, singing Taylor swift, and also having a conversation about religion which wasn't funny but was meaningful. 

Monday, in Mzuzu, the laughter came again (like rain, sometimes you have days that are sprinkled with it; sometimes you have a short-lived but violent burst). The day was spent with Alfred and Richard; it was a classically Malawi day. 

Even though our activities here have gone on mysteriously without a hitch (we still can't believe none of our focus groups got canceled on the spot), there's always the suggestion that something unplanned is about to occur. So by Classic Malawi, I mean the entire day -at every turn- swelled with the potential for ridiculousness.

To begin, the key to the Guest House pantry (my word not theirs) had gone missing overnight and the sugar for my morning coffee was thus beyond reach. At the Guest House, the sugar's batting around a .300. Not too shabby for the major league but disappointing because the coffee grounds and powdered cream and boiling water have always already loaded the bases (are in the mug) by the time I realize the sugar hs gone AWOL.

There was also a communication breakdown (their word not mine) with regard to my egg and toast just never being served.  I keep on messing up ordering because it seems when it pertains to food all my Malawi Speak goes out the window (Me: I'll have that too. Server: You'll have two?). Seriously: can't be bothered (Northern Ireland speak for no big deal).

A few hours later, it was next to impossible to get into a taxi or minibus to take us to Mzuzu. It's Monday, I was told. Because any time anything releated to transportation is difficult I'm told It's Monday, or It's Saturday, or It's Friday, or It's 4 o'clock. 

We eventually made it to our destinations: Mzuzu Central Hospital, Lunch, and a meeting with the District Health Office. The meeting went great, the tour at the hospital didn't quite materialize, and lunch was pizza or (pissa). Over the two pies, the four of us laughed and reflected on our time together and took photos and videos. I requested everyone share their favorite memory from the last two months, a game that was slightly misconstrued and ended up highlighting some of my personally more absurd moments and habits.

We eventually said bye to Richard and Alfred and hopped onto bike taxis to finish our Mzuzu errands. As per usual my cyclist sped ahead, up and down hills, but Emily's eventually made it and her driver graciously said bye to me before we carried on. (Sorry: this is more of an inperson story, or a component of a greater story that I can't articulate now). 

Tuesday, yesterday, presented another Mzuzu excursion- this one just us two. 

And I want to describe it in detail, give a play-by-play, let you know what made us laugh inside the Kodak store and what made us laugh at the Bus Stop. I want you to see the smiles and meet the people we met, who fast became friends. I want you to count all the scraps we scribbled e-mail addresses on, and to be squished in the back seat of our cab with us as Emily showed photos to our anonymous taxi companions. 

I want you to trip in succession behind me on the sidewalk, as I trip sometimes right behind Emily. I want you to have pizza with Alfred and Richard; to try to describe it in words to them before they see it for the first time. 

I want you to wave to practically every child you pass by, and to one in particular, back and forth, from the top of small mountain you've climbed. 

I want you to eat breakfast in the Guest House and hear the rap and religious music hum from the radio. I want you to see the night watchman's face and hand gestures as he welcomes you to feel at home. 

And by I want you I'm wagering I mean that I want me to remember these things, these moments, these days. Because I repeat and know and agree and understand that laughter most definitely does not always come loud, often, or easy.  

But when it does come -planned or unexpected- I want to realize it, embrace it, and save it. For a day with real rain. 

Good night, friend. What is your name?

Love,

Rebecca 

*Of note, I'm fully aware that this is not typical fundraiser procedure.