Red suspenders

I've been meaning to comment on Malawian style for quite some time. I've mentioned chetengies, I believe, the long stretches of brightly patterned fabric women wear over skirts. They're sahri-esque, and have prooven equally difficult for me to don. Remember at Radhika's wedding when I had to have my sahri reconfigured every 17 minutes? Remix this December. 

But the chetengies are just one feature of the garb here. Malawi is a walking thrift store. On a given day I encounter t-shirts featuring Barack's face, the Yankees, and California state schools. Gladson, our focus group interpreter, habitually rotated between a vest with a left-breasted BudLight monogram and a grey U Mich School of Business Management fleece. 

Today in Ekwendeni, the University of Livigstonia is having a graduation. 160 graduates will receive diplomas; we've seen them miilling around in clusters from beyond the Guest House window all morning. Yesterday afternoon I heard the choir rehearsal from my perch on the Guest House porch. 

Over eggs and toast at breakfast this morning, Emily and I talked with a handful of the university's professors; it became clear quick that my I'm from America would not suffice with this crowd. Instead: We live in New York City, Manhattan, but I grew up in New  Jersey. 

The garden state, smiled the professor in the red suspenders. He was tall with grey curls and twinkling eyes. He had gotten his Masters in Religious Studies from Princeton in 1994; had been to Trenton and Upstate New York. 

Across the table, one of his colleagues wore a lime green dress shirt with a matching citrus tie. Another, a plaid button down. 

Richard, our friend and the health officer we are working closely with on our bicycle ambulance project, has a flaming pink dress shirt that shimmers in the sun.  It has black accents and buttons. He also has eggshell blue and violet varieties; the pink though is our favorite. 

At focus groups, multiple women sitting next to each other will have matching black flats, with the same silver-shaped decoration mounted in the front. In town, at outdoor markets, shoes like this form mounds by the hundred. Ready to be sorted through and sold. In the capital city, I once saw them being washed in the river prior to display. 

Weeks ago at the bank, I stood in line next to a man in a Yellow and Green football jersey, and couldn't help but notice his identification card in his hand; tattered and browned. In the ID photo, the man was wearing the same yellow and green shirt. My initial thought was coincidence. 

In Malawi, the laundry lines hang daily and the clothes are worn on repeat. 

There are plenty of people in dull, ripped clothes. Faded and dusty. But there's also the color, the brightness, the flare. Woman in metallic high-heels ascend the steps to church. Gemstone crusted crosses dangle over men's floral printed dress shirts. Red sneakers. Polcadots. Faded jeans. Bare feet. 

I have to be working on other things now, so I'm out. But just wanted to get this down. I might write more later. 

Love, 

Rebecca