Scenes I replay during closing prayer

I don't pray. 

But something crosses my mind during the opening and closing prayers. Sometimes it's the feel of the breeze. It hits the thin skin of my softly closed eyelids, my forehead and my cheeks. Sometimes I focus on the Tumbuka prayer being spoken aloud, or strain to hear the children deep in the distance. But often, as I sit with my fingers clasped gently in my lap, what spreads across my mind is what I've just witnessed. 

Today, we visited 2 villages: Bwabwa and Timalala, both of which have had their bicycle ambulances for over 2 years. A quick one-liner, maybe? For those just joining us on rounds?

We started the Malawi Bicycle Ambulance Project 3 years ago, after spending time in Malawi and identifying transportation as a major barrier to healthcare access. We've aimed to provide bicycles with attached trailers on which patients can be carried, as a means of getting those who are ill from remote villages to the hospital. To keep this initiative sustainable, each village that gets a bicycle ambulance also gets supplies to breed pigs. Raise and sell pigs, replace broken bicycles. 21 villages down; we've returned to check in on the progress. 

Hands settled in my lap, neck cradled and flexed, I let the Tumbuka closing prayer wash over me; I process what I just saw. 

In Bwabwa we were led to a clearing where at least 100 village members gathered. We're seated in front on throne-like chairs, under a canopy made of sticks and plastic. A thin man in a too-big suit MCs through a microphone; I don't know where they came from but two large speakers enlarge his words over a hiss of static. It's some juxtaposition: when the wind gusts I remember I'm outdoors and not in the 1990s; the microphone cord rattles and a layer of orange sand settles on our plush seats. 

The village headmen sit closest to us, off to the left, their eyes are so deep and have seen so much, and now they lay on us. The younger men and boys sit farther off to the left, on benches. I can't take my eyes off five 3 to 4 year-olds, scrunched on a small bench just inches from the ground. Knee to knee and woozy with wonder they whisper and giggle, their little bodies larger than life. I snap a picture of them with my iPhone and shortly thereafter one of them holds a brick to his eye, aims towards me and taps with his finger- he's created a make believe camera and they giggle some more. The women sit the farthest out, on straw mats spread against the ground. There's an albino girl, with white pink skin. She wears a hat to protect her from the sun, she carries a toddler on her back and helps another with her chitenge. 

What proceeds are speeches, a choir, and a drama - all to celebrate the bicycle ambulance and our visit. I should've mentioned it sooner, but we're accompanied by Richard and Alfred, the two local Malawians who have been instrumental in carrying out our project on the ground. Also Bentry, the veterinarian who has taught the villagers to care for pigs, and Wilson, a recent graduate student interested in epidemiology who is helping with our surveys. Morris, Richard's older brother and our driver for the day, is with us too. The spectacle in Bwabwa is humbling and overwhelming and sensational and evidently impossible to put into words, but it's an experience to see a community like this celebrate something, anything.

The prayer concludes. I slowly open my eyes and let back in the sun. 

In a different way, I have a lot to say about Timalala too. TBC....

Rebecca