Skies and birthdays

Let me just say, the sky is so big that I think if I sat all day on the front porch of the guest house I could witness the entire arc of the sun - rising from my right in the east and settling to my left in the west. That means I'm facing north. Do you ever entertain (re: frustrate) yourself with that mental exercise in which you try to figure out which direction remote objects face relative to which way you are at that moment facing? I typed out an example but deleted it because you either know what I'm talking about or you don't and if you don't then it's just safer if we keep this thought at bay. 

But that sky. I'm pretty sure the sky was the first (of many things) that gave me pause when I first visited Malawi in 2014. I'm pretty sure I wrote about it. Malawi's infrastructure is so close to the ground that the sky is huge and unobstructed and stretches out like a mural with no frame. It cannot be contained. The Malawi sky is my benchmark compared to which I rank all other skies. It's ironic that at home we appreciate Manhattanhenge once or twice a year; by definition we are celebrating our metropolises' ability to pigeonhole the sun.

Here, the sun and moon and stars have free rein. Aside from the guest house where we eat dinner almost every night, practically the only other restaurant within Ekwendeni is at the Theology school. A few nights ago, we met a Malawian friend, Rosa, there for dinner - the last time we were in Malawi Rosa worked at the guest house mentioned more than once above. To dinner, she brought her beautiful daughter. 

"How old are you," we cooed, as they entered the room. We were essentially the only guests there. We had made a special trip to the restaurant the day before to indicate we'd be coming the next day for both lunch (another story) and dinner. And during said lunch, we had pre-chosen what we'd have for dinner. The chicken requires four hours to prepare (also another story, but this one you can probably figure out). 

"Today, she is four. Today, is Lena's birthday," Rosa said, with pride but if I'm being true and honest and raw, with the smallest hint of self-consciousness too. Lena hugged us shyly.  

Emily and I felt it, poignantly and instantly, and "it" in this case is what it meant that this was this little girl's birthday celebration. We added on to our pre-ordered meal an additional plate of chicken and chips (thick Irish French fries), and an Orange Fanta. 

"Lena has been looking forward to this, she told all her friends she was going to have chicken." Rosa told us. I cut Lena's meat into manageably sized pieces and then fretted for the rest of the meal that they weren't small enough. 

At the end of dinner, we played the only somewhat fun song I currently have on my iPhone, and we all danced nearby the table. Our waitress danced too. We paid 200 Kwarcha extra for a take-away container and wrapped up Lena's left over chicken for her to have the next day.

Clearly, there were no gifts and there was no cake; there were no balloons and there were no other 4-year-olds skipping around. Rosa had given us some updates on her life during dinner that also struck a cord - her home was currently without electricity, hence further birthday celebrations for Lena were less likely, and her marriage wasn't what it once was. 

Yet when the 4 of us left the restaurant and were back outside we found that the sun had set and we found that sky. That sky was a midnight blue although it was only seven and the stars seemed to multiply the more we strained our necks and stared. Rosa hoisted Lena onto her back, wrapped a chitenge cloth around her, and knotted it across her chest. Like all mother's in Malawi, Rosa did this so fluidly. 

So then it was the three of us, walking in the darkness and making small talk; full of chicken and chips. And that sky, that big bold sky above us, teeming with stars, led the way. It made us feel big and small and hopeful and helpless all at the same time. At some point our paths diverged, as Emily and I veered off towards the guest house. And with Lena snug and cradled against her back, and that sky above, Rosa could not have looked more strong. 

Ok next time I write I'm going to try to be less serious, 

Rebecca