Mulanje

If my camera still existed, you would be looking at a photograph of a crayon-drawn AIDS awareness poster, a mountain valley painted with wildflowers, a brilliant blue butterfly wing, and a chalet tucked in the folds of Mount Mulanje's rolling plateau. Sadly, the camera and a number of other items were casualties* of an attempt to summit the third highest mountain in Africa during Easter break, so you will just have to imagine.

Mount Mulanje is in Malawi's southern region, near the city of Blantyre. After leading a teaching workshop last weekend, I met five friends in Blantyre and we embarked on a three day adventure on the mountain, along with our silent but trusty guide, Jonathan. If other people do this, I recommend they also hire porters. We did not. Also, I recommend they wait until someone introduces the concept of "switchbacks" here. Anyway, we arrived finally, sore and happy, above the clouds in a spectacular mountain pass overshadowed by the craggy grey rockface of Chambe peak, at a chalet where we passed our first night on the mountain.

The second day began pleasantly enough, with a three-hour hike around the plateau. We climbed through valleys of shaggy grass and brambles and wildflowers, and we danced over rocky plains. We were happy, we sang, we laughed, we felt like the Von Traps. Around 11, we arrived at a camping hut, dropped off our packs, and began the three-hour trek up to the mountain's summit, Sepitwa. The climb is what guidebooks would probably call a "rocky scramble." I would call it a "great way to break your ankle or fall quickly to your death." The trail, again, was straight uphill, but this time we had to search for footholds in smooth mossy rockface, and fling ourselves from boulder to boulder, clinging to whatever vines or clumps of grass might sustain our weight. The climbing was treacherous but exciting until the rain started, at which point it became scary. Forty minutes from the summit, Jonathan, in an exemplary display of Malawian understatement, gently suggested we turn around, considering the wet rocks, and the race with coming darkness. But the group pressed on. In an unusually lucid moment of clarity, as I slid three feet down a steep slab of rock above a craggy ledge and then watched my camera take its final great leap, I decided that continuing up the mountain would be a poor decision, and stayed behind to huddle in the cold rain below a rock with Elisabeth. It became colder and wetter. We were soaked through in the most literal sense. Our teeth chattered and hands began to lose feeling. I started thinking about John Krakauer disaster books, and all of the warnings we'd received about the Brazilian hiker who died last year of hypothermia on the mountain. Sepitwa is considered by Malawians to be a place of spirits; they do not generally climb to the summit. We started counting minutes, and discussing unfinished life business. Time slowed. It seemed silly, and inconvenient, to be dying on this mountain of all places.

The summiting group finally returned triumphant and we began the long descent down the mountain. But the mountain had turned into a series of waterfalls and the path was a stream, and our only means of fording it was by crabwalking slowly and carefully, downward, for three hours, in dusking light. We slid down on the seats of our pants, until I had no seat of my pants, or skin underneath that. Our hands were shredded by the rocks, ankles and knees pounded, and wetness prevailed. Darkness came finally, and we continued down slowly to the valley. The clouds cleared, and we saw the Big Dipper rising, Orion, the Southern Cross, a dotted sky. The hut appeared, and there was chocolate and brandy, a snapping fire, dinner… and Aleve.

On day three, we descended, ate pizza, and showered.

*Our final casualty tally included: three pairs of trousers, two pairs of shoes (one pair burned, one gone missing), two pairs of underwear (one burned, one shredded), two cameras (one engulfed in the mountain, one waterlogged by rain), and some socks.

Kuno ku Malawi

This is the end of rainy season, when all is lush and grasses are waist high. I am receiving my karmic payment for torturing Catherine (my former, incredibly tolerant roommate), who endured three years of lawn mowing with only an electric weed whacker in the name, I insisted, of environmental responsibility. Well, here in Malawi, there are no weed whackers, or other machinated options for cutting grass, only brute strength and a dull metal tool like a hockey stick: the slasher. On Wednesdays, a few hours are set aside for general cleaning at school, and the students can be found slashing away at the seemingly endless expanse of green overgrowth. Truant or otherwise errant students risk hours of disciplinary action in this form. On my return Sunday, after two weeks away from site, I discovered a jungle of vines obscuring the long driveway that once served as a path to my house; in its current state, its passibility was in grave doubt, especially considering the serpentine wildlife that love this kind of habitat. Moreover, I had created an eyesore for my neighbors, whose culture expresses a strong distaste for such untidiness. So I had my first go at slashing. Thirty minutes later, hands blistered and ego bruised, I could at least claim success in entertaining the neighborhood. The driveway, though, showed no visible sign of my toil; at my current rate, I might expect to finish by the next rainy season. So, when a man called at my fence an hour later, eying the tangled yard and asking for piecework, I accepted his offer, and at the same time, the limits of my desire to prove self-sufficiency.

Busybusybusy. Things I have been doing.

This is the first week of Term 2! Hard to believe how fast the first term flew by, and with it my first three months at site. Much of the last term was spent visiting the eleven schools in my cluster, getting to know the teachers there, and conducting a teacher survey that will help me plan the next two years in Salima. Initial school visits took more time than one might imagine, since I had to cobble together third-hand directions to each school and then attempt to find my way there via foot, bicycle, cheetah, or the back of a pickup truck. Some of my best days, though, were spent winding through villages on bumpy dirt roads, trying to keep my skirt dry while biking through a river. At the end of the term, I hosted a very successful lesson-planning workshop, which was unfortunately followed by three hellish weeks of exam typing and printing, a task that had me briefly questioning my entire purpose in being here.

But new terms bring fresh starts and there are a lot of projects in the works that I am very excited about: This week we broke ground on a school garden that will be tended by Home Economics classes and any other students who are interested in participating. It is the kind of project I’ve been hoping will take off, but I was even more delighted when the plan was suggested by one of the teachers rather than by me, since it is more sustainable if the community has ownership of the project.

This term I will be teaching a Form 3 Life Skills class. Life Skills is sort of a mishmash of topics relating to sexual health and decision-making and career-planning. I have also been assisting a group of teachers completing their degree through a distance education program who convene weekly at my school to work on assignments; mostly I help them with improving their writing skills. Also, this term I am supposed to begin teaching computer classes, both to students and teachers (a result of overwhelming requests from the survey). This has been delayed by the fact that the computers have been locked away in a closet since they were donated, and they won’t be released until the school saves enough money for stronger burglar bars. A temporary solution may be implemented: storing the computers in a closet after every class and setting them up again the next day. Really.

I am also trying to create a writing club and reactivate the Edzi-Toto (AIDS) club but extra-curriculars like these mostly exist in name only; by the afternoon, students—justifiably—are more interested in going home for their first meal of the day, rather than sticking around another hour. This is the main reason I’m trying to raise community interest in a school feeding program. There are some permaculture groups in Malawi taking this on, mostly in primary schools, but I’m hoping to find a way to implement it in at least some of the secondary schools in the cluster. [Since I wrote this we had our first AIDS club meeting and it was awesome. So, yay for progress!]

What else? We are in the early stages of planning Camp SKY, to be held in August. Much more on this soon. And I am trying to put together a five-day training for thirty local primary and secondary teachers to learn how to use the Hope Kit, a resource for talking about HIV/AIDS in the community. The kit includes a manual of exercises, a lot of teaching tools and a wooden phallus for condom demonstrations. I think it will help the teachers broach difficult topics that come up in biology or Life Skills classes.

Other Stuff:

Thanks to everyone for all of the birthday greetings!! It means so much to hear from home. Birthday festivities included a yummy grilled cheese feast prepared by my awesome site neighbor Ken, and then a birthday party the following weekend at the lake in Senga Bay. The torrential rains let up long enough for us to soak in some sunshine and bonfire and eat S’mores (thanks, Sammy!) Saturday, and then the skies let loose and the next day we had to wade a river to get back to the road, where we shared a hitch in the back of a truck along with a few loosely secured barrels of formaldehyde and a very pungent catfish. I can’t wait to turn 29 again there next year.

The first week of term break was spent back in Dedza for In-Service Training, a workshop for sharing start-of-service experiences, discussing project ideas and grant possibilities, and that kind of thing. After IST, a lot of volunteers were in Lilongwe to greet the newest batch of environment trainees at the airport, which was a surprisingly exciting event. It feels like years, not five months, ago that we had to tromp our eighty pounds of luggage through the customs gate. When we arrived in September, I had been fast asleep on the plane and missed the distribution of yellow customs cards. So when everyone disembarked from the plane and pulled out their cards, my sheer adrenaline and excitement from the landing swung into a panicked fear that I had neglected to bring some important paperwork and wouldn’t be admitted in the country. At that moment, in my sleepy haze, I realized I had also lost an earring in flight and, as the Country Director was greeting us and gathering luggage and everyone was all smiles, I had this crestfallen feeling that I had already messed up in Malawi, and this was just a bad dream. Fortunately, all of the new arrivals seemed to have all of their cards and emotional states in order and we greeted them with perhaps more than appropriate gusto, and then they were swept off to Dedza, and I began the second week of my term break, heading up north with a few friends to see the illustrious historical township of Livingstonia, on the edge of the Nhika Plateau.

Although the whole trip north probably isn’t more than 300 kilometers, our journey was delayed a day because the bus Elisabeth and I were riding on ran out of gas (not an infrequent occurrence here), and the bus in which Jesi was riding to meeting us got stuck in the mud (Also, not infrequent. And was still stuck when we passed it on the return trip three days later.) In any case, we finally made it north to Karonga, which is pretty much paradise.

Historical Livingstonia, as it turns out, consists of about three 100-year-old buildings that house a hospital and a guesthouse (aptly named the Old Stone House). Although the final destination left something to be desired, it was the breathtaking 15-kilometer trek from the lake up to Livingstonia that made the trip worthwhile. We stopped overnight about 12 kilometers up at the Lukwe Permaculture Camp, a collection of chalets floating in the clouds of a mountain, a quick walk to the Manchewe Falls and to an incredible garden that feeds the camp’s guests. There were composting toilets and hot showers overlooking the blue blue lake and we had the whole place to ourselves. It was a nice little vacation.

Written weeks ago, but finally posted

Happy 2010. I am so desperate (or so far from a decent library) that I am reading Atlas Shrugged and am mildly enjoying, if not the book, the irony of reading Ayn Rand in Africa. Consider that a plea to send good books.

So I am huddling here under my net again. The aforementioned cardboard/plastic-bag patch in my bedroom ceiling houses not only the tarantula, but also a swarm of mosquitoes, and my room is a loud whining hum at dusk. I race the swarm to tuck into the net by dark, around 6:30 p.m., and then read for an hour, which gives me a solid ten hours of sleep—just like a baby, one of the teachers told me yesterday. I sleep just like a baby. Except I doubt babies sweat this much.

I guest lectured about development aid in a social studies class a few weeks ago. It’s not, incidentally, a subject about which I am particularly knowledgeable, but I had the generous research assistance of a certain congressional attorney; also, the Peace Corps seems to encourage a fake-it-til-you-make-it philosophy that was convenient to apply in this case. Anyhow, it was all a big success, and I discovered I knew quite a bit more than I thought, and the teacher who invited me was delighted—although she was mainly pleased that the students seemed to understand my English. And of course they were probably also attentively fascinated because of the torrential rivers of sweat pouring down my face. At one point, my eyebrows failed to dam the stream and I was temporarily blinded by an endless flood of moisture so extensive I felt no embarrassment, only awe, at the seemingly infinite production capacity of my glands. I reached a chalky finger to pull hair from my face and re-channel the rivulets only to realize that my blouse, back and front, was soaked through and the tributaries of this river reached down in every direction, from my neck and to the backs of my knees. Sorry to beat the dead horse of that extended metaphor but it was really hot and I was sweating a whole lot, and it was gross and amazing and I suppose I would have paid attention too if I were a student watching this azungu lady morph into a garden hose like the doorman of the Emerald City. It is HOT.

You may have noticed the lack of photos posted so far. Apologies! I have time-traveled back to that dark age before big bandwidth and high-speed internet. Can you even remember? Try not to, because it is a cold and unforgiving barely digital landscape. There is, in fact, only one computer with a USB port at the nearest internet cafe (which I am fortunate enough to live near, but not wealthy enough to visit). One of these days I’ll make it into the Lilongwe PC office and get some up, though. Promise.

And, finally, recently I helped the school office process grade reports. The following are a few teacher's comments:
“Pull up your socks”
“MSCE is not a joke boy”
“Be serious”
“Work more harder”

:)

Christmas

My holiday involved hiking twenty miles in the pouring rain, hitchhiking in the back of a pickup truck while balancing on the hind quarters of a seizing goat and the sharp toe of a military boot. There was also some illicit Oreo eating, and two pots of gluey pasta that even twelve volunteers failed to be able to cook properly. A ridiculous amount of fun. Happy New Year and lots of love to you in 2010!
Loo

Goat manure, tarantulas, and other sundry items

The first hours at site started off a little shaky. The house didn’t seem to be ready when I arrived; door and window locks weren’t fixed as promised, the few pieces of requisite furniture were absent, and when the bedframe did come, it was evident it had functioned most recently as a bat’s toilet. As it got dark, a few cockroaches, as big as the Australian ones in our Sydney flat, began to crawl around in the kitchen. Of course, there are never only a few cockroaches. The kitchen itself is filthy, dark gray with a three-foot layer of smoky grime extending from the ceiling down the walls. In the back of the house, the kitchen, toilet, and bathing area are walled with gaping unscreened holes, presumably for ventilation, but also convenient entry points for mosquitoes or any other critters that might want to come in. The toilet and sink were leaking, and the electricity wasn’t working properly. The second night, sweating and huddled under my mosquito net with a dimming headlamp, I listened to things scuttling around in the dark. Above the bed, from a hole in the ceiling that had been repaired with cardboard and plastic bags cobbled together, a giant hairy tarantula jumped and landed on my net, inches from my face. That was a low point. I opened a bulk-size bag of Starbursts I had brought from America and ate them all—probably not the healthiest coping mechanism for stress, but I felt much better afterward.

So, it’s been a week now. I’ve scrubbed the bedframe, initated a roach holocaust, spent the whole month’s budget on food storage containers, and come to accept that I have ants, lizards, and spiders as housemates. They have a balanced little ecosystem going on, and I won’t interfere too much with them if they leave me alone. I invested in three cans of Olympic oil paint and am just now waiting for a painter to come and cover up the kitchen’s many flaws with a thick coat of Bermuda Blue, a shade I am told will facilitate roach visibility in the dark.

My first week at school was slow, but promising. The teachers spend the entirety of their out-of-classroom hours sitting and chatting and marking papers under the shade of a big tree in the school yard, occasionally moving as the sun shifts. So, I chatted with them, and learned about their classes, took notes on a few technical manuals, visited the library and the District Education Office, and came up with an action plan for my first few months here. Next week, which is shortened because of the holiday, I’m going to bike to some other local schools and introduce myself and distribute a teacher survey.

A few of the local schoolgirls have taken to stopping by in the afternoon and chatting on my stoop. Around town, everyone stops and asks me what I am doing and where I am going. Sometimes I am very happy for the company and a chance to talk, but it occasionally requires a lot of patience to be under a microscope when I am just shopping for vegetables or attempting to dismount a bike gracefully in a skirt. Yesterday, I wandered around the school grounds with a red bucket gathering materials for a compost pile; I scooped up a lot of goat manure, abundant here, to the sheer delight of passersby.

A PCV neighbor invited me to the lake for a party held by the health organization where he works. There were hammocks and barbeque, children dancing, bare feet and sand, and everything was wonderful. I had been in the dumps after a (second) failed attempt to make butter toffee with margarine, and because of the dirty infested house and the perpetual heat and all that; so, the lake party was just the pick-me-up I needed. Things will get better, and settling in is always a challenge.
Next week I’m headed up the lakeshore to spend Christmas with a few friends. Malawians don’t seem to make a big thing of it, except that we have a week’s holiday from school. So I will be thinking of everyone at home, and hoping your festivities are very merry, and sending you lots of love in the new year. Miss you all! Loo

Almost done (with training)

(December 7): Since I last checked in, the end of homestay has come and gone. We've spent the past four weeks traveling around central Malawi: first, I spent four days exploring my future site in Salima, then Thanksgiving in Lilongwe, next to Mchinji district for a language intensive "week" (actually two days), a visit to Camp Sky (run by first year Education volunteers) in Lilongwe, and a few trips back to the training college in Dedza in between. I'm in Dedza again now, enjoying a weekend of relaxation with the other trainees after completing the last major training hurdle, the Chichewa language proficiency exam, on Friday.

We've been living out of suitcases for about ten weeks now, and tempers are running high. Thereís been the predictable frustration of operating within a bureaucratic organization (so much paperwork! so many evaluations and reviews!), and also the suffocating adolescent sensation of not being able to control one's own schedule and to come and go freely. Suffice it to say, my fellow compatriots are very eager to finish up with training this week, swear in on the 9th, and settle in at our sites in the following days.

Site Visit. So, my future site is in Salima, about 30 kilometers from Lake Malawi, just east of Lilongwe, if you feel like GoogleEarthing it. Itís a fairly urban area (by Malawian standards), with paved roads and access to food stores and electricity and running water and internet, all amenities most of the other volunteers do without in their villages. Since I had been getting excited about some kind of agricultural secondary project or a composting toilet venture, I have to admit I was a little disappointed to end up with a living situation so different than that experienced in most of the country. My sister, with perhaps justifiable incredulity, has pointed out I am ridiculous to complain about having a flush toilet and electricity, so I'll stop. I will be working with a cluster of 17 schools, some of which have the benefit of laboratories and libraries and computer labs, while others lack even electricity. So, there will certainly be a lot of potential opportunities to acquire or improve available resources. The best aspects of my site are the headmaster and deputy headmistress, both of whom are engaging, intelligent, and excited about working together. I should also mention, as a warning to future visitors: Salima is hot. So very hot. Hot, hot, hot. Always damp, pillow-soaking, hand-swelling, sweaty sweaty hot.

Thanksgiving. I hope yours was wonderful. We spent the holiday with the rest of the in-country volunteers at the ambassador's beautiful home in Lilongwe, gorging ourselves to the brink of illness on roasted pig, mashed potatoes, and an array of awesome dishes prepared by the volunteers. There were even beets! Six weeks in the village had left us ravenous and chocolate-crazed; the foreseeable results of two years of such living genuinely concern me.

Language Intensive. Our language group of seven stayed at Kayesa Inn, a quiet roadside retreat near the border with Zambia, for a few days, practicing Chichewa, interviewing the community, and finally delivering an HIV/AIDS presentation (in Chichewa) to the hotel staff on World AIDS day. Our audience not only was politely attentive as we probably butchered their language, but also they asked questions about the material that illuminated the scope of the myths spread about this disease. After my partner Jesi and I presented the ABC's of prevention (Abstinence, Be faithful, Condoms Correctly and Consistently), one woman asked if condoms were really safe. If left in the sun, she said, they get oily and grow maggots; wouldn't this also happen inside a woman who allowed her partner to use a condom? Other follow-up questions demonstrated similar misconceptions about the virus and prevention. I am really hoping to tackle these issues by teaching Life Skills at my school or in my community while I am in Malawi. Life Skills is an umbrella course that covers sexual health education, AIDS prevention, gender issues, and decision-making skills to achieve life goals.

Downtime. Despite the hectic traveling and studying schedule, it hasn't been all work and no play. During our time at the training college we've played a lot of ultimate frisbee and kickball, I've read a few books (I recommend The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind if you want to read about Malawi), biked around the local villages, played cards, watched movies, jogged, sipped a lot of orange Fanta and a little beer at the local, and even attempted to make butter toffee and brew mango hooch. Yesterday: an epic battle of Capture the Flag.

So life has been good. But of course I am missing all of you, especially as Christmas approaches and I think about all the things and people I love in Virginia. Missing cold mornings, bundling up, the fireplace at 906, hot cider, and all of those comfortable wintry things. Please do write and tell me about life... or call! (I don't want to post my digits on the internet but I will email them asap). International calls using Skype are super easy and cheap, so please do be in touch.

If you are so inclined to send a package, I would be delighted to receive these things (or any other things):

coffee (ground)
movies and music
oatmeal
reese's peanut butter cups
chocolate
anything delicious
good books or magazines
photos or stories about you

But most of all, I would just be happy to hear from you. Sending lots and lots of love from Africa,

Loo

Ah, sweet internet!

Where to begin?
Well, hi from Africa, more specifically, from an empty computer lab at Katsekaminga Community Day Secondary School, where I am killing time typing this up while the students take exams. Yes, the school where we’ve been training has a number of dinosaur computers (sans internet)—unusual in Malawi, but this school got lucky. One of my colleagues is blasting Burning Spear. It is a good morning.
This is my fifth (and penultimate) week living in Katsekaminga village, a sleepy little corner of an urban area called Dedza, up in some mountains bordering Mozambique. The landscape is dotted with white gum trees, and acacia trees, and baobob trees, purple blooming trees, and mango and banana trees. There are chickens and goats, mangy dogs, dusty roads, burning piles of trash, and on the horizon, small karst mountains that bubble up every few kilometers.
The people:
I have been living with the Bvumbwe (or Mvumbwe? or Vumbwe?) family, who are taking very good care of me, especially their 17-year-old daughter Fanny, the youngest of seven, who does most of the work around our compound. Homestay has had its ups and downs, as might be expected from spending six weeks as a houseguest anywhere. Since I am learning how to cook and clean Malawi-style, the family is under the general impression that I am like a newborn who has never seen a broom or a frying pan before. They have taught me how to cook rice (and mop, and wash clothes) about six million times. My occasional protestations, that I am capable of doing these things on my own, are greeted with raised eyebrows of disbelief, to the extent that I also begin to question their veracity. The women in the Bvumbwe family are Amazons who carry giant vats of water on their heads, and children on their backs, and firewood similarly, with the same ease as carrying a purse. Their arms are rippling guns. I am impressed. Six other PC trainees, all of whom are awesome, live in Katsekaminga too.
The day:
In the mornings, I wake up around five, sweep (or, displace dust in) the yard, and meet my friend Elisabeth for a run. Fanny or my amayi (host mother) leaves out a hot bucket of water for a bath, and then I eat a quick breakfast, and hike to school on a neighboring hill. The afternoons, after lunch at home, are spent learning Chichewa, which is coming together pretty well. Our free time (45 minutes after language class) is generally spent drinking Fanta at the outdoor market. After dinner I read a little bit and usually pass out by eight. It’s a wild life.
The food:
Okay, so Malawi cuisine is, as I mentioned previously, pretty much nsima. And a lot of starch. And then more starch. Also: starch. Plus a ton of cooking oil. The Peace Corps has done an excellent job of preparing our host families with the means to meet our nutritional needs. Nonetheless, we are all at the point of insatiably craving things like cheese, and good bread, and bacon and beets of course, and chocolate, and grapefruit juice, and yogurt, ice cream, and cottage cheese, and, more generally, just the ability to control one’s own diet. (I take back anything I said in previous entries about bacon jumping the shark!) I have been eating a lot of goat, and also many animals and their parts that I wasn’t able to identify. Nsima, the consistency of mashed potatoes or grits, is basically just white maize flour and water, a bland base to be flavored by whatever relishes it’s served with. Since nsima is virtually flavorless, it is hard to like or dislike. I am strongly ambivalent toward nsima. It should be noted that nsima, however flavorless, provides the main source of sustenance for most of the children in this country. Interesting fact: In Malawi, they eat mangos like apples!
The chimbudzi (toilet) and bafa (bathroom) (You know you were wondering.)
The chimbudzi is basically a squat pit latrine, just a hole in the floor. It’s scary at night, but perfectly serviceable when adequately lit. My faulty olfactory senses continue to serve me well. The bafa, on the other hand, is a roofless bamboo-walled enclosure for bucket bathing outside. In the morning, when the sky is blue and birds fly close overhead and the sun is rising, I love the bafa. Conversely, when it is cold or when giant bees divebomb my head while I am shampooing, the experience is less pleasant.
The wildlife
At this very moment, a pride of lions is sitting on the adjacent hill, watching in wait as zebras frolic nearby. Okay, not really. Most of my wildlife encounters are with chickens, the occasional goat, and flea-ridden emaciated dogs that wander around the village. Early in my stay I did have a bedroom encounter with a small snake on my pillow, while I was reading with my head on that same pillow. The next night, I killed a palm-sized colorful spider blocking my entrance to the chimbudzi (toilet). I am told to expect more of these run-ins when the looming rainy season finally reveals itself in full. Now, the clouds are gathering darker every morning, and the winds are colder than in September.
The schools
So, during training I have been teaching English Literature to about 75 students in Form 3 (the equivalent of high school juniors). They are good kids. The Malawian school system has a lot of challenges, which I will go into in more detail at a later point. But in brief: from Form 1 (freshman year), students are taught all subjects only in English. The primary objective of education is to pass a national exam after Forms 2 and 4. Because the school system was expanded to include the entire populace recently, there is an extreme teacher shortage, especially of qualified teachers. Exacerbating this, teacher attendance is often a big problem. Textbooks and materials are in short supply, so students may share only a few books in a class of 50 or 100. Some students work hard planting in the early morning and walk long distances to school, without breakfast and without a break for lunch, so their attention wanders, especially during later classes. It’s frustrating. My job, as a teacher development facilitator, will probably include some teaching. Also, I will be working with teachers in a cluster of schools, helping them acquire materials, access teaching resources, and work toward their professional development goals through a Malawian distance learning college available to them. There is also a camp for girls, and a health camp, and a number of workshops in which I am excited to get involved. We are also expected to have secondary projects within our community or at school. More on this later.
Everything Else
There are so many beautiful scenes in the village, and all of them are ruined when you pull out a camera. Everyone freezes, the children huddle around, and the moment is gone. But I hope you will enjoy the ones I have been able to sneak. Not able to post them yet, but very soon I hope.
In the next few weeks, we will move out of homestay back to our training site at the Dedza School of Forestry. Soon, we’ll find out our site locations for the next two years, visit them for a sneak peak, have a week of language intensive before the big Chichewa exam, and then swear in as official PCVs on December 9. Sometime this month I will be issued a cell phone, and hopefully resume more regular access to internet, and get in touch with the ones I love, and all that. In the meantime, I am missing you all incredibly. Please write and send word what is going on in the rest of the world. I would love to know the big and the mundane, including in precise detail exactly what you ate for breakfast and are preparing for Thanksgiving. Lots of love,
Loo

p.s. I've got a terrible connection and about five minutes, so apologies for all of the unanswered emails!