The awkwardness of home...I'm never satsified.

Well I've been home for a few days now and getting back into the 'groove' is proving to be increasingly difficult.
I hate this period of adjustment. The ease between friends is missing; any sort of routine is gone; there's this heavy feeling of impending reunions at every turn--which, let me clarify, isn't a bad thing, I just feel a little anxious when I'm seeing friends again for the first time.

Take this morning for example--I have tried a few angles trying to get my roommate to stay home from church with me. Alas, she's not a pagan like me...or at least, like I wish to be this morning. But then I wonder--do pagans have places to go on Sundays? Anti-church services? Maybe they feel the same way--trying to convince their friends "Hey, come on, stay home from anti-church. We'll be Godly together! HAhHahahahaha..."

Fortunately, but mysteriously, I never suffer from reverse culture-shock--so that's a blessing. In fact I ease back into driving my car, eating out and shopping a little too smoothly. Heck--when is spending money NOT done smoothly?

Well--I guess I should go. I'm just putting off the inevitable...church.

Here's some visual stim. for you all--I know it's been a while since I tried being creative. This is my Dad and sister while I visited them in Port this week:


Oh--and in honour and rembrance of the guy who has never and "will never" read this blog, yet who is mentioned quite a bit lately; the same guy who did NOT say goodbye to me when I left Malawi and the guy who I kinda miss...(don't get any ideas everyone)...this is James in all his Glory:

No jetlag, but recovering from dancing...

Well, I'm home. At my parents' home to be more specific (minus my mother who's still in the Philippines, sweatin' it out).

The 36+ hours I spent on PLANES alone, NOT INCLUDING time in airports, was exhastuing, but I managed to carry all my stuff out on my back (weird...backpack ON my back) and was met by Catherine and my Dad.

I'm not feeling jet-lagged in the least, and I'm already unpacked and in Port Perry ready to visit some people, do laundry and suntan because I'm ashamed of my white skin after being in Africa and the Philippines, for Pete's sake.

Oh, and my time in Jo-burg was....very very fun. We went dancing. Old-school dancing to modern dance music. It was hilarious and so much fun. There's something strangely attractive about a man who can dance well and spin a girl. Spinning is fun, but I hurt my neck. Because I'm a senior citizen.

So, if anyone reading this is in Port and wants to hang out then call me at my parents' place. I'll be here for another day and then I'm going up to my brother's cottage. Oh, and I'll be in Uxbridge today--so...be in touch!

Lastly, everyone should know how amazing my Mum is. She's been toughing it out in a birthing clinic for a month in extreme heat and stress. And, (she's going to kill me) she's in her 60s. She's pretty cool.
She only has less than 2 weeks left of her time there---but if you think of it pray for her that her last days there are good ones.

Headin' Home Baby

Well, I leave Emmanuel International Malawi in about an hour. And I can't say I'm not very excited.
I would be quite sad to leave if I wasn't going to be seeing most of these people again soon--but since most of them live in Uxbridge then I simple 'See ya' will do when I leave today.

I'm not big on good-byes. Some of you may have noticed that. (!)

Anyway--some of you know (oh, did I already blog about this?) that I have a 24hr layover in Johannesburg, and I have just heard one too many horror stories about that place that I was seriously considering NOT leaving the airport.

Well, by the grace of God, not only do I have people (that I don't know, but know through friends) picking me up tonight in J-burg but I also have a date! I use the word 'date' loosely.

Anyway--I had a shower, picked out my clothes and shaved my legs, sooooo if it looks like a date and smells like a date, then I suppose it is.
So, we'll see how things go. I've done long-distance and was not a fan, I can't see how dating someone in South Africa is a good idea.

RB just drove my car back from her parents' place to our place--and it's gotten me quite excited. I just don't know what I'm going to do with my joy when I can actually be in a car with a stereo...and seat belts!
I might just have to drive along going 'EEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!'

Alright, that's it, I'm going to eat some breakfast before I have to head to the airport.
See you all on the flip-side! (Was that gay of me to say that?)

Death by Baboons?! CONCLUSION

Ah...where were we?

Right--night was falling quickly due to gathering rain-clouds, yet rain falling wasn't likely, thank God.
I had received only one badly connected phone call from Tim; a disconcerting phone call.
About 2.5hrs into my baboon sit-in, between hot, panicky tears, and swearing, I prayed that God would do the miraculous--that I would not only not see another baboon, but more importantly, I would not even HEAR another baboon. In particular, I asked that God would keep the big guy away from me--his snorting and heavy stalker-breathing was just getting to be too much.

And in God's fashion he spared me. From the moment I prayed I never did see or hear another baboon noise.
But then my mind was occupied with night fall (within the next 2 hours and I was over an hour away from the car) and the undeniable truth that the others were lost and most likely NOT coming back my way.
After another panicky attack, some intense head-buried pray, and some idol threats, glorious glory the cell phone vibrated in my shirt...which was also terrifying considering every sense in my body was on high alert. Sure enough it was Tim.
"Where are you?"
"Right where you left me." I said.
"You didn't get my text?"
"No. Nothing. Where are you?"
"Uh, well, we're not so good." (Not so good? In Tim's language that's 'things are bad'.) "We haven't found the fort. Head back to the car and we'll meet you there in a bit."
(GAH.) "Ok. See you soon!" (Dying inside.)

Already packed and prepared to take off at a moment's notice I sling my backpack on, slide off my boulder and hit the ground running. I don't give a crap if I see baboons anymore. I felt like that guy from X-men 3; the unstoppable helmet-head guy. Once I got some momentum going I would just bowl through anything obstructing my way. There would be baboons flying right and left as I charged through them.
I was unstoppable. I had a helmet-head, so to speak.
Juggernaught! (Thanks Jes!)

This time the journey down was nice--I actually stopped to take a few pictures. Believe it or not I didn't take a single picture while I was on my boulder. I didn't feel like it was the right time to take self-portraits, nor avant-garde landscape shots. For some reason I just wasn't in the mood.

However, it wasn't long before the long grass started to rustle again. Only this time it was snakes. I don't know how many snakes I saw. The most interesting one actually flew. He was so scared when I pounded past him that he got air when he darted away. Turns out it was just an African version of our garter snake.
But, heck! I was on a damn safari!

Once I lost my tatenji, a traditional wrap/skirt that I had to wear at all times (90% Muslim population in Zomba), so had to backtrack about 10 minutes.
Made a toilet pit stop--uneventful but satisfying.
Then got lost for about, oooohh, maybe 30 minutes while I was trying to find the trail we took in. Unsuccessful.
So, because I took a wrong turn somewhere I ended up having to cross the river at a different spot; of course a wider spot with faster moving water and less rocks to jump on.
I wish someone had videotaped it. The internal anguish I was suffering through and the external problem solving my body was navigating through must have been hilarious as I studied the rocks available to use, then reconsidering, then wandering back up the path to see if I could go another way, then back to the river, then attempting a leap, psyching myself out, repeatedly hiking my tatenji up while muttering to myself "I have to do this. I have no choice. I just have to do this."

Maybe one day God can show me a play-back of that day. Just the river part.

Finally after making the leap of faith onto the first rock, COMPLETELY unsure if the rock was stable or WHAT, then zigzagging my way to the other side I made it to the other side, unscathed, and rather proud.

Maybe 20 minutes later I had no choice but to take the path I had chosen into a small village--mud walls, thatched roofs, naked children, the whole 9 yards really. With my pathetic Chichewa (Zomba language) and Chiow (Yao/Namwera language) (I'm so sorry to all you Malawians and missionaries for butchering your language SO much now in type and in person...) I somehow managed to find out where Namwera was, as well as the road that we originally took in. Of course I had a small following of, oh, 40 to 50 children running and screaming behind me.
"AZUNGU!!!!!!!!"
I managed to not majorly offend anyone--I think--which is just as important as finding my way back to the car in one piece.

So, exhausted, red-faced and sweaty I made it back to the car to wait for Naomi to pick me up. She arrived not too soon after and in my typical style I pretended to not be a mess. I was this close to a complete breakdown when she hugged me, and perhaps it would have been fine to, but at the moment I was more concerned about Tim who still hadn't returned.

A search party was sent out around dusk, and by the grace of God they were brought back home about 30 minutes later. They looked tired and hungry but ok. Tim's armed were literally shreaded from the brush and undergrowth they had to bushwack through, and the next day they complained of few sore muscles. They had hiked non-stop for 7 hours. So I shut my mouth about the bruise on my butt from falling off that boulder.

In so many ways it was a blessing I was left behind. Otherwise they would have had to carry me out of there. And I have this cool tale to tell for many many years to many people.

So, that's my story.

That night I couldn't fall asleep because I kept reliving he experience and I SWEAR I heard that heavy stalker-breathing in my room during the night. And I've heard SO MANY terrifying accounts of people lost in the bush, baboons attacking, wildlife, etc etc....but I'll save that for next time.

Death by Baboons?! PART TWO

The next two and half hours are a blur.

Now, I know what you're thinking, because I just reread my last post: Claire, take it easy. They're monkeys.
And yes, I can understand why you'd say this.

But imagine with me for a moment that you are on a mountain-side in Africa. Alone. A female like me (not especially adventurous OR experienced with wildlife). Separated from your group and surrounded by ferocious sounding animals. Not certain your group is coming back any time soon and starting to wonder if they're lost.
Yeah. Ok. Moderately scary.
Now add a VERY vivid imagination and romantic sensibilities (ie dying battling a baboon in Africa...romantic in the novel/literature kind of way).
(Here I am looking 'romantic').
Here is an excerpt from James' journal (he said I could write in it...) BEFORE the lion:
"Here I am, sitting on the side of a mountain--overlooking rural Malawi being harassed by giant blackflies and haunted by very scary-sounding baboons. Now, I don't know much about baboons per se, or monkeys in general, but I seem to have this deep seeded (seated?) fear of them. I believe it has something to do with the baboons from Disney's Tarzan...at the time the baboons chasing Janes was one of my favourite scenes. But now all I can think about it how ferocious they were and how much I wish Tarzan was real.
But the Lord keeps reminding me who He is "His thoughts for me are all good." That's so comforting to me when I'm sitting here imagining all the ways I could be killed by angry baboons."


So, as I'm sure you've all guessed, it wasn't a lion I was hearing, it was a big daddy baboon. And he wasn't mauling a human baby...just a baboon teenager. Still. Blood-curdling.
Right, so we left off as the lion/baboon was crashing through the tall grass towards me...

With knife drawn in my right hand, and mace ready in the left I was prepared for all possible scenarios:

a) in a blind-fury the baboon comes right at me so I stab with the knife and spray him with the pepper spray
b) pepper spray is clogged (and expired...eck!) so I stab him repeatedly in the face and blow the whistle attached to the pepper spray in hopes I wound and disorient him enough to escape
c) if he doesn't charge at me then I have the cell phone Mtulo gave me, the knife, mace and whistle packed on my person (don't tell Mtulo I tucked the phone in my bra so it wouldn't fall out of my pocket if I had to run) in case I had to make a run for it.
d) if he seems a more curious than aggressive, blow the whistle and see how easily he startles--then move onto standing up and yelling, then to throwing things.

Fortunately, by the grace of God, (who I was intermittently threatening, praying to, crying to, begging and swearing at) the daddy baboon never showed his face...although I heard him enough to know he was VERY close and checking me out.
I thought about it from his point of view--I was in his territory, hanging out under his fruit tree (poor choice of seating local on my part), and I, as far as he was concerned, was just another type of primate. IE: a threat.

Then I thought harder as to why I had this deep-seeded fear of baboons; nature shows. BAH! Why did I watch those so much as a child?!?!? An instinctual fear of baboons was about the same as an instinctual fear of hippos; creatures who are portrayed as cute little animals on children's shows, but who are, in fact, highly aggressive, dangerous creatures.

It's about this time I start to wonder what the F I'm doing alone in the mountains in Africa.

Time ticked away--the fear of baboons attacking is replaced with a fear I've been left behind.
Another expert from James' journal:
"I've now been here for 3 hours...and the fear I had for myself and the baboons has now turned into fear you're all lost or injured somewhere and I'll have to get out of here alone.
James, it is now your job to make sure I never go on another hike with you--ever."

Oh, you can't imagine the range of emotions I was feeling. Top of the list was fear. After that:
-anger
-helplessness
-sudden bursts of random wild-life knowledge
-aggression
-thankfulness
-abandonment
-hopelessness
-desperation
-flight and fight
-denial
-panic

Now, remember WHO we're talking about here: me. I know everyone wouldn't respond this way. So, take this with a grain of salt.

Sometime around the time the lion/baboon started stalking me I started trying to reach Tim via the cellphone. (Click on Tim's name to read his version of the day...) No luck. Bad reception. I must have tried a dozen times. Finally he called me. The reception was poor and I couldn't make sense of what he was saying.
"Claire...you...and we're....text?" Then the connection died.
There was no time for me to say "TIM! I'm surrounded by baboons who want my flesh! WHERE ARE YOU? and when are you coming back!??!"
Wondering if he had wanted me to text him I did so...pretending to be calm I wrote 'Hey, where are you'. Half an hour later, after I hadn't heard back I wrote 'Hey, where are you monkeys here freaky'.
Still no response.

Pseudo-rain clouds start to pile overhead and the crickets start to creak. Night is falling.

TO BE CONTINUED......Bwahahhahaha.....

The Love of a Good Chip

Just to keep you all on your toes--here's a good anecdote from a moment ago that a lot of you will understand:

I've mentioned to James a couple times now my immense love and respect for the potato chip. Sadly, in Malawi, chips aren't very common. I'm ok with that...but today mentioned to James I would DIE for some chips today.
He made some smart-ass comment about chips being called crisps here etc. Anyway, that was the end of it.

Then this evening I randomly had a craving for this pineapple drink, Sobo, and as I went for it in the cupboard the shimmer of a chip bag caught my eye. I turned to Tim "How long have these been here...?"
Tim smiled and didn't really know what to say. James sighed and said they were supposed to be a surprise.
Aw.
I laughed at myself for finding the chips less than 5 minutes after the entered the house and James corrected me 'More like 5 seconds.'
"Yeah, it was like you have radar, or something." Tim said.

Minutes later James found me pacing in the living room, clapping my hands.
"What?" He asked me.
Shamefully but full of glee I told him I'd just been thinking about the chips.

Ah. I can't help who I am.

Death by baboon?! PART ONE

Today was a day that deserves words like 'harrowing', 'traumatizing', 'frightening', etc...

It started out just like any day...(prepare yourselves for a LONG but craaaazy story)
Tim, James and I planned on hiking to an old fort, Mang*ochi Fort, early this morning; it was a hike that was supposed to last a few hours. It turned into one of the most memorable days of my life. (And not memorable in GOOD way--memorable in a 'I'm-going-to-need-counselling' kind of way).

Tim, James, and I plus the boy next door, Mtulo all headed out, well fed, well rested and ready for a good long hike, planning to return sometime after lunch. On the way to the mountain base Tim asked me 'Did you bring your camera?'
"Psh! Did I ever!" I replied.

(Crossing a dam...early in the journey)

A few kilometers to the mountain base and we started up the mountain. The fort is located in a basin, surrounded by a few mountains. Sounds pretty cool, eh?
But soon into the hike, the nausea I'd been experiencing came back--with a vengeance. Here I was again; hiking a mountain with three young, fit guys. Shit.

(The path plateaued for a moment...for now I can keep up.)

I told the guys to take it down a notch, but the slower pace didn't help. Tim said 'We're half way to the top.' I wish.

Somewhere around half-way, I said "I have to stop. You guys go on." I was equipped with my trusty mace and whistle and Tim gave me his Leatherman, and James gave me his watch and journal for reading material.
(Oh....this is long....sorry...)

The guys literally start RUNNING up the mountain and I thank GOD I chose to wait for them there. I perch myself on a big boulder--about 12 feet above the ground--with a glorious view of the farming area below in front of me and the rest of the mountain behind me.
I read through most of James' journal (good reading...I'm mentioned twice. Nothing fancy...just mentioned). Next thing I know there's a louder-than-leaves-falling rustling behind me. I turn around and something is moving in the long grass...my heart stops...is it the folk-lore little men Tim warned me about before he left? Yitopotopos, the little men with long beards, best described as trolls?

Then the face of a baboon appeared through the baboon-coloured grass. My heart still pounded but I felt a little better when my movement scared him off.
He scampered off but I heard him calling or something a little while later.

Mace out.

Then a while later two more baboon appeared. These ones were a little frisky and unfortunately true to their monkey-character: curious.

Leatherman out and poised.

On high alert I start to wonder why I have this instinctual fear of baboons. I decide it's from the Disney's Tarzan when the baboons attack Jane and steal her boot. "Daddy! They stole my boot!"

Then perhaps the most terrifying sound I've ever had the displeasure, nay, horror of hearing was an animal making a low growl. The growl grew into a roar and then another unfortunate creature started to squeal and scream--much like a baby.
Ah. Shit. A lion is mauling a baby. Fantastic.

The sound grew closer, the long grass rustled, the roaring did not cease. My heart stopped. I understood why some people wet their pants when they're frightened.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Facts and figures that make you sick:

Of course we all know that James is a perv and likes to read things that aren't meant for him to read, yet here we are; James is reading over my shoulder and I'm LOVING EVERY SECOND OF IT!
Stop reading James. Stop it.
Thank you.

Anywho---we all know that HIV/AIDS is a huge problem in Africa. We all KNOW this, but I don't think we all fully grasp it. It's an epidemic. Literally.

Even though the official percentage of people suffering from HIV/AIDS (in Malawi) is between 15-18%, Tim and Naomi say it's more between 30-40%. 30-40%!

And you know what makes it even worse! Promiscuity for young people just reaching puberty is ENCOURAGED by parents. Why? So that they can practice for their husbands/wives.

Isn't it disgusting how well Satan has put this little charade together?

Not to mention the impact of some of the laws of Islam--the predominant religion around here:
-no sex during the 9 months a woman is pregnant and no sex for 6 months after (what husband wouldn't find someone else to fulfill his needs during that time?)
-polygamy is accepted
-a wedding lasting a few hours to a few years is acceptable so that a couple can have sex within marriage, thereby not committing any kind of sin
-divorce is a reasonable move

Sex, and lust, and unfaithfulness, and promiscuity, and betrayal, and divorce are the epidemic and HIV/AIDS is the symptom.

Gah, and men make me sick. If I didn't know any better I'd seriously consider becoming a lesbian.

Just the other day, Naomi and I took a young mother of two, only two months pregnant to the hospital because of severe dehydration and malnourishment. Naomi explained to me that this poor woman's pregnancies were all like this. That her husband, who is married with another family in a village over, came home after being away for a long time, instantly got his wife pregnant and then took off again to let her suffer through these horrible pregnancies while trying to care and provide for her other two children alone.

Bastards! All of them!

Ah, good-ol' Tim just walked in and James is sitting across from me playing the guitar...that was a mean generalization. I'm sorry. You're not all bastards--but you can see why it upsets me so much.
Sure, women aren't perfect by a LONG shot, but you just don't see them abandoning each other the way men seem to.

Anyway--before I start a holy war, I'm going to stop here.
I just wanted to make you aware of what's happening out here---how incredibly serious and UNREAL it is, because like I said earlier, I KNEW all this before, but seeing it....well that's just another story.

We should all take a moment and thank the maker that we were born into a life of privilege and relative health and safety that we were.

Bloody diarrhea is kinda fun....touche....

Favourite moments since arriving here in Nam_wera to stay with Naomi and Tim Cowl*ey:

On the way to Nam_wera, Gabe, the Cowl*ey's 5 1/2 son, took a rare pause in his soliloquy to turn to me and say in a cheery, but reflective tone "When I'm awake I don't stop talking."

This is Gabe here with his friend...who's name I can't pronounce.

James and I are both suffering from different forms illness; James, a bad cold with a fever, and me, nausea and LBM for four days. Today we paused for a breather in the market while Tim was buying his fresh, unpasteurized milk. I commented to James that the only thing that could make this trip better was if I got cholera. "That'd really round the trip off nicely," I said.
"I want bloody diarrhea." James said quite matter-of-factly. When I looked at him questioningly he replied "so I can try out the bloody diarrhea medication my doctor gave me." We nodded in agreement that, yes, bloody diarrhea would be awesome to have.

When we stopped at some one's home to check out a propane powered refrigerator, Tim needed a 'torch' to see the back of the fridge, so the mother ran off to get us a 'torch'. As she ran by the Cowl*ey's oldest daughter, Mika said in her bright, uber intelligent and therefore sometimes intimidating tone "Hm. I've never seen a woman run here."
To which I replied "Oh yeah. Me neither."
Mika looked away from the woman running, cocked her head to the side and said with bright eyes and a big smile "Well, that's because you've only been here 2 days."

Ah. Touche. Shut down by a 9 year old.

But on a serious note, if you could all pray for me--my tummy is upset a lot. Not eating is the only thing that seems to help, whiiiiiich, clearly isn't the best method.

(Sunset view from Cowl*ey's driveway)
I'm leaving here in 8 days. Kinda excited. (Hey, do some of you remember how I refused to date that guy who wrote the word 'kinda' on a postcard he sent me? Yeah. Look at me now. I would never date me.)
I'm just really looking forward to getting home and debriefing, driving in my car, eating chips. HECK! When do I not get 'kinda excited' about eating chips?

A big 'Oh, it's you again.' goes out to Crystal from Antipolo! I miss you and your family...thanks for checking in on my mum!
Love to you all (except to those I don't love but perhaps just like a lot, and those who are blog creepers.)

Like a mountrain goat...

People have actually been complaining that I haven't posted in a while (just Mum and she wasn't 'complaining' per se) and the success of my last post makes this next post a little daunting and most likely a let down for most of you as this is more of a day-to-day post, less prose.

Anywho, as the title suggests I am the mountain goat. A few of us climbed a mountain behind our house yesterday--much to my initial delight for being asked to go, the following feelings of dread as the boys started to RUN up the mountain, next my feelings of vomiting, and lastly, feelings of triumph as we traversed THREE mountain tops to reach our goal: a hotel bar.

The mountain we climbed is more of a hill, really. But we like to think it's a mountain because we LIVE in the mountains. (For those of you who know, telling a story about mountains is very difficult for me as I type 'mountrains' every f-ing time. Be patient..unlike me.)
Anywho!
Ben, James, Christian and I took off with lofty goals of reaching the top of just one mountain. Suddenly, only 30 minutes later we found ourselves at the top of the first mountain. Satisfied at my brush with mountain-climbing I agreed that we 'check-out' the next peak to prepare for it another day.

This terrain, by the way, is not ideal. (What mountain-side terrain is, Claire?) If the dry grass isn't as slippery as ice, then it's the jagged rocks, or perhaps the grass twice as tall as a man that I became VERY intimate with after it became tangled in between my legs and around my feet. AND, without knowing much about snakes, or the habitat of said reptiles, I knew in my gut we were hiking through prime snake territory. I think besides being physically unfit for climbing mountains, it was the fear of a snake encounter that slowed me down the most. Oh, I failed to mention WHAT kind of snakes: black mombas, the single most poisonous snake in the world (minus coral snakes). Apparently this area is ripe with them.

Before we left James reassured me that we'd have to meet a lot of criteria in order to be bitten by a black momba.
1) Be in their territory (check)
2) Actually FIND one (probable)
3) Piss it off (likely)
4) Be within striking range

Having successfully accomplished the first criteria, and certain that numbers 2, 3 and 4 were sure to succinctly follow, I was lagging behind most of the time. And because I had agreed to Christian's terms that I wouldn't complain I said little about poisonous snakes. If I was going to die it might as well be from the most deadly snake in the world while climbing a mountain.

Ok, I didn't mean to write that much about the mountain, but, I'm pretty proud of myself. And since Christian didn't specify how long the 'no complaining' agreement was enacted for I resisted complaining, or rather commenting, on the extreme pain I found my body to be upon waking this morning. At least twice my knees have buckled, I want to cry out each time I have to use my quads, and the pieces of mountain and mountain brush that are slivered into my flesh still sting. Yet! I remain complainless. (Strong, stubborn, or prideful? It's a toss up.)

In other new I'm off to another town in Malawi to stay with a missionary family. The lady, Naomi, was a student of Mercy In Action, yet is not a practicing midwife. However, her and her husband Tim have been so kind in letting me come and arranging (I hope!) for me to meet some medial people, NGOs, and a couple midwives!
Oh, and they're really close to Mozambique so I think I might check that out for a couple days.

I'm not sure what God has in mind, but I agreed to go after I discovered the lady we're staying with here, Hellen Jones, happened to be driving to Tim and Naomi's town tomorrow! The Lord better be up to something. Ohhhhh you'd better, mister!
And unrelated, but a factor in my decision, was meeting a fellow named Ernest (Grace house guy for those of you who know). Something he said in his non-chalant, but wonderful way really struck me. He said 'All of the Lord's thoughts for me are good.' It's another one of those things we 'know' but rarely believe to be true FOR US, someone else, totally! But not for me. His thoughts for me are ones of disgust, disappointment, anger, occasional amusement, etc. But no! Even the man who can't afford to marry his fiance of 7 years because he doesn't have the money to agrees 'all of the Lord's thoughts for me are good.'

As I type this there is an Africycle meeting happening behind my back--things seem to be going well. But Ben just referred to my mad typing skillz as 'Fingers of Fury'. He makes me laugh. Frig, introduce me to a Ben that doesn't make me laugh and I'll do....something drastic.

There is internet in Namwera (Tim and Naomi's) so I'm hoping blogging won't be such a chore while I'm there, but then again I might be on the road a lot yada yada...but I'm home in 12 days and I've already composed that slide show displayed to the tunes of Louis Armstrong, U2, and something in Tagalog in my mind. We'll see.

Picture downloaded...buuuuuut here's another one bc it rocks my world.
AHHHaHahahhaha...I just checked out that first picture I downloaded and it's the WRONG ONE! Believe it or not, I did NOT want to post the picture of the guys being pervy behind my back. But, because it took so long, it's staying. And it's pretty funny, so that helps.
Anywho--the other picture is of James with a big stick-bug on his arm. Christian spotted this crazy creature in the grass and James proceeded to pick him up and then drop him about four times, causing the poor bug to loose a leg. Here is James trying to make up...make out? No, make up.
Ok...uh an hour later and the pic hasn't uploaded. That is my breaking point. Sorry.

Over-romantic prose.

I resist the urge to put my iPod on so that I can fully soak in the sounds of rural Malawi. Like most developing countries (that have extensive history nonetheless)there's the rhythmic scrape, scrape, scrape of a twig-broom scratching against the packed down earth--only here the earth is a rusty red.

A diesel truck pulls out of a driveway onto a dirt road--it's potholes filled with broken bits of red brick. Once the truck is gone I can hear computers and battery packs beeping on and off as power from 3 different power centers in Malawi decide who's going to be providing the power (if any) this morning.

Again, as if I can ever escape it, the pre and postmature crowing of the rooster curdles the gentle din of rural sounds.

Children in a valley play something with rocks and sticks--a mix between hockey and soccer but without the competitiveness associated with those sports. No, they are laughing, oo-ing and ah-ing, cheering and bemoaning all in time with the dull crack of the rocks hitting sticks.

Because we're in the mountains there's lots of wildlife--invisible birds with distinctive voices communicating something we'll never understand. I wish I could fly. A bird's eye view of Malawi.

I'm sitting rather regally on a high-wall that surrounds our property, straddling it's double-brick width expanse about 20' from the hard ground below. Somewhere down there I hear the soft, deep voices of 2 Malawian men--by the sounds of it discussing the tales of someone very amusing. I like listening to them talk and I like it even more when they laugh--in the deep, hearty, open-mouthed, head-back kind of way that reminds me of their North American counterparts.

A people can travel so far and for so long and walk through so much incredible history yet generations later they still share the same laugh with their ancestors. I guess the same could be said for their crying--but I've yet to hear or see that. There's always so much laughter here, and I think the sorrows are too great for many tears. A losing battle really.

I can still hear the children in the valley--laughing tiredly.
A cool, mountain breeze laced with smoke from rubbish fires blows through the leathery leaves on the trees as it blows past my face. I don't have my Jumbo 16 Hatari fan here--yet the universal smell of burning garden waste still haunts me.

The feeling like people dislike me still haunts me too--no matter how far away from my home town, my high school, or my demons I fly. Because demons pack light and are rarely caught by airport security.

Someone starts to play the piano and it's out-of-tune melody drifts typically over the lawn and to me straddling the wall. It's one azungu intrusion I appreciate.
My stomach is on the verge of adding it's voice to this Malawian cacophony--but the power is still off and all I want is tea. Oh, the dilemma!

A woman walks by with a baby strapped to her back with a bright-yellow acrylic shawl and I can't help but smile. She's carrying a huge aluminum bucket of water on her head while the baby pinned on her back looks anxiously up at the pail of water perhaps antisipating getting a little wet. But despite her load as a woman--she looks up at me and smiles, practically glowing. I laugh at myself because I know how ridiculous I look on this wall. She laughs back--and we have an understanding that I look like an idiot but that's ok. I also get the feeling that we both wish we could communicate with each other. Smiles and awkward laughter will have to do for now. And surprisingly, for me, it is sufficient.

Coming to Africa to update my facebook profile.

Today was a nice day. Had a good sleep under heavy cotton blankets, woke up and had some ginseng and honey tea, read, journaled. Then after lunch went with the guys back to the Africycle site to finish putting the roof on the guard hut.

I had totally prepared myself to be working hard while I was here--in fact if I remember correctly I spent a couple restless moments praying about the ensuing physical labour. However, this isn't the case. In fact, if I wanted to I could just sit around and read or mess around on facebook.gay. (yes, I use facebook.gay from time to time...but that doesn't mean I can't bash it.)

But, by the grace of God I prepared myself to work hard and so my mind is set to work hard, damnit! I didn't come to Africa to catch up on my reading or movies.
That's another thing--I've been praying a lot that the Lord would show me my purpose here (in the guise of a crotch?) because I know there's a reason I'm here.
Anywho! Back to today! I went with the guys to finish work on the guard hut--pretty sweet. I hammered in a few nails, took some pictures, swept, and generally felt less lazy and more worth-while (yeah, yeah, hard work makes me feel worth-while...)
Here I am trying unsuccessfully to hammer nails into the top of the roof while Ben looks on laughing. Well, less laughing, more humouring me.
Then after that we headed home and I helped make dinner for 13 people. It was awesome. A real glimpse into community living--preparing and eating meals together, fellowship after. It's cool.
Oh, and a new girl came today--Claire Bent. It's pretty funny actually--we have a lot in common (minus she lives in London, is a pastor, and is 28). Alright, so the only thing we have in common is our uncommon first name and stranger last names.
The cool thing about being here is people are constantly coming and going so there are always new people to bug and ask 'what are your dreams?' 'why are you in Africa?' 'where are you going next and why?'
Sadly I haven't completely identified the spirit of missions--but I feel I'm getting closer with each person I interview.

One of those people I met is Mary Helen, a retired nurse/psychologist who is here to help orphaned children with their grief. What a crazy ministry, eh!?! She's going about it all right too--training the nationals so that the program doesn't die when she leaves and so that the people take the responsibility and the pride in their work and the results.

She told me a sad story--she was in a village doing research about how children are helped to deal with grief when she met a grandmother caring for her orphaned grand-children. Mary Helen noted the children never smiled, or really showed any emotion at all. After an hour Mary Helen said to the grandmother 'The children seem very sad.' to which the grandmother replied 'Oh. I'd never thought of them as being sad.' When I asked Mary Helen how children were helped to deal with grief she said 'they weren't' and that's why she was here.

This last picture was taken from the site today--there is a gang of kids who congeal around us when we're working. This little girl is a typical snapshot of Africa--but her smile melted me. It's not framed properly (all you shutter-bugs) but I had to catch the moment and only had a fraction of a second to do it.

Alright, my picture has been downloading this entire time and there's no end in sight. I can't believe you forced me into doing this again! But the pictures here are just too cool. Oh. You'll just have to wait for the slide-show. And you KNOW there will be a slide show the day after I get back.

Antartica? No. Africa.

(Some of you received part of this in email form---so scroll down for pictures.)

I am in Africa aaaaaand I'm wishing I wasn't.
I developed a bad cold between Manila and Malawi--but fortunately it seems to be getting better already. However I'm still trying to get over this jet lag (6 hrs behind Manila and 6 hrs ahead of Ontario).

The climate is DRASTICALLY different too. I'm FREEZING most of the time. yeah, Africa freezing. Go figure. It friggin snowed in Johannesburg the other day.
So between different food that's making me queasy most of the time, jetlag, a cold, new people, and the climate, I'm having a good time.
Trying to find my place here--at least in Manila I knew where my place was; at the foot of the bed staring at a crotch. But here, I'd give anything to stare at some crotches. At least that would give me some purpose.
Today we built a wall. It's for one of employees of this mission home. She needed a wall for her kitchen so we built one for her--out of brick made with clay, straw and water, and mortar of mud. I think my favourite part was when I cut myself with the bricks and then stuck my hand in and out of the mud and water all the while replaying Alex Trebek on World Vision talking about all the peoples with various amoeba, infections, diseases and worms "because they don't have clean water to drink and bathe in". Made me shudder. But I figured if I was going to die it might as well be from contracting something deadly from dirty mortar-mud.
However I know they were just humouring us by allowing us to 'help' build a wall. I felt dumb---a mason should build a wall not a dumb white-kid missionary. I knew it, they knew it.

Pray for me.
And pray that I find my place here.
Before I left Mum said 'I have a feeling you're going to go home earlier than you planned'. She might be right.
Oh, Mum also said (just now via email) that while I was at the clinic in Manila 191 babies were delivered! That sounds about right and perhaps would explain my complete EXHAUSTION.

We're located in the mountains of Malawi, about 15 mins away from Zomba, a large town. And despite the drastic change in
weather, the cooler climate is lovely. And the people are so wonderful, friendly, funny, and just all-round good people.

I'm still on my quest to unearth the root of missions and missonaries--so far, not so good. But at least I'm understanding how NOT to be a missionary.
You're all welcome to write---I'll be checking every day or so, but responding is slow-sorrry.

Hey, but I'm back on a Mac! Woowoo. But that's not doing me any good as I can't seem to upload pictures from my photobank. Stupid, overpriced photobank that I can't even operate.
I want chocolate.
Oh! Yes it's working...on a PC! My photobank is against me.
Anyway--here are a couple shots and you'd better like these bc it's going to take a LONG time to upload. Sorry I had to upload them as small files so it wouldn't take as long.
The first one is of the space we were to build the wall--in between the house and the extension. In this picture is James, Steph (blond) and Jess, as well as the family & neighbors we were working for.
The second picture is of Rhoda working in her kitchen. Here she is preparing our meal.
Lastly, a picture from yesterday. At the site of Africycle we are building a guard's hut and so we're trucking brick to and from the site. We had a million little kids helping us load and upload the bricks. Bricks, bricks, bricks. llalalaallal BRICKS!
This little girl was my favourite--she had a very piercing look in her eyes.
I'm cold.
Oh, how I wished I could utter those words with such blase only a week ago!
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Alright. I'm never doing this again. The connection is so bad the uploading is taking a dog's age.