Two Worlds in One Day

Two Worlds in One Day
July 15, 2009

Of course, saying farewell to Annie Fletcher and her friend Limboni was bittersweet. She has been a part of the Study Abroad program since the beginning. So, after an laborious process of getting the bus loaded with the suitcases that were packed so they didn’t have to be off-loaded at Club Mak, we boarded with our carry-ons, just like on a plane but without as much room. Wooden chief chairs went under the seats and small luggage. But mostly we sat with backpacks and water and baskets on our laps. Without Moses and James (two guys from North Carolina A&T), the luggage would never have fit. With many thanks to them we were on our way to Mangochi.

We arrived at Dr. Ndalapa Mhango’s village slightly before him because he had taught a class at Domasi College beginning at 7:30 a.m. Ndalapa is a remarkable man, who was in the Virginia Tech in-country master’s program here in Malawi and later came to the US to complete his doctorate. Each year, he has agreed to talk to the students about his life growing up to help us understand the traditional village “world.” His father now 102 years old sat on the porch to greet us. Each student knelt, curtsied, or bowed to him as they greeted him in the Malawian way. His father was a medical doctor from the north of Malawi, but settled in Mangochi, taking three wives and a concubine. His children numbered more than 100. The house we visited had 15 bedrooms because all three wives lived in the same house (not always the practice). However, the bedrooms housed many children at a time and were allocated according to the age of the child. Ndalapa showed us the first bedroom he shared with his brother, who now takes care of their father. It was small and windowless. When Ndalapa moved to secondary school, he moved to a small room (also shared) but with a window.

We stood in the living room/dining room that looked much like something in our homes today. But Ndalapa described how it was then. His father had a separate table at which he was served. His father always had Western ideas and style; he ate with a fork. At a table in the same room, adolescent boys ate. Outside on the kitchen porch, the adolescent girls ate at a table. On the floor in the room with their father, as many as thirty children ate on the floor from a common large bowl. Even today, in the villages a similar feeding pattern is still practiced.

Ndalapa talked of rising at 3 a.m. to walk to milk and feed cattle, returning to prepare for school, rowing across the river to then walk to school. Once when walking to the cattle, they met a lion. He said, “I should probably not be here today” and smiled. Lions came to the house but usually killed dogs first. Now with deforestation, they have retreated to the mountains some distance away. Crocodiles infest the river nearby. At a different time he had talked to me of a brother who had been killed by a crocodile. As he said, “We live with hippos, crocodiles, and hyenas.”

He is related to everyone in the village. They have gathered around us and follow us as we walk through parts of the village, not typical in some ways because the houses are spread farther apart than in some villages.

We bid Ndalapa good-bye, who will return to Zomba via his recently purchased car. He had learned to drive in the US, and he said he must travel slowly on Malawi roads because of all the goats, bicycles, and people. It’s just the way I feel about driving here.

Our students were mesmerized by this gentle, intelligent, highly educated man, softly telling his story in such a candid way. I believe they understand the magnitude of his accomplishments. Having an educated father as a model no doubt helped. Also his father refused to have the children go through the rituals although Ndalapa’s mother was Yao, a dominant tribe in the Mangochi area. These things helped but the struggle was arduous.

After we parted, we drove 30 minutes to Club Makakola on a newly paved road that previously had taken 50 minutes or so. Now the road is paved all the way to Mua Mission. We will save more than two hours tomorrow, which means we depart Club Mak later. Everyone is happy about that.

At Club Makakola, I find my old friend Nick who greets us. Nick is the manager. Students are transported to another “world” immediately as they get off the bus. The gardens are lush and immaculate. The reception area has large carved statues of warriors, fountains bubble. Each “hut” has lovely Dedza tiled bathrooms. Beautiful batiked bedspreads under while mosquito netting. Free wireless access. A swimming pool and beach bar. And a beach with umbrellas and chaises. Within 30 minutes all students are in the pool, on the beach, or at the bar. They’re in heaven after working hard for three weeks.

Together we all watched a dark red sun descend behind the mountains, casting in a fiery streak across the lake. We basked in the shared moment.

After dinner (a sumptuous buffet), Nick has arranged for traditional dancing with an amazing acrobat group from an adjoining village thrown in. The dancing included the dance that Africans brought back to their villages after World War I. Some students had seen children practicing this dance in their schools. That was followed by four different masked performers doing the “spirit” dance -- Gule Wamkulu. Coming back from Malika Church, students had seen a masked man in strips of corn in the road. He was a “spirit” dancer. These dancers were also dressed in strips of cloth that shook frantically when they danced and with different masks, usually red, but sometimes with fanciful non-human face masks. Students scurried forward intermittently dropping small bills into the baskets they set in the grass near their performances. Nick pays the performers and discourages such tipping, but the performers are persistent and I have seen them cut short their performance if people aren’t tipping. We retired to our thatched “huts” full of food and the days events.