Three weekend encounters

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I decided to stay in Blantyre for my first weekend in Malawi. It's been difficult to use the services in the town during the week as by the time I finish at the orphanage (4.30pm) the internet places are closing, as are many of the shops. It's only the mall called 'Shoprite' that remains open longer until about 7 or 8pm (but taxi's can be tricky to get from there unless you have taxi phone numbers).

A tale of woe from Zimbabwe

On Friday night as I got up from using the hostel computer, wanting to head straight to bed, I was blocked by a man with a beer in his hand. He was a little under the influence and stated that he was drowning his sorrows. I knew it would be rude to walk straight past him, so reluctantly I asked why he was upset. He shrugged his shoulders and said things were so bad that he didn't know where to start. Keen to get to bed and end the conversation quickly, I said I was sorry, and hoped that would be it. But still he stood blocking me. He clearly wanted to speak and needed little prompting to begin telling me of his pain.

He had traveled the day before from Zimbabwe, where he lives, by coach to find out about his father who had died when he was 13. His father was Malawian, so he wanted to find out why his father had left this country to make a living in Zimbabwe (when at that time Zimbabwean's looked down on people from Malawi and called them derogatory names). Although at least twenty years had passed since his father's death (I would guess he was in his middle 30's) the villagers where his father was born remembered his father well and explained to him all that he had come to find out. He didn't go into many details but explained his father had been a marble stone polisher and was killed by constant breathing in of the dust.

He then moved on to explain his life in Zimbabwe and how the situation has got increasingly worse over the past year. As the government seeks to control inflation they set prices and tell employers what they can pay. This man is intelligent and incredibly articulate - he tells me works in risk management for a large company. He should be paid well, but now each month they are paid so little they can't think about Christmas or spending, it is all about getting enough food to last the next few weeks. Everything is on the black market now and he tells me how you need to know people who will get you bread and somebody different to find each item. There is so much killing and violence he is scared for his life. You cannot trust people as people will do anything for bribes and everything can be done for a price. He tells me of a recent plot to remove Mugabe which failed as one of the men simply went to the top to get a pay out and had the other men killed.

He laughs with sadness as he tells me how much is going on that isn't reported. People are dying of diseases and not receiving treatments as the government tries to do a cover up.

His dream is to get Malawian residency in light of his father's nationality, or even move to South Africa. But in Zimbabwe he is prohibited from getting a passport and has papers are stamped 'Alien' (as he seen neither as Zimbabwean nor Malawian). This Alien status means that he is not allowed to vote (although this doesn't worry him as voting is rigged in any case).

In order to make the day long journey to Blantyre he sold his hifi.

He finally stops speaking and smiles. He thanks me and says 'I guess I just needed to tell someone and get it off my chest.' He looks relieved. I tell him I will share his story with people in the UK, and that makes him smile and thank me again.

I ask him his name and he tells me, he is proud his surname is Malawian; it gives him hope. We part ways.

Cautionary danger in the mall

I will play this down a little as I know my mother is reading this.

On Saturday I made my way to Shoprite (the mall) to get a few things, mainly to find a fast computer and upload some photos. At both of the internet shops I hold up my camera memory card and they frown back at me - they do not know anywhere I can go to retrieve this information.

As I come out into the main area the security guard who tried to chat me up earlier in the week, waves across at me. I try to walk on but he comes up to speak with me asking if I remember him. I try not to get into a long conversation but he will not leave me, and even follows me around a shop while I'm looking at items. I try politely to say I want to get on and I'll see him around another time - but he doesn't like this and his tone starts to get a little cross. While I'm in the store I quickly call my new found taxi friend and ask him to come quickly. Thankfully he does and we speed away with the security guard looking on.

An Angel of protection

I received an email from a previous UK volunteer who I've not met asking me how I was getting on at the orphanage and wanting to know the latest information about the kids. In her email she recommended a taxi driver called Gerad who she says looked after her really well and lists his number.

I've had difficulty getting around and have experienced waiting for nearly an hour hoping and praying that the taxi I called will actually show up, so I was pleased to get a new taxi number and decided to try calling him.

...His voice is full of sunshine and I can hear him smiling on the phone - he sounds joyful and lovely and tells me he will come 'now now' (a South African expression meaning right now, as opposed to 'just now' which means in a while).

When he arrives (which is literally 5 mins after my call!) I explain the errands that I want to make. Firstly I want to go to a factory in another part of Blantyre to buy 25 food sacks for the orphanage staff and volunteers - which I'll give out at the Christmas party. We park up and he comes into the factory office with me to help with the discussion about which sack option I should choose. Then as I'm paying up (and dealing with about 3 different members of staff getting bits of paper signed and stamped) he's moved the car to start loading the sacks. The factory men carry the heavy piles on their heads and we count them into the boot; they just fit!

When we arrive back at the hostel he doesn't want me to carry the sacks and quickly rushes back and forth with them. Then we drive off again and he leaves me at Shoprite to use the computers and shop.

Hours later I call him to rescue me from the situation with the security guard. As we pull away and I tell him about the guard he is sympathetic and tells me 'some people talk rubbish in Malawi' and says several times that he's sorry.

When we get back he tells me he wants to be my driver and that I only need call him and he'll be there within minutes. He has saved my number in his phone to know when it is me calling.

Today I wanted to get some things from Shroprite (such as teabags to have at the orphanage) so I called Gerad. Promptly we set off again. When we get to Shoprite I look around nervously checking the security guard isn't anywhere in sight. But Gerad is getting out the car. As I walk into the supermarket he is by my side and holds my basket and helps find the items on my list. I ask him to choose anything he wants and he modestly selects a bottle of orange squash.

On the way back I find out Gerad goes to the same church as the orphanage Reverend. I'm feeling so much happier now being on my own and knowing he's there if I need to call him. As we speed along I tell him he's my angel sent from above.

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