End of holiday

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Four days spent at Cool Runnings was a peaceful oasis in a busy and chaotic fishing village. Apart from snoozing on comfy loungers, or wallowing in the shallows of the lake to cool off, there wasn't a lot to do there. We went for a long walk down the beach, passing children playing, and mothers doing their washing, though I was heartened to see several young men washing their clothes too. There was a small hotel further down the beach and we went in there for lunch. It took an hour to come, and it was only cole slaw and chips. It took them 10 minutes to decide which of the soups used fresh ingredients, and 20 minutes to devide there was no soup available at all. And the chips were flabby, which is quite a feat in a country that seems able to produce wonderful proper chips from any cooking source.
In the grounds of Cool Runnings there are several trees covered in weaver birds' nests. The bright yellow birds with black heads fly from one tree, where they tear off a long strip of leaf, to thr next tree where, hanging upside down and fluttering wildly, they thread the frond through the nest. Sometimes they stop to squabble - it's a cutthroat business - if the nest isn't good enough, the males won't attract a female, and that will be it till the following year. The old nests can't be used again, they hang, dry and yellow, among the new green nests, looking like coconuts.
Our cab driver was late, which meant the journey back to Lilongwe wasn't completed in daylight. The roads are so busy with lorries and cars - not all with working lights, and overladen bikes - none with working lights, that I was convinced we would hit something. Children and goats with little road sense had seemed to meander across the road in daylight, and I wasn't sure that darkness would make much difference. But nothing happened and two g and t's back at Mabuya revived us enough to go out and eat.
Today is the end of the holiday; I shall go shopping today for provisions for going to the village, and tomorrow will go there, ready to start on Monday.
Thursday 10th
Jack collected us from Mabuya and took us to Sam's Training village, which has developed a lot since last year. The solar panels which were going in last September are up and running; there are lights in the volunteer hut, and a solar pump delivers water from the borehole to tanks up on a brick built structure, and then to standpipes dotted around the site. The restaurant area is half built, the library is full of books, a chain link fence is round an area by the Community Based Children' Centre (CBCC) which Aidca!P's International built in 2012. This area will house chickens and rabbits.
We looked around the village, then went to the school to briefly meet the staff, and arrange when I'll pop in to see the Head tomorrow. Jack then took Laurence to the airport and I unpacked. There was a lot to unpack as I'd brought, or had couriered, 69 kilos of equipment for the school.
In the daytime, with builders around, and a small group making soap to sell, the village is buzzing. At night time it's quiet. George, the building foreman, retreats to his house, the night watch men are in their hut, and I'm in the volunteer hut on my own. Shelby, who I will share the hut with is away till tomorrow. I could have done with her here this evening, apparently she lights a fire every night to cook on. I'm hopeless at it. Kwondami, the permaculture manager lights one for me, and when I try to put more wood on it, it fizzles out. Bakela, the thatcher, lights another one and I manage to keep it alight long enough to cook some fusilli and minestrone stew. I don't want much, I have an umpty tummy,and spent most of the previous night in the loo, luckily when I had an ensuite bathroom. Tonight I'll have a long-drop composting toilet, round the back of the hut and through the garden.
There is a spectacular sunset beyond the village in the valley. The colours of the sunsets in Africa are deeper and of more varied hues than anywhere else I've ever been to.
By 6pm it's dark, and I go to bed at 7.
Friday 11th September
George, the foreman, takes me to the tea room for breakfast. Most of the builders go there for a roll - a hunk of dry bread - and tea. The tea is made from milk boiled with water in a large kettle, then poured through a sieve full of tea powder into a cup full of sugar. That's the African way. Most of the Europeans have it without sugar. It's hot and milky, and innocuous enough. I take a flask of it back to the village for later, as I'm running short of water, and daren't risk the borehole water. Last year it was safe to drink, but George said perhaps I should avoid if I already have an upset stomach.
I went over to meet the Head, as we arranged yesterday, but he'd been summoned to meet someone in the education office, so I spoke instead with one of the teachers who teaches English to Standards 7 and 8. For the first week I shall observe teachers in Standards 6, 7 and 8. There was a parent teacher meeting going on, so most of the children were milling around outside. They are all interested in me, staring and ready to run away, giggle or greet me in English or Chichewan if I smile at them. I'm struggling with names already and have taken to writing down the names of any builders or teachers I'm introduced to. Apparently Europeans are usually given a Malawian name when they come. Bakela, (a man of many talents who was previously a tailor, learned the rammed earth method of building in 2012, was permaculture manager last year, and is now the main thatcher) said I should be called Nankoma. George said he'd find out the meaning of it. I think I'd like to know before I start telling the children my name.
Chikonde, the librarian is keen for me to bring children over to the library from the school.
There's not much more I can do until Monday when I start. I'd already arranged to go back to Lilongwe to Mabuya camp this weekend as I need to do more shopping. I was a bit nervous about being away from civilisation, though Shelby, who got back from holiday just before I left, stays all weekend. She will be a useful mine of information - she told me the taxi rate from the airport to town is 10,000 kwacha (about £12-50), and we were charged $35. Like she said, 'You have to bargain.'
That information will be useful on Sunday when I return to the village.

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