Orphaned Kandies

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Small hands fought to hold my own as I walked through the small town centre. Each corner bought additional children with trusting open smiles dancing across their beautiful faces.

Although the private resort Kandi Beach offered an escape from the external world the temptation to walk beyond the security gate was far too great to resist.

The small village beyond the perimeter housed a local community in typical poverty struck African thatched mud huts. Poultry and goats freely roamed the village, their owners confident of their return before nightfall.

Plantations of Cassava lined the road, a root vegetable that required no water, nor no care to thrive. Re-planting was as simple as slicing a small branch from the exposed plant and crudely driving back into the earth. This staple of the Malawian people was harvested 3 times a year, sweet to eat raw and tasty fried as chips, or sour to be soaked, dried then ground into flour.

I wandered into the local school where the headmaster graciously welcomed and encourage me to join a class. With only 10 teachers and just over a 1000 students, the science class I happily walked into sat almost 100 pupils either crammed 3 to a desk, or crossed legged on the floor and lining the rows and along walls.

The students were eager to learn about me once the lesson had ceased and I happily answered their questions, they responded with shrieks of delight and fought to catch my attention. The class was a stark mix of over confidence and gentle shyness.

Outside I joined the girls in jump rope, soon a small crowd had gathered to watch me fail repeatedly as I attempted to jump in. Soon I was offered to start in the middle and this only bought more laughter at my obvious clumsiness at the game.

All students had access to a free education and although the teachers received a government salary, the funding of the local school was a community responsibility. Pens, text books and funding were mostly sourced from local and international charities and individuals. It was warming to wander the small library and see many of the text books had been donated from across the globe.

68% of the students would finish high school and half of the graduating students would go onto college. The students either lived in the local village or were orphans who lived in the neighbouring school house block. I spoke to students who had dreams of being doctors, scientists, farmers, truck drivers and tour guides. I hope they all achieve their goals.

Once again I was touched by these children and their sunny dispositions, majority wore no shoes and some were dressed in filthy rags. They all clutched a small exercise book and fiercely guarded their sole pen. Regardless of what I perceived as dire circumstances they had the same hopes, dreams and grand ambitions that all children, regardless of social advantages, manage to share.

I visited a simple building which served at the local health centre; already the waiting room was full of crying children and sad faces. The structure was mostly open with only three enclosed rooms. One served as a consulting room, the largest housed 8 closely positioned beds with soiled mattresses, the final room which was connected to the recovery room by a broom closet was a birthing suite which could have 3 women crammed at any other time, the unlucky additional women would be forced to deliver in the open halls where additional beds lined the walls. There was no privacy, there was no sanitation.

With HIV infecting 18% of the village, the health centre and local school worked hard at health education, with a high focus on promoting either abstinence or safe sex. With resources stretched thin the care, medication and resources required were a constant battle. I can only presume this statistic in rural villages without access to basic care and information would be far worse.

I wandered the local market, although I was the only ‘mzungu’ (white person) I felt welcomed and safe. Adults and children in turn greeted me enthusiastically and used the opportunity to practice their English skills.

The markets consisted of crude stands for those who could afford the materials; others squatted over plastic mats selling their wares. Produce, dried fish and the usual market knick-knacks, batteries, twine, pens, tools and the like. In other sections women displayed second hand clothes and shoes for sale, items which I had previously used to trade for goods. Old shirts were of higher value than cash it seemed.

Throughout my market adventure there were two small girls who quietly followed, holding a hand each protecting their territory as others tried to squeeze in. We sat in the shade together whilst I treated them to a soda. I would guess their ages were around 6 and 7 years.

I stopped to buy them each a pen, a highly valued commodity among children in Africa. Soon the children around me began to quickly multiply, as I started to increase my purchase I realised this could possibly be a never ending growth spurt. I quickly grabbed 20 pens, exchanged the money and left as the children started to push and shove one another. With the pens hidden in my shirt I would secretly slip a pen here and there whenever safe to do so.

Word had quickly spread throughout the market of my presence and I enjoyed the multitude of smiling faces swarming me as I moved along. Having not learnt from the pen fiasco I started to purchase a few lollipops, I soon changed my mind and bought the entire bag. As best as possible I managed to organise a line and handed them out one by one, there were 49 children. I am now candy wrapper removing master.

I started the walk back to my camp and thankfully a small group of children decided to walk with me. I would have surely been lost if not for their help. We took turns in racing each other along the dusty road and talking pictures. The children were always delighted to see their own picture.

That evening our group were invited to the village for dinner, we sat together on straw mats and gorged on sweet potato soup and beef stew, the food was delicious but the entertainment was without a doubt the highlight of my African experience up to date. The children of the village, many who I had met earlier in the day, sang local songs and danced. Never in my life have I seen such enthusiasm in a performance, the children pushed and shoved to be seen and soon we were pulled up to join in the fun.

In one day I had learnt a great deal about the local Malawian people of Kandi beach, I had been touched by their positive outlook, hospitality and genuine friendliness. Although they lacked the material comforts and general support I took for granted, their strong sense of community wellbeing was truly inspirational. My heart warmed to each of the people I met and felt a strong affection to those I had had the pleasure of spending the day with. Once again I questioned my own direction and purpose in life hoping that my own calling was yet to come. I hoped to make a difference in someone’s life as the Malawians had done for me.

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