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Chomba Time
Fishing Lake Malawi for Chomba "When do the other students arrive?"
"You are the only student in the course."
So it goes.
I enrolled in a two week pottery course along the shores of Lake Malawi. Had hoped it would offer me some interaction with people who could talk about other things besides travel. Instead I was left feeling like Tom Hanks in
Castaway. Of course I wasn't stranded on a deserted island and I had a sweet room, hot shower and a restaurant at my disposal but close enough. Instead of talking with a volleyball, I spent my evenings discussing things of great importance with my patio furniture.
Having seven instructors and only one student, makes for a rather stressful experience. The eyes of the professionals zeroed in on my every move, waiting to pounce on every slight error of mine. On the plus side, I learned how to make pots in traditional Malawian ways using only my hands, a stick, a shell and a stone. I also received lots of attention. Then again, I have received nothing but attention in Zambia and Malawi.
Where ever I am walking, I am constantly being watched. This is no different than in other
Traditonal Malawian Pots
Make with hands, shell, stick and a stone. Toss in a fire for 30 minutes and you are done. places where I am an obvious foreigner. The stares are ones of amusement and one of simple observation. If I throw my hand into the air, the faces are quick to smile and I receive a wave or thumbs up in return. And of course if I say "hello" my next few hours are occupied.
As soon as it is discovered I am from America, people assume I am rich. The American dream still manages to capture people's hopes and minds. After the momentary reflections by my new friends, talk always swings to O'bama. It is absolutely incredible how much hope one man can instill in the world. Many of the Malawians that I have talked with really thought that O'bama would help bring American tourists to Malawi. My favorite O'bama question has been whether or not he is really an American. While these conversations are pleasant enough, I am more amused by the kid’s reaction to me.
If I am wandering down the dirt roads between villages, the kids run from their rondavels to the edge of the road. They stop a fair distance away and then proceed to walk a few steps behind me. If I
Entourage
Sure they are sitting and posing. Once I start walking they immediately become human bracelets. say hello to them, they giggle and then brave formal introductions with me.
After thirty or so minutes of greeting each and every kid with my name, where I am from and getting their name in return and their age, we continue our walk. I say we because now the barrier is broken and they will walk real close to me. Eventually one brave kid will start to get as close as possible to me. The shyer kids giggle and take a step back to watch the whole scene unfold. Slowly the brave one will glance up and wait for the golden chance of catching my hand and grasp it. When the holding of hands is completed, there a slight murmurs from the on lookers and then a free for all. Before I know it, every inch of my hands, wrists and forearms are being held onto by the children. Soon I am dragging whole villages with me down the path wondering if anyone will accuse me of robbing the villages of their children. I imagine that if I walked from village to village, it wouldn't be long before it looked like I was assembling a revolution of sorts.
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My guide through Komba village Watching their curiosities over my skin, hair and language is highly entertaining. My favorite experience occurred at a gas station. While sitting in the car with my arm out the window, one child ran up to me to stare. Rather than try to hold my hand, he simply reached out, poked my arm, and ran off giggling.
Although I was in Nkhotakota for the pottery, the course also took me to see some of the traditional villages around the area. I was taken to the Mbewa village to see some traditional coming of age dances.
Upon my arrival, I was greeted with dancing and singing and the obligatory shaking of hands. Turns out one of the men who I greeted was the chief of the village himself. He simple passed as any villager. Of course when I sat down to see what they were inspecting, they all looked expectantly at me. After some time of quiet reflection on what turned out to be a new irrigation pump, an older peace corps couple asked me to show them how the pump worked. I decided to resist faking it and told the truth that I had no clue what it
Mbewa dancing
Celebrating young girls move to adulthood was. Turns out they were expecting someone from some organization to show up with the pump (which was in the truck I arrived in) and explain how to use it to them. Instead we all simply twisted and pulled the parts that would move and let it be.
Due to the upcoming presidential elections, there was some time to kill as some of the dancers were attending political rallies in town. To fill the time, the ladies showed me how they pounded cassava root into flour which was then made into nsima (Malawi's national dish). It is a slow process for a food that is supposed to carry almost no nutritional value. When the dancing came, I witnessed two ceremonial dances for the coming of age of young female adolescents. They had been practicing pretty regularly as there was a village competition coming in a few weeks. It reminded me of school sports in a way.
Early on in the course, Evance, one of my instructors, ended class early and told me to go get my camera as we were going to see the Village Head Lady. When I asked for a little clarification, he told me that
The Intimidator
Village Head Lady Nkhandwe it was customary for guests staying in Nkhandwe village to introduce themselves to the Village Head Lady (named Nkhandwe for her village). I ran back to get my camera and tried to figure out what to where. In a last dash of hope, I consulted the index of the guidebook but couldn't find the section entitled "Village Head Lady meeting attire." I threw on a collared shirt just in case. While we were walking over to the village center (relatively speaking), I was told that I could ask her any questions I wanted. Immediately I thought I would ask her she thought the Rays would do this season, but risked getting upset if she didn't know who I was talking about. Instead I opted for some simple questions about her responsibilities and how she was honored with the position of Village Head Lady. I am sure these were rather uninspiring to her but she was a true poker player and revealed no emotion at all through my visit.
The meeting itself was rather intimidating. I came upon a few rondavels and there were a bunch of children sitting around the old lady on the ground. They all stared at
me. Looming directly across from her was a lone chair which it became clear I was to sit in. So I sat and basically was stared at by this powerful lady. I started to understand why a large number Malawians believe in the power of witchcraft. The question period was odd as well; I would ask a question and then get these long pauses followed by rather lengthy answers from the Village Head Lady. When it was translated into English, the answers were unusually short. Just to make sure I was getting the proper translations, I kept asking "what else did she say?" In the end, I was left with the short version of her answers and probably left the village with some spell cast over me for asking pointless questions.
The class itself turned out really well after a rough start. Being the only student and often times the only guest at the lodge, the staff went out of their way to talk with me. From coffee with Stombuli in the morning, to my all night Chichewa lessons from Evance and Yusef as we fired a wood burning kiln, everyone was extremely generous with their time.
The
Getting the pit fire ready
Gloria readies the grasses for burning. true joy of the experience was something strangely simple. They called me Kevin here. Throughout Zambia and in the brief bit of Malawi, I have been known as Kelvin. Kevin isn't a common name here but Kelvin is. I have had to argue my way onto one flight already as my passport name didn't match my ticket name. I will most likely have to do this again when I leave Malawi as well. I have had places give up my room as they had it made out to Kelvin and not me. But her I am Kevin and I truly appreciate that fact. If only I could get my patio furniture to appreciate this fact when I tell it the story, things would be perfect.
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