This last week in Malawi...
...Ana came home with a library book called "The Boys Book: How to be the Best at Everything". She is very excited about it. It is full of advice on such things as 'how to fly a helicopter' and 'how to avoid being eaten by a polar bear.' Apparently there was another one called "The Girls Book" but, she said, it looked really boring. Go Ana!
... I read the following newspaper article: Strange Being Attacks People in Ndirande.
Some choice quotes from the article: "The mysterious assailant, believed to be a psychopath... was described as wearing ' a white mask and an extraordinarily white and tight fitting underwear.' Witnesses claimed he entered victims' houses through windows, buttocks first."
These are direct newspaper quotes. You can not make stories like this up, I'm sorry to say. People are reportedly waking up in the middle of the night, lying in their front yards, with inexplicable lumps on their heads. Lets not make fun of the two people who have so far been victims of this terrible crime. Instead let us enjoy the added detail that the strange being reportedly wipes their memories. This is lucky, as it reduces the tighty-whitey-trauma.
But the best part of this is how excited my workplace became when the story broke. There is nothing as terrifying as a perversion of the supernatural. Our Office Manager tends to be a little alarmist to begin with, but she was fretting so obsessively about this mysterious assailant that we actually had to stop our management meeting and give her some venting time. She was in a strange emotional state: simultaneously thrilled and inconsolable. At one point she stood up from the board room table and turned around so as to demonstrate the psychopath's window-entering technique. This brought the house down, as nothing amuses Malawians more than a good imitation of something weird. Come to think of it, imitating weird things may be universally hilarious.
Required to be the sour faced boss, I had to call the meeting loudly and repeatedly to order until she sat down. It was a challenge, I tell you.
... the teaching assistant in Asher's classroom died. Ana brought the news home to him, as he was a little ill and hadn't gone to school that day. The conversation went like this:
"Asher, the teacher in your class Mrs. Banda died."
"oh. Sometimes she taught in the other class too."
"No, she DIED-died, Asher. She is dead!"
"oh."
Raise your hand if you think Asher had ANY idea what his sister was talking about. The saddest part of this story is how common death has become in this region due to the HIV infection rate. We don't know why Mrs. Banda died - there is such stigma about HIV related death that it is taboo to discuss the cause of death; one isn't supposed to ask in polite company. If you want to tip people off, a subtle code is to describe the person as having been sick for a while - then everyone knows it was HIV. An even subtler code is to not mention the cause at all - people know what that means too. If someone dies in a car accident then people are normally quick to add that detail so no one mistakes AIDS as the culprit.
...we ran out of ketchup. Another sign mom has been away too long.
... I saw Alan's picture in the paper. I play volleyball with Alan on wed nights at the local high school gym. He is quite good. He just got offered a job managing a supermarket in his home country of Zimbabwe, so when I last saw him he was talking excitedly of returning home. He first came to Malawi as an economic refugee, a school teacher I think. I guess Zimbabwe is economically improving now. Anyway, intrigued, I read the newspaper story.
It turns out that Alan is also the star defender on the Malawian MTL Wanderers soccer team. They are disappointed to see him leave, as he just helped them win the national cup; hence the newspaper story. I was shocked to learn this - did anybody else know?
Only in a country as small (and humble) as Malawi can one learn through the newspapers that one's colleague is actually Michael Jordan. And only in Malawi does Michael Jordan have to walk away from the fame of international sport to the more lucrative arena of supermarket management.
... a woman was pounding maize in her backyard early one morning when she heard her name being yelled by an angry mob. They turned the corner of her house seconds later, but she had already bolted for the local police station. Curious people want to know what a mob wants. Intelligent people just run. It turns out her neighbor's 20 year old daughter had passed away in the night and the crowd had decided that the woman was a witch and was responsible for her death.
They chased her to the police where she managed to take cover while the crowd stoned the building. Slipping out the back, this time accompanied by fleeing police officers, they all ran to a larger police station. The crowd followed again, this time carrying the corpse with them. They dumped it in protest at the larger station, where the woman was safely locked in a cell for her own protection, and then demanded that she be released and forced to dig the grave herself. After considerable negotiation the Police dispersed the crowd and handed the matter over to the local headman. I don't know how he will resolve it. And I don't know where the body is now.
But this is what is so nice about Malawi. In many other countries, the crowd would have razed the police station and killed the woman. But here a little grave digging should clear the whole thing up.
... Asher recovered, returned to school and learned first hand about Mrs Banda. At dinner that night he crawled out from under the table and announced to Uncle Phil, our dinner guest:
"I just popped up to say my teacher is dead. But the lucky part is I have a new one."
Uncle Phil said "oh."
Raise you hand if you think Uncle Phil had ANY idea what Asher was talking about.
I've always enjoyed this blog but I had no idea what to expect when I heard that Papa would be contributing. Needless to say, I've really been entertained by these recent postings and hope that "guest appearances" will still take place once Katurah returns.
Posted by: Robin | 28 April 2009 at 12:40
I laughed outloud when I read about the mysterious tighty-whitey being. How does one enter a window buttocks first anyhow?! Love the updates from the newspaper!
Posted by: whitney | 28 April 2009 at 13:52
Oh! I needed that. Tighty Whitey will give me a giggle for awhile. Thank you. :)
Posted by: Crystal | 28 April 2009 at 14:05
Go Bella!
Posted by: Grampa Kurt | 28 April 2009 at 15:49
Papa, have you considered starting your own blog? I haven't laughed out loud this often for a very long time, please don't leave entirely when Katurah comes home! (But also please don't take over totally, cause I love her posts too). Look at me being miss-bloggy-bossy-boots!
Posted by: The Accidental Housewife | 28 April 2009 at 15:53
Why am I smiling? I should be feeling bad about the death and witch but I blame you for being so funny! :-)
Posted by: blur ting | 28 April 2009 at 18:34
These entries are priceless. I can relate to the karate moves in the previous entry.
Posted by: Sarah | 28 April 2009 at 22:49
As it seems this might be the last chance to post a comment on one of your posts, I guess this will have to do - I never really came to terms as what I could actually say in a comment, as the entries seemed hilarious and sad, mildly disturbing and oh-so-true at the same time and I just lacked the apropriate reaction. Whatever it might have been. Thank you for your take-over, and thank you for this special view into a life quite different to (or just the same as?) mine.
Posted by: Johanna | 29 April 2009 at 02:22
You made me laugh with a mouthful of coffee. Raise your hand if you can say "spit take".
Welcome home, Katurah!
Posted by: laeroport | 29 April 2009 at 09:27
I repeat all of the above. I can't remember the last time I laughed out loud at a blog.
Posted by: Betty | 30 April 2009 at 07:21