Tuesday 26 February 2013

Blessing

                                                                                                                        February 26, 2013

"Odi?"
I waved her over. As she cautiously stepped toward me, I noticed a baby tied on her back over her ragged dress. 
"Hello!" I called.
"Hello?" she repeated, confused. She began mumbling something, and I noticed that her eyes pointed in different directions.

Kingsley, our gardener, ran around the house. "I'm sorry, Madam. I told her we have no piece work. She is asking for piece work to feed her children, but she is abnormal. I did not realize that she walked around the house to the khondi."
"Would it be okay to give her some money?" I asked, still unsure how to proceed sometimes. "Can I give her 100, 200, or 500 kwacha?"
"Yes, you can give. Maybe 500." It was the amount of a daily laborer (400-500 mk) and I knew the average Malawian would not give her so much. 
"How many children does she have?" 
"Two." She patted her fussy baby's bottom, trying to comfort it.

Quickly, I ran inside and got the money. Walking out of the house, I saw her sitting on the ground, nursing a very skinny little girl. One of the mother's breasts was completely shriveled up; she was feeding the baby from the normal side. I handed her the money.
A look of wonder, a tiny smile. She held the money almost reverently. "Zikomo kwambili," she whispered. (Thank you very much.)

"How old is her baby?"
"One."
"How many months?" I asked.
"She doesn't know how to count months," Kingsley replied after asking the mother.
"I think I have a dress for her. Would it be okay to give it to her?"
"Yes. If you do, she will know that she has been blessed by God."

I returned with a beautiful red dress, one that Jamie had picked up somewhere for Abigail. It was polyester, so would help her stay warm, and the color was perfect for the mud here. She rolled it up and stuffed it into a bag she carried. It was the kind of bag used for packaging, had no handles, and looked as if she found it in the street. I fished out a proper sized grocery bag with handles from the closet, then helped her put her few things in it. She turned and walked quietly away. As I watched her, I suddenly realized that Kingsley was speaking to me. "God bless you, Madam," he said earnestly. 

Me? Here is a woman who is obviously mentally handicapped, trying to take care of her two children. Maybe she is married, maybe not. Someone in her position is easily used by others, and has no hope of rising out of poverty. In the USA, there are government programs to help people like her, but here there is nothing. By all rights, she could have asked for a handout. Who would need it more? But she came asking for work, so she could earn money to feed her children. How could I not help her? God has already blessed me with a good mind, an excellent husband, abundance of food, shelter, and a hope and a future even while on this earth. How could I stand by and watch her nurse her obviously malnourished baby, trying to do her best for the little one, and do nothing? From the blessing God has given, I am compelled to give. This is one reason that He put us here.
--shallena

Sunday 24 February 2013

Wood!

Here is another blog about tree felling--only this time it happened intentionally.

In our front yard were two trees, a dead ironwood tree, and a beautiful samba tree, both of which had to go. The ironwood because it was dead and in a bad location, the samba because it was shading our house, which is currently half filled with mold.

Jamie had the great idea that if the trees had to be cut, they could be made into boards! Ironwood is excellent wood, and samba is great for firewood, but he thought if cut into boards, it could be used for rough framing for exterior projects.

That's how a crew of three guys came to our house with a two-man saw, a rope, and a panga knife (machete.) (Well, actually, they used our knife.) After removing the branches, they brought down the massive samba, and were so proud of themselves that they didn't land it on the roof.




Then commenced the board cutting.


They hoisted it up, supporting it with small limbs. 


Scabs of the ironwood tree. It is beautiful wood.

Filling their line with battery acid, they mark the truck to the desired thickness. After removing the scabs, they begin sawing it into boards, like so:


And that is why we are now attempting to dry loads of lumber in our garage during the rainy season!






Timber!

Excitement happened around our house two weeks ago. My husband got an idea from the locals to dry out a tree before cutting it down, like this:


The idea is to leave it standing for a couple of weeks and then chop it down and cut it into firewood. He did this to two trees in the backyard, a hard wood tree (pictured above) and a masuku (sapote) tree, the was growing close to a tall papaya tree.

One day after the maintenance crew left our house, the children and I were standing in the front yard (thankfully) when suddenly we heard, "Creak, crack, BOOM, CRASH!" Jedidiah and I looked at each other, not sure what had just happened. Cautiously we went through the house to view the backyard, and there we saw it.

Timber!

The masuku tree had toppled, taking the papaya tree up by the roots.

The roots of the papaya, underneath the trunk of the masuku tree.


Really, it was quite exciting.

Jedidiah immediately began clean up.




But playing on it was more fun!

Local "Guests"

Below are photos of creatures in and around the house. 

Little Chameleon
Medium Chameleon--camouflaged!








Oh, there he is!

Some of the creatures are new, and some aren't. The people here tell us which ones are dangerous or not. Here's one example:




Not Dangerous

Dangerous


Have you ever seen a garden snail like this common snail here? 

Garden Snail--nearly 6" long



This little guy is no guest. He's part of the family.


This was in the tub at our host's house in Blantyre.

Grady, napping in our mosquito net, his "hammock."



Sunday 3 February 2013

My Heart Went Out


                                                                                                                           February 3, 2013

It’s hard to write with the helicopter fan blinking shadows under the fluorescent light. My eyes have never liked that effect.

Last week Jamie told me about a woman who came to the hospital with postpartum bleeding. She died, leaving behind an eleven day old baby. The family cannot afford formula, so their solution is to have an auntie who has seven month old twins to nurse the baby.  The consensus at the hospital is that the baby will be back, hopefully before it’s too late.

People here take care of orphaned children, but it seems that the orphans are not equal to their biological children.  How could they be? Most people struggle to feed their own.  Malawians tell us that they have many children so that when some of them die, they will still have children left.

A couple of days later there was a woman in labor in the hospital, fully dialated, but would not push. Jamie broke her water and saw meconium. The clinical officers took her to c-section. The baby aspirated meconium and died.

This morning Jamie ran for the hospital at 6:30. A pregnant woman seizing! With aching heart I prayed for her and the baby, and for Jamie.

Just then a man in a threadbare, frayed shirt knocked on my door. “Please, Madam. I need work.” It seems that most Malawians have a sad story, and they do not hesitate to tell us. A man with a wife and two or three (I couldn’t figure it out) children who hasn’t had a job for four years. He lives in a village near the hospital, and there’s really not much other employment close by. He worked at Malamulo until the funding stopped or slowed. We’ve met several people who lost their job then. “I’ll do anything. Daily pay is fine.” That got my attention. He is the only person we’ve interviewed that has not balked at daily pay. My heart went out to this man who is desperately trying to care for his family. 

I cried out to God, "The people are hurting! They have so many needs! Please show us how to best help them. I can't carry this alone." How grateful we are that we can cast all our cares upon God, for He cares for each one of His children.


Inauguration


                                                                                                                                                                                                                   
                                                                                                                     February 1, 2013

I stared at Jamie. My stomach dropped and nausea filled me.
“Yes, Shallena, $4000.00 US dollars are gone,” replied Jamie.

“That is my car, my independence! That’s tile on my broken concrete kitchen floor! That’s a washing machine! It must have been the painter. He’s the only one who had time to look through all our stuff and find where we had hidden the money.”

We called the administrator, because it must have been someone hired by the hospital. He and the business manager came to my house to hear the case. Assuring me they would take care of it, they left. For two days I heard nothing. Then I thought to call the police. Jamie phoned the admin, who said it had not been done yet. Why didn’t we do that right away? Frustrated and angry, we went to the police. They also came to my house, but I’ve not been convinced that much was done about it.

Two days later, I fired the girl who was cleaning my house because she was lying to me. She worked three days.

The next night Jamie’s boots disappeared off of the porch. In order to see those boots, a person had to walk up to our doorstep. That caused me to feel the most violated, because we are the most vulnerable when we sleep.

The next day I was unpacking one of our bags that was left here when we stayed for a month in Blantyre. Inside were the few children’s toys I had brought along. But where are the watercolor paints? They’re not here! No way, no they didn’t. Someone took my children’s used watercolor paints!!! They have crossed the line! I am furious!

Up walk two guys from the electric board. “We are shutting off your electricity because you didn’t pay your bill.”
“I didn’t receive a bill.”
“You didn’t pay the bill. This is your second notice.”
“No, it’s not! I have lived in this house one week! This is not my bill.” By now the gardener had walked up, hearing the heat in my voice.
“Okay, madam. We will not turn off your power. Only you must speak to the business manager about this bill.”
You better believe it I will, Buddy.

The next day I decided that it was enough. I was livid, and I haven’t felt that way in years. At the peak of my fury, the administrator knocked on my door. “Hi, Shallena.”
“Hello.” My voice was flat.
“Everything okay?”
No, everything was not okay and I let him know it. He listened, and told me that I was not alone in my feelings, everyone goes through this and it will pass.  He told me that someone would come to spray the house (which hasn’t happened) and I told him that would do no good since I don’t have screens on the windows. He sent maintenance up to clean their junk out of our garage and the next day to put screens on the windows. When I first got here someone told me that people will wait to see if I get angry before they do anything. I responded that I didn’t think that would happen. What did I know? 
With that inauguration to our home at Malamulo, I definitely trust people less. Yet after my uncharacteristic fury was spent, I felt so much more at peace, and somehow began to see the plight of the people a little more. I wonder why? But I am grateful.
--shallena

To Be Used


                                                                                                                              January 30, 2013

"Use me...".  I have prayed that prayer many times, in different circumstances, countries, and continents. I think it betrays the deep need I have to be useful, to do good things, and to help others.  Recently the answers have been a little unexpected... 

There was the friendly man who stopped me to promise a load of manure for only 5000 kwacha (~$15).  Well the money went, but the manure must be pushing up tomatoes in somebody else's garden.   

There are hands -- hands that reflexively poke in my white face: asking, begging, demanding.  Ripped clothes, dirty faces, bare feet, skinny hungry belly buttons. 

There was the naked man who threw his wet clothes at my feet in silent protest that I could be so well dressed in my right mind, when he wasn't.

Then last week we donated several thousand dollars to the local economy.  We're not sure when or where it went, but its gone.  

My boots disappeared off the porch a few nights ago.  

The other day some village children wandered through our yard looking for mangos and firewood.  I said "Hi", they said, "Give me money".  I gave them firewood and mangos.

At first it was easy to give it away -- poverty is everywhere, and we are rich.  But over time its easy to become cynical when people want to be associated with you because your lack of melanin betrays your deep pockets.  

But can I really blame them?  If my children cried to sleep hungry, what would I do to get them food?  If they died because they didn't have shelter, would I resort in desperation to immorality?  I only know that I cannot answer such questions -- not that I don't want to (because I really don't), but because I  cannot. 

And how do I relate to God?  "Dear God, please bless me today...help it to rain...help it not to rain...help the people give me back my money...help me, help me, help me..."  

Am I any different? Do I pray from true devotion in my heart, or am I using God? Do I long for an easy life, or do I long for the trials that will refine my heart so that one day I will be ready to be used?



"For he will be like a refiner's fire or a launderer's soap. He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; he will purify the Levites and refine them like gold and silver" Malachi 3:2,3.

--jamie