I open my eyes. It is still dark, but my ears tell me the day has begun. The crow of roosters can be heard very faintly from outside, and inside some rustling in the room next door and the sound of water running into a bucket.
It is now about 5 AM. My nose is cold, and I decide to get up. I strap shoes on my feet, put on a sweater, leave my room and close the door behind me so as not to wake Paulo. I step out the back door of the house to find the small stove already stoked with glowing orange coals, and a pot of water steaming on top.
I can hear someone sweeping around the corner; I look down to see that I’ve disturbed a beautifully swept pattern on the dusty ground. I walk around the corner to find my mother sweeping around the house. “Mwadzuka bwanji?” (How did you wake) she greets me. “Ndadzuka bwino” (I woke well) I reply.
She is the first one up – Mersy. She is 32 years old and a housewife, but being a housewife is more than a simple 9-5 job, as I found out in the first few days at my new home.
I crouch near the stove to warm myself and, shortly after, am joined by Lapeka, my 9 year old sister and Paulo, my 10 year old brother. We exchange greetings and crouch a while longer by the stove.
I make my way to the latrine – a cement pad with a hole in the centre, surrounded by brick walls and a clay tile roof. But as I approach it, I notice that the floor of the latrine had been freshly wiped as you could tell by the patterns of the slowly drying water where the rag had passed.
After using the latrine, I head back to my room to put my things away. The house is made of brick, with clay tile roofing. It has a main room with a shelf unit in the corner, supporting a giant car battery, wired to an old portable radio. There are also enough padded chairs to seat four people, with a table in the centre. An old four-legged cupboard holds dishes, cutlery and cooking ingredients. The house has two bedrooms, and the walls are cement, the lower half painted green, and the other white. The floor of the house is smooth cement - also freshly mopped, and stepping on the clean floor with my sandals made me cringe.
While I am putting my sleeping bag away and rolling up my wood mattress, Antony, my 34 year old father and a mechanic, calls to me to let me know that the water is now warm for me to bathe. The bathing area is attached to the other bedroom, with a faucet for water. After bathing, I go back to my room to change and pack my bag for the day. Leaving my room, I see two bowls of porridge on the table, and Antony inviting me to eat.
Breakfast food, as most other Malawian food, is high in carbohydrates and often very oily. The porridge is rice, boiled for a long time and loaded with sugar. Often times, we have margarine between two pieces of white bread, and sometimes fresh chips (french fries). The tea in Malawi is steeped and boiled with milk. Then, about three heaping teaspoons of sugar are added to a cup.
As I am devouring the porridge in front of me, I notice Lowloine, my 4 year old sister, staring at me. I make a face and she runs off, laughing. She, along with her brother and sister, will soon be heading out for school. After finishing my bowl of porridge, I pick up my bag and thank my mother and father for breakfast, and step out the back of the house to go to work.
The sunrise is very strong on my face and shines bright on the back of the house and the neighbouring houses. The bricks glow bright orange, much like the coals in the stove. I take off for work, but the amount of work that has already been done in the house that morning alone won’t hit me until much later in the day. It’s a beautiful day!
It is now about 5 AM. My nose is cold, and I decide to get up. I strap shoes on my feet, put on a sweater, leave my room and close the door behind me so as not to wake Paulo. I step out the back door of the house to find the small stove already stoked with glowing orange coals, and a pot of water steaming on top.
I can hear someone sweeping around the corner; I look down to see that I’ve disturbed a beautifully swept pattern on the dusty ground. I walk around the corner to find my mother sweeping around the house. “Mwadzuka bwanji?” (How did you wake) she greets me. “Ndadzuka bwino” (I woke well) I reply.
She is the first one up – Mersy. She is 32 years old and a housewife, but being a housewife is more than a simple 9-5 job, as I found out in the first few days at my new home.
I crouch near the stove to warm myself and, shortly after, am joined by Lapeka, my 9 year old sister and Paulo, my 10 year old brother. We exchange greetings and crouch a while longer by the stove.
I make my way to the latrine – a cement pad with a hole in the centre, surrounded by brick walls and a clay tile roof. But as I approach it, I notice that the floor of the latrine had been freshly wiped as you could tell by the patterns of the slowly drying water where the rag had passed.
After using the latrine, I head back to my room to put my things away. The house is made of brick, with clay tile roofing. It has a main room with a shelf unit in the corner, supporting a giant car battery, wired to an old portable radio. There are also enough padded chairs to seat four people, with a table in the centre. An old four-legged cupboard holds dishes, cutlery and cooking ingredients. The house has two bedrooms, and the walls are cement, the lower half painted green, and the other white. The floor of the house is smooth cement - also freshly mopped, and stepping on the clean floor with my sandals made me cringe.
While I am putting my sleeping bag away and rolling up my wood mattress, Antony, my 34 year old father and a mechanic, calls to me to let me know that the water is now warm for me to bathe. The bathing area is attached to the other bedroom, with a faucet for water. After bathing, I go back to my room to change and pack my bag for the day. Leaving my room, I see two bowls of porridge on the table, and Antony inviting me to eat.
Breakfast food, as most other Malawian food, is high in carbohydrates and often very oily. The porridge is rice, boiled for a long time and loaded with sugar. Often times, we have margarine between two pieces of white bread, and sometimes fresh chips (french fries). The tea in Malawi is steeped and boiled with milk. Then, about three heaping teaspoons of sugar are added to a cup.
As I am devouring the porridge in front of me, I notice Lowloine, my 4 year old sister, staring at me. I make a face and she runs off, laughing. She, along with her brother and sister, will soon be heading out for school. After finishing my bowl of porridge, I pick up my bag and thank my mother and father for breakfast, and step out the back of the house to go to work.
The sunrise is very strong on my face and shines bright on the back of the house and the neighbouring houses. The bricks glow bright orange, much like the coals in the stove. I take off for work, but the amount of work that has already been done in the house that morning alone won’t hit me until much later in the day. It’s a beautiful day!
Back row, left to right: Antony, Mersy, Lowloine, Paulo.
Front row centre: Lapeka
The other two girls are Lapeka’s friends, Sarah and Jennifer.
Disclaimer: I apologize to anyone who feels cheated from reading this entry. I am reading a book by Paulo Coelho, and he inspired me to try to put this into a narrative. Denis will not be held responsible for anyone who feels they’ve just wasted ten minutes of their lives – haha.
Front row centre: Lapeka
The other two girls are Lapeka’s friends, Sarah and Jennifer.
Disclaimer: I apologize to anyone who feels cheated from reading this entry. I am reading a book by Paulo Coelho, and he inspired me to try to put this into a narrative. Denis will not be held responsible for anyone who feels they’ve just wasted ten minutes of their lives – haha.
2 comments:
Denis, thanks again for the birthday call buddy! I loved the narrative, very expressive.
Although I personally enjoyed the blog, I feel the disclaimer would be more useful near the top. Anyway, i'll have to check out this Paulo Coelho fellow. Take it easy buddy and have fun.
Bryan V
I just got off the phone with your dad and he told me there was a new blog posted. I really enjoy reading everythign you write, and while this narrative is off-style from the rest of your blogs, I loved it! I was right there with you, cringing that you would walk on the clean floor in your sandals! Thanks for posting the photograph and take care. Those around the office tend to ask after you fairly often.
~Andrea
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