Aaaaand…we’re back!

Yes, I’ve been back in Malawi for quite some time now, but I haven’t had much time to write.

First of all, before I got here, I had all that packing to do. Packing takes time. Packing for Malawi takes more time. As many people don’t know, it gets cold here in the winter (June and July), which I wasn’t prepared for last year. Thus, more sweaters got packed.  The government is also in a crisis with its foreign currency supply, meaning there is very little, so there is a chance that supplies of things I generally use might not be available. And if I can find them, there will be a much higher markup now for imported goods. Who wants to pay $10 for a bottle of Fructis conditioner? Not I. Conditioner and shampoo got packed. Then there are the items I know I can’t get here, like a certain type of multi-vitamin and Starbucks coffee (both equally important!). Still more things to pack. And then I weigh the suitcases, take items out, repack, reweigh, until finally both suitcases are filled and weigh exactly the weight allowed by the airline. It’s a process.

Is it sad that I actually think this is fun? (Don't answer that.)

Now, packing is easy compared to saying good-bye. Although I only cried the first time I left to live abroad 12 years ago, leaving is always bittersweet.

Quality time with people I love makes it harder to leave.

And then there’s the time-consuming trip back. This time, I left around 10 a.m. on Sunday and arrived at my apartment in Blantyre around noon on Wednesday. 

Near the end of the lengthy travel, I look out the window of the plane, as it nears landing in Malawi, and I am reminded what a beautiful country it is. (The below picture really does not do it justice.)

Now, it's a new semester, with new students and new lessons to write.  With 65+ students in each class I teach, you can imagine how time-consuming reading even short assignments can be. And I know many of you love to read the hilarious errors that are written in assignments, but today I’ve decided to show you some of the English that I’ve found elsewhere.

We'll start with my hand soap. 

Notice that it not only "protects" but also "smoothens." I just don't think 'smoothens' should be a word, especially not paired with 'protects.' It sounds too much like a condom package.

Next up, a truck. I'm still trying to guess the intended meaning of this statement in the context of a truck's tailgate. Is someone attesting to the truck's own strength, separate from the strength of the men in the back?

 

And finally, the message that a very caring tissue company wants to share with me.

 

I'd prefer not to have anything blown into me, thanks. And having things drop off of me, well, sounds like I need a doctor, not just a tissue.

Yup, it's good to be back.

 

Up close and personal...or just ignore me

In Japan I knew several Americans who, when eating out in Tokyo, would wistfully reminisce about the large food portions found in U.S. restaurants. Not surprisingly, I only got disturbed by the portion discrepancy there when I was served a cup of coffee. My replies to the baristas as they served me a seemingly thimble-sized cup of coffee were never said aloud, mostly because my Japanese vocabulary lacked words like ‘thimble.’ But if I had been fluent and if I could have eschewed the propriety that I was brought up with, my responses would have gone something like this:

            “No no, I ordered a regular coffee, not an espresso.”

            “I believe this must be for the fairy in my pocket, not for me, a grown-ass woman.”

            “Do you really think this tiny cup of coffee is going to take the edge off?”

“You’re sliding this midget-sized cup of coffee across the counter at me, an American who, according to your stereotypes of Americans, is most likely carrying a gun right now. Is that really smart?”

Cultural differences when living abroad are going to be encountered, of course. In general though, most cultural differences should be more laughable and fodder for great stories than points of serious contention and frustration. (Note: lack of coffee is never laughable.) Of course, there are always days when one’s level of patience is tested due to multiple events of cultural differences. That seems to happen here some days in regards to what I deem as inappropriate personal questions.

For example, a mechanic’s worker came to my apartment complex to look at a truck that wasn’t running. The mechanic's worker -- a complete stranger to me -- who now knows where I live asks me, as he’s leaving, “So, you live here alone?” Maybe that question seems innocuous to you, but in a place where home invasions are increasing – and where one just happened on my street during which someone was killed by the group of thieves – having someone know where I live, that I live alone, and that I’m American (read: money) is not a good idea.

I just don’t understand strangers asking me for such personal information. Maybe it’s my steely New England heart that prevents me from confessing my fears to strangers within a few seconds. Or maybe it’s being a teacher for so long, protecting what I can of my personal life from my students’ prying eyes and, in some cases, tech-savvy research skills. (For the record, there is another blonde teacher with my first and last name out there, so be aware that everything you find may not be about me).

An example of inappropriate questioning happened last week when I met a neighbor’s teenage daughter in the neighborhood grocery store. The exchange went something like this:

            “Hi, how are you?” I asked.

            “Are you here to buy chocolate?” (Seriously, that was her response.)

            “Um. No.” (Do I really talk about my love of chocolate that much? I need to stop that.)

            “Was your university mad at you for taking so long to come back?”

            “Uh…no.” (Seriously? You’re a fifteen-year-old, not my mother.)

            “Well at least you got to spend more time with your family. Your mom must miss you.”

            “Yea, it was nice to spend so much time with her.”

            “Did you tell her about me?”

            (Ummmm…really not good at lying on the fly…)

            “Sure.” (Phew, dodged that bullet, I think.)

            “What did you tell her about me?”

I think my mouth probably went slightly ajar at the cheekiness of this girl at this moment.

Another one of my favorites here is people talking about me as if I’m not directly in front of them. This happened just yesterday. I met my Malawian sisters in town outside of a shop. They were talking to an acquaintance. I walked up, introduced myself, shook his hand, and stood directly in front of him. The guy then immediately turned to one of the sisters and asks her,

“She works with you?”

(Hey, jerk, I’m right here. The ‘she’ is ‘I,’ and I’m standing a foot away from you.)

“No,” my Malawian sister responded, “She’s our sister.” (My two Malawian sisters and I have practiced a rather elaborate story of how we are sisters, and it’s actually believable when we tell it right.)

“She lectures at the university with you?”

(STILL right here!)

“Noooo,” my patient sister said, “I said that she’s our sister.”

He looked confused. Perhaps it was because he’d suddenly looked up and saw me still standing in front of him? You know, because he thought I’d magically disappeared while he asked personal questions about me. 

The frustration level from such interactions is kept at a minimum, as long as I can laugh about it (thank you, Malawian sisters!) and write about it later. And, thankfully, I now know of not just one but two places to go to get a good cappuccino around here, which keeps my cold heart humming rather happily.