Visiting An African Hut (3)

I stepped outside the back of the darkened hut, and was greeted by the blinding African sun. After the darkness inside it took several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the light. I wondered what it would be like to spend much of my life in such a darkened environment. Also, I considered if the house were to catch fire would everyone get out alive? The dry thatch roof material would burn quickly, and there is no fire truck and no fire protection available. There is no water near her house, and nothing to impede the progress of the flames.

Outside we looked at the round, bamboo grain storage bin. It was over half empty, and obvious that the family would be rationing their food; if they were not already. It is eight months to harvest, and last year’s rains were not conductive to good crops. The old lady has no savings, and no food reserve, except for what is in the maize bin, and a 25-lb., half-filled bag of potatoes suspended from the living room ceiling to keep them away from the mice. We knew none of her neighbors had much more than she, so there would be little help available from them if she ran out. Neither did the government have much in the way of food reserves, and even less in the way of money to expend to feed the poor. There are just too many; and when food shortages come, starvation will not be far behind. As our eyes grew more accustomed to the light I looked at her intently. How many famines had she experienced in her life? When will her aged eyes see the next one? This year? Next? Or ten years down the road? The next one will be far too soon for her weakened body to withstand, and with so many children to care for, she and they, are far too vulnerable to any problems that come along.

 I stood for several minutes before we continued the tour. The view of such a disparity flooded over me, like a heavy, drenching rain coming in off the Indian Ocean. Near the backdoor of the hut was a large tub; the bathtub for the entire family, and just a few feet away was a kitchen. It was composed of several long sticks of firewood, and two blackened bowls. Nearby sat two old buckets, one partially filled with water, and the other sitting on the fire. How could I explain this back home? Words won’t do it. Words are understood within the framework of one’s life experience, and culture. Poverty in America is far different from poverty in Africa where even a glass of cold water is a rich man’s commodity.

Next time – The garden and family orchard

Visiting a Village Hut (2)

(In our last installment we started a tour of the home of a Malawi widow, living in a typical village hut. She is caring for 10 or 12 grandchildren who have lost their parents to HIV/Aids. She has no job, and her grandchildren can only find short term jobs to help supplement their livelihood.)

Roof Over-Hang Too Low

We stop on the stoop and quickly realize anyone over 5’ 10” will have to bend down to enter the house. Almost all doors in Malawi village houses are hand made, and the opening is cut out of the brick face of the house itself, in order to accommodate the size of that specific door. I am not carrying a measuring tape with me, but it seems this door is smaller than most. Add to the small door the fact that the bamboo grass, roof seems to angle down a little farther than that which is on most houses, and it all adds up poking yourself in the eye with the end of a small bamboo pole, or an especially sharp end of the thatch used for the roof. Each of us duck to enter, and upon entering through the door, we are immersed in a semi-darkened room. There are no lights on the walls, no lamps on the … well; there is no table on which to place a lamp. But, none of those matter since there is no electricity to the house, and would be no way for her to pay for it anyway. There is no way to heat this room when the nights get down to 40 to 45 degrees during the cold months. It also means we have to get used to the lack of light before we proceed further into the four rooms in the house. Looking up at the open ceiling I wonder how many critters are living up there. Mosquitoes are hovering overhead and one would wonder how many of them are able to deliver a life-threatening dose of malaria. Too, I can’t see them, but I wonder what kind of snakes may be making this woman’s home their hiding place? Mamba snakes and Mozambique Spitting cobras have been found all around her property. One can certainly conclude they are around this house, either outside or inside. A little shudder creeps up my spine. And to think, I have not even touched on the spiders and other creatures that could be lurking overhead, just waiting for nightfall to open the door to their onslaught on the unfortunate who unsuspectingly move around below them. ‘’

Room is Nearly Bare

As our eyes adjust to the lack of light we are surprised to see bare, unpainted walls, and a complete lack of furniture. The room is very bare, and that is probably the way it has always been. Just inside the door, and nearest us as we enter are what looks like two bamboo mats, which are probably the beds for 6 or 8 of the children. Near the far end of one of the mats is a single pair of tennis shoes, probably one of the gifts we have given this family because the children have sought and gained work from us since our arrival in the country. The walls are unpainted, and rough.

Beyond the mats a single bicycle seems to struggle to keep its balance by leaning against the back wall. A blue and a white bag hangs on a peg above the bicycle and six or eight other pieces of old clothes, and a single blanket, hang on pegs above the bicycle.

Where is all the Stuff?

Moving our gaze to the right and the center of the room a single set of three shelves comes into view. Several small cans and bottles seem to litter the shelves, and two pairs of shoes are hanging somehow from the shelves.  To the right are four more plastic bags. These apparently contain more of the personal possessions of the ten to twelve family members who use this room as a living room, dinning room, and bedroom. In the corner stands another single bamboo mat used for sitting and sleeping. This is apparently the other bed, and if we are correct, this means about four to six of the family members must sleep on this single mat. A few clothes are piled on the floor beside the bamboo mat.

It is enlightening just to view this single room. So much can be seen about Malawi, and the suffering of her people, in just this one single room.

We now turn to enter the next room. Surprise is awaiting us just across the threshold. Come with us.

As we step into the room it is evident this room does not have much more than the last one. Near the outside door there are two old wooden platforms laying on something near the door. Elias raises them up and smiles as we all look down on a couple of buckets of water. This will serve as their drinking water, bathing water, and water used for cooking. They have gone to a distant well, or to the river in order to obtain this water and none of it will be wasted. No one would ever think about throwing the remaining part of it out. Someone in the family has walked too far to obtain it for it to be wasted.

It is time to go back outside and see the rest of the possessions, and life style of this average African family. What we discover there will be on the next posting on this website. Join us in a few days to see what we find.

Visiting a Village Hut (1)

Malawi, Central Africa … We walk carefully down the long, steep, gravel path as rocks shift underfoot, and the sandy soil gives caution to our steps. As we make our way toward the old, thatched roof hut, the tarmac road disappears over our shoulder to the hidden side of the hill. I realize that no one traveling along this stretch of road would even be aware the existence of this hut, or this family. For all intents and purpose she is isolated from the rest of the world. Although the capital city of her nation is only about 20 kilometers away to the south she has no way to travel there. She is only 100 kilometers from one of the most beautiful lake areas in the world, but she has never seen it, and never will. A small trading center is only a few kilometers away in the valley, but she has no car, and is too feeble to make her way down the dusty path that marks the way to a small measure of trade and commerce. If she needs something from the trading center she will send one of her grandchildren to purchase it, if that is, they have any funds with which to make the purchase. She has no electricity in her house, no telephone, and no way to signal for help in an emergency. There is no ambulance service, and no fire services to her and her neighbors. The nearest government hospital has few supplies, and what they have often runs out well before a meager, new supply becomes available. There is no doctor, no x-ray, and no surgery available near her home. If she gets sick she will probably die. Several times a year either her or her grandchildren suffer serious bouts of malaria. They have little or no medicine to combat the pain, the high temperature, or any of the other effects of this, or a multitude of other health issues. Even a simple headache must run its course, as there is no aspirin, Tylenol, or Advil available to the family.

Apprehension Takes Control

 I must admit I am a little apprehensive about this unannounced visit, as it is not every day that I walk up to someone’s house and ask if we can come in and take a look around. Yet there is also that desire to study and see what the average person in the world has in their house, and she is as close to the average as I am going to find. There is no such thing as the “average family” in the world in the U.S. We have too many safety nets for even the poorest among us to be the average. That word “average” actually means there are as many below that line as there are above. The closer we get to the family my apprehension does little to fade. In fact, each step closer seems to signal a higher level of anxiety. But, things are different in Africa, especially in the villages, and Elias has assured us she will be delighted and honored with our visit. While we have met her before, it has always been outside her house. This time seems different, going inside, looking into the corners, and counting the utensils, pots, pans, and other possessions. That in itself makes this visit different, more intrusive, more intimate.

As we reach the house the grandmother is sitting on a ragged, bamboo mat on the bare ground about 30 feet from the edge of the house. Surrounding her are the 8 grandchildren she is raising after the death of their parents, some nieces and nephews who also seem to be staying at the house, and a couple of neighbors who have come to visit, with no one probably knowing how long the visit may last. Grandmother gives us a big toothless grin, as Elias introduces our request to learn more about her, her family, and her home. Hospitality is imbedded deep in this culture, and she is visibly delighted that we have come to visit her. Since she knows no English it is up to Elias, or one of her grandchildren, to convey our requests.

This 82-year-old gets to her feet to greet us. She is frail and fragile with age, and stands only about 5’ 3” in height. In spite of her frail appearance her greeting is warm and inviting, and her grin reflects her acceptance of the azungu from a land far away. (Azungu means white person). One has to wonder how she can eat with almost no teeth. Too, how much in serious heath problems afflicts her because of this situation? One can only imagine, and to think, she has no knowledge of a world where people can have teeth pulled, and new ones, made by men and machines, placed in their heads. It would seem there is some virtue in not knowing what you can never have. By now the rest of the kids are on their feet and greetings are going all around the group. I look over at Elias and can see the pride he is experiencing. He has the chance to show us what an average house looks like from the inside, and the lifestyle of the average Malawian.

Beginning the Tour

After the greetings spread through the group we turn our attention to going into her house and looking around. As we step up onto the concrete stoop I notice how low the bamboo grass overhang comes down. It is so low it nearly punches me in the eye, and I have to duck my head a little to enter the house. Too, there are two windows on this side of the house, but none have glass panes. All are boarded up and barred, as a defense from the cold, and whatever man or creature, would want easy entrance to the house. The weathered door hangs loose on dangling hinges. It is a time like this I wish I had a screwdriver and a pocket full of screws. But one glance at the door frame indicates there is a lot more needed than just the fasteners to fix this problem.

(In our next installment we will go inside the village house and look around. What we are about to see will astonish us.)

Travel for a Reason

           A Remote Village… It is one thing to go to Africa for a vacation. It is a very, very different thing when you go in order to help other people. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Even when you go to help others you will see the spectacular countryside, experience life in a remote village, be immersed in the sights and sounds of a major city, and taste the local food. But when you go to help other people there is an element of the trip that sticks with you, and with them, in a much different way. Nothing ever matches going into someone’s home, and finding you are quickly and deeply intertwined in his or her life. That’s the way it was that warm day when Wilson led us west and south of the Namikango Mission in order to meet one of the people who had received one of the wheelchairs we had sent to Malawi a few weeks earlier.

Not Very Far

          “It’s not far,” he says, after we have picked up a representative of the tribal chief in the area. It is repeated again, probably to try to reassure us, just as we turn off the tarmac road and start south on a twisting, tiny dirt path. We bounce along, often having to navigate over on the edge of the partially cultivated fields so we can avoid the sinkholes that cluster together in the ever-narrowing road. More twists and turns, and finally we actually come to the end of the path. The way forward looks like a menacing pile of rocks that have been laced with threads of dirt. We have reached the end of the road. “What happened to, ‘It’s not far,’ I wondered? We can’t drive any farther. From here we’ll have to walk. With the car safely locked, and an aged woman who lives nearby posted as a “guard”, we start out on foot. I take one glance back at her and wonder if she is really a guard, or just an interested spectator wondering what the white faces are doing going down over the mountain. 

           In front of us the vastness of the regal mountains and the breathtaking, sweep of the valleys stretch out in front of us in a magnificent presentation of the creative workmanship of our Creator. Cresting a rise we find ourselves looking down in a valley where people walking at just tiny dots in the distance. Leading to them are the paths, looking like tiny tan threads twisting their way down the mountain.

          “There is where we are going,” our guide indicates. He is pointing to a spot beyond the valley floor where the mountain starts its gradual rise toward a summit bathing itself in the sunlit clouds. Almost in slow motion they glide in from the east, and disappear to the west.

 


          The women travel with us part of the way, but eventually we reach the place where the slope drops off into the valley. Leaving the women behind on the crest of the mountain we men start down the ever-sloping edge of a massive granite dome. Beyond the rock we reach a footpath that winds its way in crisscross fashion in order not to fall off of the mountain. Near the bottom we do a little dance across a water-filled creek, hopping carefully from rock to rock. Then, having safely reached the other side without stopping to catch our breath we begin the gradual ascent toward the huts that grow ever larger in front of us as we move slowly up the mountain.

         

          Finally we reach a tiny village of 6 or 8 huts and are introduced to Maggie. She is quite shy, and at the age of 48 has never been outside these few huts that form an oblong ring around a tiny clearing. She is sitting on the ground where she has been pounding grain, the only staple for her family, nsima. She does not want pictures taken until a family member gets the new wheelchair she received two weeks ago from the Namikango Mission. She is very excited with it, and reports how the church has been meeting only about 200 meters away from her home for years, but she has never been able to attend. She could only sit and watch them walk past her hut. But now because of the wheelchair she can attend. She is pleased that she can get around, and both her and her husband are quick to express their deep appreciation to those people who made this possible.

          We visit for a little while longer, then make our way back down the slope, across the creek and up and over the big dome of granite at the top. Wilson Tembo, from the Namikango Mission, tells us this woman and another person in a nearby village were carried in wheelbarrows all the way from their houses to the top of the mountain so they could be at the receiving ceremony for the wheelchairs.

      Back in the car that had been safely guarded by the old woman while we were away, we carefully turn around by the big rock, and begin the trip back to the mission for the night. I could not help being glad I was here for the purpose of bringing aid to the people, and not simply and solely on a vacation to another exotic location. There is so much that is lost when travel is focused only on going someplace to gain another view, see another place, and experience another culture from inside a tour bus.