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.)

Walking the Zomba Road

          Walking along the right side of Zomba Road just east of the Thondwe Trading Center, and the Namikango Maternity Hospital and Mission, it is difficult to understand how anyone can move from place to place along this road if they are physically handicapped, and have difficulty walking.                                                                                                   

Malawi is a "nation walking" and the average person walks ten miles a day. This means heavily traveled roads like this one are very dangerous to both drivers and pedestrians. On this walk along the road I hold my camera in front of me, and walk directly in the pathway so many people are walking every day

As I watch the oncoming traffic a large truck begins to pass on the curve a short distance in front of me. The truck tire rides the edge of the pavement, as the truck hurdles toward me. As he passes me the side of the truck is just inches from me as he passes.

Another truck approaches and I can see the concerned expression on the face of the driver, in spite of the broken window in the cab and the glare of the sun on the windshield.

I was able to breath a large sigh of relief when we reached the maternity hospital and mission grounds after just a short walk to the east along the roadway. It is no wonder so many people are killed on the roadways of Malawi.

That is Close Enough

 "At a time like this one has to be glad to be safely in a boat, with a wise and prudent guide. If we were on land we would be in a bit of trouble getting this close to the elephant herd. But when on water, with them on the land, they are not as fearful of us ... and neither are we of them (I think). It is morning in Liwonde National Park in Southeastern Malawi, and we are on boat safari on the Shire River. This is the same river David Livingstone traveled on his quest to explore the interior of Africa over a hundred years ago."

Seeking the Little People (2)

In our last report we were making our way carefully up a rather steep mountain road in search of evidence of the little people, or the pygmy race that once inhabited this part of Africa. Were they real, or were they the imagination of overactive minds? What will we find at the end of the trail? Will we get simply a great view, or are we going to see something that will prove their existence?

We have traveled south of the capital city of Lilongwe, and turn at the south edge of the Dedza Trading Center. At a local landmark, Dedza Pottery, we ask for directions. They advise us, “Go east along this road, something like 11 kilometers, and you will find the school. Ask the kids to take you there. They all know the place.”

  Along a pothole filled, washboard road, we are able to locate the school after traveling approximately 20 kilometers. We park in the schoolyard, and look for one of the teachers. He is most kind and actually stops his class to discuss our needs with us. He suggests he can help locate students who know where to find the cave drawings. If we can find actual drawings, we will have the evidence to convince ourselves of the presence of the little people several hundred years ago. I cannot help wondering why, if we are about to discover such an important site, it has no tourist signs, travel markings, or anything else to indicate it’s exact location. How can they be so important, at the same time in such a remote, non-descript location, and not even show on a local map? I have to wonder what we are really going to see. Will we see evidence they have been here, or will we simply capture a scenic view of the mountains, and valleys that extend off in the distance?

View is Breathtaking

Part way up the mountainside we stop to rest, catch our breath, and look out over the panorama that sprawls below us to the southwest. It really is breathtaking, with the beauty of the valley punctuated by the rock outcroppings of mountainous granite protrusions extending high into the blue sky. Lens caps off, cameras focus, and click, click, the shutters open and close to capture views that can never be fully taken into custody.
                   

A little farther up the path we see, coming toward us down the mountain, three young girls carrying bundles of sticks on their heads. These will be used or sold for cooking fires. They pass quietly to our left. As they detect our cameras they turn slightly so their profiles can be captured by the camera’s view. The trace of broad grins reflect from their faces. 

The mountain steepness increases, and it quickly becomes more difficult to navigate. The dirt road has been reformed into a small path, and even that sadly disappears behind us. Only a few indentations in the grass in front of us seems to indicate we are following some sort of course that others have followed before us. The boys seem sure of themselves, however and their confidence reassures us that history waits just around a curve near the top of the mountain.

Drawings are Evident

We move cautiously around a cliff face, and to our right a cave looms out to meet us. The formation the ceiling appears to be about 50 feet above us, and in seconds we see them plainly high above us. White images. Clearly markings made by man. Images sketched of human beings and animals. The distinct image of a crocodile seems evident. Off to the right, but still high on the ceiling, a smaller image appears to be a monkey of some type. 

Our group grows quiet, and the Malawian guides stand quietly to the side as the realization comes to all of us that people hundreds of years ago were in this very cave recording some aspect of their lives, their knowledge and their history. Silence lasts for several minutes as each of us experience some type of reverence for the past of this place. Near the bottom of the rock, well below the drawings, graffiti from recent intrusions desecrate the importance of this place. It is both amazing and sad that such an important and intricate piece of the history of a people, who have been lost in the annals of history, can be so insulted. The students now realize how important we consider this find so their excitement increases as they lead us to a second cave where images of what appears to be adult and child drawings are equally evident. Again silence surrounds us as we realize we are looking directly into the past at some the last evidence of a people who disappeared from the world scene without the world recording its departure, or a reason it occurred so suddenly. 

Who were the people who lived in this cave? What was the significance of what appears to be a crocodile wall painting when rivers and lakes that contain them seem to be, at least today, hundreds of miles away? Was this a crock, as we know them today, or was it some sort of giant land creature? Why was a monkey looking creature drawn near by? Were these animals the source of food, or were they in some way revered or worshiped? This hidden mountain top contains no brochure rack of literature to give the visitor an explanation for the drawings, nor do the students or teacher have clarification for our questions. The mystery will remain locked away. The explanation will come another day from some other source.

Views Are More Spectacular

Coming down the mountain the view to the south and southwest is even more spectacular since we face outward toward the view instead of toward the mountain, 
as we were when we were climbing toward the top. The schoolboys are visible excited to be escorts to the Americans and their excitement seems to grow as the group descends toward the school. Perhaps their classmates will now appeal to their great wisdom and knowledge of what the Azungu (white faces) are like. After all, most of the children in the school will have had no first hand knowledge or experience of ever having been with Europeans or Americans.

Reaching the school we offer a few Kwacha to each of the children for their assistance, and take into account the teacher’s request for schoolbooks, pencils and paper for his students. Perhaps one day we can return to the school with a vehicle full of supplies, a reward for their assistance to allow us to see and record a piece of the past.

With some sadness we climb back into the vehicle, and retrace our route back to the Dedza Trading Center. At that juncture we turn south to begin a route we have been told is a new road crossing the mountains and down into the valley toward the big lake. We cannot confirm this fact, even with those we have met in Dedza, but we will soon find out if it is true, or we may find ourselves on impassable roads, in improbable places as we “Travel Malawi.”

Seeking the Little People (1)

         The reports brags that this area, “Situated within a cluster of forested granite hills and covering an area of 126.4 km2, high up the plateau of central Malawi, features the richest concentration of rock art in Central Africa on 127 sites.” It is reported to be the famous Chongoni Rock-Art Area, and we are headed there from the capital city of Lilongwe. Our first stop, to get directions, in the Dedza Trading Center, and our information will come from one of the workers at Dedza Pottery. She is most helpful and after taking a couple of mental notes we are on our way toward the mountains.

We pull onto the road from the Dedza Pottery Shop and turn left toward the higher mountain peak to the east. The center of the road appears hardened from the heavy traffic of old dilapidated logging trucks, while the edges are potted with unexpected and abrupt ruts and drop offs. It is not unlike most of the unfinished roads that traverse the countryside away from the few tarmac highways. Torrential rains that plummet the landscape from October to April end the usefulness of many Malawi roads, and the government has few resources to restore them to full usefulness when the dry season spreads itself across the landscape.

Two black oxen, heads lowered, pull a weather beaten cart west along the road. The young driver in an old worn brown shirt encourages them to the side of the road with a long stick. Out the side windows of the Isuzu we see a number of dust covered white bags piled in the back. It is probably a family’s precious supply of maize headed for the mill to be ground into fine powder for nsima, the staple diet of every Malawi family.

In front of us we begin the accent toward the higher peaks around Dedza Mountain, and the valley floor quickly falls off to the right. “Eleven kilometers,” the clerk at the pottery office had advised us. Obviously she would know of the caves since she lives in the area, and her instructions were reassuring, even when she noted they are “just near.”

They Can Help at the School

“Stop at the secondary school when you come to the large stone sign beside the road,” she said. “Since there are no signs to show where the caves are located you must get directions from someone at the school. They will be glad to help you.”

       Ahead of us tall forests of dark green pines begin to appear. Their majestic height stands proudly as a testament to the efforts of the government of Malawi to restore some of the forest land that has been stripped away by a growing village population that are using wood far faster than they can grow trees for the future. The blue of the sky and the puffy white clouds coming in from the east emphasizes the green of the forest. A small boy with a 6-foot long bundle of brush on his head quickly veers off the road, down through the deep ditch, and into the clear area near a small mud hut. Our vehicle throws a shroud of dust in his direction, but he is to sharp-witted to be overtaken by its suffocating dust. Reaching the 11-kilometer mark we see no evidence of a school. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Maybe it is time to consider turning back to review our directions? Fifteen, sixteen. We must have missed our marker for the school. Maybe we should turn back. Let’s go up to the next curve on the mountain then we will turn back and get new directions.

 

Then suddenly at the seventeen-mile marker we come to a small fork in the road, and a stone marker standing directly in the middle of the road. There is nothing printed on the marker except a coat of old black paint that may have once been an indicator of some message that once adorned its surface. Off to the right a small cluster of old buildings signal the possibility of a school. We steer the Isuzu up on the grass between the leading buildings, and seek assistance. A small group of girls who understand some English indicate we are at the secondary school. They respond positively to our request to locate one of the school officials.


They rush off toward the back of the property with us trying to keep pace. At one of the last houses a teacher steps out from where he has been processing a test. We explain our dilemma, and ask if the school might have a student, or someone, who could point us to the caves where the markings may be observed. He says he will take us. We start to object, as we do not want him to interrupt his day of teaching in order to assist us, but our attempt to persuade him not to go falls on ears that do not hear our objections. He leads us out toward the road we have just come up.


Three boys quickly join him so they can help escort us up the mountain. By the time we cross the road it is evident the boys know the path better than the teacher. It is a boy in a red sweater that takes the lead for the first part of the trip. On the north side of the road we begin moving through the underbrush along a small dirt path. The path gets even smaller as we ascend the hillside toward the crest, and we begin to get an uneasy feeling, wondering if we have the right people taking us the right direction. How can this be such a major site for the history of this part of Africa, with cave drawing from hundreds of years ago, yet have no markings along the way, and no evidence the caves contain such a slice of the past?

                                                     


Next: Will we really find cave drawings, or just a scenic view?