I have this ache. This desire. Almost a hunger to hear the rush of a minibus drive by, the chatter of Chichewa in my ear, and to see the innocent smile of the precious children. I miss the complexity of each day and the weight of responsibility. Its only the good memories that flash in front of me. All of the troubles, tears, and homesickness seems to fade away. I miss you Malawi!

Leavin' on a Jet Plane

My last look of Malawi
Chilkea International Airport

My heart broke. Tears didn't fall in excess like I had expected. The wheels lifted off, my head tilted and stretched to get the last glimpse of the country that stole my heart. My heart broke. It broke as I saw the last page of my story in Malawi fall shut. My heart was crushed when I realized that moment was the goodbye to all the new faces I met and grew to love, goodbye to the children that raised my blood pressure, goodbye to now familiar sights, sounds, smells, and actions, goodbye to a piece of my heart that I will never reclaim. I entered Malawi as a somewhat non-confident, naive, searching, broken teenage girl. That girl disappeared at some point over the last ten months. I can't put an actual date to it but it just seemed to happen. As I stepped onto the plane that once brought me to Malawi I realized that she was forever gone. In her place was a confident, strong, brave woman of God. This year has forever shaped and changed me into who I am and who I will become in the future. I have learned how to fall and pick myself up, how to trust that there will be light at the end of the darkest tunnels and how to roll with anything thrown my way in life. Africa was the greatest possible thing that could of happened to me!

Farewell Malawi

The end is here. My heartaches when I think about leaving. Don't get me wrong I am excited to go home and be with my family but the thought of leaving all the good things in Africa breaks me in two. America is so constantly busy and full of shortcuts. Africa on the other hand has a challenge to break through each and every day. Its slow paced, personal and full of warmth. The fact that complete strangers greet you on the street as you walk by and expect a full length answer is testament to the differences. America now seems cold and heartless to me. It seems like its the dreamland to everyone outside of it but its full of people who don't know the true meaning of sacrifice, survival and service. This year has opened my heart and mind to so many aspects of life and its hard to see this chapter of my life close. Tomorrow I board a plane and say goodbye for awhile to the continent of Africa. We've had this goal in front of us this whole year and now that its here its hard to accept. Its hard to say goodbye to this chapter no mater how exciting the next one may be. So many goodbyes have been said in the last 24 hours and they all seem so anti-climatic after 10 months of thriving and experiencing life together. Each and every person I met and impacted my life will always hold a special place in my heart. I think God that He placed them all in my life to help me fall in love with my year here. I've learned so many important things this year but I guess the one I feel is the most important is that this is only the first stop for me. God has huge plans for me and I am so excited to accept and succeed at those plans no matter where the location may take me!

Time

Have you ever watched a sand dial drain? I feel like we are pieces of sand falling to the other side and no matter how hard we try to hang on to time it continues to slip past us. We can do nothing to make time last longer. Then when I think about it, do I really want to make time drag on longer?

We have now been in Malawi for a little over 8 months. That means it’s been 242 days since I’ve loaded things on an airplane and began the three day journey to the other side of the world. It’s been about 5808 hours since I’ve been in America, let alone Spokane. With all of the calculations it makes me realize how long it’s actually been.

When I look back on my time here things seem to blur together with a few significant memories standing out. However it feels like I’ve always been here. This is my home and my life. Then I look forward and our time is quickly draining away. I will put my stuff back on a plane on June 1. That means we have a total of five weeks left as teachers, and 46 days left in Malawi. My year of growth and finding who I want to be will be over. My year in Africa will just be memories and journal entries. We will just become teachers that our kids talk about, and annoy the next ones by quoting what we did. My home will once again have to adjust back to Washington. I will have to learn how to drive non-aggressively, how to use a cross walk again, how to say “I’m good” instead of “fine” when asked how I am, how to not stare at fellow azungus (white people), and that you can buy everything you’ve ever wanted to eat from one grocery store and you can’t barter to get prices lowers. So many changes it kind of scares me. How will I fit back into life in America? How much has this year really made me change? Can I go back to how it was before I left, or do I even want to try?

I can truly say that this year has been the hardest but the best year of my life. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I have felt God around me so often and seen his work first hand. I have also been drug through the dirt by Satan and forced to figure out how to keep going. Depressed, lonely, conquered, uplifted, inspired, excited, loved…all of these emotions have played a major part in this year. I have faced situations and experiences that I never thought I would encounter. After being here for over 8 months I still walk outside and I have to remind myself where I am. I am in Africa! I am a part of Africa! My heart and life has been shaped and changed by Africa!

Like most missionaries I arrived with this big hope of making a big difference and really impacting a few people. I’ve now come to realize that no maybe I didn’t save anyone this year, or completely change their lives. But I was completely changed. I’ve been forced to grow up, dream big, accept responsibility and pick up the pieces of problems and disasters by myself. The other day I was going through and deleting old emails, I clicked and opened a few. As I read through them I began to laugh. The person that I was before I came was so wrapped up and naive to the world. I was petty and childish, it’s almost embarrassing. In my eyes it’s hard to even remember the way I used to think and act before this year.

I’ve come to the point that I am excited for the next chapter in my life and the next exciting adventures God has planned for me, because up to this point He’s done a pretty good job making my life amazing. I am excited (and a little scared) to return home and try to figure out how I fit back in. I am excited to eat Pita Pit, have Starbucks and sleep in my bed, drive my car, and be with my family and friends; all the things that make Washington, home and sound so appealing and exciting. I feel like I did when I came here, ready for a new adventure but not sure about all of the unknowns. Malawi has been an amazing chapter in my life and it will be sad to say goodbye, and give me a week after returning home and I know I will want to go back.

I look forward to the day of stepping off the plane in Spokane to something that used to be so familiar to me. I am excited to be surrounded by people that I have shared so many memories and adventures with. Then I remember the people that have come in my life this year. They’ve become my second family. Our kids drive us crazy on a daily basis and I am pretty sure they’ve taken ten years off my life, but I love them! It’s going to be heartbreaking to hug them one last time and know that there is a small chance we’ll ever see them again. It’s going to be sad saying goodbye to everyone here who has taken us in and adopted us. The goodbyes have already begun and with each one it feels like our time here is being pulled closer to ending. There are so many mixed emotions with the idea of coming home. How can I process them all?

Why?

Why am I here? Why Malawi? Why am I teaching spoiled missionary kids? These are some of the questions that seem to be plaguing me lately. When I thought of spending a year in Africa I saw myself at a hospital in the bush doing all these crazy things that I never thought I would ever do.

Getting my hands dirty. Making a difference.

These are the things you think of when you hear of missionaries.

Honestly I have felt like my year in Malawi has been nothing like that. Yes, my eyes have been opened to the world. Yes, I have dealt with situations that I never thought I would have to deal with. Yes, I have grown and completely changed. But how much have I changed or helped others?

We spend five hours a day with children from upper class homes in Blantyre. Few are missionaries, some are Malawian and the last few are from other African countries. They all hold something in common. They are wild. Not just wild in the normal kid way, but wild in the fact that they ALWAYS argue about nothing, they always pick fights, tattle on each other, blatantly disrespect and ignore us as teachers and just over all drive us INSANE. These children have been terrorists long before we’ve shown up and they will most likely continue to be long after we leave. So what have we accomplished this year? What difference in people’s lives have we made?

We live a pretty cushy life here. Even though it is less than we have in the States, we live in quite a bit of comfort. We have a tin roof over our heads, we’re not sleeping in a mud hut. We have mattresses on our beds, even if they are not always comfortable. We most often have power all day. We have hot water after 30 minutes of waiting for it to heat. We have so much here it really seems like too much sometimes.

I hear of other SM’s, previous or current, really living in the extreme and it makes me incredibly jealous. I wonder why God placed me here? Why not in the bush? Why not at a hospital where I can do something I love and thrive on? Why? Why? Why? These questions seem to be constantly floating through my head. I want to be an inspiration to someone. I want to get my hands dirty in the African soil and mix with African spirit. I want to experience the REAL Africa. I am tired of the sugar coated, chrome colored one.

The only solution to those questions that I can come up with is it’s my time to grow. It’s my time to find myself without the pressure of friends or boyfriends or school. It’s my time to fall in love with Africa and established a bond that will make me connected forever. It’s my time to fall in love with God and have my first real solid relationship with Him. It’s my time for a lot of things and I suppose my time to get my hands dirty will come, it’s just a matter of waiting(which is the hardest).

The Mighty Hyena Hunt

The sun seeps into the west. Mist fills the air; a rainbow stretches across the sky. The bright shapes of the day turn into dark shadows of the night. Sounds that seem to be nonexistent during the day suddenly become alive with the arriving darkness. Five brave, or slightly stupid, figures begin the trek deep into the bush. The aspiration of the newest adventure is to see how close they can get to the chuckling scavengers of African nights, hyenas.

The time has come that one more of our friends here is heading home. We made a plan to head to one of the local nature reserves and go out looking for some hyenas and have one last adventure with him. After several failed attempts to make it happen we were finally successful.

The mosquito spray was heavy in the air. Headlamps adjusted on heads, we were set. After a few steps down the path we realized something not very encouraging. Our guard/guide was drunk, o yeah and he was also holding a M16. Sounds like a good situation, yes? Walking to find hyenas with the only protection given by a drunk man that may just shoot one of us instead of wielding them off. A fool proof plan. A bag of goat skin and meat rattled in Danny’s (Marantha volunteer who was heading back home) hands. The plan was to place the meat nearby and lure the hyenas close to us, once we heard them grunting and chuckling we would be able to light them up with our flashlights(from a safe distance). As we drew closer to the hyena cave our voices drop, headlamps switch off, footsteps fumble in the dark. Our guard stopped suddenly and points up a trail. Hyena footprints mark the path to the villages that they use to cause some havoc. He left us on the main trail to place the goat meat. The guard soon returned and instructed us to hide off the trail in the bushes. Darkness swept though the bush and our eyes quickly adjusted to the shadows and movements. Our ears keyed into every sound, trying to place what was making it and how far away it was. We laid camouflaged in the grass for a good hour. The only proof we had of hyenas was a bone chilling screech that sailed through the air. The guard informed us that it was a hyena calling the other packs. However we had arrived too late and all the hyenas were out hunting. We picked ourselves up and made the trek back to the Land Cruiser, already planning the next attempt.

Two days later we all crammed back into the Land Cruiser and made the short drive to Michiriu Nature Reserve. The sun was beginning to fade along the horizon. Mist floated through the air as the clouds threatened rain. This was the night. After three other tries we knew that tonight would be the night with actual hyena sightings. We found a guard, who could walk in a straight line, and headed off to the hyena caves. As we drew near to it our voices once again fell silent. We crept in silence up a known hyena trail. We saw patches of grass that had been laid down where hyenas had recently been rolling around. We were getting closer. The guard took us to a large boulder bed and we set up watch a top 20ft rocks. As the sun sank even farther we began to wonder if once again our hopes would fail us. Just then Krystle (ADRA worker from Australia) looked over her shoulder to see a hyena 10ft away watching us curiously. As we all quickly turned to see, he scampered off into the bush off to go kill a few goats. Krystle and I soon moved our hunt up into a tree. Twilight enveloped us and our eyes quickly tried to distinguished wind rippling grass from hyenas moving. After about 15 minutes of sitting in our tree we heard rustling a couple of feet below us. Then we heard the rustle move closer to us and another sound of movement sprang up nearby. Everyone quickly flipped on flashlights, the hyenas were trying to stalk us and take us by surprise, the light caused them to turn and run. Their grunts, snorts and movement were surrounding us in curiosity. We were thankful for our lights and for the man with the semi-automatic weapon. The fourth attempt at discovering hyenas was finally successful. The next time we attempt it, we will have it down to a science.

“We’ve been surrounded and battered by troubles, but we’re not demoralized, we’re not sure what to do, but we know that God knows what to do; we’ve been spiritually terrorized, but God hasn’t left our side, we’ve been thrown down, but we haven’t broken. " 2 Corthinans 4:8-9 MSG Revised

Fuel Get Your Fuel

The prices soar and the complaining can be heard throughout the streets. Reports are seen on every news channel. It’s a phenomena that every American citizen is aware of and complains of daily. I can remember back when it was a dollar per gallon, one person might state. A friend might meet that statement with, well I can remember back to when it was 50 cents per gallon. The average cost of fuel in America is anywhere between 3-5 dollars. People are restricted in driving because they can’t afford to fuel up their car or people are buying eco cars that run on electricity.

It’s a whole different story here in Malawi. The past few weeks there has been NO fuel. Take a walk down to the closest BP station and you are met with a line of cars a mile long, waiting for hours to receive a couple liters of petrol. Petrol tankers arrive only a couple of days a week with a reserve supply of gasoline and diesel. Crafty business men are travelling across the border to Mozambique or Zambia to buy fuel and bring it back to sell. Who knew that being a black market petrol seller would be so profitable? As far as I know there is no end in sight and the lines, high black market prices, and pure madness is expected to continue awhile longer.

Kind of puts the complaints of America into prospective. At least fuel is at your finger tips, even though it may be a little on the expensive side.

Worms Anyone??

Several years back Upper Columbia Academy took a trip to Malawi to do some building and VBS. That year there were three different choices for mission trips; Africa, Borneo and Ecuador, and I choose to go to Ecuador. Like any group of high school students we seemed to have a silent competition going on between everyone. When all of the mission trips returned everyone was comparing their experiences, defending that theirs was the best. A few weeks after everyone returned we found out that those that went to Africa had to be tested for parasites and tuberculosis. The rest of us thought it was hilarious that they might have gotten parasites from Lake Malawi. We teased them for days, even after we found out that they were negative. That trip was known by everyone that didn’t go on it, as the one where their friends possibly came home with worms in their guts.

Well its now my time to be in Malawi, and exposed to strange African diseases. Guess who should be laughing now? My luck has run out. My first African disease is upon me. Over Christmas break we traveled several times to Lake Malawi. Our first location on the lake was kind of questionable. We got out of the water pretty sure we wouldn’t escape Balharzia (the parasite in the lake). Supposedly the parasite is wherever there are snails, and of course where we were was covered in snail shells. Lucky us! So here we are about 6 weeks after swimming in the lake and the parasites have decided our bodies are pretty nice homes. One of the symptoms is skin rashes and lesions. Well since I seem to have such great luck with skin conditions; out of all the symptoms, my body has developed this one. I feel like a walking blister. Since we are in Africa and medicine isn’t as controlled here as home, getting the treatment medication is pretty simple. Yesterday we walked over to the hospital and wrote down our weights, got a few signatures and the next thing we know we have the medication to nuke our bodies and kill any extra creatures inside. Welcome to Malawi, the land of never ending adventures.

Simple Procedures

the main operating theater

The steady beep of a pulse echoes through the halls, the odor of bleach and water fills the nostrils. Pink crocs rest on my feet. Blue scrubs cover my legs. An oversize green shirt envelops my shoulders. A green net holds back the few stubborn pieces of hair away from my face. Only my eyes peer out curiously through a blue sterile surgical mask. My feet make the few anxious steps through the swinging doors, a new rush of sounds, smells, and sights rush into my senses.

Today was my fourth day of getting the chance to observe procedures in the operating theater. I haven’t seen anything rare or exotic, but even though the cases I’ve witness may be considered normal or routine in the hospital they are such a rare sight in my eyes. Each day is a little nerve racking and thrilling at the same time. Who knows what my eyes will get to witness in the next hours.

I stood back on the side of the operating table, peering intently at the side of a woman’s head as a scalpel and fingers of a surgeon do their job. She walked into the hospital today with the knowledge of having cysts removed from her neck. She is now in a deep dream world, unaware of the knife, scissors and fingers cutting and gently moving around all the layers of veins and muscles. The first cyst rested below the ear, and was removed quickly. The second cyst was closer to the front of the head, but kept escaping the grasp of the surgeon. As I stood watching, shifting weight on my feet, and trying to stay focused on the small openings into the neck I heard the words that a lot of people in medicine long for, “Do you want to scrub in.” What kind of question is that? Of course I jumped at the chance and the next thing I know I am scrubbing my hands, getting tied into a sterile gown and slipping on sterile gloves. I edged my way closer to the table and was handed a tool. My job (which does not sound very glamorous or exciting) was to hold back the skin at the top of the incision, pulling it up towards the mouth. No, I didn’t get to do any cutting or anything super significant, but with my small amount training and capabilities I was jumping inside to just be a part of it all. I was actually assisting in a surgery! Something that I would have to be in med school or working as a theater nurse to even come close to do in America. It made the somewhat mundane surgery extremely interesting and fun. We were able to successfully remove the second cysts and after a little pain and healing the woman will be as a good as new.

The room smelled of burning flesh and bleach. I slipped my surgical mask up over my nose to cover some of the smells. I stepped through the swinging door and entered the second operating theater. A older man is looking up at the ceiling, listening to the surgeon and nurse chatter back and forth and the clinking of metal tools. As I walk closer I see something I’ve only seen in first aid books, or random medical books. This man is a preacher out in Zomba (an hour drive from Blantyre), he came in several weeks ago with severe infection on his left leg. A healing incision lies on the inside of the leg. A open about wound, about 3 inches wide, runs from the top of his foot, across his ankle and half way up his shin. When he first came in, the doctors told him he will most likely lose his leg, since the infection was too far through it. The surgeon decided he would open it and see how much he could save. The infection was able to be scrapped clean from both the incision and wound. The incision had enough skin around it to just sew it back up, however the wound was too wide for any hope that stitches would solve the problem. This is now his second procedure, today the main task was to scrap the dead skin away and prepare the flesh for a skin graft. The surgeon looked at me and told me that what they are doing is pretty simple, “you just scrap until you get bleeding, and that’s your healthy flesh.” The bottom part and top part of the wound was starting to heal nicely and only had a few layers of dead skin removed before blood appeared. However the middle took a lot longer to complete the debriment. So many layers had to be removed to reach the healthy flesh that the surgeon had to deliver disappointing news. The skin graft couldn’t happen today, another week would have to past before they would try again. You could tell the man’s spirits fell and he struggled to understand why it could not happen. Unfortunately since so many layers of tissue had to be removed the wound became too deep for a skin graft to take. The blood vessels were cauterized and the wound was dressed. Next week hopefully it will be healed and fleshy enough to complete the skin graft.

I have had the opportunity of being able to witness and help in a total of about 20 procedures, so far. From the simple removal of an abscess, to c-setions, removal of a ovarian cysts, endoscopies, cistoscopies, head trauma, and getting to collect the tissue for a biopsy on section of the esophagus. I don’t think I have the discipline to become a surgeon, but being able to see these procedures has strongly secured that my career choice is exactly what I want to be doing the rest of my life.