The rain stops but the winds continue unabated. The clouds race across the sky. An eagle of some variety circles, looking for easy prey. Elvis’ wife shouts at it. It flies off with a screeching promise to return.
I ask about the dogs I have seen scavenging in the yard. I mangle the Chichewa so badly she cannot understand. “They are dogs,” she instructs me in a tone that sounds harsh to my ears. Her English is excellent. “We call them dogs. They are just dogs.”
The Chichewa word for dog is galu. Clearly, I need to work on my pronunciation.
Later, Elvis and I are walking through the tea fields. Thousands of hectares of tea plants stretching out in every direction. It is beautiful. So beautiful. And so damn cold.
“You can see over there. There is the sunshine.” Elvis says, pointing to an island of warmth in the great green ocean of tea leaves. “Thyolo is being very cruel today, placing the sun so close but so far away. But do not worry. The sunshine will be arriving here for you soon. Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure. The sunshine will be arriving here for you soon.”