Rainy Season

Rain Shoes

The rainy season was late. Before Christmas, the President was gearing up to ask everyone to pray for the rainfall this country depends on to survive.  Any prayers were answered a couple of weeks ago in the form of a tropical cyclone that formed out in the Indian Ocean. Malawi may be a landlocked nation, but the arms of a category 5 are long and when one of them decides to hug the coast of South East Africa, it’s time to bring in the laundry and break out the gumboots.

The rivers and seas didn’t boil. The dead didn’t rise from their graves. Dogs and cats weren’t living together. But in a country where the bricks are made from sand, two solid days of torrential rainfall and high winds are bound to cause some chaos. Floods. Muds. Collapsed walls. A nice dose of mass hysteria to kick off the New Year.
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Many happy returns

On the day that you left,
hope was thrown out
the window and 
into the 
snow.

Of course there really wasn’t
much hope to throw;
to throw into 
the melting 
snow.

There was no peace left. 
Nothing to drag me 
from the gutter 
to the 
glow.

So I sat in the room 
with the laughing chairs
watching each frozen
moment slip 
away.

….the white ribbons and pony-tail,
the thoughts that gave me
warmth at night and 
the book with 
the clasp 
that 
shut too tight.

…the silent dinners and phony smile,
the thoughts that kept me
up at night and 
my mouth like 
a book with 
a clasp
that 
couldn’t close right…

All of the things
we had and
used to 
be.

All of the things 
that meant the 
world to 
me.

Lost. 
Forever lost
in the noise
and all the heat.

Lost like melting snow.

The wind whispers, “…wait…”

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2-Sep-13

Day nine at site. I leave the house early to attend a meeting at the school. The wind whips around me as I leave the house. Thyolo is a district of wind. It comes down from the mountains and whooshes through the treetops. Often, I lie awake in the middle of the night, listening as it catches on the tin roof of my house. The noise is rather sinister, the sound of many hoofed beasts escaping perdition as the howls of the damned scream after them. As I walk to school I am grateful for my jacket and my baseball cap.

I arrive at the school at 8:11AM. There is no one around. I sit. I wait. A young girl of about eight emerges from the gray mists surrounding the tea fields. She is quite thin. She carries a stick in her hand and a baby on her back. She shuffles past me. I wave and she responds in kind. She adjusts her chitenje and turns slightly, allowing the infant a chance to gaze upon the strange pale creature from a far away land. The baby does not seem terribly interested. “Iwe!” the girl shouts to some unseen friend before disappearing back into the fog. Continue reading

Day 3

3-Aug-13

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.”

Day 1

1-Aug-13

Site visit: Four days to explore the part of the country I will be calling home for two years.

Day 1: After enduring about forteen hours of nonstop wind and misty rain I ask my new boss/host, Elvis, if the weather of Thyolo District is always this bleak. “Oh, definitely no,” he replies. “It is only this harsh until November. Then the rainy season will begin.”