Virtually everyone in Blantyre, old or young, well off or
poor, has a meaningful tie to a village, whether in the northern, central or
southern regions of Malawi. Even those
who have lived in Blantyre for one or more generations usually have extended
family or ancestral property somewhere outside of Malawi’s large towns, tying
them to the land and the communal life of farming, hearkening back to the
precolonial period when everyone lived in villages and larger cities were
unheard of. Malawi, though having a
surprisingly high population density, is an agrarian based society, with close
to 80% of its population living in the countryside. The villages of Malawi include large trading
centers, straddling the main highways (paved roads), linking Blantyre,
Lilongwe, and Mzusu, the three magnet cities in the southern, central and
northern regions, with the other larger communities—Chikwawa, Thyolo, Mulanje,
Phalombe, Liwonde, Zoma, Balaka, Ntcheu, Machinga, Dedza, Salima, Kasungu,
Ntichisi, and Nkhata Bay; smaller regional markets; rural communities scattered
throughout the countryside, many well off the main highways; and loose clusters
of homes virtually everywhere, tiny pricks on the human map, connected by dusty
and rutted back lanes crisscrossing Malawi.
Of course, the primary linkage Malawians have to the
villages is “familial.” One may live (or
in Malawian English, “stay”) in Blantyre or some other larger city, but still
have family in the “village”—parents, grandparents, brothers, sisters, aunts,
uncles, cousins—the list is seemingly endless.
Often it is impossible for a Westerner to keep track of, or even
understand at a very basic level, the network of family members still living in
the village. Part of the reason for the
confusion is the fluid nature of the relationships among Malawians. So many fathers and mothers die early,
leaving behind children for someone else to raise, be they grandparents, older
siblings, aunts, uncles, or just someone else willing to help out due to a
generosity of spirit.[1]
Understandably, biological ties give way
to ties of “stewardship”—what matters most is who raises the children. And Malawians rarely speak of these
relationships as “adoptive” or “foster” arrangements—they are the real ties and
are recognized as such. Another reason the
family relationships are hard to decipher is the vernacular Malawians use to
describe their relationships with kin.
While they surely know the distinctions between “natural brothers,” on
the one hand, and “step-brothers,” “half-brothers,” “cousins,” or for that
matter “lifelong friends,” on the other hand, often they speak
loosely—referring to all as their “brothers.” Only when questioned narrowly can one tease
out the more precise relationships. A
Malawian’s village orientation depends upon whether the father comes from the
north or south (and whether bride price or “lobola” is paid). If from the north, and if lobola is paid, the home village is the
father’s village in the north. If from
the south, the family regards the mother’s village in the south as the “home”
village. These orientations are somewhat
breaking down in modern families, where there is more equality between spouses,
with families splitting time between the home villages of the father and
mother.
As important as family ties are, Malawians frequently are
tied to villages because the family retains land in the countryside—creating a
link to family villages that is tangible.
Land has the capacity to produce value, and even wealth, and keeps
families connected with one another.
Some of these land interests have been in the families for generations,
harkening back to the days their forbearers left behind their migratory customs
and began cultivating crops, breeding animals, establishing deeper roots. We have yet to receive a satisfactory answer
to the nature of their land interests—whether they “own” the land or only have
a right to its use with the blessing of the local chief. Nor do we know whether, or how often, these
proprietary interests can be traced through generations, creating a sense and
feeling of continuity, or whether the land interests are periodically realigned
or are bought and sold, much as they are throughout the rest of the world.
But what is obvious is the land represents a source of food
for those living in the cities—something of critical (in some cases—life and
death) significance to poor people where food can be painfully scarce—but
something easily taken lightly by Westerners where food is readily
available. Families with village land
work, cultivate and harvest the land themselves, shuttling back and forth, or
leave the land to be worked by others until some future time, when they may
want its use returned to them. The
land’s value can be measured in terms of the number of 50 kg bags of maize the
land can yield in a year, maize representing the staple crop used to produce
corn meal or “nshima,” the most traditional Malawian food stock. A household of four can get by on 10 to 15
bags of maize a year. If they can
harvest more than their needs (which we understand to be uncommon), the excess
can be sold off as a cash crop, generating kwacha to pay school fees, purchase
clothes, buy medicine, cover hospital visit costs, and buy food stocks not
produced locally. Other crops grew in
the villages include pigeon peas, cassava, tomatoes, lettuce, cabbage, rape,
mustard plants, and beans, all products routinely used in local meals. The pride Malawians take in their villages
suggest that land ownership or control may give them the same sense of
“belonging” and permanence that is commonly experienced in the United States.[2]
During our stay in Malawi, we have had a few opportunities
to go into villages, in each case for no more than an afternoon,[3]
so we certainly lack the experience to speak with confidence about the quality
of village life. But even our limited
experience has left us with a few impressions, which I think would be borne out
by further visits. As elsewhere in
Malawi, life is essentially communal in nature.
People are everywhere, walking the roads, riding bikes, carrying bundles
on their heads. One finds the occasional
motorized vehicles—a motor bike, truck or car.
While Malawi’s population growth is not out of control, children, from
infants, toddlers, small children to adolescents, are noticeable. The day we spent visiting Brother Tsegula’s
village was illustrative. No one, adults
and children alike, was in a hurry-- relatives, friends, and neighbors slowly assembled,
greeting the Tsegulas, welcoming us, and then gathered into small groups,
sitting on the ground, in front yards and along the dirt road. That was perhaps not surprising—the Tsegulas
had not been to the villages for a number of years—and “azungus” such as Carole
and I are frequently attractions. By late
afternoon, the group, including a pack of children, had swelled in number to 35
to 45. What was unexpected was the
length of time people stayed around—literally for hours, casually visiting,
observing the minor spectacle, mulling about.[4]
The children, from toddlers to
early teens, watched us constantly, and intently, as though watching TV and
expecting entertainment. As the day wore
on, the children would play casually, forming and reforming little play groups,
idly passing time, but never straying too far away, not wanting to miss what
might happen. For a while, some younger
ones, discovering their reflections off the sides of the truck, danced in the
dust, the silly antics of kids, amusing themselves, delighting in the reflected
gyrations of the truck. For the most part, the play was good natured,
not the spats, fighting and mean spiritedness one can see at home, though I did
notice two little boys, one little more than an infant, egging on one little
girl, teasing, grabbing, then running away.
She was not going to let them escape unpunished, chasing them off,
slapping, reaching out to catch her little tormentors. As they got more comfortable with us, the
circles around us tightened. But
whenever we would turn around, starting in their direction, off they fled, squealing
and shrieking with delight. To get a
break in the early afternoon, Carole and I walked down the dusty road for the
better part of an hour, none of the kids or adults following. But as we came to the crest of a hill,
children in the isolated homes would call out, consumed with curiosity, a few
bolder ones gathering and following us on the path. It conjured up images of the pied-piper of
Hamlin. Apparently, the kids were out of
school, having just written exams, with extra time on their hands. Shortly before we left, Carole lead the kids in
singing and pantomiming several beloved primary songs, to great success, as
they learned “head, shoulders, knees, and toes,” “do as I’m doing,” “itsy,
bitsy, spider went up the water spout.”
Like children everywhere, if engaged, they are all “eyes” and
“ears.” Their interest seemed inexhaustible,
the game only stopping when Carole got tired.
Since coming to Malawi, we have
used images from our digital camera, much like earlier tourists to Africa
employed candy or gum, as little inducements to entertain and make connections,
especially with those who do not speak much English. After snapping a few photos, I display the
images on the camera’s recorder. Adults are
usually pleased to see the images, but the children are universally delighted
with the results. Once used to the
attention, they come running, whenever the camera is raised, immediately
striking a pose, instinctively mugging for the camera. After a while it becomes impossible to get a
candid photo, except when taking a photo from distance using the zoom
lens. The Malawians are accustomed to
photos, since virtually every adult has a cell phone, with photo
capability.
Given their ties to the villages, those
“staying” in Blantyre often travel back and forth to the villages, especially
if the villages are close at hand. They
go to see family, take care of aged relatives, plant maize and other crops,
help with the harvest, gather crops or bags of meal to take back home. Children may be sent to the village for
school, especially at the primary levels, or to visit family or, if parents
have died, to be raised by a great aunt or grandparent. As a result, families are often split,
sometimes from long periods, with part in the city and part in the
village. For example, the wife and
children (especially when young) may stay in the village, while the husband
works in the city, commuting on weekends and on holidays. In addition, it is also common to return to
the villages for funerals. And while
funerals are uncommon back home, they are not uncommon here. Almost weekly we hear of the death of an
aunt, uncle, parent, brother or sister, or child, who is somehow related to a
Church member. Culturally, Malawians
find it critical to support the deceased’s family, even if they are not close
friends or well acquainted. If money is
available, meaning that it can somehow be dredged up,[5]
the normal convention is for the deceased to be buried in the village, even if
he/she has not lived there for a number of years. But the cost for transport for the poor is
always a consideration, so we have known some families to bury their loved ones
in Blantyre, rather than to incur the costs of transporting them to the home
village for internment. Some Church
members have not been back to their family villages, especially those far away,
for years because of the cost of transport.
Village farming, at least as far as
we have seen[7],
bears no resemblance to the high tech farming practiced in the United States
and throughout first world countries, nor, for that matter, even to the farming
practices I remember my Grandfather Smith employing on a small farm in northern
Utah in the late 1950s, when I was still a small boy. There are no tractors, combines, ATVs,
flatbed trucks, to plow, harrow and harvest crops or transport equipment and
crops; no silos, barns, storage bins to house agricultural equipment, shelter
livestock and store crops; no wells for which to pump underground water for
personal or farm use; no irrigation lines or rigs to irrigate crops outside of
the rainy season. Certainly there are no
air-conditioned computerized tractors, standing the height of two full-grown
men, commonly found today in the United States, allowing the modern farmer to
manage acre upon acre of commercially operated farms. But perhaps, most startling is the absence of
the herds of livestock one expects to see on farms—no large herds of dairy
cattle or commercial operations for raising hogs, chickens, or cattle. All we have ever seen in the villages are
small animal pens, constructed of wood slats or pools, for the occasional
milking cow, a couple of pigs, and a few goats.
Most village homes have roosters, hens and chickens; rabbits, guinea pigs
and other small farm animals. Along the
roads, driving between Blantyre and Lilongwe, one comes across small herds of
goats or cattle being driven by small boys, bare footed, switches in hand, intent
on keeping them off the highway. Most animals
are road savvy, especially the goats, otherwise they would have long since
become road kill. The land around the
villages is a patchwork of small hand-cultivated plots, the short, parallel,
furrows mounded and weeded using the traditional short-handled wood hoe called
as “khasu,” found everywhere in Malawi.
It can be purchased at the Blantyre market for 1,500 kwacha or roughly
three US dollars. The small garden-sized
plots are sometimes hand watered with buckets or watering cans, using water
drawn from nearby small streams or springs.
But, in and around the villages, we have yet to see a network of ditches
to provide more widespread irrigation, either because diverting the water for
this purpose is illegal or because it is something beyond their imagination or
interest. The Malawians appreciate the
need of rotating crops, so cultivated fields, and those left fallow, are side
by side.
When compared to life in the city,
village life is, at the same time, both better and worse. The cost of living in the countryside is
markedly less than that of the cities—housing costs are limited, since most
live in self-made, family owned, homes, eliminating rental costs; the basic
staples of the Malawian diet—maize, beans, cassava, mustard leaves are locally
produced; avocado, guava, banana, papaya trees can be found throughout much of
Malawi. Families rarely incur charges
for electricity or water, since those utilities are not available in most
villages. Most villagers live off the
land, and cover the few cash expenses they do have—school fees, hospital costs,
airtime—out of the sale of excess cash crops and from small jobs of
piecework. The pace of life is slow,
time available to visit with friends, attend to the garden plots, and care for the
sick. Children are not under undue
pressures at school. Everyone knows
one’s neighbors. The weather is not
harsh, the growing season long, sufficient water during the rainy season, and
into the middle of the year, until the fields turn from green to brown, as crops
begin drying up. Some Malawians, when
approaching retirement, think of going back to their home villages, both to cut
costs, but also to reconnect with family and their native roots.
But what the villages lack is what
villages lack everywhere—employment opportunities are limited, not much beyond
agricultural work and small trades; little in the way of technology and modern
conveniences—electricity and indoor plumbing are rare; no internet service, other
than that available through local internet cafes; transportation is supplied
with bicycles, occasional motorbikes, and old cars and trucks, poorly
maintained and serviced, susceptible to frequent breakdowns. The local schools use the national
curriculum, are burdened by crowded classrooms, with up to 90 students per
grade, have limited supplies of course books, library materials, and basic
writing materials—paper, pens, pencils, erasers. Adolescents and young adults are hard pressed to
find many outlets to give vent to their youthful energy and passions. The cities in Malawi, though on a more modest
scale, offer the same enticements as large cities the world around—more employment
(though even here, employment opportunities are scarce); better schools; more
recreational opportunities; broader exposure to cultural events; access to an array
of technological improvements. Hence,
there is no reason to predict the worldwide migration of the rural population
into the cities will abate anytime in the near future.
[1]
Within the Blantyre Second and Zingwangwa Branches alone, we know several
families raising someone else’s children—the Chikapas have “Time,” President
Chikapa’s nephew, the Mkandawires “Wisdom,” the sons of Brother Mkandawire’s
deceased brother; the Bandas “Emily,” Brother Banda’s niece. Sister Kandioni’s home has been a virtual
haven for orphaned children or those struggling to get along with parents or
other caregivers—Maria and Felix Paul, and Fistani. Faith and Lyford Ngwira are raising “Mike,”
her sister’s son.
[2] We
sensed this when visiting Brother Tsegula’s village in the Thyolo District, an
hour’s drive from Blantyre. He spoke
with fondness, almost reverence, when pointing out the land historically
belonging to him and his extended family, even though some of those parcels had
not been cultivated by the family for a number of years. He left us with the impression that the
family could, by making a claim, recapture the land’s use. It is hard to think this could happen so
easily given the likelihood of intervening claims.
[3] We
have visited the villages of Davie Mangani, our daytime security
guard/gardener; of James Tsegula, a Zingwangwa member; and of President
Kanjala, the Blantyre 2nd Branch President. We also attended the funeral of a Church
member held in a small village outside of Mpemba.
[4]
Brother Tsegula had not been able to forewarn his family and friends of the
proposed visit, despite trying to raise them on the phone. So once we got there, he climbed back up the
hill, disappearing for ten minutes, then returning with his elder brother Joseph,
two years his senior, a slight wiry man, wearing a knit cap, which he never
relinquished. Gradually, great aunts,
uncles, cousins, and spouses gathered, content to chat, catch up on old news,
renew acquaintances, and gossip. Except
for a few slight breaks, no one left during the four hours of our visit.
[5]
Rarely does a family have at hand sufficient savings to cover the costs of a
funeral or, if they do, the funeral may largely deplete those reserves. Along with the hospital costs of unexpected
illness, marriages and funerals are two of the extraordinary expenses that
families are occasionally called upon to bear.
Rather than lose face in their community, families frequently go into
debt for cover those costs. The Mormon
Church strongly counsels against this practice, urging members instead to opt for
simpler, more modest, yet appropriate ways, of honoring their deceased loved
ones.
[7] Of
course, Malawi has some large commercial agricultural enterprises, which
conduct farming using more modern agricultural equipment and techniques.
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