At the
onset of the wet season (this year in early December), the Malawians plant maize in whatever spare plot of
land they can find. Most fields are
planted at almost exactly the same time, as though the families had been
patiently waiting for a cosmic signal.
Almost overnight, women suddenly appear to prepare their fields,
carefully working down the rows with their traditional hoes. Maize seeds are embedded in carefully
cultivated furrows alongside roads and ditches, in narrow ravines, in family
gardens plots, in large cultivated fields, neatly terraced and tilled.
Here is a small plot high on Mount Soche, located in a narrow gully, just below the government land.
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Someone carved out this narrow patch alongside the road for a nice little maize field.
Even rocky slopes, barely suitable for cultivation, are planted with maize.
No parcel goes to waste, at least this close
to town, perhaps it is different in the villages and countryside where space is
not at a premium. This past Sunday, Carole
and I had the opportunity to drive to Liwonde for church, a two hour car trip from
Blantyre. Almost the entire way we found
maize fields, much larger than the small family plots of Blantyre, but still fields
cultivated by hand.
Here in
Blantyre, the topsoil is exceptionally deep, except on the steepest rocky
slopes, so that the furrows are dug up to a height of 8 to 12 inches. One site in the “Three Ways” community (so
named because three ways there intersect) had topsoil close to 2 feet in
depth. My father, a farmer’s son, would have
celebrated seeing such deep soil; when travelling throughout the world as a
family, my father invariably commented on the depth of topsoil. Even though I am several generations removed
from the farm, I have instinctively picked up his habit, something Carole has
found to be a peculiar trait in a city boy.
The soil is
warm, fertile and welcoming, easy to think here in terms of mother earth, which
is full of life; the fields look capable of generating abundant yields, as long
as they are not exhausted through overuse and as long as they are fertilized.
Here is a photo of some fields just on the outskirts of Soche, located on the way to Limbe.
Malawians
use a traditional hoe, called a “khasu,” to cultivate their fields. Virtually every family has a khasu, and a
family without one is considered to be poor.
While we have seen both men and
women working the fields, women are the ones most frequently found taking on
the back breaking labor. Knees slightly
bent, they patiently edge their way along, back and forth, curving up the land
into neatly designed patterns of parallel rows.
The work is tiring and sweaty, especially now that the days are muggy. Strike, strike, pause, strike, strike, pause,
and so the pattern repeats itself over and over again, as they slowly prepare the field. Progress is almost imperceptible, but after a
couple of hours, the furrows emerge. My
father occasionally spoke of hoeing sugar beet fields in Garland, Utah, where
he lived as a young lad. He remembered
the rows being endless and the work back-breaking and thankless. It was in those fields, at the age of 15, he
vowed never to be a farmer. He found the
work too hard. Malawians in town do not have
this experience, because their plots are so small. Rarely does one find a field so large that it
cannot be prepared for planting after a morning or afternoon’s hoeing. These are garden-size plots, not the
commercial scale farms of the western United States. The fields in and between the villages are much larger, but even there the villagers and small farmers do not use mechanized farm equipment.
I am so
intrigued with a “khasu” that, the other day, I purchased one at the local
central market for 1,500 kwacha or $3.
The khasu has a narrow wooden handle, roughly 3 feet in length, with a
large flat metal blade, 6 inches in width, inserted at the weighted end.
Here is a picture of my khasu, propped up against a wall in our apartment.
Due to its length, hoeing is always done with
slightly bent knees. In the northern
districts of Malawi, the farmers, we are told, use a similar hoe except that its handle is closer to 5 to 6 feet in length.
[Apparently, this hoe also has a different name in Chichewa, which I
don’t recall.] The use of this longer
tool allows the farmer to stand upright when hoeing. Brother Tsegula, when asked to explain the
reasons for the difference, supplied this explanation. Those living in the north are descendants of
warrior-dominated tribes. Never wanting
to work with their heads down, leaving them potentially defenseless, they
insisted on longer handles. This makes
for a wonderful story, but I wonder if it is true. I have seen western-style hoes in several
stores, but never one used by Malawians, either because of their expense or
because the traditional hoes are preferred.
My khasu is
nicely balanced—when held at the handle’s top, it swings lightly in the
hand. It is easy to see it would be
ideal for hoeing and weeding. All of the
khasus in Blantyre have blades of roughly the same width. If they have others with narrower
blades—better suited for weeding, they have yet to make an appearance. Having a khasu in the home makes me feel more
a part of Malawi; tourists don’t buy khasus, why would they. I know, however, the experience is not truly genuine—I
have no field to till and tend. Sometime
in the next several weeks, I hope to find an opportunity to use my “khasu,” not
to prepare the furrows—because it will be too late for that—but instead to weed. Most Church members have small plots planted
with maize, so they will certainly let me try my hand weeding. They will, I have no doubt, find this odd or
amusing. What exactly does Elder Beal
think he is doing? But with as much rain
as we are now getting, keeping their fields free of weeds will be constant
battle.
Here is a picture of Brother Petro working in his maize field.
As you can see, I look pretty silly holding my newly-acquired khasu..
Getting my
“khasu” back to Seattle will be a challenge, but, because it is so emblematic
of Malawian life, I am anxious to see if there isn’t some cheap way to ship it
home when we finish up with our mission.
I would love to display the “khasu” in my office at home, a constant reminder
of our time in Malawi.
The “khasu” in many respects epitomizes how Malawians,
at least those living in the Soche/Zingwangwa area, provide basic food for
themselves and their families. At least
in part, their life is still rooted in the past. Many use simple, basic tools—indeed, tools of
a type used by their ancestors for at least several generations—to produce
crops. Much of the agriculture in Malawi
is done on a sustenance basis—through small garden plots cultivated and
maintained by families for their own use.
Other than a few large tea plantations, most of the farming we have seen
has been done on a small scale. While
there certainly must be some large-scale farm operations employing modern
equipment, we have yet to see them.
Instead, the farming is done by individuals and families without the benefit
of tractors, trucks, combines, harrows or other types of mechanized equipment. Most fields are so small and irregularly
shaped that the use of such equipment would be unnecessary and indeed not even
possible. We have also been told that even the large fields of maize are usually done by hand.
The
families hope to grow enough maize to supply their own needs and to generate a
little excess that can then be exchanged for other crops, such as tomatoes,
mangos, potatoes, and greens, chickens, and thin dried fish, all items readily
available at the small stands found throughout the townships. Sometimes it seems as though every other
home has erected a rickety stand to peddle something to the neighbors in hopes
of earning a few extra kwacha. The stands frequently are left unattended,
the wares for trade or sale simply left spread out in small heaps for display
on a piece of plywood, but if anyone shows interest, with a few minutes a mom
or child will appear to complete the transaction. These small businesses are located outside
of the local markets, close to and among the clustered homes, and rely upon
proximity to give them their primary competitive advantage.
At least
here in Blantyre, maize is the crop of choice.
On occasion, pumpkins, beans and other crops we cannot identify are
interspersed among the maize plants, but still the primary crop is maize. Malawians expect to get one crop of maize
during the rainy season. Given the mild
climate, a second crop is possible but only if the land is irrigated.
Each neighborhood
or community has its own maize mill, to which the women carry, throughout the
year as needed, enormous bags of maize kernels for milling into flour. And it is from this maize flour (white
cornmeal) the families prepare “nsima” or “nhsima,” the staple food dish of Malawi
and Zambia. Nsima is usually eaten with
two side dishes—one a protein side dish of meat, chicken, fish, groundnuts
(peanuts) or beans, and the other a vegetable side dish of cabbage or leaves of rape, mustard, or
pumpkins. Nsima is of a sticky
consistency, easily rolled into balls, like sticky rice. Malawians eat nsima bare handed. Surprisingly, we have yet to sample nsima,
but we expect to have it served to us sometime in the near future. [We have been careful about eating in the
homes of members, knowing how easily we could get sick drinking the water
and eating the foods they routinely take.]
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