I. Introduction D. Malawi Has Been Perfect
The week does not go by but what Carole and I do not say to
one another that Malawi has been a perfect assignment for us; we cannot imagine
being happier serving as missionaries anywhere else in the world. Being here has been a great blessing for us,
even though we occasionally wonder how much good we are actually doing, more on
that topic later. If there ever was an inspired calling for a
senior couple, this seems to be it, even if Carole and I did much to guide
where we would be called to serve. I
admit to being slow, perhaps even hesitant, to recognize the Lord’s hand in my
affairs. It is often easier to see how
the Lord blesses and sustains others.
Perhaps I am far too well acquainted with my own weaknesses and
shortcomings to think the Lord might be mindful of me. But nonetheless, Carole and I feel being here
is, and has been, inspired, the Lord working through Carole, blessing us
jointly, even if I was barely aware of the influence at the beginning, and
thought we should have processed our mission call differently.
Weather should not be much of a factor when assessing the
quality of a mission, but it is not a bad thing to serve where the weather is
good. And here in Malawi the weather is
unbelievably good; every morning is sunny, the skies clear, the temperature
warmish. Now that we are in the midst of Malawi’s short cool season (typically
late May through July), it is chilly when we get up and go to bed, but a light
sweater and light blanket are enough to take the edge off, and once we are up
and about the temperature is comfortable, even better than the dry season, when
it can get a tad hot in the direct sun.
Certainly there is a rainy season (roughly the three months from January
through March), when you can get stuck, if not careful, in torrential
downpours. Anyone following our blog
posts will have seen photos of us getting drenched, wet to the bone, ruining
one camera, turning the back lanes into seasonal streams, washing out the
roads. This year the rains were especially
heavy, displacing thousands of villagers, especially south of us in the
Chikwawa District, creating instant refugee camps. So life, as it is here, is not always
easy—and so what one day is pleasant, and even carefree, can suddenly turn into
a mini disaster or life crisis for the Malawians who live so close to the
poverty edge. Yet for those with
resources the weather issues are normally just little blips, easily dealt
with. I can’t imagine living anywhere
where the weather is better, day in and day out,
and shudder at the thought of returning in a little less than a year to the
dark and dampness of the Pacific Northwest, however much we find it home, and
are comfortable with its rhythm and pace.
I hoped for a missionary call to a beautiful part of Africa
and have not been disappointed. Blantyre
is surrounded by a ring of small peaks, the city sitting squarely in the midst
of a bowl. The weather is categorized as
“humid subtropical,” but the temperature is moderate because of the area’s
relatively high altitude. The plateau in
which the city is located ranges from 3,000 to 4,000 feet, with several of the
local peaks approaching 7,000 feet. Travelling to the north, toward Lilongwe,
Malawi’s capital city, the road gradually climbs until Ntcheu (roughly the
midway point, two hours north by car), where one climbs steadily up the eastern
slopes of a small mountain range, finally reaching the highest populated
plateau in Malawi, where one finds the scenic village of Dedza, locally
renowned for its pottery and local arts, reputed to be the highest village in
Malawi at an elevation of 8,000 feet. Travelling
south of Blantyre toward Chikwawa one reaches within an hour by car the outward
edges of the plateau upon which Blantyre is sited, before dropping down off the
plateau, roughly some 500 to 700 feet, to the flat plains of the Chikwawa
District, watered by the Shirer River, running off to the south to
Mozambique.
The local vegetation is incredibly lush, tropical, and
verdant. Ever since we arrived, we have
been greeted by one flowering bush or tree after another (only a few of the
species we recognize)
as we cycle through the four mild seasons, one hardily distinguishable for the
other. The colors of the flowers are bold,
vibrant and stunning—bright purples, yellows, pinks, reds and oranges. It is as though the colors of the foliage are
intended to match the brilliant colors of the women’s chitenge (though of
course the opposite is surely the case).
African women, given the rich brown darkness of their skin, are
naturally endowed to wear brilliant colors.
They were not intended to wear English tweeds, small stripes, pastel
colors. They come to life when wearing bold
patterns, the brightest of colors, and when enveloped in broad swathes of fabric. Coordinating colors is not a high
priority—chaotic patterns, clashing color schemes, are common. What might look contrived or out of place
when worn by a Westerner looks spectacular on African women. The soil of Malawi is the orange red soil of
Africa, with a texture that stains and marks clothes. It is virtually impossible to wash it out of
clothes once soiled. The red soil is
best on display when viewing the ribbons of village paths breaking off the main
paved roads.
We hoped to see the vibrancy of Africa, after our earlier
pre-mission experiences in Kenya and Tanzania, and that vibrancy is all around
us—especially in the city centers and markets--a swirl of constant activity,
people crossing the streets, kids chewing sugar cane stalks, women carrying
babies, constantly readjusting their chitenges, market goods—bags of maize,
bundles of long kindling, water—moved, not by modern means, but balanced on
women’s heads, heavy loads of charcoal transported on bikes, flashes of color,
dust and commotion. People are everywhere--clusters
of kids mulling around; women, old and young, by their small open air stands,
idly chatting, waiting for local customers; kids playing improvised soccer
games, using small piles of rocks as goal posts; the locals making small
purchases at mini-shops selling Sobo (a high-concentrated local fruit drink),
candies, and snacks, and at wood stalls set up for tomatoes, bonya (small dried
fish—a bit like sardines), chambo, bananas, and lettuce. Mini-buses are the constant on the roads, pulling
in and out of their standard stations, clogging up traffic, breaking down or
running out of gas in the middle of roads, pulled over by local police checking
for safety violations and the adequacy of the documents (current car registrations,
annual driving permits and mini-bus registration),
mini-bus flank men hawking rides, half cantilevered out of the left side
sliding doors. Each small community has
its share of vegetable stands, hair salons, barber shops, stores selling
airtime, furniture operations, selling the same upholstered and wickeder stairs,
sofas, mirrors, and baskets. The
townships spread out horizontally, there being no high rises, walk-up
apartments, or office or commercial buildings.
Never have we lived anywhere where people are as friendly
and quick to smile as they are in Malawi.
Whenever we nod or smile, we are greeted with a nod or smile in
return. The Malawians are not sullen,
tight lipped, too busy to be bothered.
Perhaps their slower pace of life, not unlike the proverbial village
life, is part of the reason for the friendliness—rarely are they in a hurry and
being late is just expected. No one
(other than the Westerners with whom they are dealing) gets too stressed out if
they show up an hour or two late. Westerners
are shown considerable deference in common day life—they are presumed to have
wealth and be important. They are
frequently surprised by our greetings and seem pleased we have seen fit (i.e.,
deigned) to reach out to them. By
adults, I am routinely addressed as “boss,” “elder,” “pastor,” and Carole as
“sister" and "mommy," each name signaling respect and social standing. We have been told it is a great honor to have
“azungus” (whites) visit their homes, and, when giving them rides home, they want us to drive the truck
the last couple hundred yards to their homes, however narrow, rocky, rutted,
and torn up the lanes.
But it would be wrong to see their openness and kindness to
us as only a symbol of racial/ethnic inequalities. They are, in our experience, nice to one
another. They visit friends and
neighbors when someone is sick or in the hospital. Funerals and marriages are huge affairs,
whole villages and communities coming together to pay respects and show
support. And this gentility is apparent
even in the most casual of interactions.
They speak and listen to each other quietly and without interruptions, free
of the speaking over one another so common the United States. They stand and visit easily, without
impatience or signaling a need to hurry on.
For hours on end, women (especially those at the small stands and
stalls) chat quietly, in the most companionable way. Men frequently come and go, joining the
conversations, then moving on, with no overt signs of the sexism one suspects
when thinking of the highly hierarchical structure of African tribal life. Even
the play among children is remarkable in the absence of fighting, bullying, and
nastiness. Young boys, as well as girls,
frequently walk hand in hand, or with an arm draped over another’s
shoulders. Play is tame by Westerner
standards.
We have not encountered the hostility or reluctance of less
active members so prevalent in the United States. Whenever we track someone down to visit,
whatever their attitude toward the Church or level of activity, they are
willing to meet with us. With very rare
exceptions, they are open to visiting with us when we drop, and are home at the
time of scheduled appointments, ready to meet and chat about the Church. They don’t try to avoid us or make
appointments knowing they don’t intend to keep them. The few occasions when that has occurred
stand out—actually we can count them on one hand. For whatever reason,
they are not plagued by the embarrassment felt by less active members back
home. Perhaps it is because this is
fundamentally a God-fearing country, and people are loathe to show disrespect
to ministers of God—which, I am sure, is the way we are commonly
perceived. Perhaps it is because less
active members here are so new to the Church, they don’t think of themselves as
“less active,” or worry about how that might be perceived by others. They may even see themselves as still active
in the Church and still converted to the gospel. In any event, they are very welcoming to
us—one of the phrases we often hear, when being greeted in their homes, is “you
are most welcome,” said with a very distinctive cadence. We do not feel the rejection and outright
hostility many senior missionaries experience when trying to touch base with less
actives in local branches and wards. Hence,
it is easy to go back to their homes, knowing you will be welcomed. Back home, every home teacher or visiting
teacher knows the sinking feeling that comes with being rebuffed or brushed off
or intentionally avoided. For the most
part, senior couples working here are spared those unpleasantries. We know it would be much harder serving in
the same capacity were we in the United States or the countries of Western Europe.
The most common advice bestowed upon senior missionaries is
that they must grow to love the members with whom they labor. “You have to love the people, and if you do
they will sense it and respond to you.”
I certainly admired many Germans and came to love German culture during
the two years spent as a young missionary in northern Germany in the late
1960s. The extent to which I grew to
love them, or was able to demonstrate that love, is much harder to assess. So few Germans had interest in the Church,
and so few spent any real time visiting with us, that I hardly got to know any Germans
intimately. My contacts with them, but
for a couple who became friends, were limited and transitory. Certainly our experience in Malawi is far different. For one thing, unlike the young missionaries,
we are rooted in one area, all 18 months being stationed in Blantyre. No transfer every two months to another area
to break up the routine and rhythm of our service. But far more importantly is the fact that
Malawians are so open and friendly. Many
of the members in Zingwangwa, and now more recently in Blantyre Second Branch,
have become fast friends. And while I
can’t say that I understand what they are thinking, what motivates them or even
how exactly they view the Church, I have certainly come to love them—I think
precisely in the way missionaries are expected to love those they serve. I find it naturally to embrace them, share
expressions of concern, and be happy when they are happy. The first lesson Carole and I have shared
with members is from 1 Cor. 12—a lesson about spiritual gifts and Church
unity. It is about caring for members,
rejoicing when they rejoice, and feeling sorrow when they mourn. It has been an easy lesson to give and an
easy one to learn.
Much of what we are asked and expected to do is
rewarding. Attending Church, watching
new Malawian members, seeing their commitment in the face of opposition, are
all highlights, reminding us how the gospel molds and changes lives, both of
the young and the old. We enjoy
participating in district and zone conferences with younger missionaries,
seeing their leadership, observing their spiritual maturity. Many of the young men and women give
inspired talks and lessons, speaking with a confidence belying their years and
experience. When asked to join them for
lessons to investigators, we marvel at their wisdom, though young, largely
inexperienced, and sometimes downright silly.
They give shape to the spiritual promise that the weak of the world will
carry forward the gospel’s message. “To
prepare the weak for those things which are coming on the earth, and for the
Lord’s errand in the day when the weak shall confound the wise, and the little
one become a strong nation, and two shall put their tens of thousands to
flight. And by the weak things of the
earth the Lord shall thresh the nations by the power of his Spirit.” D&C 133: 58-59. One would be hard pressed to find a finer
group of young people anywhere, with good values, committed to doing good, trying
hard to be faithful and obedient.
One of the most startling aspects of being here is how I
respond to being out and about in the townships. Nothing is quite as cathartic as walking through
the townships, greeting young boys and girls, the elderly, indeed almost
everyone we pass, and visiting with members in their homes, hearing conversion
stories, sharing thoughts about the restored gospel. If a week goes by without many visits, I get
cranky and out of sorts, not the attitude a missionary should have. It is as though my spirit is fed through
mingling with the Malawians, and hungers when I am hedged in by too many
administrative tasks. Fortunately for
me, Carole is more than game for visiting, never complaining about the dust, the
uneven footing, the heat (it can be brutally hot at mid-day), and the thirst. We try to stay hydrated (but doing that has
its own challenges in a world without public toilets), and to cover up, wearing
a hat to keep from getting burned at the crown of my head. When the weather looks threatening, we throw
umbrellas into the truck, or carry them in a small satchel, thrown over my
shoulder, but in the end there is only so much one can reasonably do. But these little inconveniences are only
that—mild inconveniences. I thrive on being
out and don’t worry too much about the little nagging problems.
We
