I am in Malawi….

First Reflections

I can’t really figure out what to write about my experience so far in Africa. It could be the excitement of the first few days or crazy Scots we met and befriended at the guest house. It could be the people, who are all so friendly and welcoming, or the adventure on my first full day where Hussein and I walked the entire length of Lilongwe, to the amazement of many of the locals. It could even be the shock I experienced when I discovered where and how I would be living for the next two and a half months. But I’m not going to write about any of those experiences; I’ll save them for another day. I’m going to write about the time I came to realise the reality of where I was.

Darkness had just fallen as I departed Chancy’s house in Naperi, a quit(er) neighbourhood not far from Blantyre city centre. I boarded the minibus at Kambo, where the passengers were tightly packed into this rickety death trap. Hussein was already on the bus, having traveled all they way from Kenneth’s house in Chilobwe. I found a seat in the back of the bus, next to a scraggy, faint looking man. I didn’t expect what would happen next.

I glanced over at the scraggy man and quickly gazed into his eyes; they were almost devoid of life, struggling, desperate. It was then I realized what was happening. The man, wheezing and struggling for each breath, was in need of immediate medical attention. I sat next to him, frozen, not knowing what to do next. After several of the other passengers spoke amongst themselves in Chichewa, a man in front of me informed me that we had to make a detour to the hospital so the man could seek help. I turned again to the sick man, seeing his misfortune and desperation, wanting to help, but unable to act.

The man continued wheezing as we made our way to the hospital. After what seemed like an eternity, we finally arrived. Unable to get up on his own off the bus, I as well as several of the other passengers assisted him. The minibus’ doorman carried the man into the hospital as the minibus turned around. As soon as the doorman was back on board, we left the hospital and continued on our way. It was business as usual.

After we arrived at our destination, Hussein informed me that the man was so weak that he had to be carried onto the bus by his friends, which took a fair bit of time. Unable to afford more than one fare, they sent him on his own, hoping he would make it in time to the hospital and get the medicine he needed to survive. I reflected for a second, and then it occurred to me: if the minibuses hadn’t been running or the man had lived in a rural area, he would have never made it to the medicine in time. Ambulances are non-existent and few people have access to an automobile. He was lucky the asthma hadn’t killed him.

Thinking about the experience, I understand it to be the first time I realized where I was. I was in one of the poorest countries in the world, shattered by poverty and more than half of the population living below the poverty line. I was in a land devastated by HIV/AIDS, stagnated by unfair agricultural trading polices enacted by richer nations, and threatened by poor government planning and deficient development policies. I was witnessing the reality faced by billions of people on a daily basis. I was in Malawi; I wasn’t home anymore