Photo: The White Starred Robin may be the source of the frequent and unusual birdsong in my garden.

Birds, blogs and bequests.

 There is a bird I often hear in the garden with the most unusual song - first a raucous kind of cry and then a long, sweet, piping sound.

I wondered if it was two birds but when I asked Limited he assured me it was only one. I am guessing the first is a warning call and the second a connection call. Limited said it was yellow with a blue face and long tail so I am thinking, having searched both image and sound without absolute evidence, that it might be the White Starred Robin which is so common here. 


The squark sound is so raw and distinctive and the pipe - long, high and mellifluous. I have heard it often, through the year and only now have I taken the time to try to identify the source. The sound of birdsong is a constant here - a sign at least that even if many of them did get eaten during the last famine some years ago, that they have returned in number.
In less than a week we shall be on Christmas leave  and I am making plans to give Andrew and Limited and the gardener Fred, and guards Charles, Duncan and Stephen, their Christmas bonuses.

Because this year has seen costs in Malawi virtually treble, we are also giving them some gifts of food. I have bought them each a five kilo bag of maize flour, they call it Cream of Maize here and they use it for their favourite dish - nsima, pronounced 'enseema.' The flour is boiled with water to make a porridge and them steamed into cakes. It is relatively tasteless but they love it here - perhaps because as a staple it has saved more than one family from starvation during terrible famines.

Malawi is actually too dependent on maize as a crop. It was not always so. In times past the crops were more varied but famines and pressure from international seed suppliers, fertilizer suppliers and aid agencies has pushed maize to the top of the list. The only problem with that, as the Irish found out with the potato, if your survival depends pretty much on one crop and that crop fails you face famine.

But, emotionally and psychologically nsima is a must in Malawi and so we have come up with a gift which will be both appreciated and enjoyed. We have also bought three kilo bags of locally grown rice for each of them; two bags of sugar and a bag of lollies (sweets or candy).

We will also double the bonus this year for the gardener and the guards who get much less in terms of salary and support during the year. It isn't much but it is better than nothing and it will help. Limited and Andrew are better off because they have a large and thriving vegetable garden at the quarters. I bought them each some packets of seed the other day - okra, cabbage, butternut pumpkin, onions and carrots - none of which they had growing. They can grow to eat and grow to sell which will supplement diet and income.

The fuel supply problem has still not been resolved. The biggest issue is that Malawi does not have the foreign exchange funds to buy fuel and so it comes in dribs and drabs and given the uncertainty when it is here everyone fills up and then it is gone. It is the same in the supermarkets; when something appears on the shelves everyone stocks up and then it is gone and days or weeks or months pass before it re-appears. The cycle of supply and fear-driven demand creates an even more erratic and unreliable environment, which in turn, exacerbates the fear.

But, as expats, while the problems facing Malawi impact on our lives, they do so as minor inconveniences and not as the major traumas which the locals face or fear. It should not be this way and one wishes it was not this way but, beyond large bonuses and Christmas gifts, there is not much we can do.

Photo: Bushfire, my latest painting.

 Between power cuts and telephone cuts and diesel shortages, life muddles on. I have been busy painting and writing and cooking (when I can) and the days pass quickly.  I am 250 pages into my my mother's biography, Princess of the Waters, still writing poetry pretty much on a daily basis, keeping up with my journal and editing manuscripts.

Life would be so much harder without both work and pastimes. Our Thai neighbours have left and the new tenant, a woman from Kenya, has yet to move in. At least I think so. I have seen and heard nothing.

On the plus side, given that every cloud has a silver lining, Pawadee kindly gave me some of her window screens before leaving so now we have 'air flow' in the kitchen, the sitting room and when I get it to fit - the bathroom window. We have done well with two out of three fitting given that in the Third World things are rarely 'made to measure' but instead 'made to the moment,' despite careful planning and design by architects and engineers alike.

Our Indian tenant who took up the house where our Danish neighbours lived has never appeared although from time to time someone seems to clean. My bet is that come the end of his lease it will be re-let without him ever having taken up residence.

And so it is a quiet sort of place. A bit lonely when I am alone but quiet - with little more than the serenade of birdsong. I am alone again for another three days - just me and the birds. The avocado tree is beginning to sag from the fruits of its labours and once again we shall have a good crop in the new year.

In the meantime Australia beckons - great wine, great food and family. Not in that order. I have been here for three months and for most of that time have been in the house. Not that I mind. It is a lovely house with a great sense of space opening onto the garden and I am good at keeping myself occupied and good at being alone.

Life is never dull and the days pass quickly. There is always something to do although I plan to bring back my embroidery and knitting when I return in the New Year. There is a limit to how much time I want to spend writing or reading and Eskom dictates how much time I get for cooking so something which does not require power, or, as in the case of painting, equipment like oils and canvases, is what I need. Knitting and embroidery fit the bill on all counts.

But between times there will probably not be much happening on the Blantyre Street Blog - not that much happens anyway.

 Photo: Puff-adders are lazy and are often stepped on. They give a nasty bite. 

When times get tough people keep on keeping on.

There is an endurance to the African spirit. I suppose there must be. This continent, perhaps more than any other, has faced extreme challenges and still does.

Of course there is the third world factor but South America and India have never had to face the danger levels of disease and wild animals which Africa has. South America comes close but Africa, with its deadly diseases and deadly animals, insects and reptiles, has been a place of death and danger since humanity first walked its dusty plains and damp jungles.

Apart from which, when times get tough, for most, there is simply nowhere to go. They endure or they die. Malawi has known famine in the past and there is talk of it again. One hopes it does not come to pass but even with aid available there is a diesel shortage which prevents distribution.

The staple food here is maize and the price of that has nearly doubled. For people living on the edge of their money, any increase is worrying but one so large is terrifying. Andrew told me the other week that his wife had gone to their village to plant the maize. He looked happy. We had just had some rains. Sadly though, it is not the beginning of the Wet as we all thought and hoped because the rains have been intermittent and that means the maize crops may wither and die. It is yet another 'fear' to be added to a long and growing list.

The president has been away, perhaps unwell, perhaps holidaying, no-one really knows but everyone is waiting for his return. Any sort of change, particularly unexpected change, is worrying in Africa - it can mean far more than appears at first sight. And people know that times are hard and want their leader here. Tempers are short. Last week the police tried to clear hawkers from one of the roads into Lilongwe and a brawl was the result. It seems an unwise time to be doing such a thing. People are doing all they can to survive.

Photo: Long queues for diesel and petrol.

Meanwhile, problems here are no more than minor inconveniences. The power cuts are worse than ever - daily and for longer; the diesel shortage means we have almost a full tank for the genset but no back-up although we do have hopes it may be rectified this week; the days are hotter and power cuts mean we have to be careful using the inverter so no air conditioning or fans most of the time and the landline seems to be out of order most days for most of the day. Luckily the internet dongle works and so does the mobile phone.


The sense of gloom is palpable but that is because people here have seen the worst, have seen the days of eating grass and dying by the roadsides and it was not so long ago. The fear strikes as fresh as the smell of wet earth after the rains.

There is talk of better diesel and petrol supplies but the queues still snake around streets and lanes wherever there is a petrol station to be found. Our meagre supplies of diesel are inconsequential compared to what this lack means for most people here.


We have decided to give a bit more in our Christmas bonuses for Andrew, Limited, Fred the gardener, with his seven children, and Stephen, Charles and Duncan the guards. We also thought a bag of maize flour and some sugar might make their Christmas a little more cheerful. Everyone wonders what the new year will bring.

It is the season for puff-adders, lazy snakes which won't get out of your way and so often get stepped on, thus delivering a nasty bite, and black mambas, nasty snakes which will attack. We take more care walking in and out of the house than we did.  Although neither of us thought of it the other night when we took guests to Kumbali for dinner and had to walk along the unlit path. The owner kindly turned on lights when we left after reminding us about snakes. It was something he should have thought of in the first place but after a life lived in Africa he probably takes most things casually.

Photo: Freshly planted maize field.

Probably the biggest impact on me has been the combined power cut/diesel shortage situation which means I have done less cooking. I miss my cooking times. It's a great way to take care of a slab of the day and there is no doubt that preparing 'double dinners' again is tedious. But all as nothing really compared to people who not only cannot get diesel but cannot get food.

Poor Africa. After so many years here I only wish I could see signs of progress. But I cannot. There seem to be brief shudderings of 'good news' banked up on either side by bleak if not highly destructive events. The cellular memory of Africans must be replete with suffering and patience. And with fear. The foundation of Africa is a belief in witchcraft and almost a sense that 'bad' things are meant to happen, that they are a part of the process. The same attitudes prevailed in Europe centuries ago - there is nothing particular about any of it except that such beliefs have endured in Africa far longer. There are elements of it still to be found in India and South America and Asia but nowhere does a belief in witchcraft appear quite as entrenched as it does in Africa.

There is an 'extreme' quality to belief here which also explains why Africans appear drawn to 'extreme religion' like that produced by the evangelicals. Perhaps such extremes balance each other out in a way because there is no doubt that as evangelical belief grows stronger, so too does the ancient belief in witchcraft. Africa is not a place of moderation on any count.

But, on a closing note, as I write I hear that the national airline has stopped flying because lack of funds has led to its planes being grounded, and the president has returned. It is odd to be in a country where a president can disappear for more than a month with no explanation. There is no doubt that it seems to be a part of the African condition to tolerate - but perhaps that is why they reach a point where they will tolerate no longer.

Few countries in this day and age would allow such things to happen because in the modern age, elected representatives are always accountable. Perhaps the fact that it does happen in so many African countries is why it is so hard to bring about positive change.

Birthdays, bouquets and diesel.

 It is hot at this time of year. Well, it is as hot as Malawi gets the climate being generally mild with temperatures rarely rising about 32C. There's a touch of humidity to the air - the wet season having hiccuped the other week and then choked on itself - so we wait for the rains to arrive in abundance.

The roses are in glorious bloom and Limited has plenty of floral material with which to work. He really is very clever as photos of his bouquets, above and below, reveal. in any other world he would be a florist.

I am going to bring him some seeds back from Australia so he can grow some flowers at the quarters and perhaps his wife can sell the bouquets to bring in some extra money. Limited, who is not a gardener can grow and sell his produce in the way that Fred, who is a gardener, cannot because his employer won't allow it.

Fred seems to be staying out of such trouble but I have no doubts that with seven children he would be working in some way to augment his income. I am wondering if some of it involved my mulch. Before I left last time I bought some mulch from the nursery and we did all of my pots.... some six or so with a nice mix of soil and mulch. Looking at my pots today and feeling the concrete nature of their 'face' I don't have a sense there is much mulch left in any of them. I suspect when I was away the mulch was removed and garden soil replaced it... but what do I do? Fred has been in enough trouble as it is and it is not worth bothering about. My herbs seem to be doing reasonably well once they have struggled forth from the strangling clay!

The most exciting thing to happen this week was getting a jerrycan of diesel for the generator. The power cuts are increasing and in that stimulating way of life in the Third World, utterly random.


It would be easier if they were regular and one could plan but life is not like that most of the time and definitely not like that in Africa. It would be too easy after all if you knew when power shedding, for that is what it is, was about to take place. Or for that matter when someone was going to cut the telecommunication lines in Mozambique to collect the copper wiring.

I woke up two mornings to find no power, and no landline either but that's a separate issue, and then had to wait between four to six hours for it to be restored. With diesel low there was no cooking until I had the power back and then a frenzy because while the preferred 'power-shedding' moment seems to be six at night just when everyone wants to cook dinner, it is neither predictable nor regular.

There can be a cut at three or four for an hour or two; then another at six for an hour or four... thank God for the slow-cooker which has been an absolute life-saver. With the battery inverter we have toaster and kettle operational and other equipment but the slow-cooker is the only piece of cooking equipment I have which will run this way. I am thinking investing in an electric wok might be a good idea. I did have one once, in another life.

But the complication this week was that there were no supplies of diesel, and the generator was very, very low and the diesel it contained had to be kept for my coffee machine... some things are more important than food. We did manage to get the car filled and had high hopes of syphoning off enough (because they refused to fill jerrycans) to put in the generator. But again, in the way of Africa, of course the car has been fitted with anti-syphon devices to prevent theft. Of course. But luck would have it and the company had an allocation which allowed us to get one jerrycan filled.... as of last night our yellow plastic container is full... so life is almost normal although my repertoire of hot dinners which can be prepared without a stove has risen exponentially.

And there are leftovers. The freezer is rapidly emptying as I discover quiche, beef soy noodles, soup, oxtail stew, curry and other such ready-made delights which can often be re-heated in the slow-cooker or which require little time or diesel to be made edible.  At this time diesel or petrol are like gold... if you have them then conserve them. Hence the inclination to work with available power supplies as opposed to cooking at whim and using precious diesel.



I have also mastered the art of pre-preparing so that food can be cooked and then quickly reheated when the window of opportunity is open. That and eating dinner early.... just before six is a good bet because the only other alternative is after nine which is a bit late. Well, it is for me anyway.

It is also a reminder of what creatures of habit we are. When the power has not gone out by ten I find myself feeling unnerved, waiting for something to happen. It only impacts the oven but that is pretty major here for me because I do cook a lot and working in around diesel shortages and power cuts is something of a contortionist feat.

Beyond the normal issues of functionality, life muddles along in Malawi, clearly easier for me than for most. Andrew turned forty the other week which is something of a milestone in a country with a worryingly low longevity rate.

We gave him the same as we had given Limited a few months ago - a block of chocolate, a packet of good steak and K10,000 which is more than enough to make for a celebration of any event, with some left over. I did hear the next day that Andrew had been dancing at his birthday party so it sounds as if celebration was the order of the night. As it should be.

Life expectancy for men in Malawi is forty-four years and for women fifty-one. On those odds it is no wonder that Andrew celebrates although I suspect the most energetic dancing will be done at his fiftieth. Malaria and Aids are the big killers here and while it is only perception, both Andrew and Limited seem to be very responsible and happily married which should lengthen their odds accordingly.

So the highlights have been Andrew celebrating turning forty and me celebrating a jerrycan of diesel. Says it all really!

Although I would add, while not a highlight, more of a resolution, we also got our dryer back this week from Johannesburg. Some $A530 later we now have an electronics board which will enable the dryer to function with Malawi's erratic and low power rate. We can dry things if we need to and actually have fluffy towels. Funnily enough I think I have gotten used to the 'sandpaper' version of towels dried into boards on the line and then ironed by the guys ... sort of a loofah drying process.

It is nearly a year since we moved into the house and unpacked all of our goods and the dryer repair was the last on a long list of 'to-do's'.... something of an achievement really and while the highlights and progress of the past two weeks may seem trivial to most, the reality is that living in Africa one realises how important supposedly trivial things can be.

Familiarity may not necessarily breed contempt but I do know for a fact that deprivation breeds appreciation.

Brian's Brilliant Bread otherwise known as Idiot-proof breadmaking!

The most exciting thing to happen this week was producing a loaf of bread which actually looks and tastes as bread should.

Bread making was one of the things I wanted to practise here in Malawi but I had been steeling myself for the test because I had had so many failures in the past. Yes, I know the science of it, tried countless recipes, bread-maker, hand-maker .... and none of it really worked. Heavy, yeasty tasting lumps of cooked dough were the result.

But not any more. A friend introduced me to what he calls his fool-proof bread last week and despite a first failure of mis-measuring the flour and then a second failure because the power went out and we had no diesel to run the generator, today I accomplished what had seemed impossible. A good loaf of bread. I would add that the two failures came out as foccaccia and I turned them into croustades.... thin slices baked with olive oil, rosemary and salt. Delicious.

This bread has a lovely dense texture and a wonderful crunchy, caramel crust ... very like excellent French bread.

So, here is the recipe. If I can do it anyone can do it!

QUICK MIX BREAD

600grams of flour. 
One teaspoon of salt.
One teaspoon of dried yeast.
500ml water.


I have been using White bread flour since it is all I can get but Brian used 80% whole wheatmeal and 20% triticale flour but I gather, from what he says, that the recipe is so foolproof you can experiment to your hearts content.


The yeast I have is Lowan's dried yeast which I bought in Perth and had shipped here but which I have kept in the freezer for the past year and which remains in the freezer to preserve it.

The water came out of the tap so room temperature. 

Tip the flour into a large bowl and add yeast and salt and mix with a spoon. Make a well in the middle and tip in the water. Stir until incorporated, about 20-30 seconds.  Cover bowl and leave for 18 hours. 

Most of the rise happens in the first 10-12 hours but it develops better crumb and flavour if left longer. Not too long or it will break down to goop so put it in the fridge if longer than 18 hours at 20C room temperature.

I covered mine with some gladwrap and put a plate on top. I left it in the kitchen for 2-3 hours and then put it in the fridge overnight...probably 20 hours or more. I took it out of the fridge and left it at room temperature for one or two hours to 'warm' a little.

Tip bowl out on a floured surface. Sprinkle flour on top and gently pat out then fold in thirds lengthways and again widthways. Turn over and keep tucking under edges while you mop up the flour on the board. About a minute.

The mixture is sticky so use a rubber spatula to ease it out of the bowl. I actually missed the patting out bit, only registering it now, but mine was fine anyway. As I said: idiot-proof. I actually tipped out my dough and with floured fingers flopped it over width and length three time and then dropped it back into a bowl with a little flour on the bottom. 

Then leave for an hour or so (it could take up to five in cold weather) until dough recovers if gently pressed. It will still be sticky.

I put a tea-towel over the top and left for 2-3 hours by which time it had risen to the top of the bowl. 

Put your pot for cooking the bread into the oven. Brian used a Le Creuset saucepan and I only had a shallow Creuset so tried that for my two failures until remembering I had a pyrex casserole dish with a glass lid which would do the trick. You need a pot with a lid which will take really hot temperatures.

I put my pot in the oven before turning it on and let it heat up gradually. It would not matter if you put a heave cast-iron pot in a very hot oven but I would not want to test pyrex. Preheat oven to hot. Mine was at 230C. I have heating elements at the top and bottom of the oven and just put on the bottom. The rack should not be too close to the heating element so if yours is on the bottom then put it just above centre and if it is on the top then just below centre.

Take pot out and sprinkle oats, bran or cornmeal into the pot and  tip in dough. You can also sprinkle any of these on the bread before baking.

I simply used flour and because there had been flour in the bottom of the bowl in which the dough proved, when I tipped it upside down into the baking pot there was flour on the top.  I am actually thinking in future I might put a bit of oil in the bottom of the baking pot because I am not sure I like the cooked on flour which results otherwise.

Bake for 45 minutes with the lid on and then 10-15 minutes uncovered. Let rest at least twenty minutes after baking before cutting. 

You can freeze the dough before the second rise and of course you can freeze the bread as a baked loaf, sliced or unsliced.

THUNDER, THWARTING AND THREADBARE

The sky is grey and the thunder has begun. Perhaps the wet season will come early. I hope it does if only to wash the thick layer of dust off the leaves and restore some brightness to the world.

There is an immanent feeling to the season, as if everything is waiting for the rains, which, I suppose in a way is right. At ever level there is an expectation that change will come; that a cleansing and renewal will begin.

I like the symbolism of that both personally and collectively. The past few months have been challenging on a variety of fronts for both of us. Work challenges for Greg which of course involve me and personal challenges for both of us. If ever we thought our lesson was not to practise remembering that 'certainty is an illusion,' we are being reminded now.

I wonder sometimes if it is easier to process challenges if one stays in one place and has a support network of friends and family on hand. I suspect it is. But then does one learn as much? I have to say that because I have to find something positive in my experience of being so often, so alone, and having to work through difficult things - material and immaterial.

On the plus side, I think living in the Third World is a constant reminder that one has inconveniences, not problems. And no issue with anyone, no matter how painful, is beyond resolution. Perhaps also distance makes things harder as well as easier. If you are separated from a situation which is difficult it is easier to ground one's self and to find a place of balance, but it is also more difficult to work on the issues because of the separation of time and distance.

It is funny really, although funny is probably the wrong word, but in truth, the most painful place is where the greatest work is done and yet most of us do everything we can to remove ourselves from it. To distance ourselves from what hurts. Perhaps like all things the lesson is moderation. A bit of distance but not too much; a bit of exposure but not too much.

As if life could be organised in such a way. Which takes me back to the other illusion, that we control our life. That we plan our life. It is of course life which plans us and the only control we have, and that is varying in everyone, is what we do with what happens to us. Some people have the capacity to learn more than others; some to learn faster and all of us learn different things in different ways.

I wonder too if we feel greater sadness as we grow older. Possibly because feelings are always more than skin deep and are sourced in every experience we have had so the older one is, the more layers of experience to plumb. or perhaps as one gets older the greater is the need to heal what remains unresolved and so when life pushes on a place of pain it hurts more.

For now I wait for the rains to fall both literally and metaphorically; washing away the layer of dust which chokes and hides. I think that is what I like about the seasons - that ability for things to change in an instant - for something new to be created from the old.

In essence it is about honouring each part of the process as a moment of Now - perfect in itself. I wish I believed that. So many things are easy to say and hard to live. Cleansing rain and cleansing tears surely serve the same purpose.

Talk about thwarting which was in the title of my latest blog post... it was fine until I went back to do some corrections and then turned it all into a format mess.

Google Blogger has a glitch at present. When I use Bold, Italic or try to upload images it turns the copy to format. Until I get it sorted it will be plain type with no images.

COCKROACHES, COOKERS AND CAKES

Walking into the bathroom the other night I saw the most enormous cockroach sitting on my toothbrush. After years living in India (where it really was truly filthy) and in Africa (where it is moderately filthy) and in Perth (which seems to be cockroach central and I don't know why, but I remember in 1980 coming into the kitchen of the old house we were renting, to get a drink of water and the floor was literally a mass of movement) I don't bother too much about these creatures.... but, the toothbrush was pushing the limits of my tolerance.

I gave it a thorough scrub in hot water and then put it away in a drawer. However, it did dawn on me the next day that cockroaches get everywhere so they were probably sitting and shitting on it in the drawer. Let me just say that I believe challenges to one's immune system are good for you so the cockroach on the toothbrush is more an aesthetic issue for me than one of hygiene. I don't think you can survive four years in India without becoming somewhat resilient about such things.

Anyway, a solution was found when I pulled out a spare airline toothbrush... we have so much spare airline stuff it is not funny .... complete with its own neat little box to cover the brush. Snap, and no more cockroach feet on my toothbrush. One problem solved anyway.

Given that I always ponder the symbolism of things I don't know why I did not wonder why, after more than a year in Malawi, suddenly I had a cockroach of mammoth proportions appear in my life.... but I didn't. Hence the necessity for the next lesson I am sure.

A few nights later I woke because something which felt awfully like a cockroach was scurrying across my midriff. I sat up, brushing furiously and we turned on the torch which we use to track mozzies… and that’s another story…. but later. Anyway, an equally enormous cockroach was burrowing away beneath the sheets. We pulled back the mozzie net, recently replaced because all else had failed, and pulled off the sheets only to watch it disappear beneath the mattress. They are amazing creatures. How on earth do they get into and out of such small places without being squashed?

Not that I really cared at 2.55a.m…. yes I looked at the clock. Greg jiggled the mattress and out it fled. Captured finally beneath a china dish, paper slid underneath to capture it, and tossed out of the window.

What was it about being awake at 3a.m? We had had a few restless nights being dive-bombed by mosquitoes around about that time. It’s the time of night when work is done on liver and lungs… symbolic of passion, anger and grief and yes, all of these things had been at work in my life so perhaps the inconvenient creatures were just performing their required task.

Anyway, flyspray and swatting did not work so we tried the fan. It was awfully noisy so we put the air con on… they don’t like being cold. But, in the new world of Malawi power we keep getting surges which shut the air con down and then turn it on again… beep, click, lights on and off…. Aaaaahhhh. Which set us finally hunting for the mosquito net we had used when we first arrived.

I don’t know why we did not think of it before because it definitely works. I did hear buzzing one night but when I turned on the light the mosquito was clearly outside the net in a fury. Back to sleep. I can put up with buzz if I don’t get bitten. Mosquito nets however do not keep out cockroaches although I suspect this one was something of an emissary given the number of places I have lived where they are in huge supply and never yet have I had one in the bed. Well, not that I know of.

But back to the cockroach. So what did it mean? The midriff is the Solar Plexus Chakra and so the combination of the two must have symbolic meaning. Everything has symbolic meaning.

The cockroach is all about survival and reminds you that no matter what life throws at you, you have all the tools necessary already at hand to survive even the worst that life can throw at you. The cockroach shows you that you have the ability to know when it’s time to scurry out of the way of danger and also how to survive in all circumstances and environments. I had been doing a bit of scurrying of late that's for sure.

Cockroaches are symbolic of tenacity and longevity and could symbolize the need for renewal, rejuvenation and self-cleansing of your psychological, emotional, or spiritual being. Let’s just say this is a time of renewal and there has certainly been some cleansing going on.

The Solar Plexus Chakra (Manipura) is known as the Power Chakra, driving for control, competence and success to fortify the ego. And yes, issues of ego and power have definitely been at work.

The Manipura Chakra, which means the diamond, is the energy center of personal feelings, power and sensitivity. When in balance, this energy center creates a person who is outgoing, cheerful, open and expressive, intelligent, self confident, flexible, and has a keen sense of respect for themselves and others. This person is also very decisive and has strong nerves. And I have needed strong nerves.

This person may also show qualities of being out going, cheerful, spontaneous, relaxed. This chakra can give clarity of thought and an increased awareness. It stimulates interest and curiosity.

The Solar Plexus Chakra often deals with raw emotions, like anger, frustration, and intuition or gut feelings. Being extremely sensitive, particularly to the emotions of others any blockages here can easily create uncontrolled emotions, tenseness, hostility, rage and severe stomach problems.

Located between the sternum bone and the belly, it governs the will, the mind, emotions, stomach, and upper digestive tract, assimilation of nutrients, psychic experiences, rational left brain) thoughts, ego, vital energies, control, accomplishments, and the freedom to be yourself.

Organization is important to this chakra that likes everything orderly and disciplined. ah yes, that desire for order which I am sure manifests as wanting to have some control over my life. Fool that I am. Actually I have spent most of my life practising going with the flow. There is no control over anything or anyone but Self. And even that is limited.

It is the centre of self- esteem, power, directed will and it radiates expansiveness, warmth & joy. It quickly takes issue when feeling threatened and this can cause an even greater bridge to have to span when treating problems.

I am always struck by how perfectly things fit when seen symbolically because all of these issues relate to what has been happening in my life. Or rather, the stage I am at and the lessons I need to learn.

But beyond the spiritual and metaphysical it has been more mundane. We moved the fan from the bedroom to the lounge room, or rather got Steve the electrician to come back and move it, down to the lounge room which it is absolutely silent no doubt because it is fitted to a concrete ceiling as opposed to a plasterboard one. It also looks better and gets used much more.

Steve is also fitting the old cooker to Limited’s kitchen so Limited was looking very happy this week. They have a two-hotplate portable on which to cook currently so four hotplates and an oven is quite an improvement. We are bringing another new oven for the guesthouse and will then fit that old cooker into Andrew’s kitchen.

I have told Limited I will show him how to make some simple cakes. I gave him a basic cookbook and a cake tin. My cake baking was a bit disappointing this week when I made another avocado cake, using a greater quantity of avocado from the freezer and it was quiuQ.I3H#am a bit disappointed with Malawian avocadoes although I am now beginning to wonder if it is our tree more than anything. They are all a bit tasteless and watery but the fruit from our tree also has a bitter edge.

The trunk is covered in slashes which Andrew told me were made to make it produce more. I told him that was cruel and the tree would feel pain and he was not to do it again. I am wondering now if the tree was so traumatised it is producing bitter fruit. Anyway, I am throwing out the rest of the frozen avocado. I hate throwing things away in Africa but so far, soups, cakes and dips have not worked very well because of the bitterness.

I did however have great success with an apple spice cake and an apple pudding cake the other week. The other thing I have been doing is making syrups from the white wine I have bought to try but which is so awful…. not bad… but just too, too mediocre to drink …I cannot drink it. So far I have made chocolate, lemon and vanilla syrups. Waste not, want not.

Talking of household equipment ... we get excited about the little things around here... we also finally got the Miele dryer down to Joburg to be assessed and have been told there is nothing wrong with it. Sigh. The only problem is that it is set to not function if power is below a certain level and of course, in Malawi, where power is almost always below certain levels and forever a moveable feast, it does not work. The solution it seems is to order a new board from Germany … $700… which can be set to function at a lower level and which should restore our dryer as a functioning and useful piece of equipment.

Other than that it has been a week of work, writing, painting, cooking and reading. I am currently reading a book about the use of music by healers in Malawi. It has yet more fascinating information on the prevalence and destructive impact of witchcraft in this country.

Written by an American anthropologist who was here in the 80’s I doubt much has changed. Beliefs in witchcraft underpin African society to a profound level. It makes life so much harder and so much more terrifying.
It is good to remember though that there is nothing here which could not be found in Europe centuries ago. This struck home again last night when I was watching a programme about syphilis in England in the 19th century.

Apparently men believed that having sex with a virgin would cure syphilis. And here, again, in India and Africa and no doubt other parts of the Third World, men believe that having sex with a virgin will cure AIDS.

What is it about men and what is it about such beliefs? We have more in common than we think.

Silverfish, sabotage or spells?

We keep finding holes in our clothes - so far two of my linen shirts and a pair of linen trousers, luckily everyday standard and nothing good and half a dozen of Greg's business shirts which are more of an expensive problem.

At first I thought silverfish although the holes are large but I reasoned small holes not attended to would become large through washing. Perhaps something tearing things in the washing machine although given it is a Miele front-loader that is a bit of a stretch. I checked it out, as did Limited, and nothing to catch or tear there.

Hmmm, some of the holes look awfully like they have been cut with scissors... but who would do that? Only two opportunities and I don't want to go there but decided as of today, with the trousers, that I would pull out the sewing kit and repair them as opposed to throwing them away to possible future lives. I am also washing Greg's business shirts, or rather, having them washed in the machine at the guesthouse to isolate our washer as the culprit.

I know it sounds a bit crazy but this is Africa and witchcraft is a reality here and yes, I do believe in its power to some degree, so spells also have to be considered. Is there a use to which a small piece of fabric from our clothes can be put? Probably. Spells are spells and all is energy and our personal energy is in everything we wear and particularly in those things we wear or use frequently.

 I must have been in this frame of mind, at least unconsciously, on Saturday when Greg asked me to cut his hair with the beard trimmer ... our hair trimmer being in Australia and neither of us yet having been prepared to try a local hairdresser... and I made sure I scooped every last hair out of the bath and flushed it down the toilet. Hair is particularly powerful when used in spells.

And no, I don't really believe this but it is Africa and I do believe in trusting instinct and in being careful. And there were all those missing bits of cloth to consider... I might have to up the ante with my spells and call my guardian angels in for some help. Not that I really do spells, more prayer and supplication but I did bring my Jesus icon back from Oz with me figuring that it doesn't hurt to have some serious 'backup' in a place like this.

I have my shamanistic bone and feather goddess picture in the dressing room ... maybe that's why pieces of cloth have disappeared... to counter her power? All conjecture of course and not something I can raise with either Limited or Andrew, not at this point anyway.

As another 'safety' measure I have packed up all my good clothes, which I don't wear here anyway, and put them in a suitcase for safe-keeping .... well away from silverfish, spells or sabotage.

Beyond the esoteric it has been more banal with time spent organising and overseeing repairs. Does it ever end? Probably not but at least we are making progress. We bought some screws at Game to repair the handle fittings on our bedroom door which were loose. They screwed in beautifully but of course the heads are slightly too large so we cannot screw back the covers. They were the only screws we could find in the right size although they are not really the right size but as good as we could get. We now either need to buy a file... probably in Joburg... and file the heads down or find the right sized screw.

We have also organised for our Miele dryer to go down to Joburg to be either repaired or assessed. We are sending it down on the company plane on Friday which makes it an economical option given that when we put in our claim to the insurance company for replacement they complained that it was more than six months since we made the move and they would need an official document saying it had been damaged in transit!!! Clearly they don't understand Africa.

Why are so many insurance companies such 'shits.' They make enormous amounts of money on 'maybe's' and are singularly unreasonable and unpleasant as often as not when asked to pay something back. Captive market is no doubt the answer.

We sent them emails showing that our first contact with Miele South Africa and Miele Australia had taken place in November 2010, a week after our goods arrived and had been unpacked, it had then taken us six months to find a local technician, with the help of advice from MSA and MA to try and fix it... which he couldn't... and to write a note saying so which accompanied our claim, but they insisted they needed an official document saying it had been damaged in transit which clearly only a Miele technician, if anyone, could provide and SA is the nearest place we can find one.

I have had lengthy email conversations with the Miele technician in Joburg, who is originally from Romania it seems and is a trained fighter pilot, or so he said when I mentioned the company plane. Anyway, he was invaluable yesterday when the shipping agents came to pack the dryer, in helping us figure out.... me and Limited and Andrew and three guys from the shipping agency... how to get the dryer off the stacker. And yes, I did get the manual as my adored father-in-law Roy would have said to do, but nothing in there about stackers and removing said dryer from!

I am not technically minded and neither it seems were the five Malawians although they may just have been scared of damaging it. So I rang Mihai in Joburg, twice, and he talked us through first of all finding the screws at the front which needed to be removed and then removing the metal plates which would allow the dryer to slide off the stacker. I am sure anyone who thinks laterally would have worked it out in an instant but, like the guys, I was also worried about damaging the damn thing.

The first problem was discovering we did not have the correct screwdriver for the task, because in fact we needed alum keys, which we do not have and then experimenting with various screwdrivers to get the screws out. 

It all takes time. There were six of us crammed around the dryer in a relatively small laundry... well, not so small, just full of stuff including two ironing boards .... Limited and Andrew like to iron together... a bank of 24 batteries which is our inverter and various tubs and buckets.

It took nearly an hour but finally it was done and the dryer will go down on Friday and either be repaired, which would be the fastest and easiest and cheapest option, or not, in which case we can continue with our insurance claim for replacement. I have also taken photographs of the dryer  so we have some proof of its existence and its condition ... this being Africa.

The other thing I did  this week was go with Limited and Andrew to have a look at their houses to see if there was room in the kitchen for a cooker. We are bringing another new, spare cooker down from site for the guesthouse and that means that each of them can have one of the old cookers for their kitchen. They said there was room but I have learned to never assume and thought it was time I went to have a look at their accommodation anyway.

The complex is next door to ours and has been built in a square with a large, iron gate at the entrance.  I did not know what to expect but was pleasantly surprised to see it was clean and the 'road' in the middle was lined with vegetable gardens. Mostly Limited and Andrew's work, they said, and much of it from seeds I had given them. The garden was abundant and lush: pumpkins, tomatoes, beans, spinach, capsicums, eggplant and lots of other veg I did not have time to identify.... one of the healthiest vegie gardens I have ever seen. 

Limited's little girl, Hannah, who is three and who has only met me once but who has probably seen the muzungu more than I have known, came running up to give me a 'knee hug.' So sweet. Kids are divine and I adore all of them. Andrew also has a little boy who is four, who also gave me a knee hug, and the son of Mathew, who works for our Thai neighbours also came running up. He is about three.

There was a gaggle of gorgeous children and I asked Limited how many families lived in the complex and he said twelve. I know he and Andrew both have three, the older ones being teenagers and I could only wonder if the little ones had become possible because they had gotten the jobs at Mala Flats, which is what the locals call our complex. I wondered how many children there were in all and Limited said quite a few families have four or five children so that means probably fifty children in all. That's a lot of children but the complex is actually quite large, and, vegetable gardens aside, has a lot of  well swept, red earth as playing space.

The houses were also much bigger than I expected with large kitchens ... plenty of room for a cooker although I will have to get the electrician in to put another socket on the wall and connect it up. The kitchens have a concrete bench at one end, about six foot long, with a power socket on the wall. It is the only socket from what I could see and the only counter space but, compared to a mud hut it is a palace. They cook on a portable double hotplate.  It was all very clean and tidy with 'cupboard space' provided in the form of stacked wire baskets. Their wives looked shy but welcomed me in between cooking lunch.

Limited and Andrew both took me to have a look at their living rooms. They were well furnished with odds and ends of chairs and coffee tables but all very tidy and comfortable. No television sets of course but I would not be surprised if the power sockets in the kitchen are the only ones in the house. There were three other doors so I am guessing two bedrooms and a bathroom.

We recently organised for their homes to be painted (and the guardhouse at the complex) so the walls were brightly white. They had both been delighted when we said we would get the houses re-painted. It was even more satisfying, having done it, when I could see what pride they took in their homes.

All of which makes me think about how hard it is for them when employers leave and they lose their jobs, as happened when the Danes left and Mfundu lost her job because the new tenant did not want to take her on, and as will be a possibility when we leave.  It's another reason why we are glad to be able to help them build homes in their villages so at least if the job ends they have a decent roof over their heads.   Although I doubt it would ever be as good as they have now. The Mala Flats were built in the 1970's and was actually a project done by the then president, Banda, and full credit to them for the quality of the project and the enlightened approach to the construction of staff quarters.


And, as it happens, it looks like our Thai neighbours will be on the move within months instead of years. I feel so sad about it even though after years as an expat I should be used to it. The expat life means frequently saying goodbye to people you like and whom you may never see again because they live across the world and your paths are unlikely to cross. There is no doubt that at times enduring friendships are made, but even then distance makes it difficult to see much of each other. I suspect after so many years as an expat I know this and hold back from getting too close to people.

But, on a positive note my mutilated shrubs are beginning to sprout new life and leaves and hopefully they will survive to 'fight' another day. 

It is a reminder that the only constant in life is change and that certainty is an illusion. I have also decided to sort through the toys we brought over, hoping to have grand-children come to stay sooner not later, and give both Limited and Andrew some for their children. Ours will have grown out of most of them by the time they get to visit Malawi anyway and I am sure they will bring far more delight to the little ones next door.

Kids are great and seeing the children next door just makes me miss the little people in my life even more. Perhaps it is a form of compensation that I decided to make creamed rice today. I am doing it in the slow cooker, which, if it works, looks like being the easiest way to do it.... none of that constant watching and stirring ...and if the power goes out the slow cooker keeps on cooking because the inverter can run it quite happily whereas the stove needs the Genset to be operational.

Talking about generators, the power supply has been fairly reasonable of late but we have had a diesel shortage and there are protests tomorrow so who knows what will happen for the rest of the week. Greg is closing the office tomorrow, just in case, and we shall hunker down. Hopefully all will be peaceful and Lilongwe will return to normal on Thursday.

My joblist is actually getting shorter although today I have been chasing up an electrician because the security lights on the fence on one side of the compound are not working because a circuit breaker in the guardhouse is broken. At least I think this is the cause. Andrew also pointed out to me that a length of wire from the electric 'fence' is hanging down outside the guesthouse and is dangerous for the children so hopefully he will fix that as well.  Hopefully.

In that one door closes and another opens way of life in Malawi I am sure that as one job is done another one or two or three will appear.

Ponderings, prunings and plumbers.

The photo above shows the results of 'pruning' and I use the word lightly, as carried out while I was away, on just one of the half a dozen or more lush, leafy, six foot high bushes around my garden.

It amounts to persecution not pruning and I was reminded of that this morning when walking around a neighbour's garden which, despite being pruned had not been reduced to stumps in the way that ours had. And that made me ponder the symbolism of it all, for everything is symbolic and nothing happens without a reason, whether that reason be known or unknown.

Everything is energy and everything is connected and everything which happens in our lives, all manifestations of our material world, reflect what is happening at an inner level. That is what I believe. And interestingly I could see that the elements of being 'savagely cut back,' 'harshly pruned,' 'reduced to the 'bare minimum,' left 'naked, bare, vulnerable and ugly,' by circumstances beyond one's control had been at work in my life on other levels.

'Reduced to the stub of one's self' applied both to person and to plant. If foliage 'dresses' a plant and allows a soft and beautiful 'face' to be presented to the world, then being 'laid bare' means it is taken back to the very substance of itself and in that place, until new growth begins, it will be revealed as the 'least of itself.'

And it is with the prunings that we get to 'see' who we are behind the facade, behind the foliage. Often it is not a pretty sight but unless we know the 'roots' and 'core' of Self then we do not truly know who and what we are. 

The fact that the gardening 'party,' and I am sure there was vigorous enjoyment of the 'laying waste' to leaf and branch, should so reduce my garden when they have not done so in any of the three other gardens in the complex, is also a message that one has happened has meaning beyond mere twig and leaf.

 I can only hope that the savage cutting has not taken the plants back to such a vulnerable state they cannot recover.  But perhaps that too is a message; that we can be 'cut back',  we can be 'reduced' to the 'stump' of ourselves; we can be 'laid painfully bare' and yet we will recover. Although it is a reality, that some do not, whether plant or person.

'It  will grow back,' the head gardener said when he came to inspect the devastation. 'When the rains come it will grow fast.'

And the rains will come in a month or two for windy days and overcast skies portend the return of the wet season. I wonder if those rains equate with the tears shed in recent months and if it is tears, the 'rain' of our soul, which waters, nourishes and restores. I am sure it is. And if so then I have had and at times continue to have, to a lesser degree, my own 'wet season' of mammoth proportions. And that means my 'growth' will be fast and it will be strong.

Love sends 'shoots' bright-green from the most mutilated 'twigs' of self. My garden will rise again from the dust  and cut of suffering and so too shall I for that is the nature of life.

On a more practical note, beyond sorting out the phone at the guesthouse which, of course, would not recognise the pre-paid phone card and which then required time spent ringing the telephone company to rectify the error, I am busy trying to organise a plumber.

It is a watery task and fits the circumstance given that water represents emotions and we have a need to remove a potential danger and make some small repairs. More symbolism.

It seems, according to the electricians who were working here recently that we have a second hot-water geyser in the roof which is not connected to the power. We actually knew that. What we did not know was that it is full of water and that is dangerous and so the geyser needs to be emptied and removed.

At a symbolic level I am pondering what massive 'collection' of emotions there may be in my 'mind' which threatens to be dangerous if not emptied and removed. I would have thought I did quite a bit of emptying in recent months but shall be pleased to see the problem on the material level removed before gallons of filthy water come cascading into my life.

I am also hoping the plumber will be able to replace the missing tap in the guest toilet. It has been missing since we moved in and according to Andrew, was missing for years before that. It takes a while to get things done in Africa but I have said that before.

And we need the plumber to fit new shower heads to the guest-house bathrooms. Greg fitted them here but we did not realise, until after we purchased the shower heads, that the pipes at the guesthouse are a different size and will not take the new fitting. There are no other shower heads to be found so the task will be to change the pipes, if indeed such a thing is possible.

The other development is the arrival of our new stove which was brought down from site the other day. We will need to get the electricians back to fit it because they have created a two-phase connection system between the cooker and the generator so it is not a matter of merely plugging in our new stove. I am just hoping that it will be more energy efficient and resolve once and for all any issues with 'overload' when the generator is running. 

Blossoms, beauty and beggars.

There is such an abundance of blossom on our avocado tree it stands as a tribute to the abundance and energy of nature. The lushness is so beautiful.

Lilongwe is dry and dusty at this time of year with a permanent haze from the ongoing 'burning-off' which is traditional African practice. I do wonder if it is one of those things which may once have served a purpose but no longer does and yet people keep doing it because they have done it so long it has become habit and the reason for the habit is forgotten.

It's a bit like the story, told in various versions, of the preparing of the lamb for the roast where the end is cut off and finally a young girl asks her mother why she does it and she does not know so she asks her mother and she does not know either and then they ask the great-grandmother who said she did it because her roasting pan was small and the leg did not fit unless she cut off the end. Generations had repeated a practice without purpose, purely out of habit.

Supposedly the burning off promotes the growth of fresh grass and seeing the peep of occasional green it is clear this does work but traditionally it was done to create more feed for stock in the dry season and yet huge areas of land around Lilongwe, and in Africa in general, where no stock are kept, are burned to black annually as a part of this traditional practice. One wonders why they did not think of cutting grass for hay as happened elsewhere.

The blackened verges, fields and roadsides create a permanent haze and coat leaves with a dark, dust dressing. The rainy season is a few months away but I am looking forward to it already if only to turn the leaves green once more.

There are not many beggars in Lilongwe, which is one of the good things about living here.... less guilt triggers.... but I did see one this morning at the intersection when we went to do some shopping. He was sitting in the brown-black dust with withered sticks of legs at odd angles, possibly from polio, but whatever the cause, crippled all the same.

I did read recently that there are a lot of child beggars on the streets of Blantyre. You just don't see them here but then this is where the Government is so perhaps they are moved on or perhaps in the city, the seat of government, things are better than elsewhere. Poverty, family breakdown due to HIV/AIDS are said to be the reason why so many children are begging on the streets. It is said some 80 percent of the street children are orphaned by HIV/AIDS.

There is also no doubt that recent increases in costs, taxes and fuel shortages have impacted on people's always vulnerable lives. People in Africa live on a knife-edge where it doesn't take much to tip them into the gutter.  It doesn't seem fair that those who have so little should still be challenged so much but that is the story of Africa.  Why it should be so hard to establish security and some certainty in Africa is the eternal question, particularly given the billions in aid which have been poured into the continent for decades.

All one can do is try to help a little. While we were away we organised for Limited and Andrew's houses to be painted and we also had the guard-house painted. Everyone seems delighted. Our neighbours have given the guards two comfortable cane chairs in which to sit and their little house which is not much more than a tiny hut with an even tinier toilet in a separate 'room' looks so much brighter.

The electricians also came, the day before we got back .... only two months late....to connect Limited's house to our inverter so he still had lights during power cuts. And the power cuts, it seems, have only gotten worse. 

Limited's house is also going well, he said so if we do nothing else we shall leave him with a home in his village. Colleagues who were here before us helped Andrew build a house in his village so now both of them have homes.

To build a house costs about 60,000 Kwacha which is $A375. Andrew was loaned the money for his house but we decided that monitoring loans was much too difficult and so we gave Limited 40,000K saying that because he did not have to pay it back he could save the rest and use his Christmas bonus, which is usually K25,000 to finish his house.

It isn't a matter of the money because to us it is nothing, but of striking a balance between giving too easily and helping out where he remains empowered and responsible. I think he understood when I explained to him why we had decided to give him most of the money instead of loan him all of the money.

He said he expected to pay back K5,000 a month but I said I doubted he would be able to do that and then I would have to chase him for it and neither of us would be happy. This way he had enough money to get started on building his house and he could save whatever he had expected to pay back on a loan.

There is so much which needs to be done in Africa but perhaps it is enough to help a few people a little and to leave them better off than they might have been if we had not come. They are certainly eating better now that I am back with cake, biscuits, fruit, cheese for morning tea and even meat and vegetables left over from dinner. Nothing goes to waste here and that really is as it should be.

Actually it really is as it should be everywhere, including the First World, where our wasteful habits may yet exact a greater price than we may have imagined.

Gardens, generators and grizzles.

What is the saying, while the cat's away the mice will play? Well, in my case someone has been 'playing in my garden and to use Jane Austen terminology, I am seriously displeased.

When I left there was lovely, lush, leafy green to hide the red brick wall and the hideous razor wire and I returned to find mature shrubs cut back, decapitated actually, down to about six inches off the ground.

This is not pruning, which is how Fred the gardener explained it to me.... not that he was responsible.... this is destruction. I have called the gardening company which looks after the complex and asked them to come and explain to me why my garden has been reduced to shreds and I am now staring at red brick and razor wire instead of peaceful green?

Thank God for the enormous avocado tree which dominates the lawn and distracts somewhat from the paucity of foliage which I now face.

I know that in many ways it is something of a useless exercise but I have to try. They did this last year, although actually, not as badly and I asked them to talk to me first before embarking on the slash and murder of my plants. Fat chance!

Organising anything in Africa is next to impossible but I cannot look at what has been done to my garden and do nothing. At least there will be a conversation which, even if it achieves nothing, will make me feel better. I know it amounts to a grizzle but that's really the only satisfaction I am likely to get so I may as well go for it.

It is, as always, a salutary reminder that certainty is an illusion and change is constant. The garden will grow and perhaps my lesson is to learn to look at stark reality, no matter how unpleasant it may be. I think I am a bit lessoned out of late. I am beginning to understand why some people disappear into sports, soaps and anything which prevents too much pondering on the insanities and frustrations of life. Perhaps after all that is the true lesson of Africa!

However, beyond the brutalised garden all looks good. Limited and Andrew looked delighted to have us back... there is no doubt the food is better when I am around and there is more of it, but I also think that they get a bit bored when we are away and I have been gone for two months and Greg for most of that time. Our Thai neighbours have also been away and our new neighbour, Malawian born Indian gentleman who lives in London has still not appeared so the house across the way looks sad and empty still.

We have been back two days and flew straight through from Perth with nearly 12 hours Perth to Johannesburg; a five hour stopover which we sensibly spent in a transit hotel and then two hours to Lilongwe. It is only six hours behind Perth so adjusting to local time is pretty easy and after two nights sleeping through we are both feeling that we are back in Malawi time.... probably on all counts.

I was reminded of the vagaries of life in Africa yesterday when we lost power in the morning and I could not get the generator to stay on and so I was chasing electricians to see what was happening.

I did get surprisingly fast results with them arriving within hours although at this point we do not know why the Genset cannot cope with oven hotplates and oven at the same time when it did so happily before I left.... change is a constant in this part of the world... but I am beginning to wonder if a final solution might be a new oven which is more energy efficient. Apparently there is a spare one which was ordered for the mine site and so if we bring that down from Karonga we might finally have what we set out to get nine months ago... a permanently functioning oven and stove-top courtesy of our very large, very noisy and costly generator.

But such things are minor and after quite some time living out of suitcases it is wonderful to have something approximating a normal life and a decent bed in which to sleep. Getting back to a quiet and relatively ordinary life is the goal.... a bit of dullness will go a long way!

Things have not been dull in Malawi however with riots some weeks ago owing to fuel shortages, new taxes and higher costs and the President has only just appointed a new government after getting rid of all of his ministers a fortnight ago. Let's hope, for the sake of Malawians, that things begin to work better than they have been. 

N.B. Roderick and Charles who are responsible for the gardening teams sent by the nursery have just been and apologised profusely saying this is not pruning this is destruction and they will be more careful next time. Here's hoping. Even they could not disagree with my assessment that the bushes had been not so much cut back as cut down. Perhaps it is part of the psyche here to cut back hard.... then again, I do think men in general have a different approach to pruning than women. For women it is more likely to be a 'less is more' approach and for men, a 'more is more' approach. Slash and burn no doubt has a genetic memory in men more than it does in women and perhaps it is enough to hold a 'weapon' in their hands to want to use it!

I am out of Malawi for a couple of months and Blantyre Street, I am sure, muddles along quietly without me. I look forward to being back in early September.

Poinsettias, poisons and purpose!

I was wondering, when I arrived at our house in Lilongwe, why a bush had been cut back to a stump. In that way of things where assumption rides to the rescue my thought was:'Why do they chop everything down in Africa?'

Now, to be fair to me, the African way of things is to chop away at bushes and trees in order to take the wood for making charcoal which can then be sold. It is sadly common to see stumps of trees and bushes which would once have been glorious,  lining the sides of roads.


I did ask Fred the gardener why it had been cut back and he said because it would grow. I did not believe him.I looked at my stump last November and thought the worst.

Now, here I am in June having to 'eat my words' or re-process my thoughts because the 'stump' has shot out graceful fronds which, because there were two stumps separated by a couple of feet (never did get to metrics apart from baking), now form a glorious, crimson blossomed arch. Well, what amounts to globes of crimson blossom, as seen in the photo above, balanced upon a long, langorous and looping stem as seen in the photo below.

It must be a form of bougainvillea, I thought. The same plant is commonly seen around the streets nearby. But no, wrong yet again for a search on the net reveals it to be a variety of poinsettia, that other gloriously crimson blossom which for Australia is associated with Christmas. Poinsettia blooms here in June and July, both the traditional version and this one which I had never before seen.

While I don't have a problem with being wrong I am, on this count, absolutely delighted to be wrong.

But, blossoms aside it was poison upon which I pondered last night having picked up a book to read called, The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind, by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Mealer. This book, which became a New York Times best-seller a couple of years ago, is the story of a Malawi boy who dreamt of building a small windmill which would bring his village electricity and running water.

In this land, where magic rules and science is a mystery, as the blurb on the back cover says, a young boy sought to dare the system and succeeded. I am only just into the book and his courage and determination is not what strikes me... hardly surprising given what I have seen of human nature in my lifetime and never more so in the Third World where innovation and enterprise often mean the difference between life and death ... but it is how he talks of the belief in magic which rules the African mind.

Given that last time I wrote about witchcraft I was fascinated to find in this book, more tales of the terror and turmoil which such beliefs have on Malawian minds, both young and old. It is fear which rules this world, woven into dreams and fantasies and stories and superstitions. People don't just die and bad things don't just happen; it is always the work of witches or wizards with their spells and their poisons.

Witches and wizards never reveal their identities he says so you can never know where their traps might lie, nor what shape they will take.

'Men with bald heads, twenty feet tall, are said to appear on the roads outside of Ntchisi, a few at first, then dozens,' writes William in his book. 'Ghost trucks drive the same roads at night, coming on fast with their bright lights flashing and engines revving loud, but as the lights pass by, no truck is attached and no tire marks are left on the road, and if you're driving a car, your engine will die until morning.'

'But the dangers for children are even greater,' says William. 'They tempt them with delicious meats, saying it's the only way to heaven. Once the children devour the tasty morsels, it';s revealed as human flesh. By then it is too late, for once the wizard's evil is inside your body, it controls you forever.

The wizards and witches, he says, command vast armies of children whom they use to do their witchcraft and each night they prowl the villages for fresh recruits. They use witch planes which fly overhead at night and they also use magic hyenas with razor jaws and  magic lions and snakes the size of tractors.

'The children pile aboard witch planes that prowl the skies at night, capable of travelling to Zambia and London in a single minute. Witch planes can be anything: a wooden basin, a clay pot, a simple hat. Flying about on magic duty, the children are sent to homes of rival wizards to test their powers. If the child is killed in the process, the wizard can determine the weapon of his enemy and develop something stronger. Other nights, the children visit camps of other witches for competition. Here, mystical soccer matches are played on mysterious fields in places I've never heard of, where the cursed children use human heads as balls and compete for great cups of flesh.'

Reading such things made me realise that my child terrors of wispy ghosts and spiders in the bed were as nothing compared to what Malawian children (and adults) live with. No wonder the raging God of the evangelicals is seen as worthy of belief. Night terrors in this part of the world take on a magnitude of which even I never dreamt in my worst nightmares.

I am wondering now what Limited thinks of the framed photograph of my Shaman Goddess (see below)  from Yakutia in the Russian Far East! Constructed from bones and feathers and charms and goodness knows what, Greg saw it when he was in Yakutsk on business and took the photo knowing I would love to have it. I had it framed and usually put it by my front door but in this house I have it hanging in our dressing room. It must terrify the hell out of him. Not that he has said anything. Then again, maybe it is like the rampaging Christian God... so terrifying that he figures it protects from the even more dangerous Malawian demons. On that count I have to say it gives me comfort.

It is also Death which rules this world where malnutrition, malaria and Aids cut swathes through short lives and longer lives and where, as William Kamkwamba says you 'run into men and women named such things as Simkhalitsa (I'm Dying Anyway), Malazani (Finish Me Off), Maliro (Funeral), Manda (Tombstone), or Phelantuni (Kill Me Quick). Many change their names, he says, once they're older, like his father's older brother who was named Mdzimange, which means Suicide. 

Reading this rather put Limited's name into both context and perspective. It made me realise that it probably meant Limited in exactly the way it sounded... that life was limited... and yet it also made me realise that his name could have been far, far worse and far more limiting.

How little we understand until we gain some knowledge of the meaning behind things. Because there is always meaning in everything that happens and there is purpose in everything we do. We may not know the meaning or the purpose but we should never forget that it will be there... that there will be a reason why something happens.

It makes me think that the negative names might be a form of 'magic thinking'; the sort of thing children do to 'ward off' bad things. If you think the worst then you will not be caught unprepared and you will also send out magic which will help prevent it happening.

Perhaps the origin of some of the scariest fairy tales and myths was to achieve just this end. And who are we to say it does not work. If you believe something then it will work to greater or lesser degrees depending upon the power of belief.

With death such an ever-present part of life as it is in Africa, no doubt giving your child a name which 'tells' death that you know what might happen and you 'laugh' in its face, is a form of protection, or talisman against it actually happening. I can think of no other reason why you would call a child Tombstone or Suicide!

A story of chutney, jam and witches.

I can't believe a week today  I am leaving again. It was meant to be three weeks but we have changed plans, yet again. I have spent most of the past two weeks on my own with Greg either in Namibia, Joburg or up at the mine so the freezer is full of cakes and biscuits and Limited and Andrew are getting substantial lunches of soup, quiche, curry, cakes and biscuits.

I have asked them to tell me if they do not like certain foods. I know they don't eat pork but they do eat bacon! I don't go there. We can't get pork here anyway so it is irrelevant and I consider ham, which is also rarely found, to fall into the bacon category. I know they don't like chilli but then I use it sparingly at the best of times myself. If I am going to cook I may as well cook things they will like and eat although they would probably eat it anyway even if they did not like it.

But tastes do differ. In a land where maize meal is a staple of the diet and it tastes like 'Clag' the quintessential glue which kids use for pasting things in place, it is clear that flavour differentiation is going to be different. I discovered how different when we had a visitor at the guesthouse the other week and she told me that Andrew had offered her a very strange banana jam at breakfast, when she had asked if jam was available.

She had taken one sniff of the 'banana jam,' looked at it's dark colour and decided it must be Malawian jam. She put a small portion on her plate to be polite but couldn't bring herself to eat it on toast. I don't blame her.

I realised immediately she was talking about the banana chutney I had given them a few weeks before to have with some cold meat. Clearly chutney did not compute. It looked like jam, gluey, albeit a tad dark, and it was banana ... that was a fruit wasn't it? So despite the fact it smelled of vinegar and spices, it must be jam.

I took both Limited and Andrew aside later and clearly explained that chutney was very different to jam and not the least bit pleasant on buttered toast. Well, not to muzungus anyway! Chutney is for meat or cheese, I said, only ever for meat or cheese. Jam is for toast! I am not sure the message really got across but I do believe the banana chutney will not be handed over as jam in the future. 

I made a batch of green papaya chutney the other week and it turned out really well although I had to pulverize the papaya with the Bamix in the end because it was so green it refused to break down. Delicious though. Richly auburn in colour and sweet with a touch of chilli. It probably is the sort of chutney one could eat as jam if pressed.

Beyond my writing, manuscript editing, baking and painting there has not been a lot happening. Well, beyond the fact that there is a diesel and petrol shortage in Malawi and cars queue in long, languishing lines around corners and down streets near any service station which has anything to sell. There's a knock-on effect as well because people conserve their fuel and the roads are much less crowded, but so too are the shops and supermarkets. We are thinking it might pay to be well provisioned just in case.

This week I finished reading a fascinating book, A Voyager Out, the life of Mary Kingsley, written by Katherine Frank. Mary Kingsley was a remarkable young woman who travelled through West Africa in the late 1800's and wrote extensively on what she called 'fetish' - the spiritual/religious beliefs of Africans. Superstition, or what was called superstition was widespread in Africa and is still.

The Africans pretty much as a whole believe that every single thing is inhabited by spirits and everything which happens is caused by spirits, whether for good or for evil. Animistic, pantheistic, fascinating and generally bleak. They also believe that the spirits of the dead remain with them and if not propitiated correctly will cause harm. And they believe in witches. Even the newspapers here carry stories of witches, sadly,  at times, it is children who are accused although the most common target is old women. It was ever thus.

It is little wonder that the missionaries made inroads given the level of fear with which Africans appear always to have lived and with which they still live today. I am beginning to understand too why the evangelicals do so well here with their vengeful, punitive and unforgiving God ..... because this sort of God, powerful, capable of great good and great harm is the sort of God they can understand.

You need to have massively powerful JuJu to counter the forces of the spirits at work in Africa and a God who rages and threatens and punishes and smites sounds pretty powerful indeed. Sadly, the evangelical God is about as unpleasant as most of the African 'gods' and it is hard to know if people are better off or worse.

Mary Kingsley, who sadly died very young, at 37, of typhoid contracted while nursing in Cape Town during the Boer War, remained adamant that the missionaries were the worst thing which had happened to Africa. She saw in their teachings the seeds of destruction for African culture and belief. She may well be right but the fact is, much of the African  belief ranged from unpleasant to terrifying and the culture was misogynistic and unforgiving.

The interesting thing, although perhaps I should say the sad thing is, that despite Christianity washing over Africa in a deluge and soaking the land to its spiritual bone, witchcraft is alive and well on the continent and witches of all ages continue to be attacked and even killed.

Belief in witchcraft runs deep in this conservative country, where curses and spells are blamed for everything from  bad luck, unexplained deaths, illness, the spread of AIDS, or even a lack of rain. And it is not confined to the uneducated but remains a prevalent belief throughout the society as a whole, as it does throughout the African continent.

Belief in witchcraft and the persecution of witches is also still found in India with up to 200 women a year killed in that country because they are believed to be witches.


There is an old British Act which covers witchcraft in Malawi. The Witchcraft Act states that “any person, who by his statement or actions represents himself to be a wizard or witch or exercising the power of witchcraft, shall be liable to a fine of 50 British Pounds and to imprisonment for 10 years.”

The Act is 107 years old and was put in place by Malawi’s colonial power, Britain, in 1901. Back then, the British rulers in Malawi had negotiated treaties with indigenous rulers resulting in the formal laws now governing the country.

About 50 alleged witches remain in Malawi prisons serving sentences of up to six years, says the Association for Secular Humanism (ASH).  Some things don't change and while men and children are at times accused of witchcraft, in the main it is old women who bear the brunt of the fear of witches.



In Malawi, as in Africa in particular and witchcraft in general it is believed that witches and wizards have supernatural powers that they use to make people ill or even kill them.

They are also said to be cannibals and prey on the bodies of corpses. And as in the witch-hunts of Europe, centuries ago, witches and wizards are said to be able to fly at night and to shape-shift - turn into animals or become invisible and pass through solid walls.

It seems that all that religion and Christian belief does not serve to save Africans from a life of doubt and fear. It probably just adds to it. Not only are you tormented in this world by spirits and witches but you face roasting in the fires of hell when you leave it!


But efforts are being made at local government and international levels to bring greater awareness, understanding and justice. 

In a report published this year in the New York Times,  by Chi Mgbako - clinical associate professor of law and director of the Walter Leitner International Human Rights Clinic at Fordham Law School in New York Cit, it said:

Many clients came to our mobile legal clinic eager to learn the status of Malawi’s law on witchcraft. According to the law, currently under review by Malawi’s law reform commission, it is illegal to accuse someone of witchcraft or to hire a witch doctor to identify an alleged witch.

Some clients were resistant to the notion of providing a measure of protection to accused witches, but others were relieved. A female village chief, previously unaware of the law, had been holding town-hall meetings for years to encourage community members to stop witchcraft accusations. After attending our clinic, she was happy to learn that the law supports her stance.

We had many other cases in which individuals sought legal advice on whether they could proceed with accusing someone of witchcraft. We welcomed these cases because they gave us an opportunity to intervene before the belief in witchcraft was transformed into public blame and potential violence.

One young woman with chronically bad luck in love believed that her failed romantic relationships were the result of spells cast by her uncle. After we informed her that it is against Malawian law to accuse her uncle of witchcraft she vowed not to do so. We also dissuaded another woman from branding a local child in the community as a witch. She left the clinic determined to deter other potential accusers.

Many Malawians believe in witchcraft. This belief, in and of itself, is not the issue. It is the transformation of belief into accusation and subsequent harm that is at issue. So although the law does not address the question of whether witchcraft exists or not — individuals are free to believe or disbelieve — it should continue to criminalize witchcraft accusations.

Legislation alone will not stop attacks against alleged witches. Malawi and other African countries grappling with this issue should raise public awareness through nationwide campaigns that enlist church groups, police, the justice system, N.G.O.s and traditional healers to encourage people to refrain from making accusations of witchcraft against neighbors and relatives, especially emphasizing the often irreparable harm these do to children and elderly women.

Anything which serves to set people free from fear and ignorance is deserving of support. It is too easy to forget that such beliefs were common in the Western world, the developed world, in the past. The last executions of people convicted as witches in Europe took place in the 18th century and in the United Kingdom, witchcraft ceased to be an act punishable by law with the Witchcraft Act of 1735. In Germany, sorcery remained punishable by law late into the 18th century.

So, as with the developed world, here in Africa it is a matter of awareness, education, reduction of poverty and time which will put to rest this most evil of beliefs and all its attendant suffering by victims and accusers alike.