It feels strange to have Internet so often in so few days. Especially when I move from no water or electricity at my house to lights and computers in town. But to be honest, the transition is no longer as drastic as I thought -- it just is.
Hitchhiking this week was a blast -- an adventure in its own right. Mini-buses are the main form of transport here - but they cram people in as if they are sardines and you usually end up with a bag of actual sardines on your lap and they overcharge you...all of which make hitching more practical and appealing. I got to see half of Malawi from the the back of an open bed truck, both on the way to Zomba on Wednesday and on the way back to Lilongwe yesterday. The country is truly amazingly beautiful - with the rainy season approaching or already underway in certain areas, everything in green and the maize is growing up tall, and the clouds are looking forever ominously dark in the distance.
I am beginning to feel a greater sense of independence here - and am in some ways dreading this last bit of training because of its 'parental structure' -- but I am also dreading leaving this group of 24 in a few weeks. These ones have been my companions through a most trying part of my life and there is a bond that forms in the place. It's hard to explain sometimes what happens here, and it is comforting to know that there is a group that I will never have to explain that to.
Moment of gratitude and pride [of myself and of Malawians]: Yesterday afternoon, riding on the back of a Matola [open back truck], sitting on top of bags of flour, maize and mangoes, packed in next to an amayi and her three year old son on one side and an ancient Muslim man on the other, the driver started haggling about price. We had been chatting, another volunteer and I, with the people around in Chichewa - explaining who we were, where we from, had been and were going, what we were doing, asking them why they were traveling, what their children did....and when we explained to the money collector that we were volunteer teachers in Malawi he accepted a much lower price than originally quoted. As we were digging through our bags, scrounging together the cash, one of the men next to me handed me a kwacha bill -- thinking that I couldn't get the fare together. I was floored. I was proud that my language and attitude was compassionate enough that this man would have compassion on me, a white foreigner, and I was proud of the Malawian spirit of hospitality and aid.
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