N'Phiri is the name given to me by my host mother, (aka my Amayi.) She started calling me N'Phiri as we became closer; it was right around the time she actually started calling me her daughter.
Phiri is her surname and by giving it to me, my Amayi claims me. I am hers and I belong to her family. It is sweet and intimate. Few other volunteers have been given family names. I absolutely adore it.
Her name is Judith and I am basically enamored with her. Not only is she a total bad ass, but she's so smart, funny, strong, loving and just a pillar of a woman. She left Zambia and an abusive husband, got on a bus with her children, and came to Malawi and started a new life. She worked and went to school in Zambia until her husband made her quit her job. She is one of our village chiefs, part of the village loan program, and she has her own personal IGA and garden to support her family. Her children are dead, but two of her grandchildren live with her, and one of them has a baby. This woman is so, so proud of me. It's almost intimidating. She loves to teach me everything: how to cook, words in Chichewa, new chores and work, directions, facts, and just having me interact with her family in general. I feel so indebted to her already-and so spoiled! She boils water for me to filter and drink, warms water for my daily morning and evening baths, cooks meals and makes snacks for me to take to "school" explains.. everything, and is just generally so good to me. I just feel like there has been so much kindness and love that I'll never truly be able to repay.
We have a list of things to learn/ accomplish while living in homestay that our amayis must check off each week. My Amayi was utterly perplexed that taking a bucket bath was on the list. She asked me rather hesitantly if Id ever bathed before, back in America. I tried to explain showering, but water coming out of a wall in my broken Chichewa and her broken English mostly only translated to "yeah, I bathe, just not outside in a straw hut with a bucket." I'm just glad she didn't ask me to further elaborate on pooping in a hole and why that was on the list.
I've also had to relearn washing dishes. Every morning surrounded by ducks and chickens and some stray dogs I wash dishes outdoors with Dolene. First, I've had to reevaluate my understanding of "clean" as we wash with untreated water that is clearly murky and dirty. Secondly, we use dirt as a scrubbing agent to get rid of the blackened reminants of the open flame. Yes, the same dirt where the chickens are hanging out. My only real solice here is that the dishes sit outside in that Africa sun all day which kills a lot of the germs/bacteria. (If this is untrue, please don't tell me. I prefer to live without in-depth knowledge on the subject until I have control over washing my own dishes.)
Often, I feel like the families must be annoyed with all the volunteers; we must come across as incompetent, spoiled, and weak as we are just now learning all the things that girls here learned when they were only in grade school, or younger. In some cases we lack the strength or ability to even complete the tasks.
I asked my Amayi how she felt about Americans because we are so different and have led such different lives. (Mostly because sometimes I'm just so embarrassed to be an American here.) She responded saying there was no difference between us, the village felt lucky to have us, as people we are the same, that we are family, and that she loves me. It was a significant moment for me and that shaped much of my homestay experience.
Shumblyr and Dolene are Judith's grandchildren. Shumblyr has a son, Cliff, who is 1 year old, and from what I can understand, she is married to his father but he has abandoned her. Dolene is 17 and in school, Shumblyr is 22 and going back to school. They are also both amazing powerhouses and I am seriously lucky to spend time with them every day. They've taughte what I need to know to survive here.
It's interesting to see how their lives have differed from mine at their ages versus when I was 17 and 22. I still see occasional signs of childhood, but mostly their futures and roles are already assigned to them. I once tried to ask Dolene what she wanted out of life- what she wanted to do or be, where she wanted to live, and my Amayi immediately shot me down saying her grandchildren would live with her and that was the end of it. There aren't options here in many cases. These girls have been little women way longer than they were ever allowed to be children, I'm sure. They all work silently and in tandem knowing their roles and responsibilities. And all of them work extremely hard.
Since their mother is dead and I am Judith's daughter, they call me " wa mama" and treat me as their mother. This is something I don't think I'll ever feel comfortable with, especially because they teach me so many things and take care of me on a daily basis. Frankly, I'd be way more comfortable calling them my sisters.. But that seems like it's not in the cards.
One of the more regrettable things about homestay is that I'm learning a different language than what my family speaks. This is a regional language for the northern part of Malawi so it's not as beneficial for traveling/ working in Malawi, and it just furthers the communication gap between my family and me. That was a hard pill for me to swallow initially. However, I keep having these amazing conversations and moments with my family and when I think back and remember that we don't speak the same language I am always amazed. Human connection transcends language. It continually blows my mind.
A couple answers to the questions I've been getting:
I live in Dombolera, a village in Kasungu district, about 10 kilometers from the market (boma) and about 5 miles from the mountain/ Kasungu national park. It's interconnected to Chinkhombwe another village about 20 minutes away where most of the Peace Corps trainings take place and a little bit over half of the volunteers stay. We walk back and forth multiple times a day. It's become one of my favorite parts of the day.
My house has no furniture. It is brick with a thatched roof. There are 3 rooms, 2 bed rooms and a living room--and an outdoor chimbuzi (toilet/ hole in the ground) and outdoor kitchen with a constant fire both detached from the house. I sleep under a mosquito net every night and read by a kerosine lamp. (I may have already burnt a hole in my net. Whoops!)
Well, that's all I can think of for now! Catch you cats later.
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