True to the title of this blog, we have once again traversed on the bush path less traveled by, this time to a rural fishing village on the shores of Lake Malawi in southern Africa.  What's brought us here for the next year or so is my new job as project manager at a Swiss non-governmental aid organization.  As project manager, I oversee four Malawian staff and 1 American in various projects benefiting the community as well as volunteers who come from all over the globe.  Our current projects include partnerships with the local clinic, a pre-school and primary school.  At the clinic, we are in the planning stages of constructing a new building to house patients with tuberculosis, are supplying the maternity ward with new mattresses, and travel twice a week with clinic staff to administer "under five" baby weighings and public health awareness in the surrounding rural villages.  The pre-school, which is run by an HIV/AIDS community based organization, caters to orphans and vulnerable children affected by HIV/AIDS or other chronic illnesses.  Every day, children between the ages of 3-6 come to be taught in two different classes divided by age, by volunteer teachers.  The organization is currently offering English classes to the volunteer teachers, as well as support in the classroom.  We are also constructing a third classroom building.  Finally, at the primary school, we are offering merit-based scholarships to the top three standard 8 students so that they may attend secondary school in an urban center that would otherwise be financially unattainable.  Our volunteers also co-teach standard 7 and 8 English classes, and offer computer classes during term breaks to the highest performing students.  My responsibilities include overseeing these many projects, as well as supporting the international volunteers, handling logistics for the guesthouse where the volunteers stay (also my office), and accounting.

The village where we stay, Mudzi*, is situated on Lake Malawi, an expansive Rift Valley lake the size of the state of New Hampshire.  Although predominantly Christian, there is a sizable Muslim population, which worships in a large brick mosque next to the pre-school.  We live across from the Catholic Church, so Sunday mornings always mean that we will be listening to gospel music in ChiChewa language from 7am-11am.



Many of the men in the village are fisherman, waking up before sunrise to prepare to spend the day on the lake catching small fish.  They return in their small wooden boats at sunset, and dry their day's catch on long reed mats suspended above the sand.  Other people make their livelihood through agriculture, growing pumpkins, Chinese cabbage, millet, and maize.  The village is a sandy conglomeration of a handful of large houses built on the lake by wealthy Malawian retirees, medium-size houses equipped with tin roofs and electricity, and small, traditional mud huts with grass roofs.  Goats and sheep roam at will, and ox carts driven by gaggles of children with whips careen around the twisting, sandy paths.   A bustling market serves as the center of the town, selling small, dried fish, vegetables, eggs, and other necessities.  From the north and south, the village is overlooked by rocky mountains.

Many people have wondered how our dog, a black and tan Basenji mix born and raised in a small Zambian village, then transported to the luxaries of American dog food, dog beds and toys, will adjust to living back in Africa.  She is already getting used to eating small, dried fish mixed with whatever staple food we've eaten.  Our house is in a walled compound, so she has a sandy yard to wander in.  We've been extraordinarily busy in the two weeks we've been here, so unfortunately she's only been out in the village once.  We elected to walk her on a leash to avoid harassment to the many goats and chickens that have free range of the village, as well as to avoid frightening the many people here who are terrified of dogs.  She left an impression on many of our neighborhood children, who now ask to see our dog every time they see us.  Their favorite game involves me and Wilo running towards them (with her on a leash), them running away and shrieking in fear, then returning with big smiles on their faces and asking to be chased again.





*The name of the village we live in has been changed to protect he privacy of the people mentioned within.  I will also not mention the name of the organization I work for, as this blog is my personal account of my life here, and does not represent the views of the organization.  If you want to know, I'd be happy to send you the details through private correspondence. 

This one is just for you, Debby!  They play beach volleyball in the evenings.  Now you have to come visit us!