Into November

My most recent Glimpse post describes a family planning training I attended, run by an organization called Girls Empowerment Network. GENET has been a fantastic contact. Mercy and Yamikani, the two women who run the women's clubs across Blantyre, are eager for me to participate. They're planning a conference for December and have talked to me about holding a dance workshop or creating a dance piece. Yikes.

Saturday was one of the best days I've had in Malawi so far. My last Glimpse entry mentioned the arts festival, which occurred this past weekend. I ended up not performing (the dancers told me to show up at 7 a.m. on Sunday, which didn't sound so tasty), but I was at the festival all day on Saturday and saw a slew of fantastic (and a few dreadful) performances. Most of the dance groups were there, and members greeted me all day long. I recognized most of them, but have learned few of their names. Better get on that. Lucius Banda, one of Malawi's biggest musicians (in terms of both fame and physical size), closed the day. People danced so energetically that a veritable dust storm developed.

That evening, I went out with Mullu and James, two of my landlord's children, and then headed to a truly epic party. All of Blantyre attended. I woke up the next morning sore from dancing.

I enjoyed a beautiful moment on my way to catch the minibus today. I turned onto Naperi Road and heard a drumbeat. A group of schoolboys, dressed in uniforms the color of hospital scrubs, had gathered on the opposite side of the street. One clenched an empty water jug between his knees and slapped out a beat as the others danced. "They're doing traditional dances," a passerby told me. As I rounded the corner, the boys ran over to me. "We're dancing," they told me (in Chichewa! And I understood! Did I mention I'm taking private lessons?). I told them (again, in Chichewa!) that I can dance, too. "Beni?" they asked, which is a men's dance that mocks the movements of British soldiers. No, I told them - and they proceeded to teach me. I tossed my backpack aside and shook my shoulders and stamped my feet with them. The women selling maize and peanuts across the road hooted and laughed. We carried on a very limited, very broken Chichewa conversation. I told them which dances I knew - chisamba, chioda, marikamba. They had to run off eventually. "See you later!" I called. "Tomorrow!" they called back.

Days here are made up of tiny, life-affirming moments like these. Sometimes the frustrations and disappointments get to me, but I try to remind myself of these small wonders.