June 21, 2014
Well, it’s a rainy and windy Saturday morning—the perfect time to write about yesterday’s experiences. The rain is creating a soothing drizzle on my tin roof, calming me and reassuring me that it’s okay if I sit in my house all day instead of going out and interacting with my neighbors. I have my fresh, french press coffee sitting next to me. The curtain covering the window on my left is pulled back so that I can vaguely see what’s happening in my front yard. The rain is off and on, getting heavy and roaring on the roof and then dissipating off into silence every few seconds. People are running along the path in front of my house to get to their destinations—not wanting to get caught in a downpour. It’s a fitting day for winter solstice in Malawi, chilly and rainy. Although I enjoy the bright blue skies and warmth of sunny days, sometimes a relaxing rainy day is much needed.
Yesterday was nutrition day at the health clinic. There were plenty of mothers and babies who had come because it was a beautifully sunny, “winter” day (unlike last week). I recognized the mother who had gotten upset when we’d seen her earlier in the week and recommended that she come today, I believe her surname was Foster. My counterpart wasn’t there yet, but I worked with another HSA to get things started. He actually barely helped, and I did the majority of weighing, measuring MUAC, and taking heights. The first woman to weigh her baby using our hospital soda scale was this woman Foster. She spun her child off her back and around to her front and lifted the knotted chitenge over her head. As she hoisted him up to the hook from which to hang him, he slipped out of the chitenge and fell face first onto the cement floor. All of the amayis waiting to see the doctor watched in horror and the few who were sitting right beside the scale rushed to help collect her son off the ground. It was silent until the child emitted a tremendously loud scream. He didn’t stop crying for the remainder of the time they were at the clinic, which was about two hours.
The nutrition clinic dragged on all morning. The HSAs have to follow all of these charts and guidelines and fill out a bunch of forms to sign up children for the program, and then they have to figure out how many chiponde (peanut butter) packets the child receives. The amayis leave with plastic bags, silk handkerchiefs, and small purses overflowing with chiponde to feed to their children for the week. Slowly, most of our HSAs began to show up as we were supposed to have a meeting. Some slid in and aided with the activities, others stood around outside socializing. Around ten, they started getting restless and whining that we should start.
When we finally begin the meeting, I started off by talking to everyone about my idea of helping me understand the layout of our catchment area by each drawing a map of their community and then combining them all into one large map of the fifteen villages. As I explained, the stubborn HSA next to me interrupted me and began complaining about how foolish my idea was. I tried to explain myself that I just wanted to better understand the area. He kept interrupting me and speaking in Chichewa to the others. I could understand about 30% of what he was saying to them. My efforts were fruitless as the group began yelling and interrupting each other. I felt the anger bubbling up in me. Why can’t they just help me?! I tried to keep myself calm and breathe. The leader of this mini rebellion turned to me and demanded what was going to come of this— would I be distributing medicine and supplies? I’m pretty sure I was killing him with eyes. I couldn’t control my thoughts or my words; the fire inside of me was twisting and jumbling them all together. I tried to explain that giving things out is not my job, but that I am here to educate and promote prevention and mitigation. After realizing, though, that I was getting no where, I let my counterpart (the senior HSA) take over the discussion. After much loud arguing in a mix of 85% Chichewa and 15% English, they reached a consensus. We would do community mapping activities with each community. I tried to encourage an additional meeting where I could train all of the HSAs in the four community assessment tools that we’d learned, so that they could go into the community and do it themselves thereby building capacity of local workers. As I mentioned this to my counterpart, he quietly explained to me that the word “training” carries a connotation that the HSAs will receive an allowance (basically be paid to attend). Wow. So what word could we use? He mentioned it to the HSAs, but they were all too busy discussing dates and planning the schedule. The few who listened to him, sloughed him off and told him that they’d just learn at the activity. I was beyond frustrated and felt the effects of my caffeine crash. Whatever, as long as it gets done. As the meeting finished up, someone asked about my mobility. How was I going to get to all of the villages: with my broken peace corps bike? “footing?” (their way of saying walking), or would I pay for transport? Some of the villages are extremely far away—maybe up to a four or five hour walk. I resisted the urge to emphasize that that was precisely the reason why I wanted to train them to facilitate the activities. “I’ll figure it out,” I reassured them. When I finally escaped from the hospital to go home and make lunch, I sighed in relief. At least that part’s done; I just don't have any free Mondays or Wednesdays for the next 7 weeks.
When we had a group of about three men and fifteen women, we started the activity. First we had them draw a map of their village in the dirt. We asked them to include important features such as schools, churches, and roads as well as natural landmarks like mountains and rivers and to mark them with natural resources around them such as leaves, grasses, rocks, or just to draw symbols. The chief helped them demarcate the boundaries of the village, and they began with mountains and roads. Someone ran to get some cornmeal to mark these. When they paused, we’d encourage them with other ideas of things to indicate—gardens, businesses, water sources, the chief’s house, etc. It was really encouraging for me to see the men and women working together to create this map and seeing everyone have a voice. After they finished, the younger kids transferred it onto paper with my assortment of colored markers while the rest worked with us to discuss and create a list of the issues or problems that people face in the community. They came up with about eight ideas, but a lack of a market, food shortages, and the need for a younger maternity nurse at the health center were the only ones that I could understand as they were talking about all of this in Chichewa. To conclude on a positive note, I pressed them make a list of resources they do have access to in the community, so that they can appreciate the abundance of things that are available, despite the lack of some things. All in all, it seemed like a successful afternoon. As my counterpart and I returned home, I realized what a busy day I’d had. When I got home, I ate some cold leftovers from lunch and curled up in bed to watch a movie on my laptop before it was even 7.