In an effort to share the stories of the wonderful people I
work with as well to showcase the great work being done voluntarily by my counterparts here in Bondo Village, each week (or
every 2 weeks maybe) I am going to feature someone here on my blog. I hope you
enjoy getting to learn a little more about my friends and community!
Meet My Village #1: Amayi Damson
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| When I first met Ms. Damson at our SOLID training |
One of the first people I began to work with in my village
is this one, super sweet, super hardworking lady. She lives right next to my
primary counterpart and also right next to the health center where we hold the
majority of our meetings and trainings. When she first began coming to our
SOLID training, I assumed my counterpart had pretty much just told her she
should be there. I didn’t think she understood most of what I was saying
because she was always so reserved and never asked or answered questions. I
slowly learned more and more about her—like that she is a member of the village
health committee (VHC) and also a nursery school teacher in our village. I
often see her escorting a group of wide-eyed and adorable three-year-old kids
down the main dirt road to her school in the mornings.
She was one of two SOLID trainees who helped my primary
counterpart and I lead a 10-session nutrition program complete with bi-monthly
cooking demos that lasted from November until May. Even if she wasn’t leading a
lesson, she’d be helping me translate or helping to monitor and/or aid the
women. I was never quite sure whether she was there to help lead the program or
to learn herself, but it didn’t matter because she was at least a reliable
friend and colleague.
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| Always involved with our cooking demos! |
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| Leading the women through a nutrition lesson |
Ms. Damson barely passed the SOLID examination at the end of
our training in March (a bit of gentle grading might’ve helped her skimp
through). She still barely spoke during our trainings, but I could see the
determination in her eyes. However, when our group spoke of doing a computer
training and learning to type, she said she was too old to learn such skills
and not to waste the time or money on her. Plus, she was afraid she would not
be able to see the computer screen well enough to learn.
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| SOLID Graduation |
After one of our male SOLID volunteers and I attended a Grassroot Soccer training last November, I was encouraged to find a female counterpart with whom to include in the GRS program because it is targeted toward girls and encourages discussion on gender-sensitive subjects. Amayi Damson may not have been the most “logical” choice if I’d been thinking in terms of which female scored the highest on our exam, but I knew she would be dedicated and motivated to promote the program. Since I had already attended the training, she would be going stag (aka without a PCV). I still remember when I explained this to her on a late afternoon in February, a few days before her journey up to Lilongwe for the training. She was so nervous about traveling there, her English skills, and not knowing anyone. She put her hand on mine and told me, “but Emma, I understand your English when you speak because I’ve gotten so used to it by now. What if I can’t understand what they are saying?” I felt so terrible, like I was abandoning her!
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| Preparing a lesson plan at my house |
Well, it ended up that she had a great time meeting new PCVs
and counterparts and came back with new energy and appreciation for working
with girls on HIV prevention. Since that time, we have worked together on so
many projects. In April, she was an active part of malaria work in our
district—helping with 2 major community-wide events where we taught and helped
people sew, repair, and wash their mosquito nets. She was always involved in
the hands on jobs such as showing people how to wash since the writing and
reading of the pre/post tests was too difficult with her poor eyesight. She
also did a GRS malaria program with a few other GRS coaches for various teams
around our area, teaching about malaria.
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| Me and Dorika....we love to take pictures |
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| Making pads on her porch |
July rolled around, and I finally bought materials to teach girls how to make pads in the village. We were planning to make pads with our first GRS program, so Ms. Damson and Martin (the male coach) had to learn to make them prior to teaching the girls. We all sat on her porch together, chatting and preparing pads as the sun journeyed across the sky and behind the mountain. When it came to the sewing part, she handed her pad over to Martin to have him sew it for her since she couldn’t see well enough to do it herself. He didn’t seem to mind and also it gave him the opportunity to learn to make a pad as well.
In August, we implemented our first SKILLZ Girl
intervention. Actually, I shouldn’t say ‘we’ because Ms. Damson and Martin did
all the work! I just made sure all of the prep and organization was there.
Every day at 1:30 or so, I would scramble down to her house—since it served as
a central meeting point for all of us coaches—with all of the materials and
wander into her yard calling, “Odi? Odi?”
(like hello? Hello?) I would sit down on the wooden bench on her large, open
front porch and wait for her to come out looking oh so put together. Most days
we matched in our yellow GRS coach shirts and green SOLID group zitenje—those
days were my favorites.
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| Teaching our SKILLZ Girl group to make pads |
I remember Ms. Damson struggling to read the manual—bending
down, turning it toward the light coming from the open windows, and squinting
hard at the small font. After the last day of our weeklong intensive camp, Ms.
Damson and I strolled home together, and I remember feeling so proud and
pleased with the work she’d done. The girls had truly enjoyed the week, and I
couldn’t be any more swollen with happiness. It’s times like these when I feel
so indebted to my wonderful counterparts. I wanted to show Ms. Damson my
appreciation in a way that would really mean something to her. Remembering her
struggling to read the manual and her constant squinting and trouble reading
anything really, I asked her, “Amayi Damson, do you have glasses?”
“Ah, no. They are very expensive,” she told me.
I said, “Would you have time to go down to the boma to get
your eyes checked and to get glasses if money weren’t an issue?”
“Yes, yes of course. But for now, I don’t have money for transport.
Maybe, maybe, if I save enough, I will go at the end of this month or next.”
I assured her that that would not be necessary and that it
would be my pleasure to help her with this matter. I told her we would go down
together and find her a pair of glasses as a thank you for all that she’s done
for me and for the community.
So today was the day. This morning, at 7 AM, I arrived at
her house and she opened up her door, ready to go in a matching blue zitenje
shirt and skirt. We journeyed the 5km down to the tarmac together in the early
morning heat that comes with hot season, discussing her daughter learning
French in school, debating whether Malawians are “lazy” or not, and greeting
almost everyone we saw. We hopped on a quick mini bus ride to the District
Hospital and roamed our way through the chaotic maze of the hospital until we
found the eye examination rooms.
There was a huge crowd of people standing and sitting in any
open space outside of the room—people with one eye, red eyes, swollen oozy
eyes, and tiny squinty eyes. We stood outside in the cluster of people for
about 15 minutes, recognizing and chatting with two people who had also come
from Bondo, until the doctor walked out. He spied me and walked over asking if
he could help me (sometimes being a mzungu can be used for the greater good
right?). I told him that my friend just wanted to get some glasses (in Chichewa
and everyone was surprised that I could speak the vernacular language—that
trick never gets old). He took her back into room as I waited outside. I
wondered what was happening inside and how they were testing her and stood
anxiously waiting and shifting my weight from side to side. I imagine this is
what being a parent feels like! She finally returned to the doorway, motioning
for me to come inside. The doctor showed me the glasses and a case for her to
keep them in and then handed those to her. A nurse in the room asked if she was
my mother; we looked at each other and giggled. She was holding one of those
eye charts with the letters in rows from large to small fonts. I made sure she
could read one close to the bottom then paid for the glasses (apparently the
same size as the bible font which was all that mattered to her and the doctor) and
we were on our way. The whole shebang took only 30-45 minutes. I was happily
surprised and couldn’t stop comparing the experience to America—American
hospitals/doctors’ offices with basic hygiene, waiting rooms, cleanliness,
nurses to escort patients, lines, check-in papers, all the order. But yet, here we were. In and out of the hospital so
quickly!
As we walked out, I made Ms. Damson pose for a picture (seriously,
I’m like a proud parent posting a picture of my kid’s first pair of glasses).
She thanked me profusely and expressed how this never would’ve happened without
me, but I assured her that she deserves them and thanked her for all her help and friendship. Oh, and did I mention that the
whole thing (transport, the glasses, the case) cost only $11.85? This is one of
my favorite parts about my position and my current job: I can find those people
who really need just a bit of help and who are also productive, devoted, and
involved members of society and I can be the link that connects them to the
resources they really need. I didn’t give her money or food that will help her
for a day. These glasses will (hopefully) last a lifetime and will help her be able to continue to help others in her
community. I’m so excited for our next SKILLZ Girl program starting on Monday
and to see her teaching in her new “specs” looking “so smart!” (as people in Malawi say when anyone is wearing
glasses!)
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| "After" picture...looking SO SMART! |
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| And our selfie :) |