Choose your own adventure

A funny thing happened this evening (Tuesday, August 19, the night I before I was suppose to go to Blantyre. I got lost. Since I’ve been living in Malawi I feel like I’ve lost a lot of my independence. At home I would take the bus to and from home often times late at night. There were times where I would leave work (downtown Toronto at the CBC) at 11pm at night and get home at almost one o’clock in the morning. Drive at night by myself. During the day I would venture to different corners of Toronto. And not once did I ever fear for my safety. While I was away at university in London, Ontario, I would walk to the store late at night. Walk to a night club or pub to meet my friends when I was living in downtown London, Ontario or sometimes I would roller blade at 12:00am at night. And still I wasn’t concerned.
But that’s not the case while I’m here in Malawi. I’ve been told time and again that it’s not safe to go out at night by yourself. Certain areas are not safe during the day. I’m constantly being picked up at my flat in the morning to go to work and dropped off there at night when work is finished. Staying late at work is difficult as people will often come up to me while I help a reporter with a story “are you almost ready? We’re waiting for you.” I have no control of what time I come and go. No afternoon stops at the corner store or when I was in Toronto I would stop at the Eaton Centre to buy a pair of shoes or check out the clothes on sale at my favourite store before hopping on the subway to go home.
Here I feel confined and at times annoyed that I cannot travel when and where I please. So today I stayed late to help a young reporter with her story. When I went downstairs the car was full and they told me to wait for the car to come back before I go home. While I was waiting two of my colleagues were walking down the stairs and out the door. I asked them if they were taking the minibus home. They said, yes. I turned to another co-worker waiting for the car and said, “I’m taking the minibus.” I waved goodbye and followed my colleagues a male and female to the bus stop. On our way to the bus stop I asked them if it was safe to be riding the minibus at night. The male colleague said yes. But the female colleague who’s English is not very good said, no. She said that in her opinion its not safe for a woman to be riding the minibus at night. But what could I do. I had already made up my mind to jump on the minibus with them so I kept walking.
Well, the time was around 5:30pm now, and the sun was setting. I was getting a bit nervous but I knew that I could be home just a little after 6pm. Ha. Maybe not. Considering just about five minutes after we were riding on the bus the minibus ran out of gas. Man I was shaking in my boots. Because while we were waiting for the operator to get more gas the sun was setting. When we finally got to the shoprite in old town, which is the area where I would be able to catch the correct minibus that would take me home it was dark. So I turned to my colleague and half jokingly said. I’m scared.” He laughed, thinking I was joking and said,”don’t worry,it’s safe.” Okay I said and hopped out of the mini-bus.
As I was crossing the street to catch my area 25 minibus I thought I would try using the little Chichewa I knew to make sure I caught the correct minibus. So I turned my attention to a man standing on a hill yelling, 25, 49 for the various buses leaving the area. I said, ndikupita Ku Riverside Hotel. Translation, “I’m going to Riverside Hotel.” He said yeah yeah hailed one of the buses that started pulling out of the minibus area and shuffled me into the bus. Now I just assumed it was the correct bus because he seemed so sure. Well turns out the bus I jumped on was going in the opposite direction. I couldn’t help it but I thought I was gonna get robbed. I had a laptop computer in my bag along with an expensive recorder and microphone, and 9000 kwacha (about USD 64). Apart from that I was lost.
Now when the various people around me on the bus realized I was lost and a foreigner they instructed me to stay on the bus and proceeded to negotiate with the minibus driver to take me home. So after stopping for gas the bus driver proceeded to take a deadly shortcut to get to my house. While en route on the dirt road, I thought the minibus was going to tip over thereby proceeding to kill all those travelling in the bus. As we were driving I prayed to God and asked him to keep the minibus from getting in an accident. I would have felt terrible if the bus had gotten in an accident all because they needed to drop one dumb ass foreigner home who thought it would be fun to take the minibus home in order to show her co-workers that she wasn’t that different from them.
All in all, I enjoyed the ride. Despite the fear of being out of my home by myself after dark. One thing that I was really happy about was how nice people were on the bus. They were genuinely concerned for my safety as I was also concerned. They didn’t want me to get off the bus to try and catch another minibus in the correct direction as it was pretty obvious by my accent and the fact that I didn’t speak Chichewa that I wasn’t from Malawi. So although the passengers were tired from their own day at work they didn’t want me to compromise my own safety. Still, despite the fact that everyone was very kind, 6l I will not venture on the minibus late at night but my ride on Tuesday was not only freeing and gave me a little piece of my independence back but it also showed me how kind and caring Malawians really are. This country truly is the warm heart of Africa.
When I returned home I called my co-worker. We proceeded to laugh on the phone together when I told him about my journey. The tale was funny to us both because I wasn’t injured. Still he proceeded to say to me, “next time you take the minibus, we’ll leave earlier.” And I happily obliged.

Blantyre! Blantyre!

So I have been absent on posting on my blog for a while because I went to Blantyre the week before last week. And last week the internet by my house wasn't working and I wasn't able to get to the internet cafe before it got dark. So as I was saying, I was in Blantyre. And I loved it. Blantyre was beautiful. It reminded me of home a bit. There was a shopping mall. For the whole weekend I ate only burgers, pizza and chicken wings. There was lots of American style fast food places. All the girls dressed like they were from the west (i.e. lots of people were wearing jeans, layered shirts and tights with the short skirts.). there were tons of different cultures in blantyre. It was just so refreshing. In Lilongwe people seem more reserved, a lot of women don't usually wear pants never mind jeans unless they are young girls or teenagers. But in Blantyre every one wears jeans. I went to a restaurant to eat one day in Blantyre, it was called Blue Savannah. I was speaking to some women and told them that at my work place the women are not allowed to wear pants. They seemed pretty annoyed by that. "Why's that?" they asked me. I told them I didn't know. They proceeded to talk about how they thought pants looked more professional then skirts. I laughed I couldn't imagine hearing people say that in Lilongwe. Even the night clubs in Blantyre seemed very much like the west as well. There were two floors, VIP seats and there was a huge assortment of drinks specifically my favourite one of all...SMIRNOFF ICE. It was heaven.
one thing to note is that although Blantyre is Malawi's commercial capital when I told people I was living in Lilongwe they would often say to me, "eh, lilongwe is where the money is?" I would laugh because I sure didn't see it. Many people in Lilongwe seem to be struggling. It doesn't seem like there is a lot of opportunity to find work in Lilongwe. There are people often on the street begging for alms, some live under Lilongwe bridge, while some of the street kids live in the sewage drains, and others make their living off of scavaging through garbage dumps.
But perhaps they are speaking about the large tobacco estates in Mchinji and in the other districts or the fact that now all the government buildings are in Lilongwe or that the cost of living is higher in Lilongwe.

As I am summarizing this trip two weeks later it's hard to remember all the details so I am trying to summarize as fast as possible since I am being clocked at the internet cafe. But while I was in Blantyre I was able to meet up with other colleagues from Canada who are part of the same NGO. It was definitely refreshing to speak to people who could understand what I was fully saying and who didn't always ask me to repeat myself. They understood my turns of phrases and little jokes that Canadians would understand. I will definitely be back in Blantyre. Enjoy a few picks from the city that my Canadian colleague described as being like LA. Me, although Blantyre was definitely impressive, I would describe it as being more like a Kingston, Ontario or a Waterloo, Ontario type of city. It definitely wasn't LA. Anywayz sorry for the sloppy post but please check out the picks. Click on the pic below.

Here's some background on Blantyre:

Blantyre is named after the town in South Lanarkshire, Scotland, where the explorer David Livingstone was born. Livingstone's missionary endeavours saw the establishment of the St Michael's and All Angels church. The church dates from 1891 and was famously built by a team of local workmen with no knowledge of architecture of building techniques.[1]. Urban development began in the colonial era with the arrival of missionaries, traders, and administrators and was further stimulated by the construction of the railway.[2] In 1956 it was merged with its sister city, Limbe, to form one city. As Malawi's main economic and financial hub, the city plays host to an international trade fair every year which takes place during the month of May. The event seeks to showcase the best of Malawian commerce, industry, agriculture and information technology and opened under a theme of “Building Productivity Capacity to Achieve Export Competitiveness” in 2007.[3] Blantyre is also home to the Malawi Stock Exchange located on Victoria avenue, the heart of the city. It opened its doors in November 1996 and operates under the Capital Market Development Act 1990 and the Companies Act 1984. Prior to the listing of the first company, the major activities that were being undertaken were the provision of a facility for secondary market trading in Government of Malawi bonds namely, Treasury Bills and Local Registered Stocks.-- (wikipedia)

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Language Barrier

One of the hardest parts about being in another country is the inability to communicate with people because you don't speak the local language. Sitting at work sometimes, although I am surrounded by people, can still feel very lonely. People are always speaking in Chichewa. So you're constantly left out of the daily discussions of news whether its pieces of a morning meeting, a breaking news story or just cordial discussions of the daily events that occur. Often when hustle and bustle starts in the newsroom I will turn to my colleague and ask him to translate. And that takes a bit of time as well.

Sometimes, my colleagues try to communicate with me. But conversations that should really be only about 5 minutes will often drag on because both myself and my colleague are struggling to understand what each other is saying. My colleagues often say that I speak too fast. And I find that they speak too fast. Whatever the case may be my english is completely different from their english.

However, as my frustration has mounted in the past week or so, I called up my colleague who was previously a teacher and asked if he could teach me Chichewa. He agreed. So starting next week twice a week after work I will try to become somewhat fluent in Chichewa. I've already started learning and I pride myself in being a pretty fast learner.
My work is Malawi is definitely so much more difficult then I ever anticipated.

Home is where the heart is

At the moment I am currently in Mzuzu. I will be in Mzuzu for three day.s That's the major northern city in Malawi. It's close to Tanzania. It's gorgeous but it's also way smaller than Lilongwe, which is where I am currently living. I must say that I actually really miss Lilongwe. Although I am still homesick for Canada, leaving Lilongwe was a lot sadder than I thought it would be. I thought it would be exciting to venture to a new city. Get out and see Malawi but the fact is I find Mzuzu kinda boring. There's a tiny downtown area, a small market area and the pubs that I have been too are well...dry. And people are no longer speaking Chichewa here...just when I start learning bits of Chichewa I find out that it's another language that is used up here. Plus the relationships I was finally starting to build in Lilongwe with co-workers was interrupted. It takes energy and time to build a corgial relationship with co-workers. plus I left Lilongwe when a big story was breaking. I will definitely write about it in my next post. It's a pretty interesting story. Although my visit to Mzuzu is only three days, I wish I was back in my home in Lilongwe and sleeping in my bed, going to the internet cafe where I have come to know the owners and visiting with my friend that I always meet on the weekends in Old Town, Mr. T. My trip to Mzuzu has taken me out of the place where I am just starting to feel comfortable. Usually when I am in Lilongwe, I dream about life back in Canada. But yesterday while I was sleeping in my lodge in Mzuzu, I was dreaming about Lilongwe. Funny. I think it's the fact that in Lilongwe I am finally starting to come to terms with the fact that I will have to be here for the next six months. And yes, hate to admit it but it's starting to feel like home. I leave Mzuzu tomorrow and, honestly, I cannot wait to get back.

My Bad...LOL

I received some good advice from a close friend the other day. Yes, I know I will not crouch down while I am wearing a skirt. I am not used to wearing skirts (everyday) and I noticed in every picture I was in a pose that I would normally do when I am wearing pants. I noticed it when I was going through my pictures. It's pretty funny. Good thing my underwear wasn't showing. Now I will have to constantly remind myself. No crouching for pictures in a skirt. But the other reason why I crouched is because the ground was dirty and I didn't want to get my clothes or my skin dirty. I hope to get over my scornfulness soon as I am sure I will encounter many more things that are dirty. But have no fear, you will not see anymore pictures like that.

Patience is a Virtue

When I was at the CBC, working for a weekly current affairs program in Toronto, Canada, things were done relatively quickly, although not as a quickly as a daily show. I mean yes there were slow points but when the show was getting ready for air we moved fast. Organized stories, chased guests. And when I worked at The London Free Press, a daily newspaper in southwestern Ontario the paper also worked at a super fast pace. When I would cover Friday night soccer I would have to complete a story in about 30 minutes. The game would finish at 11, and deadline was at 11:30. Keep in mind traveling back to the newsroom also took time, so then I would have 15 minutes. Assignments and stories were planned out the day before, although pitching stories were always welcome.

Here in Malawi… things move slower.

In Canada, when you’re working for a news agency the internet is a necessity. Media organizations rely heavily on the internet, which is used to find stories via weblogs, independent news sites, on-line magazines, on-line newspapers, podcasts etc…We use the internet to fact check information on stories using reliable websites, find contacts and search for sources. We use email to usually connect to sources as a result of the rise in blackberry use. Sources are always reachable whether they are in British Colombia or Los Angelas . And building up your Rolodex depends on people keeping their cellphone numbers and land line numbers the same. My family has kept the same number for years.

But here in Malawi, most stories come about through observation, word of mouth or tips, not necessarily from something I read. That’s not to say that journalism in North America doesn’t rely on word of mouth or tips…the really good stories come from tips but in terms of the daily news cycle it’s often about reading a story and finding another angle to chase. In Malawi, the internet is often too slow to hunt for stories or verify facts. I can barely load the BBC site, and loading The Globe and Mail newspaper, Newsweek or the New York Times…ah forget it…it could take you all day to load the page. And the daily newspaper sites in Malawi are rarely up to date.

Here, things linger. Things take time. The day moves slowly and developing a story takes time, especially when you don’t speak the local language...it takes twice as long for me to interview subjects. Often they can’t understand me and I can’t understand them…because our English is very different. Often in the middle of an interview I will pass the phone to one of my colleagues to ask them to speak to the subject in Chichewa or in their form of English so that I can stop wasting the phone card minutes.
For a journalist in Malawi, getting the story is much more difficult because resources are scarce. Using a land line can only happen with a phone card, so dialing out is often cumbersome. Using your cell phone to speak to a source while you’re on the road would cost a lot of money. It costs almost $1 to make a call on your phone, and units are expensive. For 500 units its 700MK or 5$USD. But the minutes don’t last very long at all. Often what people will do if they want to save minutes is flash you. That means they will call and hang up. When you call someone and hang up you don’t lose airtime. So the person is forced to call you back and you get charged for the minutes.

Often phone numbers don’t work, cell phones are regularly not working because either the network is busy or the person has changed their number. The Africa yellow pages for Malawi never has up to date numbers. And if you’re thinking about leaving a voice mail to get a source to call you back…good luck with that since there isn’t voice mail. And trying to leave a message with a receptionist…ha, the person you’re trying to reach will never ever get your message nor will they bother to call you back if they do.

Also getting to the scene of an accident or going directly to the subject of a specific story is downright impossible. There are only two cars for the newsroom and often times there will be only one car available which is shared between the newsroom, the sales department and the other programs that air on the radio. As well, reporters in the newsroom share one recorder. Thank goodness I brought my own recording equipment because freelancing stories would have been impossible.

As a journalist working in Africa, I have to remind myself daily that 'patience is a virtue.' If I don’t I will want to tear my hair out. One reporter in the newsroom I am working in gave me the best advice about a week ago as I sat at my desk trying to reach one person on the phone for a simple comment the whole day. I never did get a hold of the person until a few days later.

My co-worker said to me, “Amanda…often things move very slow here…Just be patient.”

And I think his words are the best advice I could have received in my nearly three weeks of being in the country. I’m used to the fast paced newsroom, the anger that comes with producers who need guests on air ASAP as they fear another media outlet might break the story before them. But here in Malawi, you get the sense that if the story doesn’t work out today then it doesn’t matter because they’ll just pick up where they left off the next day…In Malawi tomorrow is another day and the story can always wait till tomorrow.

More pics from Mchinji

More pics from Mchinji

Where do peanuts come from?

I found out on Thursday while I was in Mchinji where peanuts in Malawi come from. They come from women and children sitting in the hot sun for hours breaking open the shells of the peanuts. The women crack open the peanuts and the children sort through the shells for the nuts. Little kids, no older then 12, dressed in rags, with no shoes and dirty faces using baskets to separate the shells from the roasted peanuts. After seeing this and seeing the monotonous work these people have to go through I don’t think I ever want to eat peanuts again. Mind you I know these people are getting an income by doing this work but I mean what kind of life is that...to be sorting peanuts everyday for the rest of your life. I asked someone if these were the same peanuts that were exported. They said no. But I later heard somewhere on the radio that Malawi does export these peanuts. I think I hate peanuts now.

An afternoon in Mchinji...A lifetime of pain

On Thursday, I traveled to Mchinji. It's a town about 40 minutes outside of Lilongwe. Myself and one of the hosts for the radio station traveled there because a 12-year-old boy named Sekelani Banda had been accused of stealing maize by his aunt. The woman proceeded to lock him in a room, douse him with paraffin, and light him on fire. However, to make matters worse the boy didn't get to a hospital until about 5 days later. He was first brought to a reverend to be prayed over. The police were notified at that time and the boy was taken to the hospital. Sekelan is currently in Mchinji District Hospital, hoping to recover. However, he now has a fever which the doctor's believe was brought on by infection.

After the host interviewed Sekelani, she started crying. Believe me I wanted to cry too, but I remembered all those things they taught me in J-school. You know to not get emotionally involved in the story...You're suppose to keep your distance from the subject. Be objective. Remain focused on the story and the quotes. So I didn't cry. I kept my cool and focused on the task at hand.

I was very surprised that I was able to hold in my emotions because I am such an emotional person. Any little thing gets to me. I cried during the Notebook, Million Dollar Baby, during Love and Basketball, Love Jones and the list goes on and on. I even cried when I watched The Great Debaters. When I am watching the news or reading a book I sometimes cry over those stories as well.

But finally when I got to experience the story first hand, not through the filter of a CNN correspondent, I held my emotions in. Maybe it was because I couldn't understand what the boy was saying since he was speaking in Chichewa. But I don't think that was the problem. I could understand human emotion. I could feel his pain. Understand his confusion as he tried to understand how a relative who is suppose to be taking care of him, protecting him, loving him could do something so cruel and senseless. I don't know what it was because even when I went home I still didn't shed a tear. The fact that I never cried for this innocent child who experienced such trauma, really made me ashamed and disappointed in myself. Maybe it's because for year's I have been exposed to these kinds of troubling stories. Pictures splashed across the news pages or on the television screens, being looped over and over again on CNN or the CBC. Maybe I am desensitized to these images. I don't know.

But since I didn't cry for Sekelani, I know that telling his story also means a lot as well. I am happy that I convinced the radio station to go and speak to the boy so that his story could be told. Too many children in Malawi are having their childhood taken from them. Too many children in Malawi are being silenced.

Sekelani is just one example of the thousands of Malawian children that are being physically and sexually abused by adults each day. The HIV/AIDS epidemic means that Malawian children are the greatest victims. More than one million Malawian children are homeless, orphaned, many are HIV positive, and many are either being trafficked in Malawi and across the border to work as domestic labourers, or on tobacco estates or being sold into the sex trade. The fact that these children are being abused is leaving many Malawian children with a huge psychological burden to deal with. And if Malawi has all these children that have experienced trauma, what does that mean for the future of the country? It's a very sad existence to be a child in Malawi.

Presenting...A Malawian Wedding and some cute orphan kids

Presenting a Malawian Sunset

After numerous requests I am finally trying to get my blog going. Right now it is Friday, August 8, 2008 at 10:30pm at night. I am currently using the wireless internet at the hotel which is right beside our flat. It is consistently slow. Things move at a snails pace here. But for some reason the internet is super fast tonight and the fact that I am able to upload pictures is a huge accomplishment. So I have decided to stay here as long as possible to get these pictures on the internet for all of you lovely people back home. So here are your pictures people. I am finally able to satisfy your hunger for pictures. Enjoy! I took this picture on the way home from a Malawian wedding. One of the employees at the radio station I work at, which is called Zodiak Broadcasting Station was getting married. It was a great wedding. It was just like an Italian wedding. People kept giving money out at the wedding. I later found out from a colleague that the couple ended up receiving more than 200,000 Kwacha (in US dollars that's about 1500 dollars...not much by North American standards but in Malawi that's a lot of money considering more than 60 percent of Malawians live on less than USD 2 a day).

A Reporter's Dilemma

Last week, I went to a function that lasted several days with one of the reporters. We attended the function for two days. On our last day at the function, we were asked if we were staying for lunch. The reporter said no. (This conversation occurred in Chichewa so the conversation was translated for me a bit later). We were shuffled into a room after the reporter declined lunch, a woman asked four our names, the reporter answered her, and then we were both handed K 2000 which is less than US $15.
I turned to the reporter and said “No, I’m sorry, I can’t take this money.” The reporter told me to be quiet in the most polite way possible. “Shhhhh,” were the reporter’s exact words. My mind and heart were racing. My mind was going a mile a minute because I just knew how wrong it was that I had taken the money. I was panicking on the inside. On the outside, I tried to remain cool and calm. For a journalist in the west, taking money from a source is definitely unethical. It’s seen as downright bribery. But when I looked at the reporter’s face I decided to make a sacrifice for them. I think the reporter felt if I turned down the money it would prevent them from getting the money too.
When were finally alone, I told the reporter that I couldn’t take the money. I told the reporter that I was going to take the money back. “Alright,” the reporter said slowly, sounding defeated. But when I looked the reporter in their eyes, I decided to give them the money instead.
Of course the reporter accepted the money. But the exchange was ac I knew I had made the reporter uncomfortable by not accepting the money. My refusal to take the money, and the reporter being adamant accepting it highlighted the idea of the haves and the have-nots. I was obviously someone who didn’t need the money. The reporter did.
A little later when the awkwardness subsided we started talking about the situation. The reporter told me that anytime a reporter goes to a function in Malawi they are given money. The money is called, a “lunch allowance.” And the reporter’s always accept the money. I then asked the reporter, if the reporters were expected to write positive stories because of the “lunch allowance.” The reporter told me yes, but explained that they never do and that the next day the newsroom often received angry calls from these people. But the reporter waved it off saying they didn’t care about getting those calls.
She also went on to tell me that she lived in a place called the barracks and that she had to pay K400 for her transportation each day. Two mini-buses to work and Two-mini buses home. Meanwhile, I usually got a ride to and from work. Lived in what my co-workers consider ritzy accommodations. I am one of the have’s and the reporter was one of the have not’s.
After that conversation, I felt bad for making the reporter feel like I was “ethically superior to her.” Although I hadn’t tried to present that air about myself I think it might have come across that way. Later as I reflected on journalism in the west, I remembered that although we don’t take money from companies and organizations, we often accept free clothing, books, CDs and IPODS sent to US. Usually we excuse accepting the gifts by saying it’s for a story but half the time the reporter never does the story. So are we really better than journalist’s here who accept money because they know it will help them with food, transportation, or rent for that week.


In Malawi, reporters aren’t paid very much at all. Where I work there is one phone in the office for all the reporters to share; no one has a lap top computer, rather computers are shared; and none of their reporters own their own recording devices. So when I look back on that day I don’t fault the reporter for taking the money to help them pay for transportation and lunch for the week. I actually fault myself for unfairly judging them and thinking that their actions were unethical when instead their actions are a matter of survival.