Contrast

Contrast

Dolce and Gabanna hats, G-Star t-shirts, Nike shoes and swaggers to fit. No way … it couldn’t be … it was! No, not a Sixth Form class from an English inner-city comp but Standard 5 students … from a Malawian school!

Bishop MacKenzie International School (BMIS) students to be exact, arriving from Lilongwe last Monday for 3 days of hiking, orienteering and adventurous activities not available in their local vicinity. Essentially their visit to Luwawa was exactly the same as  many primary schools in Birmingham run at centres such as Bell Heath and Stansfeld, both of which I have experienced before. Only this one has a bit of a twist.

Their stay at the lodge began with a short introduction to the lodge and a safety briefing from the assistant manager here, Patrick. Patrick is no more than 5 ft 5” tall with a smile almost as wide. He picked us up at the airport just less than 3 weeks ago and has been fantastic helping to us both settling in. His excellent grasp of English makes him an outstanding figure at the lodge and a doorway into the world of Malawian wildlife and culture.  He finished his opening speech to the children by warning of the dangers at night. The mention of hyenas struck fear into the toughest of the 10-year-olds. Mission accomplished – they wouldn’t be out of their rooms after dark!

Laura and I joined the team on a small walk round the dam towards the village, learning more about the area, wildlife and environment as we went. The guides then lead the children up one of a million paths that intersect the area to the school which I had started at the day before. There they met the head of the school who marched them over to the football pitch behind some of the shabby village housing. The BMIS crowd were met by hundreds of lively local children, each pleading with their teacher, who stood with an old, slightly browning football under his arm and whistle in his mouth. In the blink of an eye, two teams were lined up on the dry, dusty field ready to kick off. There were no kits or bibs to identify one from the other, yet determining who belonged to which team/school/village/social class was unmistakably easy.

Hundreds of children lined the edge of the pitch, screaming and shouting for their side and it was no surprise when a skinny, bare-footed chap slithered his way between, past, under and over his opponents before lashing the ball between a set of rusting posts and into the blue gums. Wow. I’d compare the celebrations to that of Aston Villa winning a throw-in in the opposition half; kids cart-wheeling, throwing branches in the air and running in random directions. Great fun.

The game ended 2-0 to Luwawa. I’d been taking some stick from the guys of the lodge because, in their words, I would be supporting ‘my school’. Who couldn’t? These children with nothing would keep it in their memories for years to come. I was ecstatic for them! On the final whistle I left my perch on a 12-inch high metal stool and headed for the centre circle, heading for the first goal scorer. “Great goal little guy!” He looked at the floor with a shy grin which disappeared before it could begin. I lost him in the crowd of villagers instantly but I will no doubt meet him again. I am starting football sessions next week, which I hope he can be involved in. The most natural athlete I have seen in my life. No surprise really - everywhere you go in the day, children are out playing, running and having fun (even if that is sometimes by lighting fires!) Whether they are eating a balanced diet, or enough at all for that matter, they don’t have an ounce of fat on them! But energy, my word, that team had truck loads of it.

School has been going well for me. At the moment I am teaching Maths to Standard 6 and 7 in the mornings. This way I am starting the day early, beginning teaching at 7:30 and returning to the lodge before 12, leaving the afternoons for other activities. Given the length of time it takes to get things done here, I need it! The children are picking up my English better each day and really enjoy their Maths too. Teaching students who are so willing to learn makes things that bit easier and enables a nice flow within the lesson. I can’t help but enjoy seeing them discover and improve each day.

I had the first ever sick day of my working life last week! I’m ashamed – I know we men don’t suffer with illness! I can hear people’s sympathy as I write this but don’t worry, I had totally recovered by the afternoon and managed to jump into the car to Mzimba.

Mzimba is the local ‘town’ to the lodge. A 20 minute ride to ‘the tarmac’ and a further 20 minutes on the main road brings you into the heart. It’s a busy place with a lot happening but impossible to predict a population or even a boundary! We spent the time there shopping for the lodge and finding our way around. Patrick, Laura and myself found our way to the bar. The ‘Mabweze Boozing Club’. Your option here is basically Carlsberg bottles. The range consists of the lager - known as ‘Green’ by just about everyone in reference to the colour of its label, Stout – the darker alternative, Special Brew – the over 5% stronger drink and Elephant – a 7.3% petrol bomb! Stout is my preference. Laura glugs on the Green.

At the weekend we had some time to wind down so, along with John and three guests of the lodge, set some wood burning in the sauna. A lovely addition to the place, the sauna sits in the garden hidden away nicely behind colourful trees and bushes. They have placed a cold shower outside to really get that hot/cold contrast in staged intervals. I can’t remember the recommended time allowed in those things but we sure exceeded it.

As any good man would, John decided it was the day to break the temperature record of the lodge. Currently standing at 75 C we believed it to be easily surpassable,  however, during our first stint in the wooden construction we heard a hissing from the door. Air was escaping! How would we beat the record if air was escaping? We tried pulling the door, holding it shut but we couldn’t stop it. We could hear it going! Maybe it wouldn’t be our day. We got the thermometer reading over 70 C but it just wouldn’t get any higher. Rule soon became that if you left to get the cold shower, you must be out and shut the door behind you as fast as humanly possible. Unfortunately, during one of these episodes an intruder conquered our defences. A bee! Within the smallest fraction of a second Laura was curled up against the back wall cursing the world and John was whaling his flip flop around whilst the rest of us watched the event unravel. It was night time! Where had that come from?!

It didn’t matter anyway, John had sent the buzzer to it’s death via a flip-flop thrashing and danger was averted … for the time being. Moments later another appeared and Laura had had enough. Not a fan of our flying friends she left for the lodge. Good thing too. By the time I had taken my next cold shower and turned to return to the heat my eyes took me to a dark ball clinging to a wooden beam of the structure. There were thousands of them! My arrival back into the sauna was timed well with Johns first sting, shortly followed by his second. The thermometer was creeping up with more water poured on the stones but enough was enough, out of bodily fluid to sweat and with the imminent danger of the swarm buzzing buggers I left for the lodge too, along with one of our guests.

After drying and explaining to Laura the fortune of departure (as eye contact with the cloud of crawling creeps would have sent her into some kind of rage/fitting action I have seen before) John burst through the lodge doors complaining of his third and fourth sting! Still, nobody else had taken so much as a tickle! Towelling himself down our fellow volunteer again leapt in the air “I’ve been stung again, aaah, and again!” This continued with putting on his t-shirt and finally, rubbing the salt in, gaining a sting on his palm when grasping his beer bottle. The night ended Bees 10, John 0 and we only managed 73 C. No pride was restored when John got the watchmen to get the “Doom” and destroy the bees, it felt like they did our dirty work. And I still don’t think Laura will return to the sauna.

Sunday morning began as usual. A slightly later than normal start, including three or four large cups of coffee, followed by a gentle stroll back to the campsite for a shower and to sort out our room, which is left in a mess from the week. John went off to pick up ‘Bonnie and the guys’ from a mid-point in the Luwawa to Lake Malawi walk path, where they had been widening certain areas to make the walk more pleasurable. He took with him Patrick’s 10-year-old boy, appropriately named John.

By tea time there was no sign of the Johns. Surprisingly, there was a phone call from Bonnie asking the lodge where John was. We were wondering the same thing. His phone was out of signal and unfortunately the only other vehicle at the time which was running sat in Mzimba with Patrick. After several failed attempts at getting Davis, our champion mountain biker, onto a motorbike, Patrick returned. Obviously worried, he chucked myself and a couple of the guys into the car and sped off on the only road towards Bonnie’s location. I say sped off, we did to begin with but these roads limit you to between 8 – 10 miles per hour. It felt fast, my head took a few poundings from the Hi-Lux roof.

Patrick and I shared no more than 10 words on the way out, yet both of us had the same thing on our minds. There were several steep cliffs along the way, with many less than convincing road edges. We peered over each one. Eventually, a 1971 Land Rover Series III peaked into view. There it was at the bottom of a steep hill at Mzimba Bridge. As we pulled up along side it – there was no John and no John. Strange, I thought – the vehicle looked fine. We carried on up the road where Patrick turned towards what is an magnificent house, built on stilts, in the middle of amazing scenery. John, came running up towards the car, closely followed by his name-sake. “The wheel fell off!” He cried. After a brief explanation of the events that preceded them leaving the car, we left to get Bonnie. As the sun plunged itself behind the rolling hills, we were in darkness. Another 30 minutes of driving through the bush, we found the pathmakers, huddled around a fire, 5km nearer than we expected them. They had started walking.

The return journey consisted of 12 males squashed together in the Hi-Lux sharing their stories from the day. Each from a different perspective. Only little John sat quiet, probably thinking ‘Daddy, never let me go out with crazy Mzungus again!’ Their safe return to the lodge was warmly welcomed by Laura, who was writing an hourly account of the drama into her diary, and Sandra, Patrick’s wife and Johns mother.

Sandra is the head of the kitchen here. Six days a week, three times a day she serves the most delightful of meals. Rapidly becoming a favourite of mine is the ‘Nsima and Beef’. Nsima is the staple food of Malawi. Created from maize, it can sometimes be firm, sometimes more of a sloppy alternative to mashed potato. You eat it, only in the right hand, by dipping it into all kinds of gravies and relish. Quite enjoyable but as anyone who knows Laura will already be sure of, she isn’t a huge fan.

This week has been more down to business. The daily school routine was only disrupted for one reason and that was school painting. Bishop Mac returned with their IB students, 16-18 year olds looking for a slightly more challenging week than their Standard 5 equivalents. I spent last weekend’s afternoons, which drifted into Monday, designing and drawing up visual aids for the Standard 6 classroom at Luwawa. I did so with a gentleman by the name of Wiseman. Wiseman was formally VSO lady Lolita’s watchman. “Why do I call him Wise-man when he is not so wise” she exclaimed one day. I’d have to judge that for myself. He had decided that she wasn’t offering him enough money and that to support his family he would instead take an artistic route. This was his first job. Bishop Mac would have the task of completing the room with paint

Wiseman started without me on Saturday, under the head teacher’s guidance. On arrival, I noticed that a few things were a bit skewed, off centred and perhaps a little bit of mis-scaling was catching the eye, but generally it was ok. I decided to give him a few pointers, draw up a picture of my own and leave him to it. It was when I arrived the next day that Laura had to hold by jaw to save it from crashing into the battered concrete floor. What pap he’d drawn. My thoughts went from giant rubbers, to laughing Bishop Mac kids, to burning the whole building down. We couldn’t leave it as it was.

John appeared moments after we had arrived and caught a glimpse of the science sections, where ‘Wiseman’, which was now becoming debateable, had drawn the muscles of the arm leading to a hand. It resembled something we could only relate to that of the ‘strong hand’ scene from Scary Movie. You’ll know what I mean if you’ve seen the clip but basically it was a huge arm with a tiny hand. One muttering of the movie’s line and we were both trying to control our laughter. We didn’t want to offend Wiseman, it was his first job and he was trying.

On Monday, after teaching Maths to Standard 6 in their temporary classroom, which was the main hall, Wiseman and I set at it again. If he is going to make a business out of artwork he needs to learn quickly and whilst he has some flair, it was obvious from the weekend work that his mathematical mind was not linking to it. There is plenty of work for a ‘sign-maker’ (I have no idea what the actual name for one of those is, if there even is one) in Malawi, and simple maths can make all the difference. So we spent the afternoon using his level and ruler to creating accurate headings, centred on the wall with evenly spaced out letters and words. It looked at lot better than it did at the start of the day and ready now for painting. Wiseman was paid in cash and paint brushes for what he had done. Hopefully he can use them along his new skills to make a good business for himself. Haven’t seen him since!

The Bishop Mac guys had a whole morning painting the room and created some additional designs the templates we had drawn. There certainly was some talent in their class. Many of them come from very wealthy backgrounds, children of Malawian politicians, European and American businessmen, John reminded me some of these students would be running Malawi in a few years time. Let’s hope they make a good job of it.

So this week ended with a football focussed weekend Man City vs Chelsea and then the BIG one. Quite a few people crowded into the bar for the game, I sat with Patrick and Powex, a very knowledgeable nature guy on the team here. The game of course was Arsenal, who were at home, against my new promoted Baggies. In the bar though, everyone, much like being in Birmingham, was a Liverpool or Man Utd fan. No Arsenal, although they are hugely popular here.

A few minutes into the game the Albion had a good following. “Come on Zebras,” Powex shouted. Laughing, I corrected him – “it’s blue and white man, navy blue and white”.

“Blue Zebra’s,” he carried on, “they look like Zebra’s to me!”

At 3-0 up I was sure somebody was messing with the aerial, was this really West Brom? It was. I was actually stunned. My evening turned a little into a blur from there on, Boing Boing.

Laura and Lolita, with a bit of help from myself and Mr Zgambo from the school have been creating bibs for the last few days (for our netball and football clubs of course, not because the nsima has been dribbling down my chin). It has taken a lot of effort, more than I thought, to turn 10m reels of yellow and red material into coded vests. But looking at the size of them on Sunday I thought we should just check that they will fit the children before we continued with the second half. I went to find John (the littler one, Patrick and Sandra’s kid) to try it on him, yet Sandra informed me he would be in the village as there was a football game.

So happy with football after the miracle the day before, I didn’t have to think before making the decision to go down. Unfortunately however, I went alone. Arriving at the dusty, bare field I could feel an atmosphere developing, so close to kick off. There were at least a hundred people there already. Over to me walked an excessively tall gentleman who spoke near perfect English. “We are short of a centre midfielder, can you play?” He’d obviously seen me wearing my Albion shirt and thought I was the man for the job.

Within a flash, I was having a team photo, kitted out in a tight Adidas strip. All green with just three white stripes on the arms and white edging, it looked half decent. No time for me to warm-up the game kicked off and the excitement grew in the crowd. There were more than 300 Luwawa residents lined round the pitch, many of the women seated on steps and the men, well, politely put they were hammered. Dancing around with ‘Shake Shake’ cartons (local, cheap beer) in their hands and occasionally staggering into the 6 yard box at either end, it made the mood that bit tenser.

I don’t feel nervous playing football but there was certainly a tightness in my movement which I didn’t recognise. My first touch of the ball improved that feeling, pulling a ball out of the sky directly into my own path and pinging a pass over the full-back into the path of our bare-footed striker. He had trainers on before the game; I didn’t understand why he had taken them off. One can only presume he prefers it.

Half time came and I’d gotten into the flow of the game. That said, I was sweating like a pig and my heart and lungs were thudding like a steel road drill. Still, I hoped they wouldn’t take me off. More players had arrived after the first whistle and I hear they have a strict policy for ‘no training, no playing’.

They didn’t and I began the second half, almost scoring once, then swinging a cross directly onto our forwards head, only for it to flash wide of the post. The game was almost all in the air. A 10 yard pass along the deck could easily end up bobbling off the rocky ground which hasn’t seen water since March before whizzing past your ear. And as you can imagine from watching the African sides at the World Cup, there is an awful lot of attacking and not a whole bunch of defending. Therefore it was no surprise one goal was followed by another and another. We went into the final 5 minutes level at 2-2 before disaster struck. Mzimba’s number 16 had been the key in almost all of their attacking play and when he received the ball on the half way line after a Luwawa corner had been cleared. The stout, athletic midfielder had one thing on his mind. Fortunately after skipping past our last line of defence he didn’t connect with his shot which scuffed along the ground straight towards our ‘keeper. As our cement bag fell to his left to collect the slithering effort it glanced what could have been anything from a food wrapper to a chicken’s foot on the six yard line and raised itself into the middle of the goal. 3-2. Within moments it was over and the fans dejectedly walked off. There wasn’t any applause for efforts.

Leaving the pitch with Andrea, another worker from the lodge, we saw our keeper fighting with some of the locals. ‘Goalkeeper error’ was the blame in our dressing room and maybe the sidelines too. I don’t think he took it well.

Catch me if you can!

Kids with their new stationary. Massive thanks to the Rossi's for this. (I don't know why the lad in the middle dipped his in green paint but I told him to clean it off and that no teacher would mark his work with green paint all over it)

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Wiseman was very happy to complete his job!