NOC update
I got there late because my tires needed pumping. I knew I had loaned my pumps to Sarah and David, respectively; I knew I had to get to NOC last Wednesday; I knew I always need to inflate the tires a bit when I haven’t ridden my bike in a while. I still forgot to actually collect either of the pumps from Sarah or David any of the numerous times I saw them before that day. Thanks to the loverly Zain switch over, I couldn’t get through to anyone by phone, and so I headed over to Derek’s, where at least I knew I could get into the compound. So I unfairly woke him from his lie-in on the unexpected holiday and asked to borrow his pump. Which was locked in Henry’s room, the keys currently with Henry at Henry’s school in Chinamwale. Henry had discussed coming with me to NOC, but in spite of the holiday, one of his teachers chose to “sacrifice himself” by coming in to teach, so Henry and his keys stayed in Chinamwale.
For some reason, perhaps out of fear of my sheer frustration, Zain decided to start putting calls through, so I was able to get through to David and run over to his house to gather and use my mostly broken pump. Usually Henry goes with me to NOC and he insists on inflating my tires for me, but after much struggling, I managed to get my tires working. I was well late by then, and wasn’t even sure I would get to NOC by the updated, delayed time I had told Mr. Liwonde I would be there by. But surprise, surprise, the road has been paved since last time I went to NOC.
I knew they had been working on it, but I just sort of assumed they were working on it at the pace of, well, something really slow. Admittedly, the road isn’t tarred (yet?) and the pavement is that kind of aggregate that smooshes and smooths over time. So it was a bit rough, but infinitely easier to ride on than the previous dirt and rock road. The unexpected boost of nice pavement got me there without having to apologize for being even later.
When I arrived at NOC, about 60 children chanted, “Welcome, visitor! Welcome, visitor!” with an occasional, “Welcome, Peace Corps” thrown in. The children and I “shap”ed and “bo”ed each other with fist bumps and then I went to Mr. Liwonde’s office, a tiny enclosed space with just barely enough room for a desk, a chair, and a guest chair. To get in, Mr. Liwonde opens the door until it hits the desk, then steps in and closes the door enough that he can squeeze his thin frame between the door and the desk and then re-opens the door so visitors can come in.
I told Mr. Liwonde about how Michael (the donor) said that he, too, thought funding a major project like a maize mill is quite likely to cause more problems than it would solve. And besides, the start up costs would be around $20,000. They don’t have that kind of money. I’m not sure why Michael asked us to revisit the maize mill idea in the first place-I suspect he assumed even expensive by Malawian standards would still be cheap.
I told Mr. Liwonde I think NOC will have to get used to not having donor funding again. I gave him the info on the ground nut sheller so they can get started on a proprosal so we can start a chiponde (peanut butter) IGA. I had brought supplies for a vertical garden but we decided to start with the weighing training. NOC’s previous report, nearly all the sample weight charts showed weight gains of 1 kg/month. Normal weight gain for kids this age is about 3-4kg/year. I figured that the incorrect charting was probably related both to the volunteers not knowing what they were doing and to a desire to show positive effects of NOC interventions.
One of the nursery workers strapped an orphan to her back with her chitenje and then slid the baby-filled sling she had made under her arm and around to her front before slipping it over her head. The knot became the fulcrum point for the sling, which is then slipped on the s-hook that dangles from the same sort of scale I get my ngaiwa weighed on in the market. The scale itself hung from a tree using rope temporarily commandeered from the swing.
For the first couple of kids, the volunteers appeared to be randomly guessing the weights. If the marker was between 10 and 15 kg, guesses would be anywhere between 12 and 16kg. I reiterated many times that it is better to chart the truth than to fudge so as to improve the end results; that it is not ok to go back and change the information after the fact; that recording any information you don’t have the data to support is lying, even if that’s not your intent. At one point, Mr. Liwonde asked me, “If we don’t weigh a child one month, next time we don’t make any marks for the months we missed?” I was happy he asked because he seemed to be really understanding that truth is the most important thing in reporting, but I was also somewhat taken aback by the fact that he didn’t know the answer already.
Over the course of the morning, the volunteers became more and more confident with their measurements. After maybe 15 kids and “What do you think the scale says?” “Nope, higher.” “lower,” “higher,” I pointed out that the different appearances of the lines indicate different values. Because of the struggling to understand the scale for the 15 previous children, they actually understood the information I was trying to convey. Three of them didn’t get a weight wrong after that and the other 3 upped their correct rate to 90%. They had been weighing these kids for months-and I can only imagine how frustrating it must have been to weigh the children month after month while wondering if the numbers were correct. They became so happy and filled with pride whenever they stated the weight and I said, “YES!” or “ntchito yabwino!” It was much less stressful than exams as a way to test knowledge, and so much more immediately awarding.
There were two little girls I’ve decided to take home with me. One is tiny, maybe 2-year-old, girl named Brigeti. She was sweet and smiled and actually came over when I called her. I even got to hold her for a little bit, although she wouldn’t answer when I asked, “Uli bwanji?” until Mr. Liwonde told her I was asking, “How are you?” to which she answered in a shy but cheerful voice, “I am fine. How are you?” Later I saw her help another little girl twice her size tie a chitenje filled with teddy bear on her back. When the other girl tried to tie the knot herself, Brigeti became quite bossy about the necessity of doing it her way.
Winne is 3-years-old, but about a foot taller than Brigeti. She’s a little chubby with a belly that pokes out proudly when she walks. Her skin is the color of shiny bittersweet chocolate. Tiny bits of her hair fluff out from white flower and terrycloth ponytail holders. Winne had a doll baby strapped to her back with a child-sized chitenje. Some other kid tried to touch her doll baby, and she whirled around to give the other kid a stern talking to and a smack. I glared and pointed my finger at her all stern-like. She stared back, cutting her eyes at me while sizing up the chances of me actually getting her in trouble. At the time, that look seemed familiar to me. It was the exact same look both Mathew and Raven have given me when they know they should be in trouble but are rather proud of themselves because they’re pretty sure they’re going to get away with it. Probably because they’re too cute to punish. Winne played peek-a-boo with me for a bit, using some of the NOC volunteers as a barrier. She eventually got bored and then only occasionally flashed me a bright, delightfully wicked smile when she could be bothered to interrupt her play enough to do so.
For some reason, perhaps out of fear of my sheer frustration, Zain decided to start putting calls through, so I was able to get through to David and run over to his house to gather and use my mostly broken pump. Usually Henry goes with me to NOC and he insists on inflating my tires for me, but after much struggling, I managed to get my tires working. I was well late by then, and wasn’t even sure I would get to NOC by the updated, delayed time I had told Mr. Liwonde I would be there by. But surprise, surprise, the road has been paved since last time I went to NOC.
I knew they had been working on it, but I just sort of assumed they were working on it at the pace of, well, something really slow. Admittedly, the road isn’t tarred (yet?) and the pavement is that kind of aggregate that smooshes and smooths over time. So it was a bit rough, but infinitely easier to ride on than the previous dirt and rock road. The unexpected boost of nice pavement got me there without having to apologize for being even later.
When I arrived at NOC, about 60 children chanted, “Welcome, visitor! Welcome, visitor!” with an occasional, “Welcome, Peace Corps” thrown in. The children and I “shap”ed and “bo”ed each other with fist bumps and then I went to Mr. Liwonde’s office, a tiny enclosed space with just barely enough room for a desk, a chair, and a guest chair. To get in, Mr. Liwonde opens the door until it hits the desk, then steps in and closes the door enough that he can squeeze his thin frame between the door and the desk and then re-opens the door so visitors can come in.
I told Mr. Liwonde about how Michael (the donor) said that he, too, thought funding a major project like a maize mill is quite likely to cause more problems than it would solve. And besides, the start up costs would be around $20,000. They don’t have that kind of money. I’m not sure why Michael asked us to revisit the maize mill idea in the first place-I suspect he assumed even expensive by Malawian standards would still be cheap.
I told Mr. Liwonde I think NOC will have to get used to not having donor funding again. I gave him the info on the ground nut sheller so they can get started on a proprosal so we can start a chiponde (peanut butter) IGA. I had brought supplies for a vertical garden but we decided to start with the weighing training. NOC’s previous report, nearly all the sample weight charts showed weight gains of 1 kg/month. Normal weight gain for kids this age is about 3-4kg/year. I figured that the incorrect charting was probably related both to the volunteers not knowing what they were doing and to a desire to show positive effects of NOC interventions.
One of the nursery workers strapped an orphan to her back with her chitenje and then slid the baby-filled sling she had made under her arm and around to her front before slipping it over her head. The knot became the fulcrum point for the sling, which is then slipped on the s-hook that dangles from the same sort of scale I get my ngaiwa weighed on in the market. The scale itself hung from a tree using rope temporarily commandeered from the swing.
For the first couple of kids, the volunteers appeared to be randomly guessing the weights. If the marker was between 10 and 15 kg, guesses would be anywhere between 12 and 16kg. I reiterated many times that it is better to chart the truth than to fudge so as to improve the end results; that it is not ok to go back and change the information after the fact; that recording any information you don’t have the data to support is lying, even if that’s not your intent. At one point, Mr. Liwonde asked me, “If we don’t weigh a child one month, next time we don’t make any marks for the months we missed?” I was happy he asked because he seemed to be really understanding that truth is the most important thing in reporting, but I was also somewhat taken aback by the fact that he didn’t know the answer already.
Over the course of the morning, the volunteers became more and more confident with their measurements. After maybe 15 kids and “What do you think the scale says?” “Nope, higher.” “lower,” “higher,” I pointed out that the different appearances of the lines indicate different values. Because of the struggling to understand the scale for the 15 previous children, they actually understood the information I was trying to convey. Three of them didn’t get a weight wrong after that and the other 3 upped their correct rate to 90%. They had been weighing these kids for months-and I can only imagine how frustrating it must have been to weigh the children month after month while wondering if the numbers were correct. They became so happy and filled with pride whenever they stated the weight and I said, “YES!” or “ntchito yabwino!” It was much less stressful than exams as a way to test knowledge, and so much more immediately awarding.
There were two little girls I’ve decided to take home with me. One is tiny, maybe 2-year-old, girl named Brigeti. She was sweet and smiled and actually came over when I called her. I even got to hold her for a little bit, although she wouldn’t answer when I asked, “Uli bwanji?” until Mr. Liwonde told her I was asking, “How are you?” to which she answered in a shy but cheerful voice, “I am fine. How are you?” Later I saw her help another little girl twice her size tie a chitenje filled with teddy bear on her back. When the other girl tried to tie the knot herself, Brigeti became quite bossy about the necessity of doing it her way.
Winne is 3-years-old, but about a foot taller than Brigeti. She’s a little chubby with a belly that pokes out proudly when she walks. Her skin is the color of shiny bittersweet chocolate. Tiny bits of her hair fluff out from white flower and terrycloth ponytail holders. Winne had a doll baby strapped to her back with a child-sized chitenje. Some other kid tried to touch her doll baby, and she whirled around to give the other kid a stern talking to and a smack. I glared and pointed my finger at her all stern-like. She stared back, cutting her eyes at me while sizing up the chances of me actually getting her in trouble. At the time, that look seemed familiar to me. It was the exact same look both Mathew and Raven have given me when they know they should be in trouble but are rather proud of themselves because they’re pretty sure they’re going to get away with it. Probably because they’re too cute to punish. Winne played peek-a-boo with me for a bit, using some of the NOC volunteers as a barrier. She eventually got bored and then only occasionally flashed me a bright, delightfully wicked smile when she could be bothered to interrupt her play enough to do so.