fourth days in malawi
We've now been in Malawi for over five weeks. If I'm being honest, in those five weeks, outside of the hospital I really haven't done a whole lot of exploring. Or even socialising. Or anything! On Wednesdays I play volleyball with the ex-pat club, every other Friday I drag myself out to a nightclub, and one weekend we went to Blantyre. I've not exactly been seizing every opportunity. In fact, it would be more accurate to say I've been ignoring a good bunch of them.
But do I feel guilty about this? Not at all. Why? Because I have the perfect excuse! I'm not being lazy. I'm not taking my time here for granted. The hospital isn't sucking all my life and energy from me. None of these things. I'm just slotting right in to the Malawian way of life. Chilled out. No rush. No worries. No stress. I'm here for four months. The lake isn't going anywhere. So either am I. I'm gonna sit on my ass, be it weeknight or weekend, read my book, have a nap, wake up, read some more, sleep some more, repeat some more. The Malawian way. Sure, this approach may not let me see every last sight, meet every last person or do every last thing before it's hometime in November, but at least I can say I made the most out of the local efficiency levels! (Note: as with all stereotypes, there are many exceptions to this sweeping generalisation. Many Malawians I have met will party till 6am, get up at 8am, run umpteen errands for their family, attend three weddings, party till 6am, get up at 6.30am and go to church. However, as these 'exceptions' do not serve my excuse for laziness I will downplay their significance. Everyone's lazy. So am I. K? K.)
The only problem with so readily embracing the less active aspects of Malawian life, is it can prevent one's understanding of Malawian life from ever progressing any further than observing 'Malawi's pretty chillaxed. I like it!' as you sit dozing on the couch. Over the course of this past weekend however, in an unforeseen burst of activity, I had three entire conversations, each of which left me with a little more insight into Malawi.
Raj is an Indian guy who stays at our hotel. He was born in Hyderabad, the son of a farmer, and he lived the typical 21st century Indian dream- setting up a prosperous IT business, moving to America, setting up more businesses and raising a family. He's now 40, and has more than enough money in the bank to retire. But making money is fun, and a good way to see the world. He heard there was a lot of money in the African liquor market, so now he's here, with recipes for gin and cane liquer, and a plan to export to Zambia and Mozambique. He's 90% confident it'll be a profitable venture. The 10% doubt covers unpredictable problems such as the government kicking out all the Indians. He's friendly almost to the point he's needy, but he's harmless, generous, has a good sense of humour and in general is pretty easy going relaxed company. On Saturday, as well as discussing his business over a nice Indian lunch, I got to watch him converse with Cooch, a second generation Indian, Malawian born into a biscuit-fortune that he is now beginning to take command of. We visited a site, just across from our hotel actually, where he's building some two story houses to sell/rent. There wasn't much to see really. A security guard, a big pile of cement, several big piles of bricks, two Malawians spreading cement and slapping bricks along perfectly horizontal strings, raising the framework of the ground floor walls of three identical houses up from the evened ground.
Cooch was in a bad mood. He'd been dealing with police all day. The workers have been stealing cement. Everyone is in on it, even the security guards. Two bags a day for three months. It adds up. We walked around the blueprints, Raj and Cooch interrogating one anothers' business plans. It's a whole other world. Of security considerations, health insurance for workers, building materials, competition... And peppered throughout the chatter were the follow-ups of small favours they had asked of each other- 'I asked blabla about blabla and he says you shouldnt pay more than blabla', 'Blabla says you can get blabla from blabla for blabla', and the beginnings of new small favours - I'll speak to blabla and we'll see what we can do about blabla. Blablablablablablabla. When the business blabber was over, they moved onto Cooch's son's forthcoming first birthday. It's going to be huge, but Cooch does not speak of it with paternal pride, nor anticipation of what sounds like a hell of a party (350 people, DJs, every sort of alcohol and food, marquees..), but as a joyless businessman with an event to organise.
When me and Raj got into Raj's car, Cooch leaned in the window and told us about his plans for the mall he's building. He will let the majority of the bottom floor out to Shoprite, (the biggest supermarket chain in Malawi), the second floor is for restaurants, the third and fourth floor are for offices. Then he shook his head, smiled and said 'There's just too much going on in this world.' And he wasn't talking about the news, politics, scientific frontiers, current music trends, blockbuster films, or anything that I would normally think about with regard to his statement. He simply meant there's a lot of money to be made. And while I'm quite happy with my less profitable viewpoint of the world, I suppose he's right. Even in this poorest of countries, or rather, especially in this poorest of countries, there's a lot of money to be made. And it would appear to be Indians, with their endless opportunism, that are making the majority of it.
And so I gained my insight into the Indian business community. Next up: HIV. While I spend five days a week practically swimming in the stuff, recognizing it's signs, treating it's consequences and pronouncing it's victims, I've found out very little about the cultural problems which fuel it's spread here, other than the maxim 'You don't eat a sweety with the wrapper on'. On Saturday night, that was all set to change. Rich, Raj and I were sitting drinking outside a cheap bottle shop. Music blared, males drank, meat sizzled, prostitutes prowled. After an hour, our lighthearted conversation was hijacked by two very drunk and very different Malawians. Aleepo, the eccentric intellectual with an incredibly posh English accent. And KK, the slightly intimidating gangster. Neither of them knew the other, but both of them popped up at the exact same time, and both had completely different agendas. Aleepo wanted a chance to give these visitors to his country an insider's insight to its problems. KK wanted to get more drunk and talk about chicks. It was all very confusing at first, and me Rich and Raj exchanged lost looks acknowledging the drunken scramble for attention we'd found ourselves in the middle of. But as Aleepo's lectures moved on to HIV, the two of them found a way they could at least talk about the same subject, if not necessarily agree. Physically pointing out with his finger the life changing significance of every one of his well spoken words, and allowing each a good two seconds of silent sinking-in time, he began a several hour long debate on why Malawi has the highest prevalence of HIV in Southern Africa. KK served as both an opponent and a case example of Aleepo's argument: that despite the majority of young Malawians being well informed about HIV, they are powerless to change their behaviours due to deeply ingrained cultural practices and attitudes. Such as sending newly menstruating village girls off to 'how to please a man school'. Polygamy. Enforcing the remarriage of widows to dead spouses' siblings. Pressurising youth to start squeezing out grandchildren as soon as they can. General promiscuity. The prostitutes we could see in front of our eyes on the street. The 'Chinese hotel' round the corner.
If KK agreed with a certain point, he would nod his head and assure us 'He's speaking the truth!'. If he disagreed, he would shake his head and shout 'Bullshit!' then begin a volume war with Aleepo to try and earn the right for a point of his own to be made. Aleepo always won, as even as his voice crescendoed he refused to accelerate, so he was always the last man speaking. But he wasn't content with just having me, Rich, Raj and KK to speak over, so he invited his intellectual idol Dave to join the debate. Dave was also Malawian, although seemingly a lot older, and a lot drunker, than both Aleepo and KK. He sat on a empty bottle crate turned on it's side, with his head slumped sleepily forward. Every so often he would lift his head and interrupt Aleepo's rants to tell him 'Fuck you!'. Aleepo must have had a lot of respect for Dave, as he allowed these interruptions and even took time out of his rants to respond 'Fuck you too!', but Dave's chin would already be digging back into his chest. As if this all wasn't a complex enough social dynamic, Raj, in reality an agnostic hindu, decided to play the role of a HIV free polygamous muslim, as proof of the baselessness of Aleepo's argument that HIV rates can have a cultural origin.
One time, when Dave hadn't Fuck Youd for a particularly long time, his crate toppled forward sending him on a diving headbutt into the table, and we all burst out laughing and rushed to make sure he wasn't concussed or bleeding. But he jumped quickly to his feet and assumed a knowledgable pose. We all leaned forward keenly, ready to listen to the wise old words that had inspired Aleepo to take his country so seriously. But we all sat back and laughed some more when we realised it was just a drunken mashup of 'The thing is...' and 'HIV/AIDS' and 'why did I fall over?'. He walked away soon after this, leaving the argument to the unlikely comedy duo of Aleepo and KK. As we/they got drunker, things got genuinely trippy towards the end of the night. Aleepo delivered his argument even more emphatically, and KK demonstrated its correctness with actually horrifying clarity. Here was a man who had discussed HIV for the last two hours, made no sign of being ignorant of it's nature, or of the size of the problem in Malawi, and as soon as it was over he intended on leaving for the brothel, without a condom. Aleepo's perfect pronunciation preaching about the fate of his nation, stressing every important word, repeating every important phrase, punctuating them all with his finger, speaking true facts in a voice you simply can't ignore, and KK, at the same time, telling him he thinks too much, smacking his lips, carressing female forms in the air, whispering 'titties', thrusting his hips, completely unable or unwilling to control his instincts in spite of the gloomy words that reverberate all around us. I feel a strange feeling I always feel when people march towards a terrible fate in full knowledge of it. Aleepo's words, KK's grunts and gestures.. Together they form an ominous chorus thats just too much for me, and I'm glad when it's time to go home. I thank Aleepo for a genuinely interesting night, tell him I probably will take him up on his offer of lunch soon, try and give KK some last minute health promotion advice before he hip thrusts his way to the 'Chinese hotel'.
Two conversations down, one to go. If you've read this far, then upmost respect to you! Three conversations is far too many for one to be expected to have in one weekend, or read in one blog. So I'll sympathise and try and summarise the third..
The third conversation took place at the house of our friend Tonera. Her family are taking us to the lake this weekend, and to get to know us beforehand/check we aren't psychos, they invited us round for dinner. As I said, I'd already had two whole conversations that weekend, so I was pretty tired and really wasn't on my best form. Throughout dinner, I just sat quiet and embarressed of my nsima caked paw. (Five weeks and I still haven't got the hang of handling the sticky mush in a way that doesn't put everyone else off their meals) But Tonera's dad poured red wine down my neck until I came out my shell, and by the end of the night I had joined my third and final insightful conversation of the weekend.
Tonera's dad is a member of parliament. He represents the district he was born in (where we are going this weekend), and is the minister of energy and conservation. He isn't the corrupt face of African politics I was nearly half expecting, but is just a small, simple, happy, friendly, wine loving man that wants to represent the people of his district as well as he can. We didn't spend too much time discussing politics in particular, just Malawi in general. Relevant to my weekend's first conversation, We discussed the Indian population, who it turns out are looked upon rather negatively by Malawians, as not integrating very well, and earning lots of money from their country without reinvesting a great deal of it. These comments seem to fit with my weekend's first conversation, but I don't like the idea of Lori being judged as greedy and uncharitable were she to come to Malawi, as such judgements couldn't be further from the truth. But stereotypes and prejudice are integral parts of being human, and I just hope that the majority of Malawians are open to having their prejudices challenged and disproven. Our drunken friends from the second conversation certainly seemed very friendly towards Raj, and turned a blind eye to his fairly obvious polygamous muslim lie!
The most interesting part of our box of wine long discussion was about the differences between Malawian and Western society, which really are vast, and really opened my eyes to just how much we have forsaken our family values to achieve the style of living we have in the West.
In Malawi, when a child is born, or when a women gets married, there is no excusing the absence of extended family members. When a loved one dies, the bereaved are surrounded by the support of their family, who take shifts to make sure they are never left alone for days. Grandparents are never shoved into a nursing home to forget themselves in the company of strangers. When someone is sick, they are accompanied 24/7 in the hospital by a relative who ensures they are fed, clothed, toileted, comfortable and receiving medications. Noone dies alone. Noone grieves alone. Noone is alone.
I have always realised that there are cultures who put a lot more focus on family than we do in the west. But I have always thought of these other cultures as *too* family orientated as even if I tried to take some of these practices home with me, they just wouldnt work. My sister would wonder why I was in the hospital waiting for the birth of her sixth child. My brother would want peace to mourn the loss of his husband. My parents wont mind when I chuck them in a nursing home, sell the family house and spend their life savings on Kit Kats. We like our privacy. We value our right to do exactly what we want above all else. Constantly sharing our emotions with others, constantly needing and being needed, even by family, makes us uncomfortable and irritable. But now I feel as if this love of privacy is a coping device for our compensated immediate support networks, rather than simply a cause of them. Cutting back on our support networks allows us to focus on our own development, and so accelerates our countries development. But I look at the rates of depression and anxiety in the UK, hear anecdotes of the complete absence of post natal depression in Malawi, and wonder just how great a price we pay for the way we live. As I want to be a psychiatrist, I'm predisposed to valuing mental health over physical health, and I can't help but wonder if it's a price worth paying. We may not be getting a refund in the West anytime soon, but I worry that as Africa is forced to meet the international living standards that have been set, it will be forced to forsake those same values, and soon we'll be a whole healthy world full of ritalin prescribed children in boarding schools, depressed parents in stressful jobs and demented grandparents in crowded nursing homes. Tonera's parents have certainly noticed a change between their generation and Tonera's. Families with two working parents are already common. But they hope that Africa will manage to subscribe to the international ideals of long lives, full stomachs, good education and relative financial independance, without also subscribing to the stressful, lonely lives.
I wouldn't put money on it. And I don't think a Malawian would bet a brother on it. So I'm going to spend the next three months really making the most of my remaining time, soaking up the uniquely African atmosphere while its still here. I may be condemed to being a privacy demanding Westerner, in any case those closest to me are thousands of miles in either direction, but I think I've got a talent for this whole being lazy/not stressing thing.
Couches to sleep on, books to read..
But do I feel guilty about this? Not at all. Why? Because I have the perfect excuse! I'm not being lazy. I'm not taking my time here for granted. The hospital isn't sucking all my life and energy from me. None of these things. I'm just slotting right in to the Malawian way of life. Chilled out. No rush. No worries. No stress. I'm here for four months. The lake isn't going anywhere. So either am I. I'm gonna sit on my ass, be it weeknight or weekend, read my book, have a nap, wake up, read some more, sleep some more, repeat some more. The Malawian way. Sure, this approach may not let me see every last sight, meet every last person or do every last thing before it's hometime in November, but at least I can say I made the most out of the local efficiency levels! (Note: as with all stereotypes, there are many exceptions to this sweeping generalisation. Many Malawians I have met will party till 6am, get up at 8am, run umpteen errands for their family, attend three weddings, party till 6am, get up at 6.30am and go to church. However, as these 'exceptions' do not serve my excuse for laziness I will downplay their significance. Everyone's lazy. So am I. K? K.)
The only problem with so readily embracing the less active aspects of Malawian life, is it can prevent one's understanding of Malawian life from ever progressing any further than observing 'Malawi's pretty chillaxed. I like it!' as you sit dozing on the couch. Over the course of this past weekend however, in an unforeseen burst of activity, I had three entire conversations, each of which left me with a little more insight into Malawi.
Raj is an Indian guy who stays at our hotel. He was born in Hyderabad, the son of a farmer, and he lived the typical 21st century Indian dream- setting up a prosperous IT business, moving to America, setting up more businesses and raising a family. He's now 40, and has more than enough money in the bank to retire. But making money is fun, and a good way to see the world. He heard there was a lot of money in the African liquor market, so now he's here, with recipes for gin and cane liquer, and a plan to export to Zambia and Mozambique. He's 90% confident it'll be a profitable venture. The 10% doubt covers unpredictable problems such as the government kicking out all the Indians. He's friendly almost to the point he's needy, but he's harmless, generous, has a good sense of humour and in general is pretty easy going relaxed company. On Saturday, as well as discussing his business over a nice Indian lunch, I got to watch him converse with Cooch, a second generation Indian, Malawian born into a biscuit-fortune that he is now beginning to take command of. We visited a site, just across from our hotel actually, where he's building some two story houses to sell/rent. There wasn't much to see really. A security guard, a big pile of cement, several big piles of bricks, two Malawians spreading cement and slapping bricks along perfectly horizontal strings, raising the framework of the ground floor walls of three identical houses up from the evened ground.
Cooch was in a bad mood. He'd been dealing with police all day. The workers have been stealing cement. Everyone is in on it, even the security guards. Two bags a day for three months. It adds up. We walked around the blueprints, Raj and Cooch interrogating one anothers' business plans. It's a whole other world. Of security considerations, health insurance for workers, building materials, competition... And peppered throughout the chatter were the follow-ups of small favours they had asked of each other- 'I asked blabla about blabla and he says you shouldnt pay more than blabla', 'Blabla says you can get blabla from blabla for blabla', and the beginnings of new small favours - I'll speak to blabla and we'll see what we can do about blabla. Blablablablablablabla. When the business blabber was over, they moved onto Cooch's son's forthcoming first birthday. It's going to be huge, but Cooch does not speak of it with paternal pride, nor anticipation of what sounds like a hell of a party (350 people, DJs, every sort of alcohol and food, marquees..), but as a joyless businessman with an event to organise.
When me and Raj got into Raj's car, Cooch leaned in the window and told us about his plans for the mall he's building. He will let the majority of the bottom floor out to Shoprite, (the biggest supermarket chain in Malawi), the second floor is for restaurants, the third and fourth floor are for offices. Then he shook his head, smiled and said 'There's just too much going on in this world.' And he wasn't talking about the news, politics, scientific frontiers, current music trends, blockbuster films, or anything that I would normally think about with regard to his statement. He simply meant there's a lot of money to be made. And while I'm quite happy with my less profitable viewpoint of the world, I suppose he's right. Even in this poorest of countries, or rather, especially in this poorest of countries, there's a lot of money to be made. And it would appear to be Indians, with their endless opportunism, that are making the majority of it.
And so I gained my insight into the Indian business community. Next up: HIV. While I spend five days a week practically swimming in the stuff, recognizing it's signs, treating it's consequences and pronouncing it's victims, I've found out very little about the cultural problems which fuel it's spread here, other than the maxim 'You don't eat a sweety with the wrapper on'. On Saturday night, that was all set to change. Rich, Raj and I were sitting drinking outside a cheap bottle shop. Music blared, males drank, meat sizzled, prostitutes prowled. After an hour, our lighthearted conversation was hijacked by two very drunk and very different Malawians. Aleepo, the eccentric intellectual with an incredibly posh English accent. And KK, the slightly intimidating gangster. Neither of them knew the other, but both of them popped up at the exact same time, and both had completely different agendas. Aleepo wanted a chance to give these visitors to his country an insider's insight to its problems. KK wanted to get more drunk and talk about chicks. It was all very confusing at first, and me Rich and Raj exchanged lost looks acknowledging the drunken scramble for attention we'd found ourselves in the middle of. But as Aleepo's lectures moved on to HIV, the two of them found a way they could at least talk about the same subject, if not necessarily agree. Physically pointing out with his finger the life changing significance of every one of his well spoken words, and allowing each a good two seconds of silent sinking-in time, he began a several hour long debate on why Malawi has the highest prevalence of HIV in Southern Africa. KK served as both an opponent and a case example of Aleepo's argument: that despite the majority of young Malawians being well informed about HIV, they are powerless to change their behaviours due to deeply ingrained cultural practices and attitudes. Such as sending newly menstruating village girls off to 'how to please a man school'. Polygamy. Enforcing the remarriage of widows to dead spouses' siblings. Pressurising youth to start squeezing out grandchildren as soon as they can. General promiscuity. The prostitutes we could see in front of our eyes on the street. The 'Chinese hotel' round the corner.
If KK agreed with a certain point, he would nod his head and assure us 'He's speaking the truth!'. If he disagreed, he would shake his head and shout 'Bullshit!' then begin a volume war with Aleepo to try and earn the right for a point of his own to be made. Aleepo always won, as even as his voice crescendoed he refused to accelerate, so he was always the last man speaking. But he wasn't content with just having me, Rich, Raj and KK to speak over, so he invited his intellectual idol Dave to join the debate. Dave was also Malawian, although seemingly a lot older, and a lot drunker, than both Aleepo and KK. He sat on a empty bottle crate turned on it's side, with his head slumped sleepily forward. Every so often he would lift his head and interrupt Aleepo's rants to tell him 'Fuck you!'. Aleepo must have had a lot of respect for Dave, as he allowed these interruptions and even took time out of his rants to respond 'Fuck you too!', but Dave's chin would already be digging back into his chest. As if this all wasn't a complex enough social dynamic, Raj, in reality an agnostic hindu, decided to play the role of a HIV free polygamous muslim, as proof of the baselessness of Aleepo's argument that HIV rates can have a cultural origin.
One time, when Dave hadn't Fuck Youd for a particularly long time, his crate toppled forward sending him on a diving headbutt into the table, and we all burst out laughing and rushed to make sure he wasn't concussed or bleeding. But he jumped quickly to his feet and assumed a knowledgable pose. We all leaned forward keenly, ready to listen to the wise old words that had inspired Aleepo to take his country so seriously. But we all sat back and laughed some more when we realised it was just a drunken mashup of 'The thing is...' and 'HIV/AIDS' and 'why did I fall over?'. He walked away soon after this, leaving the argument to the unlikely comedy duo of Aleepo and KK. As we/they got drunker, things got genuinely trippy towards the end of the night. Aleepo delivered his argument even more emphatically, and KK demonstrated its correctness with actually horrifying clarity. Here was a man who had discussed HIV for the last two hours, made no sign of being ignorant of it's nature, or of the size of the problem in Malawi, and as soon as it was over he intended on leaving for the brothel, without a condom. Aleepo's perfect pronunciation preaching about the fate of his nation, stressing every important word, repeating every important phrase, punctuating them all with his finger, speaking true facts in a voice you simply can't ignore, and KK, at the same time, telling him he thinks too much, smacking his lips, carressing female forms in the air, whispering 'titties', thrusting his hips, completely unable or unwilling to control his instincts in spite of the gloomy words that reverberate all around us. I feel a strange feeling I always feel when people march towards a terrible fate in full knowledge of it. Aleepo's words, KK's grunts and gestures.. Together they form an ominous chorus thats just too much for me, and I'm glad when it's time to go home. I thank Aleepo for a genuinely interesting night, tell him I probably will take him up on his offer of lunch soon, try and give KK some last minute health promotion advice before he hip thrusts his way to the 'Chinese hotel'.
Two conversations down, one to go. If you've read this far, then upmost respect to you! Three conversations is far too many for one to be expected to have in one weekend, or read in one blog. So I'll sympathise and try and summarise the third..
The third conversation took place at the house of our friend Tonera. Her family are taking us to the lake this weekend, and to get to know us beforehand/check we aren't psychos, they invited us round for dinner. As I said, I'd already had two whole conversations that weekend, so I was pretty tired and really wasn't on my best form. Throughout dinner, I just sat quiet and embarressed of my nsima caked paw. (Five weeks and I still haven't got the hang of handling the sticky mush in a way that doesn't put everyone else off their meals) But Tonera's dad poured red wine down my neck until I came out my shell, and by the end of the night I had joined my third and final insightful conversation of the weekend.
Tonera's dad is a member of parliament. He represents the district he was born in (where we are going this weekend), and is the minister of energy and conservation. He isn't the corrupt face of African politics I was nearly half expecting, but is just a small, simple, happy, friendly, wine loving man that wants to represent the people of his district as well as he can. We didn't spend too much time discussing politics in particular, just Malawi in general. Relevant to my weekend's first conversation, We discussed the Indian population, who it turns out are looked upon rather negatively by Malawians, as not integrating very well, and earning lots of money from their country without reinvesting a great deal of it. These comments seem to fit with my weekend's first conversation, but I don't like the idea of Lori being judged as greedy and uncharitable were she to come to Malawi, as such judgements couldn't be further from the truth. But stereotypes and prejudice are integral parts of being human, and I just hope that the majority of Malawians are open to having their prejudices challenged and disproven. Our drunken friends from the second conversation certainly seemed very friendly towards Raj, and turned a blind eye to his fairly obvious polygamous muslim lie!
The most interesting part of our box of wine long discussion was about the differences between Malawian and Western society, which really are vast, and really opened my eyes to just how much we have forsaken our family values to achieve the style of living we have in the West.
In Malawi, when a child is born, or when a women gets married, there is no excusing the absence of extended family members. When a loved one dies, the bereaved are surrounded by the support of their family, who take shifts to make sure they are never left alone for days. Grandparents are never shoved into a nursing home to forget themselves in the company of strangers. When someone is sick, they are accompanied 24/7 in the hospital by a relative who ensures they are fed, clothed, toileted, comfortable and receiving medications. Noone dies alone. Noone grieves alone. Noone is alone.
I have always realised that there are cultures who put a lot more focus on family than we do in the west. But I have always thought of these other cultures as *too* family orientated as even if I tried to take some of these practices home with me, they just wouldnt work. My sister would wonder why I was in the hospital waiting for the birth of her sixth child. My brother would want peace to mourn the loss of his husband. My parents wont mind when I chuck them in a nursing home, sell the family house and spend their life savings on Kit Kats. We like our privacy. We value our right to do exactly what we want above all else. Constantly sharing our emotions with others, constantly needing and being needed, even by family, makes us uncomfortable and irritable. But now I feel as if this love of privacy is a coping device for our compensated immediate support networks, rather than simply a cause of them. Cutting back on our support networks allows us to focus on our own development, and so accelerates our countries development. But I look at the rates of depression and anxiety in the UK, hear anecdotes of the complete absence of post natal depression in Malawi, and wonder just how great a price we pay for the way we live. As I want to be a psychiatrist, I'm predisposed to valuing mental health over physical health, and I can't help but wonder if it's a price worth paying. We may not be getting a refund in the West anytime soon, but I worry that as Africa is forced to meet the international living standards that have been set, it will be forced to forsake those same values, and soon we'll be a whole healthy world full of ritalin prescribed children in boarding schools, depressed parents in stressful jobs and demented grandparents in crowded nursing homes. Tonera's parents have certainly noticed a change between their generation and Tonera's. Families with two working parents are already common. But they hope that Africa will manage to subscribe to the international ideals of long lives, full stomachs, good education and relative financial independance, without also subscribing to the stressful, lonely lives.
I wouldn't put money on it. And I don't think a Malawian would bet a brother on it. So I'm going to spend the next three months really making the most of my remaining time, soaking up the uniquely African atmosphere while its still here. I may be condemed to being a privacy demanding Westerner, in any case those closest to me are thousands of miles in either direction, but I think I've got a talent for this whole being lazy/not stressing thing.
Couches to sleep on, books to read..