Heart of Africa
Eliana Velez | 25.Mar.10
Yesterday was the first day in two weeks I saw the actual color of my feet; they are now clean. My blistered hands are healing, and my sun burnt skin is no longer peeling. I guess I would say that physically I feel fine. With these aftermath conditions I could have just spent two weeks anywhere, but I didn’t. I spent two weeks in the heart of Africa, Malawi, and on the forgotten dirt roads of Zambia. To explain it best: I feel emotionally raped.
In retrospect …
We (students at Franklin College) are in general people of westernized countries, and are accustomed to the luxuries of life. And by luxuries I simply mean the daily shower, the freshly pressed bed, and the choice of 3 meals a day. Prior to arriving in Malawi, we had decided that one of our goals would be to connect and to attempt to be equal with the local people. This goal was inspired by our month-long course on imperialism, development and globalization. But oh, how quick we forgot about all of our goals! Once we stepped onto Malawian soil, we stepped into another world, a foreign world and we were eager for the comfort of our luxury-filled lives.
Though we were all eager for the familiar comfort, our goal was never going to be fulfilled even if we had truly wanted it to; we had set ourselves up for failure. We were met with a ridiculously oversized, comfortable truck. A newly renovated cargo truck equipped with shock resistant seats, air conditioning, and lavatory facilities. With our goals in mind does that really make much sense? What happened to the theories of imperialism, globalization, and development? In my analysis of the situation we were a show, a source of entertainment for the developing people of Malawi and Zambia. For every time our gigantic truck drove through any dirt road we were received with children running in our direction, and they were content with one of us simply waving back. And as soon as the oversized 16-wheeler stopped, and we stepped off, we were received with confused looks, as though they had never seen anyone like “us.”
As soon as we arrived to Malawi, several afternoons were spent browsing through the artisan craftwork at the local market. Every man had just about the same items, so stopping at every stand seemed unreasonable. But each man pushed for me to see their stand, to look at their sculptures even though I had just seen the same sculptures two stands away. “sista, sista, you must stop at my stand,” was the universal echo as I walked through the stands. Even if I wanted an item, and was keen on purchasing it, the experience itself was an emotional conundrum. The sorrow, strife, and struggle, of their lives was embedded in every look I received, it made bargaining nearly impossible.
In both these underdeveloped nations the overall malnourishment and the general health of the people is a big concern. Physically most people were short in height, and appeared frail and weak and many of children had the bloated malnourished baby belly. The children at the gardens of Bunda College had the luxuries of fish farming; some of them had little tilapia in their pockets, most likely their only meal for the day. In contrast the children of the Balboa village who only had raw unripe mangoes. Not only is malnourishment a big concern for the people of these underdeveloped nations, but so is HIV/AIDS. Driving around, I couldn’t count the number of posters I saw that read; “assume you’re positive unless tested negative.” Speaking to the people they seemed to have an awareness of HIV/AIDS, but the problem lies in their cultural ways. At the Balboa village I saw the mother of one child breast feeding a baby that wasn’t hers, not considering the possibility of spreading any diseases. In these small villages there is no such thing as women empowerment, so if Daka (the head of the village) wants his way with one of the women at the village, I have no doubt that there is nothing that will stop him from receiving the pleasure he is looking for. In a village as small as the Balboa village HIV/ AIDS seems so easily spread, it only takes one to get infected for the rest to suffer its effects. The domino effect renders the whole village at risk, and once one is infected, they all run the risk of the same fate.. Many of the children I saw at the village had lesion on their faces, arms and legs. In the attempt to aid these people I feel that one must commence with treating their health issues. On a positive note, both countries provide free testing and free medication to those already infected with the disease. However, the health clinics are often many kilometers away, so getting tests and medication is only feasible for those that can afford to get to the clinic.
Much of what was learned in the first half of our voyage through Malawi was about the effects of NGO’s, and the development theory. The problem that developing nations face due to constant aid, is dependency on it for survival and self sustainability no longer is an option. The professors spoke about many of the villages actually digressing instead of progressing when NGO’s aid the country. After listening to the probable effects of NGO’s, our travel group began to have consistent firm beliefs that there should be no handouts at the Balboa village. Therefore, the female products we had purchased in Switzerland, the donated soccer equipment, the tools we had purchased in order for them to start a garden were all obsolete. The decision was made to leave the items we had brought at the freedom gardens (where we had learned about organic farming and self sustainability) since hand out equaled dependency then, “we” clearly wanted no part in such a thing.
However, what was contradictory about that decision was that we had no problem helping the people at the freedom gardens, who, in prospective, had much more than the people at the Balboa village. Still, any handout is still a handout. The decision that was decided upon on about NGO’s and dependency quickly fell through as soon as we arrived at the village. There was no longer that perfect solution of simply not giving, it became complicated. There was soon a need to reevaluate the definition of aid, dependency, and what we really wanted to accomplish there.
Probably with all that had happened, my hope quickly lead to despair, and baby Michael was the last straw. Michael was a five-month-old baby at the village, whose mother asked for a ride to the clinic from one of our students, because she believed Michael had malaria. Seeing that we had previously decided that there would be no handouts, the group discussed several options on how to handle the situation. The possible solutions included taking her to the clinic in our truck, walking her to the clinic, taking the local transportation, or simply not taking her. What was wrong with the people I was with? I didn’t understand why they didn’t want to help someone in need? At that point I know longer felt powerless, if no one else was going to fight for baby Michael, I would. So, after several hours of democratic negotiations with the rest of my group, we realized there was no perfect solution, we couldn’t simply stand back and not do anything, everything became complicated. There was soon a need to reevaluate the definition of aid, dependency, and what we really wanted to accomplish there. The decision of taking her was made, but only at the price of a bag of mangoes. Did we really just take these starving peoples’ mangoes? We did. We took the mangoes from these people, knowing that was the only thing they had to eat. So when the time comes to apply the theories of imperialism and globalization, what do we do? We, the imperial power, impose our ways on the village. And in the democratic decision-making process of the group, there was nothing I as one person could do, but watch and let it happen. I quickly learned that one person cannot move an entire mountain.
Though my hope seemed to fade through the passing days, it wasn’t my hope that was important, it was the hope we brought to these people, and the hope they found in us, and that was a wonderful thing. I think, the so-called “dependency theory” cannot be applied to very situation, to every approach. Franklin College sees these people maybe 10 days a year, and the amount that we are able to give is in no way sufficient enough for them to be able to build a dependency. In contrast to building a dependency, I believe that the people of the Balboa village did find hope in our bi-annual visits. They are no longer placed on the forgotten roads of Zambia; they are known. Someone cares enough not to forget they are there, enough to help them when they can. The people of the Balboa village will never be forgotten, for me, they will always be remembered.
In retrospect …
We (students at Franklin College) are in general people of westernized countries, and are accustomed to the luxuries of life. And by luxuries I simply mean the daily shower, the freshly pressed bed, and the choice of 3 meals a day. Prior to arriving in Malawi, we had decided that one of our goals would be to connect and to attempt to be equal with the local people. This goal was inspired by our month-long course on imperialism, development and globalization. But oh, how quick we forgot about all of our goals! Once we stepped onto Malawian soil, we stepped into another world, a foreign world and we were eager for the comfort of our luxury-filled lives.
Though we were all eager for the familiar comfort, our goal was never going to be fulfilled even if we had truly wanted it to; we had set ourselves up for failure. We were met with a ridiculously oversized, comfortable truck. A newly renovated cargo truck equipped with shock resistant seats, air conditioning, and lavatory facilities. With our goals in mind does that really make much sense? What happened to the theories of imperialism, globalization, and development? In my analysis of the situation we were a show, a source of entertainment for the developing people of Malawi and Zambia. For every time our gigantic truck drove through any dirt road we were received with children running in our direction, and they were content with one of us simply waving back. And as soon as the oversized 16-wheeler stopped, and we stepped off, we were received with confused looks, as though they had never seen anyone like “us.”
As soon as we arrived to Malawi, several afternoons were spent browsing through the artisan craftwork at the local market. Every man had just about the same items, so stopping at every stand seemed unreasonable. But each man pushed for me to see their stand, to look at their sculptures even though I had just seen the same sculptures two stands away. “sista, sista, you must stop at my stand,” was the universal echo as I walked through the stands. Even if I wanted an item, and was keen on purchasing it, the experience itself was an emotional conundrum. The sorrow, strife, and struggle, of their lives was embedded in every look I received, it made bargaining nearly impossible.
Above: Writer and her group in the village
Though, my experience at the market was arduous and emotional, nothing compared to the day I spent at Lake Malawi. I was relaxing on the beach, trying to get through the first few pages of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, when in the corner of my eye I saw someone coming toward me. It was a lady holding a baby, and she stopped right when she reached me, “can I take your picture?” as she held out the baby. Not finding much wrong with the situation, I agreed to hold the baby as she took my picture. The baby was wearing nothing but a diaper, and she couldn’t have been more than four months old. After the woman took the picture she let me hold the baby for a little while. Then she grabbed the baby and left, and I went back to flipping pages. About an hour later she returned, because she wanted to say bye. She had dressed the baby in a clean pink jumpsuit and was holding her out so that I could hold her. I carried her in my arms for a few minutes. When I was going to give her back she said, “Why don’t you keep her, she looks good on you.” Granted I am sure this was not her first language, but at that moment I was simply in shock. I did not know how to respond, I held the baby out and gave her back. If I were someone else, maybe a few years older, someone who could afford to take care of another life other than my own, I would have kept the baby. Not particularly because I deem to adopt a child, but merely because she wasn’t wanted, and that is a reason enough, at least for me to want to help the child, but there was nothing I could do.
In both these underdeveloped nations the overall malnourishment and the general health of the people is a big concern. Physically most people were short in height, and appeared frail and weak and many of children had the bloated malnourished baby belly. The children at the gardens of Bunda College had the luxuries of fish farming; some of them had little tilapia in their pockets, most likely their only meal for the day. In contrast the children of the Balboa village who only had raw unripe mangoes. Not only is malnourishment a big concern for the people of these underdeveloped nations, but so is HIV/AIDS. Driving around, I couldn’t count the number of posters I saw that read; “assume you’re positive unless tested negative.” Speaking to the people they seemed to have an awareness of HIV/AIDS, but the problem lies in their cultural ways. At the Balboa village I saw the mother of one child breast feeding a baby that wasn’t hers, not considering the possibility of spreading any diseases. In these small villages there is no such thing as women empowerment, so if Daka (the head of the village) wants his way with one of the women at the village, I have no doubt that there is nothing that will stop him from receiving the pleasure he is looking for. In a village as small as the Balboa village HIV/ AIDS seems so easily spread, it only takes one to get infected for the rest to suffer its effects. The domino effect renders the whole village at risk, and once one is infected, they all run the risk of the same fate.. Many of the children I saw at the village had lesion on their faces, arms and legs. In the attempt to aid these people I feel that one must commence with treating their health issues. On a positive note, both countries provide free testing and free medication to those already infected with the disease. However, the health clinics are often many kilometers away, so getting tests and medication is only feasible for those that can afford to get to the clinic.
Much of what was learned in the first half of our voyage through Malawi was about the effects of NGO’s, and the development theory. The problem that developing nations face due to constant aid, is dependency on it for survival and self sustainability no longer is an option. The professors spoke about many of the villages actually digressing instead of progressing when NGO’s aid the country. After listening to the probable effects of NGO’s, our travel group began to have consistent firm beliefs that there should be no handouts at the Balboa village. Therefore, the female products we had purchased in Switzerland, the donated soccer equipment, the tools we had purchased in order for them to start a garden were all obsolete. The decision was made to leave the items we had brought at the freedom gardens (where we had learned about organic farming and self sustainability) since hand out equaled dependency then, “we” clearly wanted no part in such a thing.
However, what was contradictory about that decision was that we had no problem helping the people at the freedom gardens, who, in prospective, had much more than the people at the Balboa village. Still, any handout is still a handout. The decision that was decided upon on about NGO’s and dependency quickly fell through as soon as we arrived at the village. There was no longer that perfect solution of simply not giving, it became complicated. There was soon a need to reevaluate the definition of aid, dependency, and what we really wanted to accomplish there.
Probably with all that had happened, my hope quickly lead to despair, and baby Michael was the last straw. Michael was a five-month-old baby at the village, whose mother asked for a ride to the clinic from one of our students, because she believed Michael had malaria. Seeing that we had previously decided that there would be no handouts, the group discussed several options on how to handle the situation. The possible solutions included taking her to the clinic in our truck, walking her to the clinic, taking the local transportation, or simply not taking her. What was wrong with the people I was with? I didn’t understand why they didn’t want to help someone in need? At that point I know longer felt powerless, if no one else was going to fight for baby Michael, I would. So, after several hours of democratic negotiations with the rest of my group, we realized there was no perfect solution, we couldn’t simply stand back and not do anything, everything became complicated. There was soon a need to reevaluate the definition of aid, dependency, and what we really wanted to accomplish there. The decision of taking her was made, but only at the price of a bag of mangoes. Did we really just take these starving peoples’ mangoes? We did. We took the mangoes from these people, knowing that was the only thing they had to eat. So when the time comes to apply the theories of imperialism and globalization, what do we do? We, the imperial power, impose our ways on the village. And in the democratic decision-making process of the group, there was nothing I as one person could do, but watch and let it happen. I quickly learned that one person cannot move an entire mountain.
Though my hope seemed to fade through the passing days, it wasn’t my hope that was important, it was the hope we brought to these people, and the hope they found in us, and that was a wonderful thing. I think, the so-called “dependency theory” cannot be applied to very situation, to every approach. Franklin College sees these people maybe 10 days a year, and the amount that we are able to give is in no way sufficient enough for them to be able to build a dependency. In contrast to building a dependency, I believe that the people of the Balboa village did find hope in our bi-annual visits. They are no longer placed on the forgotten roads of Zambia; they are known. Someone cares enough not to forget they are there, enough to help them when they can. The people of the Balboa village will never be forgotten, for me, they will always be remembered.
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 COMMENTS: 7
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1. Posted on 04.Jan.12 From: Rihana Thomas
It was a wonderful Article
but I feel so sad about the condition of the people in Africa
Your helplessness reminds me of my helplessness,the same I feel when I also want to change something and couldn't do it . you have said right 'one person cannot move an entire mountain'.
2. Posted on 05.Aug.10 From: susan thomson
I love this as a great example of foreigners in Africa. I am writing to ask your permission to use this posting in my Introduction to African Politics class at Hampshire College.
3. Posted on 04.Apr.10 From: Synthia Bintey Rahman
It made me emotional! Thanks for such an article. It just reminds me the portrait of my country 'Bangladesh'!A writer can present the lives of such developing or under developed country's people. Go ahead...
4. Posted on 30.Mar.10 From: Briana
I love your writing!! You put me right there in Africa with you!! Can't wait to see more!!
5. Posted on 29.Mar.10 From: Nataly
You are always a great writer. I am so proud of you!! :)
6. Posted on 26.Mar.10 From: Tainita
Wow!
Your story was gripping and thought-provoking. Especially what you wrote about those poor babies - the one needing a doctor and the one that was offered for you - was just... heart-wrenching!
I'm left in awe!
I hope to read more articles from you.
7. Posted on 25.Mar.10 From: Adam
Great article! Very insightful!!