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Drinking a Kuche Kuche beer as I take a brief respite from work. Kuche kuche translates to “All night, until the dawn” in the local Chichewa language. ••• #lilongwe #malawi #kuchekuche #outdoors #cafe #travel #africa (at Lilongwe Area 33, Lilongwe) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9MM1uWAokW/?igshid=1wmm0sdzp3882

#lilongwe #malawi #kuchekuche #outdoors #cafe #travel #africa

A Title That Does Two.Five Years Worth of Peace Corps Service Justice *AKA* A Cop-Out Title If I Ever Heard One

“In Malawi, we….” Hey everybody I’ve reconnected with or met in the past few months, you’re probably used to me saying this! You may think that when I do this I’m trying to explaini-brag, or one-up, or whatever weird thing you think I’m trying to do (you’re the one with the insecurity problem bro!), but really I’m just not used to this whole “America” thing again yet, and I’m probably just trying to justify why, say, I’m eating mashed potatoes with my hands, or yelling to the DJ at the bar to play P-Square, or driving into oncoming traffic.

I spent almost my entire 2.5 year service telling people in Malawi about how we roll back home: “No, in America, we are not all rich.” “No, in America, we don’t really wash our clothes by hand.” “No, in America, being fat is not a sign of wealth and actually it is kind of frowned upon by most.” “No, I am not Chuck Norris.” And after spending a lot of time in Malawi trying to correct perceived inaccuracies about America, now that I’m back stateside I’m trying to do the same about Malawi. “No, I don’t have Ebola.” “No, I don’t speak African, that is not a real language.” “No, I do not ride zebras now.” “No, I have not been to Dikembe Mutombo’s house.”

It’s not exactly surprising that people from both places have misconceptions about the other. But when you weigh the availability of information at the fingertips of the average citizen in each country, an interesting discrepancy develops. A lot of children and adults in Malawi only have exposure to America in very fleeting doses: a story in the newspaper that references American troop movements, an old Chuck Norris movie shown at the boma (market center)’s movie house, a Justin Bieber “song” on the radio (deal with it, he’s everywhere. God help us). So I expected questions, and embraced questions about America from my students, co-teachers, and friends, and I did my best to explain that these things don’t necessarily define what it is to be an American. But they were genuinely interested in finding out about my country. It wasn’t their fault that their perceptions of America were almost always skewed, if not laughably wrong (I had a student once reference the flying cars of American in a composition about technology), because the average Malawian doesn’t really have a lot of avenues to learn about other parts of the world. As one of the poorest countries in the world, how can they (http://www.nyasatimes.com/2015/02/17/malawi-now-ranked-poorest-in-the-world-president-talks-of-desperate-need-for-aid/)? Coming back to a society with crazy access to internet, T.V., and news, I’m pretty disappointed with the general lack of interest in and knowledge of other parts of the world on the part of Americans. I don’t know if it’s laziness, I don’t know if it’s apathy, but Internet! 24/7 news channels with graphics! Maps! Libraries! You can LITERALLY find anything!

I don’t expect the average American to know where Malawi is (heck, I didn’t two years ago), but I do kind of expect that when I tell someone that I was living in Africa, they should know enough about the world to understand that Africa is really really freaking big, and that it would be nice if their go-to response was something asking about what I was doing there, or what country I was in, or what I learned, and not asking if I have Ebola (spoiler alert: I don’t!!!). And I bet if I ever decide to go back to Africa, these same people won’t be following up to make sure that I’ve been screened for measles before leaving America.

I’m glad to be back home, I’m overjoyed to be back with my family, I’m pumped to share my stories with people. But life seems too chill, and too simple. Washing machines are way too easy. Refrigerators have to be black magic. Banks have to be hiding something for the suspicious efficiency it takes one to cash a check. And I don’t have to hold my breath when I plug something into an outlet? Too easy. My mom has been yelling at me for always leaving the lights on in the house, but when you’re used to lighting candles with matches and blowing them out when you leave the room or go to bed, you kind of forget that those on/off switches are even there.

I miss the adventure that came with just the normal, average day in Malawi. You never knew when a snake would invade your chim, or a tire would blow on your bus and leave you stranded on the side of the road, or a neighbor would drop by and ask you to go pick oranges with them. Basic things turned into interesting narratives. Traveling into town to go shopping in the Peace Corps is an interesting experience. Running to the store in America isn’t (unless it’s a ghettofab Wal-Mart).

There are a lot of things I miss about Malawi. The competing trees and earth and sky, rising and falling and drawing a jagged line that pulsated as the heartbeat of the horizon. The innate innocence and welcoming nature of the average person that has so little but is willing to give so much. The lake. The lake. THE LAKE. There’s a lot that I don’t miss, mostly backwards gender expectations and over-reliance on the past. There are also a lot of things that I deeply missed about home that I now have the chance to experience again, which also come with warts once I tried to forget. I’m glad with where I am at the moment, and I’m proud of where I’ve been. As I look out my window now at waves of Wisconsin snow, I can also see ice caps of Lake Malawi waters.

I’ve been meaning to write something here on this blog ever since I got home: a grand, sweeping, eloquently worded encapsulation of my experience in Malawi…but I haven’t. I could say that I’ve been busy. Busy getting lost in grocery stores…receiving dirty looks when I maneuver my cart down the left side of the aisle, spending too much on things that “I haven’t had in two years and I need it,” forgetting that I can’t barter at the checkout. Busy substitute teaching…marveling at the SMART boards in every room, discovering that students are allowed to use their phones in every class now for research (AKA snapchat), trying to reach students that seem to be less motivated than my students in Malawi that walked two hours to get to school, had no school lunch program, and stared at a chipped away chalkboard all day. Busy getting re-acclimated to American life… if devouring sandwiches and pizza, getting caught up on Netflix, and voraciously taking hot showers count as that. I guess that’s kind of true, that I have been “busy”. But the real reason I haven’t written anything like that yet is not because I’m too busy, but because I’m afraid.

I’m afraid that if I do, I’m officially closing the door on that 2+ year chapter, and starting to pen a new one. I’m afraid it would mean that that phase of my life is totally over, that it’s time to focus solely on what lies ahead. I’m afraid I’ll forget the lessons I learned, that the memories and friends will fade away, and that I’ll revert to the person I was before I left. I’m afraid of feeling like I just woke up from the strangest, sweatiest, most frustrating, longest, fever dream ever. I guess I’m afraid to say goodbye.

I may never again feel the ache creep into my bones as I take my final steps over the steep hill that led to Luwazi, and walk across the football pitch that welcomed me home. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t experience the same sense of accomplishment that I felt then whenever I climb off of the elliptical after a 2 hour workout and my legs are screaming at me. I may never again sip a Kuche Kuche beer with my feet buried in the Chikale beach sand while basking in the warm Malawian sun. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t close my eyes, Spotted Cow in hand, sense the warmth pour over me, and feel the same carefree way that I did on the shores of Lake Malawi as I do floating down the Chippewa river. I may never again witness the pure, unadulterated joy in the faces of my students when I told them that we had the money to buy new books for our school. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t feel the same contentment and pride when a student tells me that the Kurt Vonnegut book I made them read changed their life.

So I’m not going to close that door. Why should I? I’ll keep that door slightly ajar, so I can peer through and look back, to keep an eye on my students that I adored. To remember the failures, and the insights that came from them. To heed the lessons I learned, that could not be taught anywhere else. To actually make sure that everything behind that door actually happened.

I don’t want to write a final chapter. I don’t want it to be over. I don’t crave closure, I don’t yearn for a full circle (or flat….just finally caught up on True Detective), I don’t want to feel at peace, to peace out, to feel like that part of my life is behind me.

I don’t want to say goodbye.

So I won’t.