We attended a disco hosted by Providence last night. A sweaty and slap-happy affair with a whole pack of clueless DJ's and enough hormones to sink the Titanic. They take their disco's seriously (although they happen almost weekly). The girls, many of them from well-off families take it as an opportunity to get gussied up in their finest future-fantasy-biography nightclubbing outfits. A tragic farce for the handful of sulking and insulting young men, imported for the evening to theoretically raise the girl's spirits while simultaneously annihilating their self-respect. Yellow sneering imbeciles all, goading stray 13 years old from their elder pack of teenage arousal (It was later clarified that these men were actually part of the Young Catholics Association or some such nonsense, and not standard accessories to the discos. Sorry girls.) The boys aside, it was a quite jolly evening. The first half given over to the two options of either staring in dumbfounded horror, or laughing hysterically at the two psychotic uzungus (Katie and myself) doing our best to get the party started. If it was a "run away screaming party" we would have been doing an excellent job. We were told by some of the more daring ones that they were not dancing because they were waiting to pay their 70MK. They had not yet paid because the pack of idiot DJ's had been on the stage scratching their heads for two and a half hours about the shit sound-system. The girls' only way out was to form a large circle and sing and dance their own songs, which turned out better than any DJ came close to pulling off the whole night. Eventually a pro rolled in with a real system, a real trench-coat, and real glasses, to make things real for everybody. He played what should have been predictable, although I somehow had failed to predict, standard bubble-gum hip-hop and R&B that is loved and adored by 13 year old girls the world over. Outside, waiting to re-enter and finally pay to dance, we gave some Salsa lessons. We then moved on to Irish Jigs, Tango, and Russian Hat Dances. These lessons were a smash success, and I like to imagine it as the birth of a small contingent of girls practising the Tango back here at Providence.(evening)
Your experience with this place can vary wildly depending on your mood. The same activities and encounters that can be at one time sunny, warm, friendly, exciting, or adventurous, can another seem oppressive, hot, stifling, desperate, and panicked. The insects can be a factor, as can a good night's sleep, but one can play into the other. Today I have also been hungry for the first time the whole trip. Hunger changes everything. Your are torn between your emotional need for go-to foods, comforting and easy to acquire where you are from, and the much less appetizing reality of your situation. Basically bananas or any one of a small handful of untrusted and un-trusting "restaurants". On good day you are something different here, an exciting and exotic stranger, an amicable and amusing failure at fitting in, and an amateur cultural ambassador. On bad day you are a target. A shining white beacon of money and imposition, never anonymous, never left alone,always propositioned. You owe everyone something because they are worse off, and are charged more because it is assumed that you don't know any better (the uzungu price). You are a white ghost or invader (uzungu is actually a bastardization of the words for ghosts or dead person) causes little kids to cry, and older ones to run away laughing at you and calling you names. You are glowered at by old men, giggled at by the women. You will be jeered at and talked about openly because they know you don't know the language. You are constantly being asked where you are going, either because they want to get your money for taking you there, or they want you to be there and gone. But there are smiles here too. And genuine laughter. There are people who will help a complete stranger. There are people with stories you wouldn't believe that still have hope like you wouldn't know. There is beauty in the sunsets even though it is dangerous at night. The sun shines brightly on Malawi. There is an abundance of warmth here, even when so much else is lacking. There is warmth, and presently there is a young man writing about it, trying to decide if he is trying to list the admirable qualities of shit, or if he is just getting shit mixed in with his list of admirable qualities. I just want to be allowed to breathe the air of this country, not as an exploiter or something to be exploited, but as whoever I am.
PICASA PHOTOS
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