My heart’s bursting and it’s breaking,
So full of love and full of longing.
It’s in you that I found a home,
And now far too soon I have to go. 

Your smile has expanded my heart,
When you laugh I can’t help but to grin.
It’s much too soon we have to part,
Don’t push me out, all I want is in.

Never is a really long time,
But the world is a really big place.
If we don’t ever meet again,
In my heart you’ll always have a place.

Malawi, you’ve got a piece of me,
And I know now,
That’s how it’ll forever be.

It was 15 days since I came once again to Zambia and finally, I was on my way back to Malawi. Those 15 days were spent working on documentation and wondering if I would be returning to Malawi before flying home to Canada. The uncertainty was situated around the still tense political situation in Malawi. Last time I wrote to you about the tension, I was still in Zambia, but have since come to, and gone again from, Malawi.

I made it back into Malawi around the first of August and spent a couple of days in Lilongwe before heading back out to Mkwinda, the village I abruptly left after the first eruption of protests. In Mkwinda, I attempted to contact an agrodealer in the region who I wanted to visit once more and spent time strengthening relationships with, and saying better goodbyes to, friends I left suddenly before. My time here was again cut short, but with more notice this time around. Due to threatened military protests on August 12th and a confirmation that the president had yet to address the concerns of the petition, meaning the second round of civilian protests planned for August 17th or 18th was likely to happen, EWB decided that we would travel to Zambia on August 10th and stay just across the border in Chipata in order to avoid the protests.

As the twelfth approached, we were in contact with our Malawian friends and checking internet news sites every morning, anxious to know what was happening across the border. But the twelfth passed just as any other day. After the twelfth came and went, we began the anxious texts and internet checks again, now in anticipation of civilian demonstrations on the 18th, thinking that the likelihood of these to occur was greater. But again, no demonstrations were held. An injunction against the protests had gone through, and according to Malawian friends, the police had made it very clear that anyone who was on the streets the day of 18th was considered to be a part of the demonstrations and would be treated as such. So the day in Lilongwe passed, with exceptionally quiet streets.

However, this is not to say that the lack of demonstrations made for complete peace in the country. A couple of days after the 18th, we heard that the military had reacted to some incidents (the nature of which I don’t know) at Chancellor College in Zomba, in the north of Malawi, with tear gas and open fire. Just today, talking to my friend who has a cousin at Chancellor, I learned that the open fire resulted in some deaths. Although the streets that day were silent against the rights of civilians, it seems that the students of Chancellor were not, and sadly, some paid with their lives.

Because things remained calm after the 18th, EWB was set to allow us to return to Malawi that weekend when we heard the president had dissolved his parliament, inserting yet another wave of uncertainty into the situation. Though the dissolved parliament caused us concern regarding Malawi’s political stability, the country has thus far remained calm and safe, allowing us to return to catch our flight home on the 27th, and in my case, to also present to the NGO I have been working with this summer the day before our flight.

As of now, it is again said that the president has been given a month to respond to the petition. Further protests are threatened for around the 20th of September should concerns remain unaddressed. These will no longer affect me physically, as in about three hours I will be back home in Canada, but my heart and my mind will be with those in Malawi, hoping for peaceful change in the Warm Heart of Africa.

First, a short recap of my goal this summer: to work in the process of improving the distribution network for rural agrodealers. The current method for improvement is to support successful agrodealers to become wholesale input suppliers. My job, more specifically, is to research just how this can be accomplished; my side job, to research if this being accomplished will bring a benefit to the small-holder farmer. So, here are a couple of silvery, swarming thoughts that have been drifting in my pensieve the last few days:

• We may be spending time, money, and energy on a method to help the small-holder-farmer that is not the best method. But then again, is it ever possible to know what’s best – especially when we are considering impacts that may be occurring many years into the future? And of course, there is the quote that my friend reminded me of a couple of months ago, “don’t let best get in the way of better.” I think this statement holds an important message, but then again, if best is possible and within reach, perhaps we should be cautious not to settle for better.
• If successful distribution agrodealers are developing on their own, why are we working to develop them? Should we be working in an area that needs us more? And by ‘needs us more,’ I mean one that is not occurring on its own. On the other hand, if the market for such a business has been naturally recognized, maybe this means that this is an area where it makes more sense for us to work in – acting as catalysts, driving forward a promising industry. Perhaps a naturally occurring development is more likely to be sustainable in its environment and to suit the needs of the people from whom it was derived. Once recognizing the potential for the development of high capacity distribution agrodealers to benefit the small-holder-farmer, we can choose to catalyze this process such that the benefits more rapidly reach the small-holder-farmer.
• And of course, the biggest question of them all, spanning far beyond my placement – should I even be here, should we, meaning all development workers even be here? What can I really offer this nation? Yes, it’s true that Canada, as a country, is more advanced than Malawi, but does sending young, inexperienced, and by some standards, uneducated, citizens to developing nations assert the implication that the people of Canada are similarly more advanced? I don’t believe it’s accurate to say Canadians are more advanced than Malawians, rather, I think it’s that the technologically advanced circumstances within which we live has granted us the luxury of time and our social construct  that of opportunity. For example, Canadian students are able to spend a summer volunteering and still afford to return to school in the fall because of accessible loan services offered by the government. So, I did not spend my summer researching agrodealers in Malawi because no one Malawian was capable of the task. However, I think it’s possible that my work in Malawi was still well-delegated; possible that it was a beneficial task to accomplish and that I was the most available human resource. Not to be mistaken, there are many Malawians who work in the development sector, driving change in their own nation, but maybe there are an insufficient number of people who can afford to focus outside of building their own career and feeding their own family to meet the demand of human resources needed in the development sector of Malawi. And then again, maybe the number is sufficient. But even if so, I think there is value to outside opinions and differing experiences in most circumstances, thereby implying value in the foreign development worker.

As you may have noticed, the thoughts in my pensieve are rather inconclusive at the moment and perhaps a tangled ball of yarn would have been a more appropriate analogy, but this overwhelmed, question-filled headspace is nonetheless an exciting place to be.

Walking along the trails at Victoria Falls, we came across a baboon munching on some grass on the side of the path. My friend pulled out her camera and started taking pictures, but then the baboon turned his back on us. Not wanting all pictures of his pink and blue bottom, I called to the baboon.

                “Hey, cutie.”

He turned and looked, then went back to eating the grass.

                “Do it again!” Said my friend, wanting more pictures where he was looking at the camera.

                “Hey, cutie!” I called again.

He didn’t look this time, so we kept talking to the him, hoping he would turn around for the picture. Instead, he barred his teeth and leapt forward towards us. Frightened, we jumped back, avoiding his trajectory. The baboon settled on the other side of the path, and with wobbly legs, we continued on our way. Lesson almost learned – respect and stay clear of the baboons.

     2. More Baboons

Sitting at a picnic table just outside a small shop in the lined up craft market of Victoria Falls, my two friends and I were enjoying lunch when I spotted a baboon casually making his way towards us. Thinking that if he was brave enough to approach us fully, it would be for the sandwich in my hand, so I constructed a quick exit strategy in my head – if baboon comes at you, throw sandwich and run in opposite direction. What I didn’t expect was that the baboon had his eye on our bags, where they have apparently learned that many good things can be hidden. To my right, sitting on the table in front of my friend, we had a yellow, plastic grocery bag with all of our cameras and a block of cheese in it – the important things that we didn’t want getting wet from the falls.

The baboon stealthily crept around the table and suddenly he was grabbing for one handle of the plastic bag. My friend reacted and snagged the other side of the bag. My friend and I both jumped up, standing but still trapped in the bench of the picnic table. I tried to escape out the side of the table, but wasn’t fast enough to step over the cross-bars. As my friend fought a tug-of-war with the baboon over our bag she simultaneously moved quickly and forcefully away from the baboon towards me, forcing my upper half further than my trapped legs were able to go. Gravity took over and I found myself fallen on the gravel beside the table, sandwich remaining in hand, fresh blood on my shorts, still hoping throwing my sandwich would be sufficient protection if the baboon decided to attack while I was on the ground. Quickly getting to my feet, I saw the baboon running away towards the shop with our cheese in his hand. Our cameras were sprawled on the ground next to the destroyed plastic bag that my friend and the baboon tore in half during the mugging.

Lesson now completely learned.

     3. Shock!

In the mornings, I heat my bath water in a big metal pot on top of a hot plate plugged into the wall. The wire of the hotplate is a little worn, held together with medical tape in a few sections. One morning, I was impatient to start my day and although the water in the pot didn’t yet have swirling steam rising above it, I hoped that it was warm enough for a bath so I could get going; and what better way to check the warmth of the water than to test it? I casually dipped my fingers into the pot and instantly felt the sensation of pins and needles travel from my fingertips up my arm. I instinctively pulled my hand back from the pot. Staring at the pot for a moment and then looking around the room, I realized, I’ve just been electrocuted by my bath water.

Two days later, my bath water was again on the hot plate, this time clearly ready as it had steam rushing off the surface of the water. I stood near the pot with my brother sitting beside me, just waiting as my host mom cleaned out the bathing tub for me to dump the water into. My hands were freezing, so I hovered them over the water to warm up in the steam. As I lowered my hands close to the water, where the steam was warmest, my brother made an anxious hand gesture.

                “Ahh, ah aahhh,” He said.

I looked at him quizzically.

                “Shock!” he exclaimed, although it sounded more like “Schook!” with his Malawian accent.

I smiled, “Ooh, yes. But no, no, I’m just warming my hands!” I explain. Where were you two days ago, I thought to myself.

     4. Feel the Love

I walk into the compound of my friend and find only his brother at home; as I turn to leave and look for him elsewhere, his brother, Killy, stops me.

                “I’ll come escort you, but first you have to come say hi to my friends!”

I head over to where they’re playing a popular Malawian board game, bao, and have a short chat with the guys. As I’m heading out of the compound with Killy, one of the men hollers after me.

                “I love Canadians!”

                Smiling, I half turn around as I’m walking, “And I love Malawians!”

     5. 2.8 and Your Soul

The craft market in Lilongwe is full of charismatic, talkative young men selling jewelry, wooden and stone carvings, hand sewn bags, and a ton more interesting items. Today, I have come on a mission though and won’t be distracted by the many persuasive vendors – I want a bao board. Bao is a popular game here in Malawi involving a carved wooden playing surface (the board) and seeds that are used as playing pieces. I spot bao boards at a vendor near the edge of the market and head in his direction, preparing myself for a bargaining match.

I start at 1.5 – the price that I’ve been told you can get bao boards for further north in Mzuzu.

                “Ah, but with that price, you are killing me,” replies the vendor named Chicken Wings.

                “What do you think is a good price then?” I ask.

                “4.5, and I am giving you a deal, because you are Malawian you see, and you are helping our country – usually I would charge 6 or 7.”

                 “Ah, but 4.5 is way too high, I can get them for 1.5 in Mzuzu. I can come up to 1.7.” I know I’ll have to pay more than in Mzuzu, but don’t want to give too much too quickly.

                “You are killing me!” Chicken Wing exclaims, “you will come back, and you will not find me here – I will have starved! Four, give me four, sister.”

                “Okay, 2.”

                “Ah sister, no, three, and that is very cheap.”

                “Two point five,” I am determined to bring the price down.

                “Two point five? I cannot manage, give me 3.”

                “2.8 then, I want less than 3.”

                “Okay, 2.8 and your heart – you will give me your heart?”

                “Ah, but Chicken Wings, Malawi already has my heart.”

                “Okay, but that is a country, not me, I want your heart,” Chicken Wings argues.

                “Well, you are a part of this country, so you have a piece.”

                “Okay, then your soul as well. You will give me your soul?”

                “Hmm, okay, 2.8 and my soul? So how exactly does this transition take place?”

Not sure if I’ve actually given my soul away for a deal, I then agree to play a game with Chicken Wings after buying the board for 2.8.

As I took his last seed, winning the game, Chicken Wings looked across at me.

               “Ah, now you have taken my soul,” he said with a grin.

                And as I walked away, he called after me “Take good care of my soul, and feed it nsima!”

Tuesday the 19th was when I had originally planned to move back to Lilongwe Town from Mkwinda, a small trading centre I was staying in just 30 km outside of town; however, after communicating with the same counterpart who is quoted above, he recommended I wait until Thursday to come into town as demonstrations against the government were planned for Wednesday and people for and against the demonstrations were already starting to prepare in the main cities of Lilongwe, Blantyre, and Mzuzu on Tuesday. I was told that government supporters in Blantyre were riding around the city in the backs of pick-up trucks, carrying machetes with which they were threatening the people not to protest the following day. To be safe, I postponed my travel until after the demonstrations, now planning to return to town on Thursday – still in time to travel to Zambia for a team meeting on Friday.
___

Wednesday in Mkwinda was calm and businesses ran as usual without any sign of the protests except for the main road, which was eerily still. No vehicles were travelling to or from Lilongwe Town. As I kept in touch with my counterpart throughout the day, news started to roll in from town – protesters were throwing stones at passing vehicles, shops were burned, others looted, mini buses and vehicles were torched on the roadside, and police had released tear gas and opened fire. My host-mother, who works in an agrodealer shop in a larger trading centre, Mitundu, just 8 km from Mkwinda, closed the shop early and was home by early afternoon because she had no customers – she said people stayed home, frightened that protests may also occur in the larger trading centres, not just the main cities. Nonetheless, as daylight faded so did the aggressive energy and even the cities slept.

Hoping that the calm that came with night meant it would be safe for me to travel as planned on Thursday, I said goodbye to friends in the evening and woke up early the next day to start contacting my counterpart and my team lead to see when I could come into town. My counterpart called around 9, saying that if I took the bus I could drop just outside of town and he would come pick me up there to avoid the main deport, which had been a centre of action the day before. Just half an hour later, as I was walking to say goodbye to some friends, my counterpart called again,

“Please, don’t come to town today. I came into town to drop off a computer and I can’t get home. People are starting to riot again and traffic isn’t moving.”

Being in Mkwinda, I couldn’t know of the tension still occurring in town. The five small shops in Mkwinda were open and people were moving about as usual. The road was still quieter than typical, but no longer empty – some traffic was moving in and out of town. With my plan for travel again interrupted, it became apparent that when I would travel to Lilongwe Town and then on to Zambia was entirely uncertain. I skipped a second set of goodbyes to friends again Thursday evening, as I had little expectation of leaving Friday, and planned to make one more trip to the agrodealer I had been visiting the next morning, as I knew whenever I left it could be sudden and I had yet to say goodbye to him.

As I headed out to the agrodealer’s shop Friday morning, I received a call from my counterpart again. He would come to get me in just an hour or two, bring me into town with another junior fellow, and we would catch the bus to Zambia. The agrodealer’s shop is about a 45 minute walk from where I was staying, so I sped up my pace, thinking of all the friends who didn’t know I was leaving – all of the friends that I wasn’t really ready to leave. As I returned from the shop, my counterpart’s vehicle was already there. I turned to my friend who had been walking with me.

“Kay, I guess I’m going.”

A quick hug and I jumped in the truck, hating how brief and sudden the goodbye was, but thankful there was at least a goodbye – the other people who had made Mkwinda home for me were nowhere to be found on such short notice. As we drove into town I heard more stories of the last few days – the civilian death toll was now at 18, reporters had been attacked and injured, and news crews were now banned from reporting on the protests. As we drove into town, I saw burned vehicles along the streets and soldiers standing on corners, with rifles in hand and strings of bullets around their necks. The atmosphere was somber, but we loaded our bus and departed without trouble, sitting silently with mixed emotions of relief and distress.

Remnants from the protests on the roadside entering Lilongwe Town.

I’ve been in Zambia for a week now but am hopefully travelling back to Malawi early next week, as the demonstrations seem to have, for now, calmed down. The government has been given a petition by the non-governmental-organizations (NGOs) that organized the demonstrations. Protestors are giving the government until mid-August to address the concerns in the petition – further demonstrations are planned if the government does not cooperate. I do not know any details of the petition, but having lived in the country for two and a half months now, I have witnessed a general dissatisfaction with the current administration from Malawian citizens for various reasons – the British ambassador has been removed from Malawi, there is a fuel crisis in the country now, which is being attributed to a poor handling of foreign exchange, tobacco prices have plummeted, supposedly due to a poor relationship with the head of the organization that determines tobacco prices for Africa, and a zero-deficit budget has been proposed, meaning that no aid money will be used, as opposed to last year when 68% of the budget was supported with aid money. To support such a budget, taxes may be raised, subsidy programs cut, and salaries to government workers even more delayed than the sometimes four months it takes for teachers or police officers to receive their monthly pay-cheques.

Despite people’s discontent with the current administration, the protests, from my understanding, were not intended to become violent. The Malawians who I have met are kind and friendly people and I hope that the ‘warm heart of Africa’ can resolve the situation and soon regain its standing as one of the most peaceful countries in Africa.

One of my purposes of these visits was to seek answers to question 1 from my earlier post, What About Work? (what challenges are faced by small town and rural agrodealers?). Three of the challenges I saw are articulated below.

First, there is the challenge of staff management and communication. Some agrodealers who owned more than one store and therefore had employees working for them as shopkeepers in the other stores, had surprisingly little knowledge of how their employees were keeping records and employee and owner each had unique versions of the protocol for sales. Furthermore, one employee did not receive the month’s pay until days late – when she asked about her salary (about $20 CDN for the month), the owner told her just to be patient. This challenge is, in my opinion, noteworthy because an inability to manage employees has the potential to restrict expansion and success.

Another, more common challenge for the small agrodealer is that of transportation. The agrodealers in Salima Boma need to travel to Lilongwe City to buy chemicals and vegetable seeds or to order fertilizer and maize seed. It seems that only the suppliers in the main cities (one in the North, one in the South, and one in Central) are able to sell inputs on wholesale prices; therefore, unless agrodealers are willing to pay retail, they must make the trip for purchase. Purchasing stock at retail price may cause the agrodealer to have to increase his or her prices – naturally, this cannot be seen as a benefit to the small-holder-farmer (if you recall from the post What About Work? this is who we are working to primarily benefit!). The trip to Lilongwe from Salima Boma takes at least two hours by minibus and can be expensive. Dangerous chemicals are not to be transported alongside passengers – this means the agrodealers would have to rent a truck to transport such goods, as many agrodealers do not own vehicles. Maize seed and fertilizer will get delivered to Salima Boma, but for the very rural agrodealers, transportation from the Boma to their shop is still expensive as they have to hire bike taxis or man-pulled trollies (really wanted to give you pictures of the bike taxis and trollies, but the internet connections seems to want otherwise). As a lack of ability to transport stock into shops limits the quantity and variety of agricultural inputs in the shops, a direct link can be understood between this challenge and the livelihood of the small-holder-farmer, as the success of his or her farm will depend on the quality and variety of inputs he or she has access to.

Finally, the agrodealer who is trying to service the small-holder-farmer faces the dilemma between the dangers and sometimes illegality of repackaging goods and the needs and affordance abilities of the small-holder-farmers. For example, fertilizer is bought by the agrodealer in 50 kg bags, but especially during the cold season, farmers only need one or two kilograms and cannot afford to buy more than what they need. Thus, agrodealers repackage the fertilizer into smaller bags or just sell it in bulk style. The same situation occurs with chemicals – an agrodealer I visited just yesterday bought a 250 g jar of a powdered chemical, but he will be repackaging it into only tablespoon sized quantities. With chemicals, you must be licensed to repackage legally. However, regardless of illegality, the handling of both fertilizers and chemicals can be harmful to the health of the agrodealer if proper protective equipment is not worn and unlabeled packages can pose danger to the small-holder-farmer who purchases these goods but lacks knowledge on their proper use and potential danger. Could this mean there is another level at which some challenges need to be tackled? In other words, maybe it’s the producers themselves who need to be encouraged to consider the small-holder-farmer as a viable market and package inputs such as chemicals accordingly.

During my time in Salima, I spent one week living in Chingeluwe Village – the village where the remote agrodealer I visited is located. During that time, I was able to speak to some farmers in search of answers to the second question I posed in What About Work? three days ago. The farmers I visited all said that they bought their inputs (maize seed, fertilizers, etc) from the rural agrodealer in the village. However, it was a small sampling of farmers that I was able to see and they were all visited with the agrodealer himself, as he knew the area – this may have biased the replies of the farmers in how they praised his shop and its services. Furthermore, I did not gain a significant understanding of the challenges facing these rural farmers in terms of inputs through the visits, but rather of how they are currently coping with the resources available to them. Nonetheless, with some assumptions and second-hand information, I was able to come to believe that the livelihood of the small-holder-farmer is helped by the rural agrodealer. If the rural shop was not present, farmers would have to pay 600 Malawian kwatcha (about $4 CDN) and spend over two hours going into town to purchase their inputs. Additionally, I made the assumption that if farmers were purchasing from the rural shop while it was there, it must be a better option than going into town, as they would otherwise be going to town, despite the presence of the rural shop.

The third question of whether or not more wholesale shops would truly benefit the rural and small-town agrodealers and thus the small-holder-farmers was more challenging for me to settle on an opinion about. I tried to think of the challenges, such as transportation, of these small agrodealers that I saw, and consider if a nearby wholesale outlet could ease them. Because transportation can be expensive, it makes sense that having input supply distributers closer to the rural agrodealers would be a benefit. However, according to one agrodealer, some of these shops already exist, and agrodealers are still choosing to go to town. For example, in Salima Boma, there is a Farmer’s World that I was told sells inputs at wholesale prices, but agrodealers were still choosing to go to Lilongwe to purchase their stock (I understand that there is a discrepancy between what I am saying here and my earlier claim three paragraphs up that these chain stores only sell wholesale in the large cities – this is a prime example of the challenges of information collection in this field; I am still search of the true truth here). However, when I visited Farmer’s World in Salima Boma, I found they were currently selling only one chemical and one type of maize seed, making it apparent why the agrodealers found it necessary to travel to Lilongwe. But then I wondered: why is it that these wholesale shops are so low on stock? Some agrodealers told me that purchasing inputs from the suppliers in Salima Boma was just too expensive and it was cheaper to go to Lilongwe. Maybe the stores are not stocked because they do not sell enough to require more stock because of their more expensive prices. So then I wondered: if a chain supplier like Farmer’s World cannot maintain business, how likely is it that an individual will be able to operate a successful wholesale input supply shop? Or perhaps these already existing shops are just choosing not to focus on input supply. If this is the case, might it be worthwhile to put effort into showing these already existing and successful shops the benefits of catering to the as of yet untapped market that is the rural agrodealer and small-holder-farmer as opposed to working to create new, private wholesale input supply shops? Wholesale shops nearby are unlikely to solve the challenge of poor staff management, but maybe they can help with the small agrodealers need to repackage goods; maybe the wholesaler agrodealers can be trained and certified for repackaging and then sell these repackaged items in wholesale to the smaller, more rural, less trained agrodealers. Or maybe the production companies should be the ones offering more appropriate sizes.

Or, a shorter answer to the third question – I don’t know. In fact, the more I learn, the less it seems I know; each answer I get quickly morphs itself into at least two more questions. But wow, this learning is fascinating and the multiplying questions are motivating!

#1. On the bus from Salima…

My seat mate has just informed me that the best souvenir to bring back from Malawi is a Malawian baby. I think he can tell I look a little bit suspicious of this claim, but he’s not giving in.

“Well, when people visit America, they bring back American babies, so you should bring back a Malawian baby,” he justifies.

My facial expression definitely just went from ‘suspicious’ to ‘are you crazy?’. Nonetheless, there is nothing else to do for the next hour and a half but speak to this man.

                “And where might I get one of those?” I innocently ask.

Ah, but of course, you don’t get them – you make them.

#2. It’s been about ten minutes since I snuggled into bed on one side of a thick hanging cloth that separates the bed from the small sitting area where my Malawian roommate and her friend are chatting…

                “Joc. Do you like Gospel music?” I hear.
                “Yes, it’s nice.” I reply, deciding not to pretend I am sleeping.
                “What church do you go to?” My roommate follows up her initial question.
                “Um, I don’t belong to a church.”
                Silence.
                “You don’t belong to a church?”
                “No.”
                Silence.
                After about five minutes, the chatter continues.

#3. In early May, a fellow JF and I walk into a small shop near where we will stay for the week in Lilongwe…

                The shopkeeper greets my friend “Muli bwanji?”
              “Ndillo bwino,” she replies.

              The shopkeeper greets me “Ndimakufuna, will you marry me?”
              “Ei, zikomo,” (no thank you) I reply.

About a month later I return to Lilongwe for the weekend and go into the shop.

The second shopkeeper hollers to the one who greeted us that first day,               “It is your wife!”

I laugh, smile, and greet the man who apparently didn’t hear the ‘no’ in my ‘no thank you’. But he always has such a big and friendly smile, it’s hard to get irritated by this suitor as I do with most. We chat briefly and I go on home.

It’s about another month until I am back again. This time, I walk into the shop with a different friend who the shopkeeper again greets with the standard greeting, “Muli bwanji?” But when he turns to me, he reaches out for my hand.

              “Hi, sweety,” he says.
              “Ahh, hello,” I reply with a smile, pretending this courtship didn’t just become more uncomfortable than amusing.

              He turns to my friend, gesturing at me says, “This is my wife.”

 The next day I will be leaving for another two weeks, let me just hope that absence does not truly make the heart fonder….

#4. I’m sitting in the seating area of my new home in Mtundu doing some work on my laptop…

Click, click, click I hear from just outside the door. Seconds later appears my young host sister wearing her mother’s high-heeled shoes.

                “Oohh, very nice,” I say as she is dancing around in them.

Click, click, click, she disappears out the door. Click, click, click, she is back with a new pair of shoes. She shows them off as I again tell her they are very nice and she heads out for another pair. There is a full on shoe fashion show happening in the tiny seating area. About ten pairs later, she gets to her aunt’s shoes.

                “Beautiful,”I comment.
                “Yeah,” says my sister on her way out the door.

It’s been about three minutes and she hasn’t come with a new pair yet. I have assumed the show is over when she reappears, having added a pair of stockings to her outfit. A new dance accompanies the new fashion item. She reappears again – splat, apparently the shoes my sister was just showing off are rather slippery as she is now lying on the floor giggling. In the finale, she has added a doormat as a second layer to her skirt and there is a more extravagant dance. My sister bows, and I clap enthusiastically as she struts out the door.

#5. I was sitting again in the seating area of my new home typing up notes from the day in the field. Two children that I barely know from a nearby home came in and sat down. They have been staring at me in silence for the last ten minutes. This is awkward.

About two months ago, I promised you more detail on the work that I am doing this summer. Apologies for the late delivery, but better late than never, here is the beginning of those information filled blog posts you were promised.

This summer, I am working with Engineer’s Without Borders’ (EWB) Southern Africa Agricultural Value Chains (AVC) Team. Team AVC focuses its efforts in the agricultural input chain, a simplified version of which is shown in the diagram below, with the belief that improving the flow of goods and knowledge through this chain can lead to an improved quality of life for the small-holder-farmer (SHF).

[small-holder-farmer: a person whose primary food and only income source is the crop which they harvest.]

agricultural input chain

[agricultural input chain: the chain above shows the different players involved in the flow of agricultural inputs from their production to their purchase by the small-holder-farmer. Following is a breakdown of these six identified players:

1. The small-holder-farmer is the final piece of the input chain. EWB’s primary goal in working in the input chain is to bring benefit to the SHF.
2. Rural agrodealers are those individual agrodealers who have shops located in remote areas. For example, one rural agrodealer I visited had his shop located about 20 km off the main road – only bicycle taxis can get you into this area, as buses do not travel that far into the villages. These shops are set up to service the more isolated farmers.
3. Town-Based Agrodealers are shops located in the towns. They may be in larger centres, such as Malawi’s capital, Lilongwe, or in smaller townships, such as Mtundu – a small trading centre near where I am staying now. These shops will also service farmers, but force the more rural farmers to travel long distances to access the shops. Many of these agrodealer shops are also owned by individuals; however, some are chain stores such as Farmer’s World and Kulima Gold.
4. The local input supply companies are located in townships such as the previously mentioned Mtundu. In smaller townships, not many of these are present or they may be poorly stocked. There are some individual agrodealers who are acting as local wholesale input suppliers, while other wholesaler outlets are again a part of a chain company such as Farmer’s World or Agricultural Trading Centre.
5. The big city outlet input supply companies are found in the larger cities and will include such outlets as Seed Co. or Chemicals and Marketing, an importer of agricultural chemicals.
6. The producers and manufacturers can sometimes be the same company as the input supplier like in the case of Seed Co. – they produce maize seed, which they then sell in wholesale to agrodealers. However, in the case of chemicals, they are produced out of country – many in South Africa – and then imported and sold by those input suppliers of 5.]

[agrodealer: someone who owns a shop that sells agricultural inputs to farmers. (These inputs most commonly include fertilizer, maize seed, vegetable seeds, and chemicals, but can also include larger items such as hoes, or even tractors.)]

Specifically, my placement is centered on improving the distribution network for the rural agrodealers in Malawi. The currently proposed method by which this can be best accomplished is to promote the development of town-based agrodealers into wholesalers, creating the pink linkage shown in the diagram. The town-based wholesaler agrodealer would be similar to the town-based input supplier. As mentioned in describing 4 in the chain, there are already a few individual agrodealers operating as wholesale stores – the belief is that more of these can bring a more widespread benefit to rural agrodealers.

I have been partnered with a local non-governmental-organization (NGO) that is working to develop the capacity of private agrodealers in Malawi. In recent history, this NGO has delivered basic training to over 1000 operating and potential agro-dealers. In anticipation of new funding, the NGO has created a more advanced training program that will be delivered to agro-dealers who are identified as potential wholesale distributers. Of those who receive training, a few who have been identified as high-capacity will receive further support from the NGO, beyond the advanced training, in order to develop their businesses with the intention that they become more able to service the rural agrodealers as high-capacity operating wholesale input suppliers.

So, where do I fit in this plan?

I have been working in the field, meeting agrodealers and trying to answer questions that will give me the knowledge necessary to advise this NGO on materials for the advanced trainings, on best methods of support to offer those few selected agrodealers, and on useful criteria for identification of the high-capacity agrodealers. Here are some questions I have been aiming to answer over the last month and a half in the field:

1. What are the challenges faced by rural or small-town agrodealers?
2. How does the rural agrodealer benefit the small-holder-farmer? Does he?
3. Will town-based wholesaler agrodealer shops benefit the rural agrodealers? If so, will this benefit reach the small-holder-farmer?

Why are these questions the important ones I chose to highlight? Understanding the answers to question one can help us determine the answers to question three. The NGO I am working with is preparing to use a significant amount of money on helping some of these agrodealers grow into wholesale distributer shops. If this is not the best way to benefit the rural agrodealers, and more importantly the small-holder-farmer, then it may not be the best way to use this money. Furthermore, in reference to question two, if the rural agrodealer does not truly benefit the small-holder-farmer, then working to support the rural agrodealer does not make sense from the perspective of an organization whose primary beneficiary is considered to be the small-holder-farmer, as is the case of EWB.

I spent the first half of my placement in Salima Boma (Bome = Town) and Chingeluwe Village trying to find answers to these questions. Where I’ve gotten to in my search for these answers and how I got there will be posted later in the week.

As always, sending much love from Malawi.

Dusk is has set in. Fred and I are sitting on a bench just behind the small brick house, chatting. Younger siblings Sam and Tee are sitting on the corner of the porch. Sam and Tee suddenly become tense and recoil further onto the porch. Something is frightening them. But what? I cannot see clearly, it is too dark.
          “They are afraid,” says Fred
          “Of what?” I ask, knowing the answer to my own question but hoping desperately to be wrong.
Sam and Tee disappear to the other side of the house.
          “What is it?” I repeat, becoming frantic.
          “It’s an Njoka, see, just by the bush.”
What looks like a thick stick about 20 inches long is slowly slithering out of a bush that sits just five meters from where we are sitting. It is moving away from the house. My heart rate has doubled in the last minute and is still on the rise.
          “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh,” I stutter in a whisper.
All physiological symptoms of fight or flight boil within me – I am fully prepared to flee. All I have to do is drop the clutch and there would be nothing but a dust cloud left where I am sitting now. But I don’t move. What if I run and it follows? Fear of the unknown has me instead rooted to the spot, clenching the bench with white knuckles and trembling. At least if I stay, Fred and I are in this together.

My host-mom appears around the corner of the house holding a massive stick, flanked by her children. She walks over to the slow moving Njoka raising her stick above her head. Whump! The Njoka lets out a high-pitched moan as I take in a gasp.
          “Don’t have fear,” Fred tries to reassure me.
          “What if it comes this way?” I shakily whisper
          “It’s okay, Moma is taking care of it, don’t have fear,” he says again.
          “They won’t bring it near me, right? Even when it’s dead? Please make sure nobody brings it near me. I don’t even like pictures. I can’t believe I am seeing this, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.”
          “No, nobody will bring it near, I promise. Don’t have fear,” repeats Fred’s consoling voice. He is now holding my hand and has his other hand on my shoulder. Moma continues to bring her stick down on the Njoka until it is no longer alive.
          “See, Moma took care of it? It will now be buried away from the house and we won’t see another one for many months,” Fred explains.
Uninvited tears brew and trickle down my cheeks. Fred is still holding onto me. Moma comes back my way.
          “Don’t cry, don’t cry,” she pleads.
Fred picks up the bench to move to the other side of the house. Trembling, I follow. After fifteen minutes or so I have allowed Fred to convince me that there will not be another one for at least 5 months. And so, I commence my village stay.
___

There is some rustling coming from the room next to me. Something scurries across the floor beside my bed. A new muscle has tightened up from last night’s sleep on the steel bed frame covered only by a straw mat. I stretch out and open my eyes. Sunlight has found the corners of the otherwise cardboard covered windows and is softly lifting the blackness of the night within the brick house. A flashlight is moving about in the room where my host-mom and two sisters sleep. The door opens and moma walks through my room and outside. I press the light button on my watch – it’s 5:37 am. Ten minutes later, my sister Cee comes through where I sleep and joins moma outside. Moma comes back in, calling to the youngest, Tee, to be getting up. In the darkness, Tee’s small figure runs across the room to join her family outside. The rooster is announcing the coming of a new day, and by 6:00 am, he’s convinced me to get up. I sit up, pull back my mosquito net, slip into my sandals, and hop out of bed. I un-tuck the net and tie it up into a ball above the bed. I pull the chitenge that was providing extra cushion out from under my pillow and tie it around my waist.

Stepping outside, I breathe in the fresh air and appreciate the cool morning breeze, as the heat of the day is sure to descend shortly.
          “Madzuka bwanji!?” Moma enthusiastically asks me how I am this morning.
          “Dazuka bwino, kaya ino?” I respond as she is holding my hand.
Standing on the porch is my younger brother Sam. Every time we meet eyes, he gives me the most massive and contagious smile.
          “Madzuka bwanji?” I say. His smile gets even bigger and he laughs aloud.

Moving away from the house I approach a small brick outhouse that is the latrine. As I open the door, cockroaches scurry down the hole and a small lizard moves along the top of the wall between the bricks and the thatched roof. When I return from the latrine, my sister Cee has brought out a small bucket with water for me to rinse my hands. The family has noticed my habit of hand-washing and most often they beat me to the task of bringing some water out from the large filled buckets in the house.
___

My sister Uni appears.
          “Let’s go,” she says, handing me a small bucket.
Uni, Cee, and I all walk the 120 meters or so to the borehole to fill our buckets. Mine holds about 5 litres; theirs each hold around 20 litres. Uni helps Cee get hers on her head. I help Uni. Then I plop my tiny bucket on my head, successfully sloshing water all down my front.
          “It has a handle,” Cee laughs.
___

I set the bucket of madzekuma (drinking water) down in the house and turn to see Moma coming in.
          “Kubafa,” she says to me while miming splashing water on her shoulders.
I understand her to mean warm water is ready for me in the bucket in the bathhouse. I head over to the small brick enclosure, pulling aside the maize seed sack that hangs to cover the entrance, clambering ungracefully inside. Re-emerging, I see Bill sitting on a straw mat that has been laid out on the front porch of the house. I smile. Bill has quickly become a source of comfort and companionship to me in the village as the only family member living in the compound who speaks more than a few words and phrases of broken English. Bill is around my age and is finishing Form 4 in school this year which is comparable to grade 12 in
Canada. I sit down beside my friend.
          “Madzuka banji?” I greet him in Chichewa.
          He smiles and laughs, “Dazuka bwino, kaya ino?”
         “Dazuka bwino,” I reply.
Bill is still grinning. He has been teaching me Chichewa during my days in the village and reacts like a proud teacher every time I use it.
          “You have done so much for us,” he would say, “this is something I can do for you.”
Moma brings us over some breakfast – it’s tea and a massive white bun each that Pete, my host-father, bought at the market that morning.
___

Late morning, Bill and I are looking at some of the pictures we took earlier that day on my camera. He sits back and smiles,
          “Maybe when you go back to Canada, you can send me one of these.”
          I laugh a little, “Cameras are expensive, and do you know how much it is to send things overseas? I don’t have that kind of money!”
          “No?” He laughs back.
I try to explain to him that all Canadians are not wealthy. I, for sure, am not wealthy. Scholarships and the bank of mom and dad are my current dependencies and neither will support a luxurious lifestyle. The camera we are looking at is from a birthday six years ago. But then I wonder how legitimate this explanation is. I don’t have money in the means of bills pouring out of my pockets, but I can afford things; like to give up a summer of earning and still attend school in the fall. Not me, personally, but all the aspects of my life that create my opportunities, including my parents, and the government under which I live, have allowed me to be wealthy even when I do not have money – somehow, I maintain a wealth of opportunity and support that is unheard of to many of my new friends.
___

It’s just after lunch now. Bill has left me to attend school for the afternoon. It’s about a one hour bike ride into Salima Boma (Town) where he attends his secondary school classes. There is only a primary school in the village. It’s a Sunday, which means classes are in the afternoon today. Bill goes to school six afternoons per week. On Saturdays, his classes are in the morning. As I said, it’s a Sunday, which also means it’s market day in the village of Chingeluwe. All the women of the family have gathered at the home I am staying to go to the market together. Apart from Moma, Cee, Uni, and little Tee, this includes Dawn, and big Sister Kate and her baby boy. We all sit on the straw mat outside the house as the women do their hair and decide on their clothes. It’s clearly important to my family to look their best for market day. Sitting on the mat, Cee and Uni observe how dirty my feet and ankles are from trudging around in the sandy compound all morning and Moma makes me go wash them before we head out. Everybody dressed in their best, we’re off to the market.

It’s busy this afternoon. I stick with Uni and we browse the open market of mostly used items for clothes and blankets for her coming baby – she’s due in a month. Groups of children gather around and stare, eyes fixed on me. Luckily, I’m usually able to send them away with a friendly ‘hello!’ or a thumbs up. After a couple of hours of shopping around, we head back to the compound, goods in hand, stopping to chat with the woman we pass by on the path.
___

It’s a fight that’s challenging to take on with people who do not speak my language, but I manage to convince Moma to let me help with cooking dinner – it’s nsima (maize flour cooked in hot water until it becomes thick and goopy; this is the staple food for most Malawians, eaten for lunch and dinner nearly every day) with eggs and tomatoes as the relish (the relish is often leafy green vegetables, beans, or eggs). Uni is cooking and lets me help her with the eggs and tomatoes. When these are done, they are placed in a small bowl and covered by another and the large pot of water for the nsima is placed on the fire in the small cookhouse. Uni starts adding the maize flour and as the mixture thickens Moma sends me out to wait with Bill. Our food is brought and we serve it up onto the plates.
          “Let us pray,” is Bill’s usual start to the prayer he says each evening before we eat.
          “You know, before the missionaries came, we did not have religion, but they enlightened us and shared with us their beliefs” Bill informs me.
          “How did you know they were right? Why did you believe them?” I ask.
          “Because we started praying and things started coming to us. Buildings rose, roads were built.”
___

Darkness has completely fallen. Peering beyond the overhanging thatch roof, hundreds of stars are twinkling down on us. One shoots across the sky and I make a wish. The crickets announce nightfall as the rooster does the morning. 7:30 pm – it’s time for bed.
          “Gonani bwino,” I wish Moma and my sister a good night.
          “Gonani bwino,” they reply.

**names have been modified and most quotations paraphrased**