Life in Malawi

Finding the opportunity to blog has been difficult. After almost 3 weeks here, we finally have something called a "dongle”(about which I cannot help but make obscene jokes), which connects us to the internet from home.  It only really works upstairs, has not allowed us to access our e-mail consistently, and is extremely slooooow.  Nonetheless, I will attempt to summarize what life has been like for the Fitzgerald family for our first few weeks here in Malawi. 
My day usually begins about 6:30, when I wake up praying that there will be electricity, so that I can make coffee.  There have only been two work-mornings when I have had to go without, leaving me desperately plotting ways to come by caffeine at work.  One embarrassing day I stooped to pouring hot tap water over three tea bags and wringing them out into my travel mug because there was no electricity at work, either, and I could not boil water in the staff room.  I dress, slather on sunscreen, and set off into the crisp morning for a 3 1/2 mile walk to work.  It is my favorite part of my day, believe it or not.  I have chosen to walk because we truly cannot afford to buy a second car, and because fuel is so exorbitantly expensive and difficult to come by, that we are reluctant to drive anywhere we can conceivably walk.  Dave spent 7 hours waiting for fuel the other day, and it is $10/gallon.
It is "winter" here right now, and the dry season.  There has not been a single drop of rain the entire time we have been here, and everything is covered in a fine layer of orange dust.  In the mornings people sweep their yards and the roadsides, so the dust fills the air, mixing with the smoke from all of the fires burned each day to rid the city of garbage.  There is literally a haze over the street as I walk, and the sun sifts through it to warm my face.  My journey starts in our residential area, then I pass through a small market, where women squat selling bananas laid out on colorful cloths.  I then join the cadre of morning commuters who walk the busy road to the hospital, and pass women in bright sarongs, with their babies slung on their backs and baskets of fruit or grain balanced improbably on their heads.  I walk through a busy market where white vans crammed full of people idle as touts try to cajole more passengers to pack in.  The market consists of wooden stalls lined along the road, strung with wares ranging from CDs to hubcaps to fruits and vegetables.  I have even seen someone selling Obama candies, with the slogan "Yes we can!" across the top.  Just as I begin to wax poetic over the sounds and sights of Africa each morning, I am slapped with the stench of rotting trash from the dry riverbed beside the market, and my pace quickens while I attempt to keep from inhaling as I pass.
     I reach work about 50 minutes after leaving home.  The Baylor building is beautiful, a brick and glass structure with manicured gardens and a playground outside.  Early in the morning families arrive and wait for the clinic to open.  The vast majority are women carrying children who are wearing their best clothing, which is often an eclectic mix of worn and dirty princess dresses, with tattered crinoline and shredded ribbons.  I spent my first week in training, and have only recently begun to see patients with some of the other doctors, most of whom have been with the program for several years, whether in Malawi or in other countries. 
     Some days I run home, others I am picked up by Dave or I walk.  The evening is spent cooking meals that I hope the kids will eat, praying the electricity won't go out before I finish, and getting ready for work the next day.  It is very dangerous to drive at night here, as there are no street lights, people drive with their lights off to conserve gas (??!!), and the roadways are teeming with people walking or on bikes, so we rarely leave once we are home.
We live in a gated compound with 4 other townhouses, almost all of which have recently been rented.  Our neighbors all have children, many of whom go to Bishop Mackenzie, the international school our children (finally) got into.  We have also befriended most of the Malawian children who live outside our compound, and it is not unusual for us to have 5-10 children running through our house or jumping on our trampoline each afternoon.  Despite the expense (food is outrageous, and petrol ridiculous), and the power outages, and the constant need for sunscreen and bug spray, we are truly, truly happy here, and life is starting to develop a rhythm.
There are still so many stories to tell (our first trip to the market, how we got strong-armed into a housekeeper, etc), but I will have to continue another time.  I'm going to put on my headlamp, crawl under the mosquito net, and go to bed.