Malawi Jake

The Beginning

On the evening of July 5 Mike Hunt, soon to become known as In-Law Wilson and myself met Tony Paul a Prince of the Ironbound and Malawi Jake’s chief patron. The Prince, not to be outdone by his past performances commandeered us through his section of Newark stopping only to procure athletic equipment for Jake’s soccer team and to quench our thirst with dark beer and Phillipe II, a Spanish brandy.

At 12:00 AM the exhausted trio returned to the Prince’s apartment where Tony Paul graciously repacked our entire luggage so that he could squeeze in all of the recently purchased merchandise for the people of Zolokere, our destination. We fell asleep and both Mike and I had nightmares concerning the weight of the luggage. We would be repacking in terminal B at 6:00 AM.

Our heaviest bag weighed in at 31.5 kg. with 32 being the limit. Praise the Lord! This truly proved to be an omen, as our luck ran this way during the whole trip. At Heathrow we were faced with the pressure of having to find and purchase Drum tobacco for Jake plus satisfy our own cravings, all to be done with only 45 minutes until Ethiopian Airlines departed for Addis. Paid the equivalent of $43.00 for the Drum, which proved to be an omen of sorts also. We spent a lot of money.

Arrived at gate 25 and found the doors to the boarding area locked within someone on the other side waving frantically for us to move away. After fretting for a short time we recuperated when a man opened the doors and announced that everyone should queue up. Our expectations hyped again when we read a sign that stated. “ All carryon baggage is limited to 6kg.” That’s only 12 lbs. for God’s sake. Babies are born bigger than that. We knew we were again flirting with trouble and sure enough mine weighed 18 kg. Mike’s backpack weighed even more. We were instructed to join the rest of the delinquents in another line. Our new line consisted of men who looked like Ayatollah somebody and the fun began. Everyone in the newly formed line quickly became disgruntled and began speaking in tongues to Ethiopian Airlines security people. When it became obvious to the chanters that speaking in tongues to people who looked like they should understand didn’t seem to care, our new acquaintances began taking items from their carry-ones, which consisted mostly of personal toiletries and items recently purchased in the duty free shops and began launching them at the security people. Again, our luck prevailed. As momentum was gaining to the point of a near riot, a nice security lady came up to me and asked if she could reweigh my bag. Why not? She did this by grabbing both of our bags in her right hand and telling us we were “OK” and we should go to the gate. Obviously, she was right handed. It was also obvious that our deportment in line had something to do with it. We left the bad boys tossing their goods about both thinking that just maybe this was our first taste of an unfamiliar culture.

Worth mentioning is the fact that the Addis Ababa airport was built by Kuwait at a cost of $127,000,000. It’s very nice, but I want to mention that at this point in time we knew nothing of the London bombings and thought it quite peculiar that after deplaning there we had to proceed through 3 security check points only to be herded back onto the same plane that would now take us to “the warm heart of Africa.”

About 3 hours later we landed at Kamanzu Airport about 20 Km north of Lilongwe. We spotted Jake and another friend of his, Spencer Mallard. The notorious Spencer who went to Virginia Tech with Jake and Mike is now working fir an organization out of D.C. called The African Strategic Defense Command, a clandestine operation that is well known throughout Africa’s democracies for the lavish entertaining they provide for the military bosses of these countries whether the entertaining be done on their land or ours. This wining and dining that Spencer had done the evening before proved to be a bit much for even him, but later in the trip we were to reap some benefit from his soirée with a couple of Colonels from the Malawian Army. We encountered our first problem in Malawi right at Customs. The customs people opened our luggage and found 25 pair of soccer cleats, team shirts, shin guards, soccer balls et al, and of course because I looked the part. They mistakenly identified me as a businessman who was in Malawi to sell all of this equipment and then rape and pillage throughout the villages. I tried to explain that my son was a PC volunteer and the items were all donated. They weren’t buying any of this, but did agree to reduce the duty from $80.00 to $40.00. Our hero arrived on the scene and we now had our first taste of how the Malawian people reacted when Jake started to speak to them in Tumbuka. Their first reaction is always one of bewilderment, and then as the conversation develops they begin to smile warmly and then break out into laughter as Jake shares a funny story with them speaking in their language. After much thought about this, it seems to me that they are fascinated by him and at the same time respect him for the respect he’s showing them. At any rate, it’s incredible to witness day after day and the results never vary. Jake inevitably comes out the winner. So it was at Customs. We proceeded onward duty free. We then picked up our rental vehicle from Avis, but wouldn’t you know it wasn’t an Avis car at a rate of $110.00/day. It was the Avis manager’s car rented to us for $50.00/day. By the way, we anticipated some problems prior to returning the car, but figured out that if Mr. Slickster gave us a hard time, we would simply tell him we were going to call Avis’ main office to get things straightened out and he’d negotiate. We did and he did. Next stop was the bank where I converted $500.00 US into Kwatcha and was given a shoebox full of bills.

Some first impressions that never changed, and will last forever.

As we proceeded north on the M1 towards our first destination, Muzuzu where we were to spend our first night in the Peace Corps Transit House the number of people walking or riding bicycles on the highway took me in. I could never figure out where they had come from or where they were going. They all seemed to be moving purposely, but where to? The red dust that came from the Georgia like red clay permeated everything. The landscape for the most part reminded me a little of the Jersey Pine Barrens with lots of scrub trees that appeared to have been there for years, but just never did well. There
were pine plantations that stretched along the M1 for almost 50km, and Jake said that they were planted long ago by the British who intended to build a pulp mill and produce paper, but like so many other projects started this one fell by the wayside. Jake told us that the forest of pines stretched almost 50km in the other direction also. Mountains…huge mountains that formed a horizon similar to the one found in the U.S. as you travel through the desert and see the Rockies or the Sierra Nevada in the distance. Mud/brick shacks with thatched roofs dotted the landscape always set into groups of at least four. Sometimes they were right off the shoulder of the road and at other times you could see them off in the distance with smoke rising from fires built for cooking always outside the house.

The Peace Corps Transit House in Mzuzu

After about a 5-hour ride we arrived at an armed camp known as the Peace Corps Transit House in Mzuzu. There were no guns, as there don’t seem to be any at all in all of Malawi except for the Police and Army, but a 10 ft wall topped with concertina wire greeted us. A private security guard opened the gate and seemed glad to see Jake. Jake introduced us to Alfred the caretaker who lives on premises with his nice little family. I do remember that his daughters name was Marvelous, and she lived up to that name. The house itself was pleasant enough, but there were too many rules made up apparently by someone who had little else to do. Stuff like…don’t feed the pet cat! …don’t forget to leave dirty laundry in the receptacle. Just one annoying thing after another, but we had our first comfortable night in Malawi.

Our Trip to and Our Arrival in Zolokere

Leaving Mzuzu we traveled another 3 hours on paved road to the frontier town of Rumphi. And it was that…a frontier town comprised of an atmosphere that reminded me of DEADWOOD on HBO. There was a grocery store that Jake bought some supplies at and the manager there seemed to know him well as did most of the street guys just hanging about. Jake asked around and found out that a lady down the street and around the corner owned a refrigerator and might be happy to sell him some ice. We found her and she was more than happy to oblige. We also filled up the car at a BP station where the price was about $5.00/gallon. About a mile down the road towards Zolokere we lost 2 things: cell coverage and pavement. The road was wide enough, yet the sand was soft and yielded plenty of dust. As people walked down the road, they became covered in dust as we trekked by. I couldn’t believe that my son who usually showed such care for people, blasted by these people walking or riding bicycles without a care in the world. We passed Bolero (Home of the famous Spanish dance, I’m sure.) and then a few other villages and then started our climb up a very long windy road. At the top, which I think we reached several times there were a few huts on the right and a sign pointing to Nykah Game Preserve, which we later visited. The fun began as we descended the hill on a much steeper winding grade. There were still ruts from washouts during the last rainy season and occassionaly we would pass people who were all dressed up with white shirts, ties and dress shoes just walking down the road. Many were walking their bikes up the steep incline. About an hour from mountaintop we made a left onto a really narrow road, crossed a rickety bridge as Jake explained that the other bridge toppled with a truck on it during the rainy season. As we passed a group of well kept huts, Jake pointed out that these were owned and operated by a traditional faith healer who used the huts for patients. The traditional faith healer idea on first thought is one of bewilderment, and then as you begin to weigh the alternatives, maybe it does make sense. We passed several other huts and finally came to Zolokere.

“Jacky, Jacky, Jacky”— the kids began to yell as they caught sight of him driving the spaceship. Smiles through white, bright teeth greeted us as we drove up to Jake’s hut. With great pleasure I greeted Gama with a big hug and he let me know right up front that he was Jake’s brother. This guy cooks, cleans and serves as Jake’s advisor when all else fails. I can see how Jake is inspired by this man. He greeted me as “Daddy” and this term stuck throughout our stay used more by Gama and Chotwa than any others in the village. If I initiated a conversation with either calling them by name, the first response would always be “Yes, Daddy or “Daddy”. If home was only like this! Their respect for Jake translated into this. In addition, the elderly are held in high esteem in this Tumbuka culture.

Jake informed me that I must take up the formal greeting position on a chair in the rear of his yard so that I could begin to attend to greetings as the kids in the village grew in number and began to really gawk at us. Imagine what we must have looked like to them! We arrived in what may as well been a spaceship, 2 white men (mzugus) standing roughly 6’ 2”tall and a short, gray-haired old white dude with bifocals on. We were a sight.  Gama reminded Jake that the soccer team was practicing and expected him to address them prior to the end of the session. This got me off the hot seat of greeting well wishers at least temporarily. Jake at this juncture set a trend that was to continue throughout my stay. Instead of walking over to the field, he opted to drive so that I didn’t have to make the journey on foot. We arrived at the field and within 5 minutes there was a chair brought from the local school for me to sit in. Another trend that continued.

Jake was really letting the team have it since they were keeping the ball in the air too much. He was adamant about the fact that they should control the ball by keeping it on the ground. They respectfully listened. He threatened them with the fact that he would suit up tomorrow and put himself in the game. Pointing out that the other team would laugh at them because they needed a mug to play. It worked. They began to perform well. Jake then asked me to say a few words to the team, so I gave them the first of my globalization speech as it was come to be known. What the heck are you supposed to say when Jake keeps asking you to give off the cuff/shooting from the hip speeches? This was the first of many, and I thought it went well so I gave the same basic speech another 8-10 times. To different audiences of course.

Jake explained that on the vigil of a game the team went to an undisclosed location where they mentally prepared for game time. The rule was: no ganja and no beer. They sang and danced traditional Malawian songs and dances. Told stories and forged their bonds. We returned home where Gama was waiting with dinner, which consisted of soy, tomatoes, onions and rice. It was delicious.

The next day began at 3:15 AM with Jake yelling about the crowing of the roosters, two of which were right next door. An animal jumping through my window and landing on my bed prompted the next event. Still don’t know what it was, but Jake says it was only a cat. I freaked out only to be calmed by the next event. Spencer announced that he thought he might have s—t himself. I guess he wasn’t sure! He managed to find his way to the chimbuzi (outhouse) and get himself back together. Here we were at 4:00AM carrying on like it was mid-morning and as it all became too much for Gama he decided to get up and prepare the fire for breakfast. As for the cat theory of Jake’s…3 days later I discovered that a rat had gnawed holes in 3 of my shirts. Maybe the cat was chasing the rat across the bottom of my bed.

Jake instructed Gama to take care of the rooster problem ASAP. Gama did. We had the rooster that began the crowing at 3:00AM for dinner that night. I asked Jake why he didn’t take care of the rooster problem earlier and he replied that he was waiting for “DA-DA” to arrive. I can only suppose that my presence in the village allowed him a little more leeway.

Chotwa and Toss, the coach of the team arrived early as I was performing formal greetings with other members of the team and villagers. Good time to explain one of the peculiarities of these greetings. A greeter would enter Jake’s yard and make his way towards me, then getting closer would start bowing. I would then offer him a seat and upon sitting he’d strike up a conversation in English. Topics would range from the weather to George Bush. Jake would then come over, sit himself and start with, “this one is my father” at which time he’d tell me to greet the person I’d been talking to for the last 10 minutes. I did this in Tumbuka and typically faces would light up with warmth. Then we’d go back to our conversation that had been interrupted by the formal greeting.

Jake, Chotwa and Toss then went over the game plan. They discussed the uniforms that had been sent over as well as the cleats generously supplied by St. John’s church. They all agreed that the more ardent supporters of the team should also get shirts. Jake closed the meeting by telling Chotwa and Toss that we’d see them at game time.

Game Time

Prior to the game Jake took us to Kotho which is the local trading post and where the Post Office is located. Jake’s mail is so sporadic and the Postmaster likes him so much that the postmaster will send a messenger when there’s mail for Jake. He did seem like a very quiet and gentle man. We also met Mr. Mitoli a local bottle storeowner who is also a village headman. The headman of whom there are usually 2 or 3 assist the sub chief with the local day-to-day problems that usually center around property disputes, marriages etc. The big plus at this store was the paraffin-powered refrigerator full of sodas and cold Carlsberg. We engaged in formal greetings with some elders hanging about and then lit out for the soccer game.

Upon arrival at the field we were immediately impressed by two things: the team was wearing their new uniforms and cleats and they were quite dazzling in contrast to their barefooted opponents. The next surprise, which turned into a tradition for us, was the arrival of a bench and an armchair with armrests for DA-DA. They appeared out of nowhere.  As I said before, the respect for Jake and the elders became quite evident since at every event the chair appeared for DA-DA. The cheerleaders consisted of about 30 women and young girls chanting . This was also the first time that Jake mentioned something on passing and 5 minutes later it just happened. Jake remarked to Mike and I that the cheerleaders needed a drum and there it was 5 minutes later. During our stay of one month this same eerie thing happened about 5 or 6 times. It almost seemed that Jake had only to make a remark regarding a need and his wish was always granted. I reminded him that he better be careful of what he wished for. This phenomenon continued throughout the trip: Jake had a problem with a chicken and 5 minutes later a chicken man showed up to take care of the problem. Where did the chicken man come from?

The Big Party
Jake had told us that after the soccer game on Saturday he was going to host a party for the team and its most ardent supporters. He also told us that the sub-chief would be invited and therefore we must get over to his house for formal greetings before he showed up at the party. Jake sent a messenger and was informed that the sub-chief would receive us at 6:00 PM. When the hour arrived Jake, Mike and I meandered over to the chiefs house bearing gifts (a tie procured at Wal-Mart) and were received graciously by the chief. He spazzed out over the tie and promised to wear it often. Jake then formally invited him to the party planned for tomorrow.

The actual party preps began at about 5:00 AM Sunday with the arrival of Edward and the about to be slaughtered goat. Chotwa, Gamma and Edward tied his legs and then hoisted him up over a sturdy branch. Gamma then found the dullest knife in his kitchen and attempted to slit his throat.  After about 10 minutes of loud bleating, re-slitting and urinating the goat finally succumbed. The other soccer players were gathering the blood from the goat into a 4 qt. pot, which when full they placed on a fire right next to our breakfast. After the blood congealed nicely, they all dug into the pot with their fingers and began feasting. “AHHH! No thanks Chotwa !”
At about 10:00 Am Jake told me that I better get dressed up for the party. This meant long pants, dress shirt and tie. I skipped the tie, but complied with his other orders. I asked Jake when guests would start arriving and he told me around noon and that all I had to do was sit and conduct formal greetings. Well, about 1:00 AM they began arriving and tiring quickly of the greeting scene, I made my way into the hut for a cocktail. Jake encouraged me by telling me what a great job I was doing with my Muli Uli’s . We polished off a few drinks and then Jake told me to go take my place on the patio. I asked him where and he told me to just find the empty chair next to the Chief at the head table. . One more surprise lay in store for me. Jake casually mentioned that everyone would expect a speech from me during the course of the party. “Don’t worry Dad, just be yourself.” He really didn’t want me to be myself, but you have to understand the Wilson family code speak.
After taking my position at the head-table, Toss being the football coach and the village intellectual took over the program. Reading from notes, he told everyone that the official program was now beginning and would follow this script: A speech from the Chief, who was sitting next to me outfitted in his purple Wal-Mart tie, a speech from Jacky’s father,Da-Da, a speech from the school headmaster and finally a speech from a volunteer member of the soccer team. He also announced that part 2 of the program would be a prayer led by Ruth Tonga and that part three of the program would be the official eating. The Chief began his speech by pointing out the tie given to him by Da-Da and noted that he planned to wear it to official meetings in Lilongwe. Just when everyone got used to the purple tie, someone presented the Chief with a “Zolokere Bush” team shirt and he immediately put it on over his sport jacket, shirt and purple tie. He then kept pointing at the name Zolokere and kept saying, My name´—-My name!
My turn! I got up and essentially thanked the villagers for taking care of Jake and reminded them that the unity found in the football club should carry them a long way in regards to community projects. I also cited the fact that globalization made all of us, ore attuned to the needs of others and we all had much to learn from one another. Having said all of that and meaning every word, I then slipped out for a taste. I deserved it.
When the speeches were over and prayers all said, the meal was served: Goat and chicken served over rice with a side of green salad.
During the meal the sub-chief and I conversed quite cordially, yet I took into account Jake’s advice to be tactful and tight-lipped.

The Real Party

At about 9:00 a team member rode up to Jake’s house, hopped off his bike, ran over to Jake and informed him that the team was out of beer. You see Jake had provided beer for the soccer team, which then went to one of their undisclosed locations and continued to party in the traditional style. The beer was actually a homemade wine, which tasted horrible, but sure did its job. Jake spent a few minutes complaining about the nerve they had to be asking for more , but then decided “What the hell! Let’s pick up some more wine and go to the party ourselves.” We stopped for the wine pick up at a totally dark house into which Spencer and Chotwa disappeared. About twenty minutes later they came out of the house carrying 5 liters of beer/wine in a gasoline container. I’ll tell you this. Our hearts were thumping pretty hard and fast as we awaited their reappearance.
On to the party. We arrived to a group of pretty drunk and raucus team members who were dancing with one another and chanting songs in Tumbuka. The easiest way for one to imagine the scene  is to peel away at old memories of National Geographic images thet depicted dancing that looked riotous. Chotwa selected me as a dancing  partner and I have to admit I did America proud. After 2 hours of nonstop singing, dancing and drinking from the gas container, Jake carried me home to rest. He then returned to the party. Left me to deal with the rats etc. myself.

A short, uneventful trip to Nikita bay that covered Tuesday through Thurday was brought to an end at Mzuzu on Thursday evening where we met Chotwa, Gamma and Toss at The Obrigado Restaurant an outdoor place that is a favorite of Jakes. Jake had provided transport money to these three so that they could come to Mzuzu and carry the 50 chickens back to Zolokere. We would then load the car up with 300kg of layers mash and meet them back at the village