Holding Hands

Salutations,
I have a sweet, little bacterial infection in my belly right now, which I mistook for Malaria the other day. I got my first test of the Malawi hospital system, which I can say I'm sudo-impressed by. I am told that I attended the finest facilities: Mbunguthu Private Hospital ("Where Illness Evaporates.") However, like all hospitals the bureaucracy was at times overwhelming, and when I passed out on the floor in front of the cashier, they awoke me and made sure I paid before they treated me (I passed out because of dehydration, the patient who woke me up told me I needed chocolate and was pulled off me as she tried to force feed me a Mars Bar). But all is well, I am back to feeling dandy and they liberally pass out painkillers here.

Other suggestions for curing me included local advice to just drink gin and eat barbecue for three days (for Malaria) or sleep with my head in a bowl of cold water.

I have also made my first major purchase here in Africa: a Mitsubishi Pajero, or Slick Mitt as I will call him. The car is scratched around the edges, but is the perfect 4x4 compliment to my tasks and lifestyle.

Buying a car in Malawi is a bit like navigating Craigslist for the first time. Only imagine that instead of Craigslist anonymity, you got to see these people face to face. There are a lot of weirdos and a cut-your-throat culture for every penny. Negotiations usually transpire with a lot of transparent bluffing: people will ask for $20,000 even if there is a sign on the car advertising to sell it for $10,000. Pieces of advice:

• Make sure the car is a "runner." This literally means that it is working.
• Get someone trustworthy to recommend a mechanic, and have him test it out for you.
  
• There is no such thing as non-negotiable in Africa.
  

Either way, Mitt and I are very happy, and I am learning stick shift by his hand.

Speaking of which, my final note. I don't know if I have touched on this before, but something you see all the time here in Malawi and many places out of the US is two men holding hands while carrying on a conversation. Often they are businessmen in suits and with briefcases, sometimes they are sitting on a bench chatting about sports. It is something I am still coming to understand, as my hand is continually assaulted by strangers attempting to wrap me in conversation. Most recently, I was playing basketball on one of the only bright sunny days we have had here, and an argument broke out during the game. Actually, it was quite Malice in the Palace-esque as an observer dropped a ball he was holding that tripped one of the people in the actual game. Metta World Peace dove after the observer and they started fighting while I nervously backed away and started to collect my things to leave. Just as I was ready to go, I felt not one, but both my hands grasped by the two biggest guys on the court who turned me around. Together we watched this terrifying beatdown continue as they talked with my cowering frame about politics, girls and the weather.

I'm thinking about sewing more pockets onto all my clothes to protect my hands from future imprisonment.

Hot Water Burn Baby,
Steven



PS: In response to my first question from a reader I am not familiar with (Got me SOOO excited): Yes, people do smoke marijuana in public places here, but they disappear like bush babies when anyone gets too close, leaving just a distinct haze and an abundance of half-eaten pork rinds.

Keep the Questions coming.

First Week back.

Good 5-2AM Americans,
Malawi is wet this time of year. It is a fascinating change in the pace and style of life. Also, everything is one hundred times greener and the roads are a polka-dotted tie of potholes and umbrellas (everyone carries umbrellas, even the homeless). I spent my first week in the seat of government, Lilongwe (a dust-bowl turned a hillbilly "muddin" paradise). In Lilongwe, I have been zipping between some of the different houses of government: getting a hands-dirty crash course in African bureaucracy. A little tip: never use the word "expedite." I'm pretty sure 2% of the people I've talked to know what it means and the others are unhappy when its meaning becomes apparent.

I've had the pleasure of crashing with my one-time golf buddy turned host, Tom. One of the US Embassy's fine employees and a miserable basketball player. But his wife, Gabrielle (who is Haitian and cooks only delicious Creole stuff), and he have been kind enough to let me crash part-time at their house in their final weeks of State Department work in Malawi.

I have since travelled to Blantyre for a week of financial work. But two quick tidbits on Malawi. 1. The rain here is straight biblical. One minute, you are skipping through the streets, and the next they are a river: mud and people crashing about as the torrential downfall attacks. I'm considering building an ark instead of investing in a truck.

Two: Football as we know it, ain't the hottest commodity in the TV market here in Malawi. As I desperately tried to explain that I wanted to watch the game to just about anyone in Blantyre, no one could point me in the right direction. So, I finally found a bar that had ESPN (the broadcasters of everything American Sports in Malawi. It's awesome, they don't even have commercials, during ad time they show recaps of other games throughout the week). I asked the owner if I could watch the game, and he agreed, if I gave him $15. Little did I know, this meant I had rented the bar, and I had just a bartender and myself watching the Patriots game at 10PM-1AM Sunday here. The owner of the bar misunderstood me, however, when I said jokingly "It's gonna be a party." And he sent three lovely, young ladies to join me during the second quarter. At halftime, I politely told them to leave, although I considered paying them to stay and simulate some post patterns in the bar with me. As halftime entertainment.

It's lovely to be blogging again, I'm off to watch a Polo match with a deputy in charge of exports,
Steven

I'm Back

Good Day,
Steven is back in Africa, so in fitting fashion the blog has followed suit and revived itself. I have returned to Malawi, the little engine that is still working its way up the poverty chain in Central-Southern Africa. I'll be here for the next couple of months working on a business from the ground-up.

But today it is pouring and I am in a life-and-death struggle to find a bar showing the Patriots game tonight. So I'm afraid I'll only give you this alert until I'm back up and running.

This felt boring to write, so enjoy,
Steven