In case I haven't made this clear in the past: one of the odder aspects of life in Malawi, especially in my town of Lilongwe is the presence of a vast number of Bob-Marley-paraphernalia-toting, dreadlock-wearing, perennially-mind-altered Rastafarians. They are all over Malawi, one government official I spoke to believes that the population is coming close to 1% of Malawians. They perform several functions in the Malawian economy (interfacing with the tourist community as sellers of souvenirs and growers/distributers of marijuana are their primary industries), but are also distinctly visible around town due to their appearance and outgoing/occasionally aggressive demeanors. I count a couple of them as my friends. Although to associate with Rastas often certainly gives you a stigma in the community that is not entirely, or sometimes in any way, positive.
Anyways, the other day we were hosting one of our work teams at our house: guys working on an investment project for us, Noah took them out to lunch and when he returned, realized he had locked himself out of the house. I was in the meeting on the other side of town at the time, but after receiving a couple of frantic text messages, I eventually got out of it and heard the news. I called my landlady who told me to go pick up her carpenter and he would fix it.
I drove to a part of town I'd never been to before and he showed up: an extra-crazy looking Rasta, decked out with a leaning tower pile of dreads on his head wrapped in a Jamaican-flag woolen cap. The "tools" he brought with him were in a little purse he carried with him.
I drove this man, whose name incidentally is Ras, to our house where Noah and the group were standing around outside. Unfortunately I missed the next hour of awesomeness as I had to go to a meeting, but got text messages the whole time from Noah about what was going on:
“This is the greatest spectacle I’ve ever seen”
“Matthews (our quiet and very creepy gardener) is up there now too”
“The rasta just took his pants off”
"He's hammering on the roof and smoking a cigarette"
"Pants are still off by the way"
"He disappeared into the house"
Anyways, the other day we were hosting one of our work teams at our house: guys working on an investment project for us, Noah took them out to lunch and when he returned, realized he had locked himself out of the house. I was in the meeting on the other side of town at the time, but after receiving a couple of frantic text messages, I eventually got out of it and heard the news. I called my landlady who told me to go pick up her carpenter and he would fix it.
I drove to a part of town I'd never been to before and he showed up: an extra-crazy looking Rasta, decked out with a leaning tower pile of dreads on his head wrapped in a Jamaican-flag woolen cap. The "tools" he brought with him were in a little purse he carried with him.
I drove this man, whose name incidentally is Ras, to our house where Noah and the group were standing around outside. Unfortunately I missed the next hour of awesomeness as I had to go to a meeting, but got text messages the whole time from Noah about what was going on:
“The alcoholic rasta is on our roof”
“This is the greatest spectacle I’ve ever seen”
“Matthews (our quiet and very creepy gardener) is up there now too”
“The rasta just took his pants off”
"He's hammering on the roof and smoking a cigarette"
"Pants are still off by the way"
"He disappeared into the house"
Apparently, the Rasta couldn’t figure a way to get into the
house except through the roof (he was definitely drunk), so he got up there with a hammer and
cigarettes and somehow unhinged part of the roof, crawled through some small
spaces in the house to open the front door. He then hung around for the rest of
the day in the yard, laying around, invited his cousin over to smoke, prayed at 4:20 in the afternoon and was generally weird.
The next day, he showed up again. I called our landlady to ask what was up, and she said he was going to make an extra copy of the house key just in case. He was there the whole day, most of the time just staring at the door and slowly eating peanuts he brought with him. Although at one point, I had to drive into town to do an errand and he asked if he could get a lift, and then just hung out in the car while I was in a meeting.
The last day of Ras completed his spectacle, he arrived again in the morning in the same clothes and smelling like a sniffable pen whose color was "Drunk and High Hobo" and asked if he could take out the lock for the day. This altered our plans a little bit, as someone always had to be at the house. And when I got a basically incomprehensible call from Ras at noon (I had to hand the phone to a stranger for translation), I was starting to get fed up with the antics. It turns out the key copier would not make a copy for this clown of a human without the presence of a more responsible person or a note and ID of the person whom the house. I wouldn't have trusted him either.
By 5 o'clock Ras replaced the lock and had a copy of the key. After two days, a large amount of beverages and smokables and hours of staring at inert objects, he left.
And I never got a picture,
Fox
The next day, he showed up again. I called our landlady to ask what was up, and she said he was going to make an extra copy of the house key just in case. He was there the whole day, most of the time just staring at the door and slowly eating peanuts he brought with him. Although at one point, I had to drive into town to do an errand and he asked if he could get a lift, and then just hung out in the car while I was in a meeting.
The last day of Ras completed his spectacle, he arrived again in the morning in the same clothes and smelling like a sniffable pen whose color was "Drunk and High Hobo" and asked if he could take out the lock for the day. This altered our plans a little bit, as someone always had to be at the house. And when I got a basically incomprehensible call from Ras at noon (I had to hand the phone to a stranger for translation), I was starting to get fed up with the antics. It turns out the key copier would not make a copy for this clown of a human without the presence of a more responsible person or a note and ID of the person whom the house. I wouldn't have trusted him either.
By 5 o'clock Ras replaced the lock and had a copy of the key. After two days, a large amount of beverages and smokables and hours of staring at inert objects, he left.
And I never got a picture,
Fox
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