Is it winter somewhere?

This was only two months ago.

Thank you Fia!

I met these wonderful pieces by Fia Backström last year at Stockholm's Moderna Museet. 

Guess who is missing her artsy hobbies

Then the rains came

Hope the villagers won't loose their homes tonight.

Strangers

I’ve always admired people who have the ability to be hospitable without much effort. I’ve considered it as a virtue, which I must learn since it’s not springing from me. Away from home in a strange country this thought rises to a whole new level.

I just finished reading “A thousand splendid suns”, a novel by Khaled Hosseini. (Pause and a sigh.) What an amazing story and an eye-opener. I cried during the last pages, but not as much as the characters and real life Afghans with their suffering would deserve. The story tells about people who don’t feel entirely at home, miss it or have to flee.

The next day my thoughts were filled by Bible characters who faced somewhat similar situations. I was surprised how many of them I came up with. Adam and Eve had to flee Paradise and Kain was escaping God’s wrath. Jacob escaped his brother’s anger and later he brought his huge family to a country they did not own. Joseph found himself in the middle of strangers in Egypt and later none of the Israelites were considered as Egyptians but as strangers though hundreds of years had passed.

David had to run away from Saul and later his own son as well. Daniel and his friends were forced to leave home and later the rest of Judeans followed. Even baby Jesus and his parents were refugees in Egypt since a certain king didn’t want to see little boys in his sight.

God’s attitude towards strangers is also revealing. All through Psalms and other scriptures he tells to accept strangers and treat them well. Christians are even told they’ll be judged by how they treat these people. I know I have plenty to learn with this issue. But still I find this gravity intriguing. Maybe Jesus felt like a stranger when He walked on earth. Even His own people didn’t recognise him.

Lunch time

“You arrived already! I thought it was only eleven o’clock.” Christina approaches us and gives a warm welcome. She speaks in chewa and I’m embarrassed not to understand every word. She laughs at me and says finally “Karibu” in a friendly tone. We enter the house.

It’s hot as usual around this time of the day. We sit down in the dark living room. I dream of a fan. Christina brings us cool water and juice. There’s no electricity in the house so she must have asked help from her neighbour. Again she welcomes us, but quickly disappears outside to cook the lunch she promised for us. We hear her sing and shout something to her grandchildren.

Finally it’s time to eat. She brings us water to wash our hands. Nsima is hot and burns my fingers, but I refuse to use the spoon she offers. It’s not as good, if you don’t’ use your fingers. There’s also relish and some chicken. The latter is for my friend – I haven’t eaten chicken since ’98.

After two chunks of nsima I’m full, but apparently I ate too little. Our hostess looks at me with a worried expression on her face. I have to convince her that I am truly full and that the food was delish. Both are true. Again water for hand wash. Some pictures later we’re off.

At this time of the year where ever you look there’s maize growing over a meter high by now. Maize flour and nsima, which is cooked from it, are key factors in Malawian kitchen. The popularity though spans over to the neighbouring countries. By now I know the basics on how to use the flour, but until I’ve had more practice I’ll stick to Christina’s cooking.

Can't get better than this

Ultimate choices

Back home I’m guided by my desires. I’m not proud of it or particularly think it’s the right way to live. Guess it just happened. If I feel like having chocolate, I go and buy some. If this book doesn’t interest me, there are thousands more at the library. Music, clothes, make-up, spare time activities are all a chain of feel-like-doing-it-this-ways.

This habit is there because of the numerous possibilities we’re surrounded by. It is so easy to get adjusted to it and end up thinking this is the only way to live. When there are so many alternatives where to pick one’s favourite it is also fairly easy to change one’s mind. Heck, if it ain’t good enough maybe the next one is. I’d say this is one of the reasons good old commitment to just about anything has become old-fashioned.

Once again I’ve been taught by movies.  (Guess I haven’t had the time to read books. )This time Mr. Nobody – a wonderful flick where making a decision is shown as a path paved with limitation and oppression of the individual. It was unsettling to recognize my own way of thinking while watching it.

But now I’m under the African sun and here life is oh so different. I’m down shifting though back home I was laughing at the very notion. If I want milk there’s only one kind – if any and I need to buy it before 6 pm from the nearby shop. In various level my life is now limited to one or only a few alternatives and I’m loving it.

This may sound like silly views of a posh westerner and in a way they are. But the pace of life here though being hard is more human in some sense. My palpitations are gone and at night I sleep like a baby despite the army of crickets and bats screaming behind my window.

I’m not deep enough to the local culture to say whether or not the viewpoint to decisions and commitment to them has shifted to the direction as back home.  It probably has a little or very soon will. After all it’s a small world we’re living in.