Culturally Lagging

It hit early. Megan sent us out on a scavenger hunt within hours of arriving, to get cell phones, and chitenje cloths and answer some interesting questions about Malawi (What are Robots? And what does district government do?). Armed with little more than a vague recollection of how to say ‘how are you?’ and ‘thank you’, we made it through. But did I feel good about it? No, not at all.

I don’t like feeling like an outsider, a tourist, or a visitor. If I could skip “awkward – not understanding” stage and go straight to “highly functioning, competent, Malawian resident”, I definitely would. But alas, I have no magic wand, and no secret formula. Essentially the best I can come up with is to realize that in order to get where I want to be, it’s going to get worse before it gets better. I need to push myself to make those mistakes, and enter into awkward moments, the more the better, because it means I’m learning faster.

There’s been many of these learning moments to date, but here’s one of my favourites so far:

I got on to the bus to Zomba on Sunday with my smaller backpack, motorcycle helmet and laptop bag. The first time completely on my own since arriving, I was looking forward to the trip. It was standing room only and getting quite packed. Preparing for the 6hr drive, I pushed my way to the back, squished my helmet on the overhead rack, and put my backpack at my feet, so as not to hit the people around me, and congratulated myself on being the conscientious transit rider that the TTC taught me to be.

Soon the bus filled and started to leave, but all of a sudden there was a fairly large commotion starting outside and farther up the bus, quickly spreading to the man standing in front of me. The bus stopped and the commotion continued for several minutes until the gentleman standing behind me tapped me on the shoulder and suggested that I put my backpack on the overhead rack as well. Apparently the cause of the shebang was that it was felt that a few more people could be fit into the bus, and the general feeling was that my bag was taking up one of those spots. Thankfully, my new friend Peter helped mitigate the situation and started teaching me both Chechewa and Chitimbuka. A difficult situation, left me with a better understanding of bus etiquette, a language learning partner for the duration of the ride, and a good friend with a standing invitation to dinner in Balaka with his wife and kids, should I ever be in town.

From experiences like this one, I’m learning that language is key, and it’s important to get out there on my own, away from the shelter of other more experienced individuals. When surrounded by other westerners, it’s easier to step back and let more experienced individuals take control and more difficult to connect with those around you.

I’m taking a lot of these ideas into account as I’m starting to think about where I want to live when I move to Mzimba next week. Do I live in the Boma (district capital) or outside of it? A family that speaks only Chitumbuka, or one that speaks English too? How do I find family/friends that will encourage and welcome those learning opportunities that come from not understanding? All questions in search of answers, but in any event, I’m looking forward to making mistakes, and settling in to life.