Cash Economy

There is no such thing as a credit card in Malawi. Everything here operates in cash. Not only that, but there is no such thing as a $10 bill, or a $20 bill, or even a $5. The largest denomination bill is 500 kwacha, which is about $3.50. So when I pay my guards and housekeeper their salaries every month, I hand them a wad of cash. When I pay my internet bill, or the security alarm (3 months at a time), I fork over a wad of cash. Going to the ATM is like hitting the jackpot. You can't take out more than 20,000 kwacha at a time, which sounds like a lot, but is really only $142.50. So at the end of the month, when it is pay-day and bills are due, I have to hit the ATM like 3 times a day, 3 or 4 days in a row. Carrying around $500 in $3 dollar bills makes me feel like a gangster. The wad of cash is so big that it doesn't fit in my wallet, so I carry around rubberbands and folio clips to contain it in neat bundles. A recent grocery store run to stock up on beer (bought by the case - you have to bring back the empties to get new ones), cleaning products, and other sundries ran me 11,000 kwacha. It took me 6 minutes just to count out the cash. For some reason there is actually a denomination smaller than the lowly kwacha - 100 tambala makes 1 kwacha. Which is ridiculous, because even though there is a 1 kwacha coin, no one ever uses them, so why you would need tambala is beyond me. In fact, often in the grocery store, instead of getting your 3 kwacha in change, they give you a piece of candy. Only in Malawi :)

Pictures of Malawi (at long last)

Me and Claire.

Precious, 7 yrs old. He is Mohamed's older son, and so so sweet. He is in 1st grade and speaks perfect English. I think he is going to be a professional soccer player some day (or the president).

Kelvin, 2 yrs old. Mohamed and Matilda's younger son. A roley-poley toddler, who laughs and squeals and jumps up and down every day when I come home. He can't figure out if he loves or is terrified of Claire (the dog).

Sarah, my Canadian roomate (who is 6 foot 1) and the boys, who are not freakishly tall - they are standing on a wall.

My good friend Carrie at the market.

Kids playing at the market.

A view of Sapitwa Peak (translation = "don't go there"), Mount Mulanje. I went there, and it was great! 3,000 meters (almost 10,000 feet), straight up. There are huts on the top with sleeping pads, a wood fireplace, and cooking utensils. And a hut keeper that makes your fire, heats up water for bathing, and washes the dishes. Oh, and beer you can buy, so you (or the porters) don't have to lug it up the mountain. Best camping ever.

Our fearless porters who carried all our stuff up Mount Mulanje.

Kevin, Carl, Rachel and Sarah. Throwing some Malawi signs.

On the Mulanje plateau.

Beautiful woods at the base of Mulanje.

Sarah and the Baobab.

I'm not dead

I have got to be the most negligent blogger ever. My humble apologies. Do not fear, I have not been eaten by a hippo, contracted some terrible flesh-eating tropical disease, fallen madly in love with a native or adopted any small children/pets. Just been busy. Somehow, "there's not much to do in Lilongwe" turned into spirit-infested mountains to climb, international film fesitvals to attend, dance clubs to party at til 4am, new friends to have drinks with, major gajillion dollar grants to write, anti-retroviral trainings to attend, vegetable gardens to plant, frisbee games to play, outreach sites in villages to visit, and all number of other things. So, in my usual fashion, I have gotten myself quite a calendar, and sitting in front of the computer is low on the list. This weekend I am off to a three day British-Malawian music festival/drunk-fest at the lake, which is apparently the social event of the year. I PROMISE blog updates when I get back.