Day In, Day Out

Well my friends, you are in luck. Given that I have fully cleaned out my inbox and have responded to all my emails, and yet I still don’t hate my keyboard, I thought it best I take some time to send an update.

Let me go get a snack to help me focus!
Yummm, apple (pink lady) and natural peanut butter.
I can live anywhere if these two items are accessible!

So, where did we leave off? I feel like its been a long time since I wrote. I should have a lot say, but I'm just trying to think of what actually there is to share….

For starters, when I originally left Canada last September, my plan had been to be a part of two missions outreaches in the course of the year I was gone. However, as some of you might remember from an earlier post, in November, I changed my plans and decided to stay here in Malawi for the duration of my time abroad (this trip at least). Had the original plan still been in place, I would have packed up my bags this Friday past and left Lilongwe – and would have been arriving today at Hands at Work for intake starting tomorrow.

Several times since making the decision, especially when tough times hit, Matt Janes – the missions guru who keeps in touch with me regularly – has asked if I'm regretting my decision.
And each time I tell him that despite the difficulties and the struggles and the unpleasantries of  life here in Malawi, I don’t find it to be any more than what I might have faced in Canada. Yes, I have had different experiences and learned many new lessons, but I definitely remember having tough times in Canada too, feeling discouraged, feeling annoyed and frustrated.
I love it here in Malawi, and am enjoying my time here for sure. I do not regret my decision to stay. I do hope that some day I will get the chance to be part of Hands at Work in some manner, because it too sounds like a great ministry. But for the time being, I am still passionate about what I do here with Children of Blessing Trust.
And, each time I meet a new person who inevitably asks me why I am here, I get to share with them about the special children I work with and the programs we offer for their development. And though it seems, to everyone I share with, that there is so much work to be done, I feel that it is I who am learning the most.
When a school like the one I spend most of my time volunteering at, has so few resources and supplies, it forces one to become creative and inventive. It also teaches to be grateful for every little thing we do have and the new donations that come in.
This past week I was thanking God for having had a photocopier accessible in my former places of work and asking forgiveness for being impatient when the toner runs out and I have to wait for someone to change it. Haha! Here, we don’t have a photocopier and have to go next door to the shop that offers the service. We pay 15MK per copy (pennies, literally) but half the time there is a reason why it doesn’t work: no toner – and no money to buy another one; no paper – and the boss had to run to the shops to get some; or no electricity.
I was also appreciating coloring books. How often do we toss away a half used coloring book that has been found on a shelf, buried in the back under a stack of other unused books? Well, here, we don’t have coloring books. I mean, I'm sure they sell them somewhere in the country, but when we only have enough funds to pay the teachers, our school budget doesn’t allow for buying extras like coloring pages. Thankfully, at Christmas, I uncovered hundreds of photocopied coloring pages that had been donated, and even better, they are one sided. That means I can write out the lessons for the children to do (tracing and copying their ABCs and 123s) on one side, and then they can turn it over and color the picture on the other. Resourceful eh???
Only trouble is, that with two growing programs using them every day, my foot high stack is down to less than a cm :-(
In other news, my car is working alright now that it is fixed. Of course the quoted price of fixing it wasn’t as accurate as I’d hoped, but I'm happy that the car is now working well and running well. I filled the tank last week and am hoping to stretch it for a month (I live 10km from work)! It is a beautiful white piece of tin, but I have become very affectionate of it. Unfortunately, it is not a VW as I would have LOVED, but I figured I shouldn’t be too picky.
It is definitely amazing the sort of hang ups and preferences you let go of when you are faced with the fact that to have such an item is a pure luxury in and of itself.
I would like to say that I have become extremely humble by living here in Africa, but I highly doubt I’ve mastered the meekness and humility of character that Christ would emulate. I am still annoyed when I go to the market and the guys try to charge me “azungu”  prices because they don’t realize I actually know what I can get it for. And in my annoyance, I often, well, lets face it, we all know I have a voice…..
I know that in the past I have usually used a unique experience as the basis for my blog post, but I am finding that the longer I stay here, the less shocking the experiences are. I'm not saying that less things are happening to me; I'm simply suggesting that what I once thought so strange and foreign is now very common. I laugh sometimes when I think of all the pictures I took when I first arrived. I carried my camera everywhere. Now, I often forget it, or have to remind myself to take it out and snap a quick shot of the children at school.
Anyway, I will leave you with a quick update about Florence (Everjoy’s sister) and then sign off!
I had gone to see Florence in the hospital three times after the accident. She was in a room of eight women, and out her door on the balcony were more beds. In the hallway, there were other patients; but not in beds because there was no room for them. It was a bleak place.
After the first visit, I made muffins for the ladies in her room just incase some of them didn’t get regular visits, and would have continued if she hadn't got discharged earlier than anticipated....

Florence’s traction consisted of two pins, screwed into her head, attached to a metal bar which attached to her bed. The bar was weighted in place by a string that was attached to some bricks, which hung over the edge of her bed. There was about one foot of space between her and the next bed beside her, and maybe four feet between her and the bed she was facing. Because they had her facing the wall though, she didn’t have the luxury of looking into the faces of the people she “bunked” with. I can imagine how boring and bleak it would be to stare at a pictureless wall for 21days.
Every time I was there though, she had someone visiting. Her two aunties from Zimbabwe had come to care for her and they all took turns around the clock.
She was released two weeks ago, which in itself was a miracle. The doctors had told her four – six weeks, but she was well enough to leave after three. I was a bit naïve in believing she was back to her old self, when in reality, her release from the hospital merely meant she could lay on her own bed with her head in a neck collar now instead. Her movements were slow and strained and limited. BUT, praise God, she has full movement!
Another amazing miracle is that the doctor had told her that when the screws come out, there is likely to be a lot of bleeding from her head and she would have to be monitored. But she did not bleed at all. My friends, I am telling you, your prayers are being heard. She is being healed! God is working in her. When I visited this Wednesday past, her brother called and wanted to pray for her over the phone. She asked me to join her and when he prayed I could feel the Spirit of God descend on her room.
What a privilege to be a part of this journey with her. We had a really nice visit. I stayed for over an hour and got to know her much more.
Please continue to pray for Florence and her recovery. I will keep you posted.
I leave you now in the hands of our loving Father. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, may you know His love is not extinguishable and that HE IS faithful, even when we get frustrated and fed up with waiting (hmm, you would think that was said from personal experience or something J)
Love,
meLissa

 The preschool children at their centers

Joyce with one of our albino children, Prince

 A full fuel tank - every missionaries dream!

 More centers with the preschoolers - fine motor work!

 Rain during rainy season - though, this is once it had subsided!

 

Hard at work concentrating on coloring! Well, Lexa at least...Enock is a bit of a trouble maker!

 

An Experience I Had Hoped to NOT Have

Hi friends,

Welcome to 2013! Chaka Chabwino!
It has been a busy two and a half weeks since Christmas and I am living proof of the statement, “I need a vacation after my vacation.” Along with fighting a bit of the stomach flu, that is precisely the reason I have chosen to not return to work until Monday instead of pushing myself to go in this morning.

Ashleigh was here for two weeks, having arrived on December 27^th. We spent the two weeks being tourists and relaxing. A lot of sitting at home, watching tv, eating way too much and overall, for me at least, just vegging!
We went to a resort for two days at New Years and enjoyed buffet dinners of American style food, and lounging by the pool side. I got incredibly sun stroked and sun burnt the first day, which meant I didn’t bother indulging to the same degree the next day at all. I simply sat in a covered area and enjoyed the view of Lake Malawi!

A few days later we were picked up by our tour company for our Safari in Zambia. Definitely by far the most amazing experience I’ve had yet in Africa. Primarily, because of the Giraffes and the Leopard! We saw just about every kind of African wildlife possible – except the rhino as they have left the area – and a whole bunch of very colorful birds.
Every time I saw a giraffe, I squealed with delight. I had my camera set on “continuous” shutter so I have about ten of the exact same pictures of every animal. If I piece them together, they would make a quick film – like the elephants trunk full of grass curling into its mouth, or the family of giraffes walking out of my frame one slow step at a time.
I wont bore you with all these photos, but I have posted a whole bunch that you can look at here:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.532880180070247.124359.100000448107274&type=1&l=c8c06f38d1

I had a small problem at the border getting back into Malawi. We were with a team of American university students who had told the immigration officer that they did not need the regular allotted 30day visa to enter Malawi. I however, did. So when I got to the counter, I mentioned to her that I needed the 30days which then meant she inspected my passport closer! Now, we had been told that the border guards were really strict about Yellow Fever Immunization Certification and we had scrambled around Thursday before the trip trying to get the inoculation done. The agent didn’t even ask one of us for the card. Instead, she gave me a hard time about renewing my visa again and would not let me through to join the group. I was the one who held us up!
The tour guide stepped in, and managed to get my passport stamped and extended. However, he neglected to tell me until we were driving away, that he had lied through his teeth to the agent in order to get her to sign it. Great, just what I wanted!!!  All to just avoid giving her the money she was hinting at wanting in order to grant me my perfectly acceptable and legal entrance! BAH!

Anyway, friends, I want to get to the part that is actually the most important of the last two and a half weeks. My hairdresser – Everjoy – has become a very close friend of mine in the last month.  The first day I met her, she offered me her car for to use whenever I needed one.  Her family had two, so either I could borrow the car she brought to work each day, and use it during work hours, or we could make arrangements to use the other for the weekends. In fact, it was her car that we used to drive to the Lake for New Years.
But not only that, I’ve enjoyed getting to know her. She took me under her wing, like a long time family friend. I met her children and her Auntie and she told me about her life. The day we ran around town TRYING to get our Yellow Fever Cards, she gave me a hard time for not coming to her first. Apparently she knows someone who knows someone….
She said to me, “MELISSA, when you need something, you need to ask ME! I can help you. I know people!”
To be cared for like that reminds me of my friends back home. People who look out for you and help you out because of the relationship you have with them – not because they want money from you.

And so, it grieves me to share that on Tuesday, Everjoy was killed in a car accident. The shock in writing those words still takes my breath away. It seems so surreal. I can still hear her chastising me for not calling upon her first when I needed help! Her name seriously described her. She was EVER-JOYFUL!
She had been driving early in the morning with her sister and co-worker to pick up some extra work. She’d planned to have a vacation starting this Sunday and was eager to make some extra money. There was a child running across the road trying to get to school, and she swerved to avoid hitting them. The car rolled, sending the coworker flying out the back window and her sister who was the passenger broke her neck. Everjoy was killed instantly.

Death is pretty common here in Malawi. The infant mortality rate is 83%. The life expectancy for an adult is only around 50yrs old. Death is not unfamiliar to most people. But it is to me. Its not something I encounter regularly. In fact, it may be once a year that I attend a funeral. It is not something I ever thought I would be doing here in Malawi. ESPECIALLY for someone who I would call a friend.

The funeral is actually going to be in Zimbabwe as that is where Everjoy is from. Her body is being transported there today. Her family will be escorting her. Her grandmother, her aunt, her three children (ages: 11, 8, 2), and her husband.  One of her cousins will stay here though to keep her sister, Florence, company. Her sister is in the public hospital here, in traction, unable to move. Thankfully, she can FEEL her limbs. She can’t move them yet, but the fact that she has feeling throughout her body gives hope that she will recover and be able to move as her neck continues to heal.
I am hoping to have a chance to visit her .
What can I offer? Not a whole lot, let me tell you. Florence, is in her early 20s and was actually here in Malawi to visit over the holidays. She still lives in Zimbabwe and would have been going home on Sunday with Everjoy. She doesn’t know anyone here and now all of her family, save for her cousin Ellen, is returning to Zim for her sister’s funeral.
There is very little I realize that I can offer at all.
Except for maybe hope. Hope for WHAT? Well that is not the hope I'm referring to.

Hope in WHO – now that is the hope I am speaking of.
See, the way I see it, we are all made in God’s image. We are all His children. And in Him, we have worth. We are valuable simply because He has made us. And when circumstances dictate an inability to offer tangible help, (do I KNOW that Florence will ever walk again? No. Can I bring her sister back? No. Can I take away her hurt and pain? Definitely not), the only thing that I know I can give is the love of Christ.
Florence is loved by God. She is precious in His sight. And that alone compels me to just be available. I have some ideas of how I might be able to help her pass the time, or ease the family’s financial needs right now. But most of all, I just want Florence to know that she is not forgotten. She has not been abandoned by God or His love.
I hope to share with her a smile, a warm hand squeeze, a prayer and maybe some of my time, just so she realizes that she is so very very valuable to our Heavenly Father.
What else can I possibly do?

Friends, I have no eloquent words to finish this post. I feel I should close with something that draws all my ramblings to a nice clean conclusion, tied up with a pretty bow.
But not today.
Today I just sign off. 
 In Christ,
Your friend,
On assignment in Africa,
meLissa

An Explanation of the Silence

Well friends, I feel like I own an apology to you for my absence. Perhaps you may not have noticed I seemed to have dropped off the face of technology world for the last few weeks, but I have. It dawned on me yesterday that Christmas is literally just around the weekend’s corner, and I have, for the most part, no idea what you are doing for the holidays.

School let out in Canada yesterday and I had absolutely no awareness that the world could have ended either! December 21^st was a “doom day”? No idea! I have lived in a Malawian bubble for the last two weeks. Frantically making Christmas presents for nearly 400children; adjusting to new housemates; and all the while, trying my best to remain kind, calm and compassionate in the face of some annoying relationship developments.

So, my apologies to you for the silence. And what is more, as Christmas draws near, I am increasingly missing home and routines and traditions, and so hearing from each of you would be a very special gift this season. But you wouldn’t know that I relish an email or a fb message from you because I haven’t been around to say so!

Let me start by telling you about our Christmas parties. On December 7^th, we hosted the Christmas party for the preschool children. 62 registered students came, along with their moms/caregivers as well as some younger siblings. Everyone received a meal of rice, chicken and cooked cabbage. It was delicious.
Contrary to any Christmas party I’ve had in the schools back home, the staff are responsible for cooking as well as the program for the day and the clean up afterwards. Brilliant plan on the head teachers part to a) put the moms to work in helping cook; b) to not hand out presents until the clean up had been completed, thus ensuring the mom’s got involved in that too!
Here is a picture of me getting in on the action:

We had several of the older students practicing a rendition of the Christmas story in the weeks leading up to the party. They dressed up in play clothes that we had on hand (albeit they were not the correct costumes; but no one was judging) and they proceeded to act out the Christmas story for their moms and siblings. Talk about chaotic! There wasn’t enough room for all the moms to sit inside and watch so there were some peaking in through every window available. The other children felt they should be part of the drama also, and jumped up and down throughout whenever they felt like entering. The children had not learned their lines so they constantly had to be running back to the teacher in the wings to be given their cue. It was adorable and perfect and messy – just like the

 first real Christmas story!                                     

After all the food and singing and games and clean up, the presents were distributed. Every year, Children of Blessings tries to give each child a new outfit, some hygiene supplies and some toys as well. This year, we had a smaller stock of donated gifts, but a larger number of children sponsored through Child Care Plus. This enabled us to buy clothing and toothbrushes for the students who are sponsored, and then Sara-Jane (my amazing friend from Ottawa) organized her coworkers and students from her high school to donate enough money that we were able to purchase necessary clothing and hygiene items for most of the non-sponsored children.

My main responsibility was to put the bags together, which was increasingly stressful with each new party we hosted.

December 10-14^th saw one party each day, averaging 50children per party. Most of these children I had never met, so their names did not mean much to me. I had to research their age, gender and often their relative size as well, in time to make sure their bag was filled with properly fitting clothing and appropriate toys.
All of our documentation is hand written on paper.
There is no electronic database (until now) to access information about the clientele.

Additionally, names are phonetically spelled, so often there is no one correct way to spell a name. I would sometimes be making two or three bags for the same child without knowing it because of the variance of spelling.
Also, age is not important enough to actually calculate accurately.
I have children who, depending on which list I look at, range in age from 2-7. Sometimes its because their parent has listed their age by the year they were born and that over time has not been converted properly; or because the math skills are not strong enough to do the calculation accurately either. Never mind that the size of the child has nothing to do with the age of the child. I have eleven year olds who are smaller than the six year olds, but mentally as young as a three years old. The task of making these bags and ensuring that everything was properly suited was daunting.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved it. I especially loved Tuesday when 54 of MY children came. For the months of October and November I was part of two outreach clinics on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Their Christmas party was held together on the same day, so I was able to make up the presents for the children I was familiar with. Though this was one of our busiest days, it was also my favorite. Each bag was packed with love. Each item of clothing chosen with intention and a silent prayer of blessing prayed over. It’s not as if I was less caring toward all the other children who came on different days; but I had relationship with these ones, and it meant so much more to me to make sure their bags were perfect!

I spent the whole week in a tiny office space – actually taking away all the office space from one of our administrators. Thank goodness she is a kind woman because daily she would have to navigate between me, the boxes, the clothing and the Christmas bags just to get in and out of her computer work area. I was constantly taking over whatever extra space there was in the office and I am sure my huffing, puffing, grunting and groaning were not conducive to her regular work environment.

By the week’s end I was so grateful for the weekend that all I did on Friday night was rest. I barely had energy to move to make dinner. But Saturday morning I woke with the realization and determination to “push through” as we still had two parties to go and 85+bags to complete.
We had, by late in the previous week, completely run out of boys clothing. Despite all the donations that came pouring in the last few weeks of programming, the majority were girls outfits. I cleaned out the second hand store of anything suitable for a boy and was down to mere nothings by the time the last bag was finished.

The last two parties were for our older students: boarding school children and our spec ed teenagers who are not able to be integrated in regular school programs. This gave me a sense of relief as I thought maybe we would have enough clothing for them. But when I checked the store room on Friday, I realized that our mens clothing was as scarce as our boys. We had hundreds (literally) of donated XL tshirts, but nothing that would fit an adolescent boy or young man.

And this, my friends, is where my emotional breakdown hit its lowest point. After striving and struggling through the weekend; shopping first thing Monday morning and then packing bags all day Monday and Tuesday to make sure I did the best that I could to give each child a gift of some kind, I was greeted by mothers and their children, demanding more. Shocked at what I thought I must be misunderstanding, I called for one of my coworkers to come translate. She seemed incredibly embarrassed to have to tell me that the children had been sent to me to tell me they hadn’t received what they expected and wanted me to find them something else!
I was nearly in tears.
First, how could I give them what I did not have? We had no more clothing that would fit them; or be suitable to what they were wanting!
Second, how could they be that demanding? Did I need to show them the store room so they would know how bare it was? Did they really want three XL tshirts instead of the two I had already offered to them? What more were they looking for? And where were these demands founded?
Have we created such a dependency that they are not appreciative of getting what we are able to give. What have we enabled within them by always giving things for free? Do they not realize that our ministry is completely dependent upon donations also?

I was upset! I know that there are some families who are absolutely beyond grateful for COBT. I know that there are moms who can not say thank you enough. And I had to remind myself that it was for these people I have come; for those ones that I have chosen to quit my job, leave my family, my friends and my life and come build relationship with.

I have not come to be abused and used; taken for granted and advantage of. I am not here to dole out charity as though there is an unlimited supply.
I completely recognize that we in N. America DO have more. And I fully believe we have a responsibility to share and give and be generous; and even sometimes at our own expense.
But I am also a proponent of helping those who help themselves. And freebies in the face of insolence drive me to the point of frustration and hurt! And I’ll admit, ANGER also!

By Tuesday’s end I found myself broken. Add these emotions to the fact that I’d worked long and hard for ten days and tired myself out extensively, and you have on your hands one mentally, emotionally and physically drained woman. Now, couple that with the fact that I also am facing a new living arrangement (adjusting to my housemates leaving for America and a new housemate moving in); and an ongoing drama of being pursued by a man who does not know me any better than he does you, and I find myself on the verge of being ready to throw in the towel.

I don’t want to leave. I really don’t. But I'm telling you, my experiences in the last two weeks have brought out all the ugliness within me. The ill-natured attitudes and the unkind thoughts are nearly bursting to be verbalized and put into action.

I have battled against the attention of my taxi driver for the last two weeks and this week it came to a head when I found myself being proposed to! It took a lot of effort and prayer to politely word my decline to his offer of marriage, but when he realized I was not in mutual agreement with his feelings, he became irrational. He insisted that his love for me was real and firmly believed that if he could convince me of this, then I would change my mind. I tried explaining to him that I understood he had feelings towards me, and I was not denying that his feelings were real. But what I was trying to get him to understand is that I did not reciprocate those feelings. It became a regurgitated conversation for the next four days. Whether in person or on the phone, it was never ceasing.
 And this is where I finally just gave up trying to be nice. There is a cultural gap and a language barrier that has disabled me from being able to properly say what I want to say, or have him understand why I am not inclined to be his wife. The only way I have managed (and barely managed at that) to ward him off for the last three days is to blatantly ignore his calls and send one text per day reminding him I’m not interested, for every ten he sends me confessing his love and reminding me he is waiting.
I am annoyed at being objectified. And his pursuit of me based on the color of my skin has evoked feelings of loneliness in me that I have tried for the last three years to move past! (where is that towel gone?)

Please friend, I don’t want you to think I'm cruel. I just would like to share with you what I'm facing and the exhaustion I feel in the midst of it. Don’t get me wrong, I am not concerned for my physical safety at this time. My guard is incredibly protective of me and I have shared with him the concern over the taxi driver. I'm covering my bases.
 But what I have come to realize is that no matter how long I am here, and no matter how comfortable I feel in this culture, I will always remain the Mzungu – the white woman. And I will continue to be an anomaly. And therefore the thought I once had - that with enough time I would blend into Malawian culture - has bowed to a need for higher discretion.
As a result, I will from now on, require the use of a car on the weekends.
I had resisted this endeavor from the beginning, more so for budget concerns than anything else, but also because I was happy taking the mini bus and being a part of the public transportation sector of society. Riding the mini bus has some downfalls, but for the most part, it has been a fantastic way to integrate into Lilongwe life!
However, on the weekends, when I need to do errands, it is very hard to do without a car. First, the mini buses do not always take me in proximity to where I need to go; second, if they do go where I need to shop, I often have to take several to get to the various places; and third, it is not feasible to be on a mini bus with more than one or two bags in hand (trust me, I’ve tried); nor is it really that harmless either. The more parcels a white person carries in public, the more rich they appear and the more of a target they become.

We all know I'm not rich. But, here, I represent rich. And frankly, I am not really keen on making myself a target just to make a point or to prove myself. I hate the fact that driving a car will increase my status in the eyes of those around me, but my safety and comfort have become two issues I'm not willing to put at risk right now.

And that my friends, is my “happy” summary for today!

I'm sorry it sounds so bleak and despairing, but I don’t want you to be alarmed. I am doing okay. I am making the choice to push through and go deeper. Perhaps this is all for a greater purpose. If anything, I am more eager to pour into the lives of those who respect me and treat me as a real friend. I recognize that those who have never asked me for money are people I want to surround myself with and pour into.
Most of these people are my coworkers, and yesterday we had a staff Christmas party at the Lake.
I’ll include a few pictures of our day together so that you can see my new friends and trust me when I say that all is good. All is well.
If God be for us, who can be against us?

Christmas Yabwino to you all!!!! Enjoy celebrating the birth of our Savior wherever you are!

Hi-Ho the Dairy-Oh, the Guard Takes a Wife

This week brought new meaning to the words of that old children’s song. In my western cultural understanding of marriage, when the Farmer TAKES his wife, it isn’t so much that he actually “takes” her as that he selects one to marry. And in the game that goes with the selection process of the song, the boy designated as the farmer, chooses a wife from the girls in the class. She, then, subsequently, choses a son/daughter from the remaining students. We use the word “takes” in the song, but even in our elementary understandings, we know that the farmer doesn’t just “take” his wife any more than the wife “takes” children to become her own.

Now, however, after my experiences this week, I wonder how the song would translate into Malawian culture. Unlike in my Canadian context, whereby all social/economic status groups tend to still follow the same progressive code of maturation: high school/post secondary/marriage/house/children/minivan/dog etc, Malawi has a few different social orders, dependent upon economic status.

If you are from the village, and happen to be female, it is still not a necessity nor an expectation that you attend school at all. You are married off at age fifteen to the sum of a few goats or chickens. Your husband may or may not be a part of your life, and your value is determined by the amount of children you produce; especially sons!
Those living in the city are seen as progressive and education for women is becoming more common. However, that does not mean that her expectations to marry and produce children is delayed. It just means that if she can manage both, she is entitled to do both.

My guard, I am learning, comes from the village way of life. He lives in the city, for work purposes, but continues to live by the code of rural areas. Last winter (early 2012), his second wife passed away suddenly from pneumonia. His first wife, the mother of his adult children, had passed away several years earlier. I believe that it was after her passing (the original wife) that he moved to Lilongwe for work. His children, stayed in the south. He sees them rarely.

On Monday I came home from having gone to the shops with Jake and Jenn one last time. They were heading out for America later in the week and there were still a few things we hadn’t gone over, and finalized. We got home earlier than I do on a regular work day, so Sarah, our housekeeper was still there. She informed us that Waliko had gone to town to pick up his wife.

She said it so casually that I wondered if I misheard her.

His wife? Since when does he have a wife?

Today. He is going to get her today.

But where did he meet her?

He is meeting her today.

Where will she live? Where is she from?

She will live with him. She is from somewhere else.

What about his family member who was already staying here with him.

Oh, she left yesterday.

And that was that! Sarah was not surprised by this new development and certainly didn’t feel the need to explain the situation anymore!

We didn’t see Waliko bring her home, but a few hours later, Jake was called to the back yard to meet the new Madam. Jake returned to the house shaking his head, like he was trying to grasp what he just experienced.

Waliko introduced her as “Madam” so we still don’t know her name. She is young. Maybe early twenties. She has a daughter with her who is two, and a son that she has left in the village back home. This is all we know.

I had to wait until Sarah came back the next day to find out more, but even in that, she does not pry. I sure would! But I don’t speak Chichewa. Sarah calls her Madam also and doesn’t bother to find out her real name.

The first few nights were rough. The little girl cried and cried, and true to what I have experienced so far here in Malawi, no one rushes to comfort or aid crying children. They just let them cry.
The dog doesn’t like crying babies in his back yard, so he whines.
Together they make an awful racket.

Combine that with the fact that the wife has brought along a chicken, whose mere presence causes Brown – the dog – to nearly tear off his chain in frustration, the noise of 5am on Tuesday morning was enough to drive me batty. Thankfully, my day begins at 5am, so I was already awake. The barking, clucking and screaming did not wake me, but instead just grated on my pre-caffeinated nerves. Jake and Jenn on the other hand had the luxury of trying to sleep in for two more hours with all the blatant commotion.

Needless to say, it has been an interesting adjustment.

Its been almost a week now since the new Madame has come to our yard. I’ve said maybe fifteen words to her. First, I can’t speak her language enough to communicate past “Hello, how are you?” and to ask her daughter “What is your name?” (Maria)

But she also does not seem interested in interacting. I wonder how she feels. I cannot imagine arriving at a strangers place, and realizing that his washroom size home is now going to be your shared accommodations for yourself, your daughter, and him - your new, old enough to be your father, husband!

Sometimes, despite all that I am learning, experiencing and enjoying about Africa, there are days where I am very grateful to be from a country where I have the right to choice in marriage.
Granted, that right and choice haven’t really been favorable to me – I realize that.

But I do prefer being single at almost 35, to being married to a stranger twice my age at less than 20.

Change in Plans....

The title of this Update is called: A CHANGE IN PLANS for a reason. Might as well cut to the chase:

Im staying in Malawi until June. I’ve given up my spot at Hands at Work.

Here’s how it came about: 

There is an incredible need here. A need for everything. From food, to paper, to resources, to teachers, to materials etc.
A need.
And as selfish as this sounds, it is really nice to feel needed!

The thought of staying longer had been brewing in my mind since the second week I was here. There is so much to do, so much to enjoy. At that point, everything was still new and exciting. I was careful not to make a decision based on that honeymoon phase, but continued to pray about the choice before me.
One afternoon I was walking home from work. This is my sidewalk in case you need a visual.

As I was walking along, I thought about why I was considering staying and why I may have been apprehensive about going to Hands at Work. It occurred to me that the choice came down to Relationship vs Experience.

If you know me well, you will likely have no problem agreeing with the fact that I tend to be an experience junkie. In recent years I’ve mellowed a little and allowed myself to invest more in “one place” rather than remain nomadic.
But for the most part, I enjoy EXPERIENCING new places, new cultures, and then revisiting ones I’ve enjoyed!
And so, I weighed out the relationships I was forming against the experience of the unknown in a new place.

And frankly, the relationships won!

I work with an amazing team of women! From the preschool teachers, to the young woman who oversees the spec. ed class without any formal training. From the ladies who cook and clean tirelessly despite our growing numbers, to the travelling rehab technicians I’ve accompanied on outreaches (who are learning to ride a motorbike in order to go to further outreaches on roads not intended for vehicles)
I work with a dedicated staff of Malawian women who are working to change the stigma and stereotype of their nation.
Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that?
So, I asked if I could stay. And, last week Kathy agreed (after speaking to several of my coworkers to get feedback). And so, there it is. Im staying until June.

Originally I planned to stay in Africa until August, and transition from Malawi to Hands at Work in February.  Now, I will likely come back to Canada a few weeks early. I am still interested in going to university in September (which was the plan for this year until Africa happened!) and so I thought it might be wise to get home a few weeks before classes start, as opposed to a few hours as I’d unrealistically planned when I left home.

AND! My cousin is getting MARRIED in August….all the more reason to make sure Im back on Canadian soil!

My housemates are leaving for the USA on furlough in a couple of weeks. They get back in March, and they’re bringing back Jenn’s sister. So, when I told them I’d made a choice to stay until June, I asked them if it would be okay for me to stay here until March. They were confused and both of them immediately asked: “Why not til June?” I explained that I didn’t want to interfere with their plans to bring home their sister and that I was willing to move out if they thought the house would be too full. They laughed. They were completely unquestionably welcoming me to stay until June. They didn’t even need to discuss. It was an incredible moment of peace! And I was really touched. I hadn’t realized just how much they enjoyed having me live with them.

What’s more, we had an awesome weekend together. Im not even sure how it all came to pass, but Saturday we all stayed home and did NOTHING. Literally. We had only three hours of power, from 2-5pm, and so somehow, over a dark dinner, we ended up embarking on an incredibly serious conversation about life in Malawi vs life in N.America. We talked about our struggles and some of the amazing relationships we’d made (Jake and Jenn have been here for over a year and a half). We talked about God, and how He fits in in Malawi. In some ways, the people here are so dependent upon Him – N. American’s could use a good dose of this reality. But at the same time, there are days when the poverty and the corruption are so overwhelming that you wonder “Where are you God?”

For those of you who may have been praying for the relationship I have with my housemates , I say thank you. I have really grown to love and appreciate them and am looking forward to staying here in my “American” house until June. I must admit, it is so nice to come home after a difficult day of struggle and cultural differences, and grab some American style chips, or a yogurt, or home made cookies and just veg out as if I were at home in Ottawa! I am blessed for sure. I don’t think I could have “lived” in the real deal – at least not at first.
But I don’t feel guilty about this. I know that the comforts of home are what help me to leave my house every day feeling refreshed and ready for the struggles and the challenges that will face me to and from work, and at work, with the children, with the mothers, with the poverty, with the lack of resources, with the power cuts and water cuts and smelly garbage that lines the streets where tulips and green grass ought to!

Last thing to share:

When my parents lived in Hawaii, I went to live with them for three months in 2004, before I moved to Australia. My friend Jen from high school came to visit me and one day we went to Sea World (or was it Sea Life Park) so she could swim with the dolphins and kiss a whalfin (when a whale and dolphin mate). Anyway, I got incredibly sunstroked (how do you say that one in past tense?) and honestly thought my organs were melting inside me.
So, when someone says, “sunstroke” to me that is what I think of.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that I suffer from sunstroke daily! I didn’t realize that was what was going on at first. I thought my iron was low, or maybe that I wasn’t eating a proper carb/protein balance for breakfast.
I would arrive at work and be sweating – from the inside out.
I felt like my blood was literally boiling.
And I had a splitting headache from dawn til dark. I would be taking up to nine ibuprophen a day.
When I sat down I felt a bit better, but the second I stood up, I was faint and thought I was going to pass out.
We have electrolyte packages here at the house (propel) but I was trying not to use them all up. They were my housemates and I didn’t feel right about taking one every day.
I brought two bottles of water to work, wore my sunglasses, and sunscreen and still felt awful.

Someone suggested it was the sun, but like I said, it never occurred to me that it was something you could suffer from daily. And what’s more, I LOVE THE SUN! I hate the cold. I hate everything about weather that is less than 20degrees. I should be in my complete element here.
But what I failed to consider is that in Canada I have a car with AC and I visit shops with AC and if places don’t have AC they often have fans that aren’t restricted by a few hours of power each day. At home, if it is hot, there are breaks from the heat. Not so here. Plus, I walk A LOT!
I walk to my mini bus (15minutes); from my mini bus stop to work (15minutes); and then coming home is usually hotter and a more extreme sun than going in the AM. Im outside with the children, or running from one house to the next to get supplies.

So, I went to the doctor. Sure enough, that is what was going on. I had started wearing my hat for a couple of days and found that I could manage. The headaches were nowhere near as severe. I was down to four advil in a day, and days with electrolytes were better than days without. It was such a strange realization for me. And somewhat disappointing too. I don’t want to wish the sun away!

The doctor prescribed me some ORS packages that are a Unicef product designed to combat dehydration. They are yucky! I mix them with drink powder (fruit stuff or ice tea) which only makes them bearable to swallow. I start the day with one in my water bottle and try to drink it before the water gets warm, because that is not a pleasant combination.
It has helped considerably. I continue to wear my FBC Camp hat (represent!) and look rather silly in it. But it helps. And at this point, if Im wearing flats every day, and long unflattering dresses, adding a hat to my attire isn’t a huge sacrifice.

Anyway, the small accommodations we must make to following our dreams!

 

PS – for my monthly sponsors: in light of the fact that I am leaving earlier than originally planned, please take a moment to change the termination date of your sponsorship. I will remind you again when it gets closer to my departure date, but if you have time now, you may want to just edit that portion to reflect JUNE 2013 as the last month of giving! Zikomo!

Highlights of Thursday the Terrible

Alright, so Im going to try to detail the events of Thursday in great enough detail that it actually captures how horrible I felt the day was.

First, I started off the morning in a good space. I had talked to Kathy the day before and those details will follow shortly, but it was a positive meeting.

I got to the Behavior Class and the teacher was not yet there.
I hadn’t really been given a role yet for this program – it was my first “official” day after the first day of observation.
Without a teacher, we sat around for a bit and played lego. Then I took the older children again and went off to the room I was in with them on observation day.

So far I only had two students, which was manageable. But I had their adult sisters come too. These children do not get dropped off like at school. The adult who comes with them is suppose to be there to learn skills and lessons to be taught at home. However, I wanted to see what the children were capable of themselves, and the sisters were interfering. They were doing things for the children when I gave them a task. Im not sure what they thought they were accomplishing, but I found it very discouraging and frustrating. One sister spoke English, so that helped, but when I suggested that she and the other sister didn’t need to be in the room, neither heeded my suggestion, and they stayed.
I asked the teacher if the sisters could be asked to stay out of the room after break. I’m not sure if that was offensive or not, but I just needed to know where the children were at; what they were capable of. Could they count? Could they be taught to repeat after me? I had hoped to teach some sign language. But there were too many distractions.

After break, there were two more to add to the class. Four students – the higher functioning ones at that. And the moms/sisters stayed away.

I started by bribing them to sign. Each time they copied what I had signed to them, I gave them a cheesie. This worked for two of the four children. One of the others was not interested in the food or activity, and the other little guy did not have the motor control of his hands to actually sign.
The activity lasted less than five minutes.
I was already discouraged.
They started trying to leave from the room.
Then the one little boy with low motor skills peed all over the bathroom floor.
He hadn’t made it to the toilet on time.
I had to go get his sister.

While I did that, one of the girls ran to the other room – which she had already locked herself in earlier in the morning. We had to pry the door open with a knife and when we found her, she was as happy as a pig in mud and completely oblivious we’d had to rescue her!

So, I took the other two children and we went to this second room also while the sister cleaned up the accident.

I brought my iPad to sing some songs with them. The children were not interested in the songs, but rather the device that made noise. They kept touching it. Every time they did, I turned it off, but they didn’t seem to get the cause and effect, so I took it away (keep in mind, I don’t speak the language these children respond to).

Then the little man who had just peed himself, peed himself again. This time, all over the mats. I went to get his sister again and decided I was done. I sent the other three students back to the main room where everyone else was  playing with a parachute.
I must say, my first official day of helping in Behavior Class was as bad as the first day I visited as a guest!

At 11:30am, the whole group went outside for water play and baths. I had a better time with the children in this half hour because I was able to work one on one with them. It was interesting to watch the moms and sisters react the way the children would respond to me. Every time the children did anything remotely positive, I would praise them: “Wakhoza” I would say (Great Work; Good Job etc).
Don’t we do that so often when we’re with kids?
It just seemed natural to me. But everyone seemed to look at me strangely. Perhaps they didn’t see any great accomplishment in the small task being performed. But these are special needs children. Any accomplishment I feel is worthy of praise!

I was worn out and tired by noon. Kathy had called and asked me to take 4.5kg of phale to the hospital on my way to Njewa (outreach) which meant I had to leave right at the end of the class. I didn’t have time to debrief (or apologize) or anything. I just said: Bye, and was off.
Do you know how heavy 4.5 kg of phale is to carry on your back? (phale is cream of corn porridge – uncooked)
Painfully heavy!

I grabbed a minibus at my regular place, and told the guy I was going to ABC. He said, 150MK, and I agreed. I pay 100MK everyday to and from work and ABC is just up the road. This made sense!
Got inside, furthest from the door. I realized this mini bus only had three rows of seats – it could carry four less people. Not sure I’d seen a lot of buses this small. Mental note though…
We were full – four per row – yet we stopped to pick up a guy outside the filling station. Turns out, this was the conductor. The other guy was just filling in while the conductor got a jerry can of fuel.
We dropped the original “conductor” off soon along the way – he was the one who quoted me 150MK.
I had already paid, but they don’t give change right away. They like to hold the bills until they have enough extra small stuff on hand and then they’ll give you your change. I think it’s a power thing too.
Anyway, the guy who quoted me the price was gone. I was left with the new conductor – who, apparently thought he was dealing with a naïve anzugu (white person), because he handed me back 300MK.
I should’ve got 350MK. I said something. He argued. The ENTIRE bus argued in my defense. I wasn’t even going half the distance that the mini bus was going and he was charging me MORE than he was charging the people going to town.  I argued with him, the others on the bus argued with him, but he just sat back down and ignored them.

When it came time to go towards the stop I needed, we turned instead. When it came to the only place I could’ve gotten off, the driver kept driving. I YELLED from the back of the bus. The guys next to me YELLED. Suddenly the conductor remembers me and tells the driver to stop. I try to fight my way from the back of the bus with my ridiculously heavy bag. The gentleman next to me offers to help, but the conductor reaches for the bag instead. I slapped his arm away and in said very angrily, “IIIIII” (meaning NOOOOO) and then I stood in front of the door for him to get back on his mini bus and demanded my money. He huffs at me as though Im stealing from him, and I make sure he realizes he has NOT dropped me where Im suppose to be going in the first place. I take my money, “shake the dust off my feet” and cross the road. Im shaking! Im still burning with anger, but also just with that adrenaline from confrontation!

It might have been a good thing they didn’t drop me at the clinic where I needed to go. It gave me time to cool off (internally, definitely not externally). I got the hospital and it took thirty minutes to find the doctor and patient I needed to give the phale to. No one is where they’re suppose to be, and of course when I called Kathy, not only is she in the middle of a therapy session, but she doesn’t know where they’d be either.
Im at the brink of breaking down. I just want to go home.
I figure that I’ve had a rough day, Ive got a minimum forty minute commute still to come to Njewa so guarantee I'll be late.
Kathy calls just as I was about to make the executive decision on my own to go home.
She offers to come get me and drive me to the outreach.
And Im at the outreach right on time. There is only one mom there and we still haven’t received the keys to the storage room.  However, everything happens as soon as I get there, so there isn’t really even a moment to relax or calm down or get mentally ready for the afternoon.

One of my favorite little guys from the sign language class shows up with his mom. Immediately I start working with him. His attention span lasts about five minutes. He is more easily distracted than the children I have worked with in the morning. Plus, we’re outside. There is just so much more to see.

He starts climbing on trees and picnic benches and running through the bushes. He thinks its great fun to toss the soccer ball into the trees and watch the branches break. He can not hear and he can not speak. So if he doesn’t get his way, he just moans real loud.
This happened a lot.
Eventually mom comes to get him and take him back to the group. She tries to get him to do a puzzle, and instead he fights against her. So, I wrap my arms around him and playfully squeeze and tickle him until he sits still. He’s calm for a few minutes and I think (arrogantly ) that maybe we’re getting somewhere. Then he moves a little and a puddle appears under him. He’s just peed himself. And, consequently, ALL OVER my dress also! I have a nice big pee puddle on the bottom of my dress!

That’s it. Im done. I go clean my dress, and sit myself on the couch while the children have snack. I can not get home soon enough. We clean up, and I am devoid of all energy. The girls make fun of me on the walk home because I just have no energy whatsoever.
A man pulls over and picks us up (this is common). He is rather polite and gets a kick out of me (the anzuga). We talk about the best way to cook Chinagwa (Yucca). The girls are laughing at me in fits of hysteria. I don’t think Im being funny, but perhaps the bad day is going to my head. Maybe Im talking foolishness! Or maybe its just that Im being so expressive and they aren’t used to that. Im not sure. They're laughing at me, and Im too tired to care. Plus, its nice to hear them laugh...even if its at my expense!

I get home and all I want to do is go to bed. I go through a quick dinner routine, get cleaned up, and get a nice hot relaxing drink to put me into a calm mode. I crawl into bed, and accidently knock over my water bottle, which accidently knocks over my drink. CRASH, glass everywhere. I stand and just look at the floor. I watch the liquid as it travels over the tiles and along the grout in between. By the time I decide to move, its reached the hallway. So much for relaxing.
Jake has heard the glass break, but given that he is aware of how rough my day was, he is hesitant to open the door. He is afraid of what he will find. Im relatively calm considering. I go through the motions of cleaning up the glass and the mess on the floor. Hoping that any small shards I may have missed get stuck in the cockroaches feet and they can’t crawl around my room.

I just finish putting the glass in the garbage and contemplate making another drink.
Lights out.
Power is gone.
That’s it.

This day needs to end!

Goodnight; good riddance. This is one Thursday I hope to never face again!

Five Hour Graduation Ceremony; 32 Students. Welcome to Africa

Yesterday I had an experience of a life time
(haha, each day here in Africa is an experience of a life time!)
But this was a really great experience!

I joined Jake and Jenn (my housemates) on a trip to Dzaleka - the refugee camp (yes, Malawi has a refugee camp) - to attend a Graduation Ceremony. The students were graduating from a one year Bible College program that has been started by one of the churches in the camp.

Jake was one of the teachers.

There were 32 students. Most were refugees. In fact, the only people not refugees at the ceremony were myself, Jake, Jenn and Flo (There Is Hope)

When we arrived, we were told the ceremony wasn't scheduled to start til half one (1:30pm). We'd arrived for a 1pm start. No biggy really, except that nothing starts on time to begin with, so I figured we had an hour to kill.
Shocker, we actually started early - ish.

Jake was already on the platform in his academic gear, and the three of us ladies were escorted right up beside him. Front and center. To Flo's surprise, there was a speech from There is Hope in the schedule of the day. Good thing she joined us or Jenn would have been making the speech on their behalf!

I had a quick look at the schedule and inwardly groaned. It was not yet 1:30pm, and the schedule went until 5:10pm. That's nearly four hours sitting up on stage in front of an auditorium full of strangers. I was not wearing an appropriate dress, so I constantly had to be covering my knees.
Also, I already had to go to the washroom...opps, it was a HOT day.
How long could I hold off I wondered? I doubt there is a toilet handy....or even a simple hole with a seat!

The music that was already playing was LOUD. So loud in fact, that I could not make out one single word being sung. Mind you, the music was sung in various languages, but when Flo leaned over and told me, "this song is French, can you understand what it says?" I laughed out loud (not that is mattered). I could make nothing out at all. And what a shame, African music is so beautiful...when it can be heard!

So, pounding headache added to platform seating, when the choirs started their specials, spot lights showed up! This was done to amplify the lighting so that those who didn't have flash photography could still get good pictures.
Guess where the lights were aimed for the whole ceremony? Yup, that's right. UP FRONT! And who, might I remind you was sitting on stage, up front? US!
Add blinding light to the sensory overload!

An hour of specials from various choirs. Amazing singing and dancing and fantastic energy. I would have LOVED every single second of it if I could concentrate. I was just enthralled by the diversity of each dance, of each singing group. Though most of these particular refugees were Congolese, within that one nationality, there are many tribes. And so each choir represented a variance of their heritage and culture. Colors, dances, music, instruments, you name it. The energy in the room was contagious!

Time for speeches.... Flo was up first, and for someone who had not come prepared to say anything, she certainly had me in tears.
I would hands down say her words were the most inspiring, but that is an unfair assessment. Her words were pretty much the only thing I understood for the duration of the ceremony!

BUT, she did say one thing so powerful that I wrote it down and pondered for the remainder of the day: "Dzaleka can not separate you from the destiny God has planned for you"

WOW!

Not even being a third generation born refugee can separate you from the DESTINY God has planned for you!
Friends,
If a refugee camp can not take away that destiny, may I encourage you to consider that there is NOTHING in your current or future circumstance that would ever be able to either!

Romans 8:37-39 -- "I am convinced...there is NOTHING...in Heaven above or earth below...that can separate us from the love of God through Jesus Christ"

Its almost humbling to admit just how REAL that passage became to me in those few moments.

I am sitting in a graduation ceremony. The joy, and the enthusiasm, and the sheer love is greater than almost any other function I've ever been to in my life.
And its taking place in a REFUGEE camp!
These people have no homes of their own. No identity on the world stage. They have no homeland, they are not entitled to leave the refugee camp and receive any services from Malawi. They have no passport, and very very few are ever granted sponsorship to leave the hopelessness that is served before them.
They have only their lives and their families.
And in the midst of it all, FLOURISHES JOY UNSPEAKABLE!

The entire ceremony - speech after speech, dance after dance, song after song, was inspired by that same joy. The joy that I have long heard of, and occasionally touched myself. A joy that all too often has become a icon of our faith, but rarely an embraced lifestyle.
That joy; THIS JOY that I was sitting in the midst of, was that of Christ Jesus alone. The joy that is not a result of circumstances or achievement of oneself, but of the circumstances of the cross and the achievement of life bought there.

If you know me well, you will know Im not usually this flowery. My faith is real, and its solid. I dont spout Christian ease or jargon with fluidity, and if I am caught in a conversation that offers it, I try to exist quickly. But yesterday it was like I was suddenly given a new color to add to my pallet.
I can't possibly explain to you the profound experience of yesterday.
There are no words.
It was humbling.
Embarrassing - because I know how frivolous and superficial I am. Compared to these people, I am rich with wealth. And yet, I am so poor in Heaven's currency.
And as the ceremony progressed in a language I could not understand and a translation too distorted to comprehend, I just bathed in this new discovery.
The richness of having ONLY CHRIST!

When the leading pastor and director of the Bible College began to call out the names of the graduates, it was like all Heaven rejoiced. I have never seen such a display.
Granted, our graduation ceremonies are sophisticated and appropriate. We are well behaved, staying in our seat, allowing others to see and hear what is going on around. If we must, we politely excuse ourselves to go to the front and take a picture of our loved one, never wanting to interfere with the procession of the event, never wanting to draw attention to ourselves intentionally.
I've been at ceremonies where the applause is held off until the end, just to save time. The mere five seconds of clapping our culture would deem respectable for each individual is stored up for the end, so that all participants receive equal recognition.
Not so here. The fact that there was any sort of organization at all was an anomaly in itself.
Each name that was called was a five minute party of honor.
The graduate would barely be able to make his or her way to the front of the auditorium without being "moshed"
Confetti, garland, noise makers, whistles, clapping, screaming, perfume, whatever one could think of was donned upon the individual.
The hugs were finally redirected to the end of the line, but the pictures took place all across the stage. This pastor, that teacher, this friend, now all three. It did not seem to matter how long it took. There was no usher pushing people along or asking the audience to take their seats.
This was a time of celebration. And love. And pride.
The mothers who watched their sons or daughters. The children who came to support their moms or dads. Even the widows who joined around a fellow widow who had joined ranks with her nephews.
Not one single person was forgotten.

And I stood at the front, finally feeling the release of the eyes upon me, and laughed aloud at the party animals in front of me. No one there would ever believe the thrill in my heart.

If only time had no restrictions in our culture and formalities went out the window. How would we celebrate? How we would ensure that those we loved knew we were proud of their accomplishments and achievements?

Or have we too taken even THAT for granted? Have accomplishments of any sort and achievements of any nature become so common place and expected that we dont even allow for honor to be shared when it is due? Or are we too focused on the status gained by said achievement that it matters not how we celebrate and only more what we gain from our completion?

Oh, the thoughts that go through one's mind when sitting in a five hour graduation ceremony for 32 strangers speaking a foreign language....

DON'T ever miss your chance when your turn comes!