February 3, 2009

Well the technology gods are not with us this week. The power outages increase, the school server is plagued by viruses and it seems impossible to upload images to this blog today, hence the lack of photos in my recent postings. You will, however, find links to a couple of the albums I did manage to upload in the January 6th posting. Hopefully, they work. I am an eternal optimist.

My campfire cooking skills are being put to the test again. What do you do when you have 14 people coming for dinner, are in the middle of preparing a big pot of chili and the power goes? You head off to the nearest store, find a charcoal stove and hope for the best. By the time the guests arrived the chili was well simmered, the power deigned to return, and best of all we now had a charcoal cooker for the next power outage. Hakuna mutata, as they say in Swahili, palibe vuto, in Chichewa.

Patience is definitely one of the lessons Africa teaches. In his book, The Shadow of the Sun, the Polish journalist Ryszard Kapuscinski, quotes a fellow traveler’s remark about the local people’s “fantastic talent for waiting”. It is a talent indeed, a talent I envy with each power outage, each time I contemplate the missing book order, the lack of a decent pencil sharpener… And yet, as we have seen countless times in the last few months things tend to sort themselves out in the end. The chili was just fine. No one went hungry. We had the charcoal cooker yesterday to get us through the dinner hour.

And just down the street another story of incredible patience plays out. Every afternoon for the past 9 days, we have marveled at the patience of the fellows camped out by the truck at the end of our road. Somewhere, someone is waiting, probably quite patiently, for a truckload of lumber which has been parked at the end of our road. It appears to have tire problems. Each day a different wheel seems to be off the truck. The driver takes refuge in the shade of his truck during the heat, or inside when it rains, guarding his cargo and his truck. This is a residential street lined with compound walls and maize fields. The nearest stores, restaurants and market, not to mention bathroom facility, are about 2 kilometres away but every time we pass there is someone sitting by the truck. It is never left unattended. Eventually the problem will be resolved. The truck will be repaired. The lumber will be delivered. Or we will have a permanent truck sculpture to mark the corner of our street.