Underbelly

After a 3 month ‘honeymoon period’ I am increasingly starting to notice the darker underbelly of Malawian life. It isn’t that I have been immersed in a utopia since February, just that you tend to gloss over the bad and focus on the good. Isolated in Usisya, by the beach, shielded by the village under the African Sun, I was subjective and selfish. My life was a direct contrast to that which I had left behind in London. I was working hard in a meditative state, the rhythmical movement of tamping earthbags resonated with my emotional well-being, I was finding my zen, contemplating as I sweated. My body becoming a temple [apart from the cigarettes and cane spirit eagerly ingested] as I slimmed down and bulked up, fuelled by staple carbs of maize, rice and fish. I was aware of the abject poverty everywhere I walked, the high infant mortality rate, people swatted like flies and succumbing to TB and HIV/AIDS around me … in 3 months, at least five people who I have come to know have disappeared for a few days attending a close relatives funeral. You focus on the good and gloss the bad … my unfurling 6-pack of more interest to me than Elias’s brother dying. ‘It is just one of those things’, ‘This is Africa’, ‘Life here is cheap’ whilst admiring my reflection in a truck window.

On Saturday night I was drinking in Kaya Papaya, Nkhata Bay, a new business run by the energetic East German, Dani. It was a leaving party for Luke, and was busy. Mzungu’s and locals alike drinking, dancing, flirting, eating, socializing. Setsuko, new friend and long-term Japanese volunteer walked passed me looking harassed, followed by Benson, a ‘carver boy’, who was aggressively berating her. I don’t know the history between them, nor do I care, I did the same as I would in any similar situation. I stepped into Bensons way and told him to calm down. I don’t like Benson, not for any tangible reason, I don’t even know him. I don’t like Benson because I dislike the way he looks, and I saw him trying to grind someone who I do like at a party a few weeks back. Male possessiveness is enough of a reason for me. A short while later I saw Setsuko being consoled by another friend, James ‘the enigma’, as they filed past me on their way home. Benson drunkenly followed them sipping from a bottle of Carlsberg ‘Special’ as he went. An instinct took over and I calmly followed at a distance with my own ‘Special’, knowing that James wouldn’t be able to handle the situation if anything kicked off. Maybe it was chivalrous, maybe a sense of concern, but probably just the booze. I caught up with the group just as Benson had caught up with Setsuko and James beyond the reach of the dying light of the last street lamp, and just in time to witness Benson throw a badly aimed punch at Setsuko’s face, her go down in tears, followed by a cacophony of abuse. Shocked, I restrained Benson firmly though un-aggressively, and tried to coax him back to the bar whilst telling James to take Setsuko home. A few minutes passed, and Benson, fuelled by liquor, distress, adrenaline and passion broke my grip and ran towards the others. I floored him with a spear tackle into the reeds and pinned him down with my knee, from nowhere, Ram the Israeli also jumped on him. Holding firm I tried to calm him and finally picked him up and handed him to two other ‘Carver boys’, Preacher and Gift, telling them to take him home. I didn’t want to deal with this. This aint the rough streets of Woodside Park, this aint my hood. Benson broke their grip again to finish his business, I kicked him, he went down for the second time but jumped up with a bloody nose and fists raised in my direction. I could take him, I already had twice, he is a cunt, it would’ve been a pleasure unleashing Setsuko’s vengeance on his face. Though, still in fighting stance I pulled him towards me, holding him, hugging him, horrified by his stench and moral iniquities, trying to calm him down.
Preacher and Gift took over once more and led him home.

I returned to the bar, back to the drunken party, no-one the wiser. With every step closer my melancholy increased, my bare feet [sandals lost in the scuffle] carried me to my salvation. I think it was a mixture of the adrenaline and the trauma of being involved in something so messy, or maybe I’m just a pussy, but as soon as I saw her I nestled her shoulder and cried. Inconsolable. I hadn’t shed a tear since Dad was initially diagnosed with cancer over five years ago. Honeymoon over.

Later Ram phoned me. Setsuko was in a state, though safe. I spoke to her. She thanked me profusively, I apologised equally profusively. Ram informed me that Benson was ‘positive’ and to check if I had any cuts … I hadn’t.

Repercussions. Everything is cause and effect. Everything has repercussions. Do I feel bad … yes. Would I act the same in the same situation with hindsight … unequivocally yes.

Even though I have been timidly scratching the surface of this culture over the last few months, this weekend I reached the undercoat. There is still a long way to go till I reach the mortar and I will never get to the foundation. Benson is a cunt, though a tormented cunt. He knows that in a couple of years he will be dead, stigmatised by the manner of his downfall, unable to stem the flow. He will wither and disappear like so many before him, and many more to come. I will be fine, my eyes a little wider, still intoxicated by the paradoxes of this place.

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in a bar playing with a puppy. The chap next to me asked me to explain something to him, “of course” I replied, “Why do Mzungus treat dogs better than niggers?”. I have been carrying that question with me every day since. Contemplating not necessarily the question itself, but what led that drinker to ask the question? What led him to use the word ‘treat’? What leads someone to compare themselves with a dog?

I am chilling at Kawalazi Tea Plantation, nestled between Nkhata Bay and Mzuzu. Sitting by the side door of a very beautiful house that some inspirational friends are living in, whilst they build a local school. Tea bushes of light green follow the terrain to the horizon, shielded by undulating forested hills of darker green. This is a good thinking place, and will serve as my convalescence as I plot my next steps.