I found it so fitting to have read this excerpt from Morality for Beautiful Girls, the third book in the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series, a collection of which was a perfect read for the trip home.

“M Ramotswe saw the cart and the family retreating in the rearview mirror, as if they were going back into the past, getting smaller and smaller.  One day, people would no longer do this; they would no longer go out to the lands for the planting, and they would buy their food in stores, as people did in town.  But what a loss for the country that would be; what friendship, and solidarity, and feeling for the land would be sacrificed if that were to happen.”

M Ramotswe, though descriping the farm land in Botswana, gushes with a pride for Africa, a love of what’s beautiful and simple, one, which I’ve acquired for the similar fields in Malawi.  Having spent this time in the developing world fully immersed in the culture that exists, I no longer truly know how to define progress.

I think about our long drives and the workers we’d see constructing buildings, not with cranes and machines, but with ropes and the power of their own hands.  How much easier and more efficient it would be to use the technology we’ve built and yet how sad it would be to replace the way Malawians live with their environment, so naturally and simply.  We have grown to think of dirt as disgusting, but nothing about village life is actually dirty.  The dirt is natural.  How unsettling it would be to see pollution in the midst of the endless green.  But, how necessary it is, I know, to help this country “advance,” to help them overcome hunger and poverty, to help them prevent and cure disease, and advise them on how to establish an educational system and promise this to all of their children.  But, what then, should we, the developed world, actually do?  I will continue to ask myself this question, continue to research and explore the best way to empower people to become self-sufficient and simultaneously preserve what is most beautiful about their way of life.

Tiyambe Nawo, in particular, is made up of a group of warm and well-intentioned people who want to fix the problems plaguing their village and will, I am convinced, forever welcome anyone who has suggestions to offer. The organization is vulnerable, but the problems they face are not insurmountable with consistent support and determination to empower the villagers to improve.  For me, this trip was about the nursery school.  If I could go back or advise future volunteers, I would focus on the politics of the organization.  I would want to devise systems to hold students accountable for attending school and implement strategies to build a village-wide understanding of the importance of education, beginning with their early childhood program.  And, I would want to help the CBO work together more efficiently.  It was only at the end of our trip that we learned about some of the politics impeding their progress, an example of which is the way 5 families were given cows to raise under the stipulation that 20% of the profits go to the CBO.  Only one family, the Benesi’s, fulfill their end of the agreement and because no other family has been paying their dues, Mr. Benesi covers it all.  Matters are complicated by the fact that it’s the Chief’s family who doesn’t pay, and in the village, no one questions the chief.

So where do I go from here?  There is so much more I want to do and so much more to think about and consider as I adjust to being back home, surrounded by convenience, comforts, crowds and everything that’s familiar, holding on to everything simple, natural and joyful in world I left behind.

For as long as my battery lasts, I am writing this entry from the plane.  I’ve changed my watch to NY time and the several cups of tea I drank are keeping me bright-eyed and awake until enough time passes and it becomes a normal NY hour for sleep.  It’s almost 5:00pm there.  We have 15 hours to go.  We left for the airport in Lilongwe at 11:00am for a 1:00 flight that took us to Johannesburg, where we had a 5-hour lay-over. Past security and immigration, we walked through a crowded terminal with an abundance of stores, restaurants and functioning credit card machines, all of which was so over stimulating.  We found a place to sit and shared a bottle of wine that helped us escape and made those 5 hours pass by quickly.  As we drank and ate one last meal before our flight home, we mostly talked about the people we already left behind.  I’m feeling so fortunate that someone coming home to the same city will be a constant reminder of this experience.  I already know there will be many times Deena and I will want to reminisce and share the inevitable adjustments we will experience when we return to our lifestyles so vastly different from that which we embraced in Malawi.  Neither of us had ever spent so much time with one person, and we learned how incredible it could be to do so, especially in the midst of a project like ours.  Deena, when you read this, thank you for that and for everything we shared at school, at kwa Benesi, the lake, and even for the hours of doing not much of anything other than lots of yoga at Area 49.  Nothing about my time would have been the same without you.

I just looked through pictures Raphael took of us that he gave us on a flash drive before we left.  These picture captured moments during our welcoming and goodbye ceremonies when I was so unaware of the camera. Reliving those moments, if only through a few images, reminds me of how many mixed emotions I feel on this long journey home.

On the one hand, I’m devastated.  Memories are swirling through my head.  Images of the people I lived with and loved are still so vivid.  I can hear Mama saying one of the only complete sentences in English she ever expressed “Daughter, I will be very sad when you leave.”  I picture Papa dressed up for our goodbye ceremony sitting on the floor, even after we offered up our chairs.  I can feel the pure bliss that came every Monday when we returned to the village and reunited with our family, the excitement of which is captured by the way Kevin and I ran to each other every week.  And the children —- I hear their little giggles, I hear them screaming “JOANNA, DEENA,” as we walked through the village, and I see our students so focused on the materials in front of them – connecting blocks, looking at pictures in books, helping each other clean up and knowing to form lines with their group once the materials were put away.  I smell the dinners Diana and Mama made for us every night and smile thinking about the number of times we played cards with them before bed, calling out “punishment” every time someone made a mistake.  I could keep going.  These images, the sounds, the smells, they make me want to go back.  They make me wish I were staying longer.

As I allow these thoughts to twist and turn, hoping they will stick as strongly as they say Mkongamira does to those in the village, I am also thinking about what’s on the other end of this plane ride.  At 8:00am, my parents will be at JFK with a different kind of embrace, one that’s so familiar, so comfortable and so reassuring.   If not for my parents, this trip would have never happened.  Their support is what gave me the strength and courage to do something so far outside of my comfort zone.  I am forever grateful to them and can’t wait to retell the tale of this experience.  And then I’ll return to everyone I can’t wait to see again when I’m home.

As difficult as it was to leave, as absolutely heart-wrenching it felt to say our final goodbyes with the uncertainty of if and when I will reunite with the people I grew to adore, I am returning to a life that I love.  I am going back to the developed world, and though it may feel overwhelming at first, I know I will quickly acclimate because that’s what I know and that’s the world in which I will have the opportunity to continue to do this work, even if from afar.  Experiences like this inevitably shape you in so many ways, many of which can’t possibly evolve until you return to what you know.  There is a curiosity that I have to explore exactly how what I know now and how I feel about the connections I formed and the project I executed will manifest itself in what’s yet to come, both professionally and personally.  What I do know is that I am going home with an even stronger passion to study the way systems work, particularly those impacting the disadvantaged, and after this experience, I just may fall into an international focus, one that might afford me the opportunity to go back to Malawi sooner than I realize.  Mostly, I am hungry to keep learning, to keep investigating the methods we could employ to not just give aid to those in need, but to do more, to empower people to become self-sufficient using methods that are sustainable within the framework of their lifestyle.

There is so much ahead, so much I can’t wait to experience and discover.  In the meantime, I’m sitting on this flight, more calm about the length of the trip than I was before we took off.  I’m relaxed, stretching often to protect my aching back, and mostly thinking back on my life in the village with a smile.

It was heart breaking.  But, it was inevitable.  And, it was the end.  For now.

I hear Mama saying she loves us and with arms open wide, I feel her warmth and her hugs.  I hear Papa telling us it was an honor to have us and the only sad time he had was when I got sick and he was worried about me.  I feel Bertha’s embrace as she cried in my arms,  I am picturing Kevin’s confused look and worried eyes as I hug her and cry while the truck, packed with our things, engine running, waits for me to hop in one last time.

It was a goodbye full of both tears of joy and sorrow, with the sincerest hope that I will see this family again soon, and with the utmost confidence that I will, I hope one day with a family of my own, return.

My camera, which has been so good to me this whole trip, gave up during our last week.  Luckily, we shared Deena’s camera and took as many pictures as her dying battery would allow.  We wanted to get photos with everyone, with the children, our family and the community.  I want to remember every detail of this experience, capturing as much as possible through my written reflections and through the thousands of beautiful photos I’ll have forever.

When we passed by our Go-Go’s (grandparents), we asked if we could take their picture, and Mr. Benesi’s mom gladly obliged but requested some time to first change out of her farming clothes and put her tools away.  A little while later, both of them – grandma and grandpa emerged dressed in their very best, ready to take a picture with Papa.  Grandma was dressed like a true Malawian lady with jewelry on and all and Grandpa put on a suit and a tie.  Dressed they were, with their son, as proud parents and proud Malawians.  They were so deliciously cheerful in their pictures; I can’t wait to send them a copy.

I’ve already looked through these pictures dozens of times, and I will continue to do so, feeling eager to edit, print and get them right into albums when I get home.  I’ve never been one to take so many pictures before.  Usually I find the camera to be a distraction from the moment, but here, not knowing if and when I will see these people again, I knew I needed to get images of everything and everyone I plan to carry with me to America.  And when I look at the many pictures we’ve acquired, I mostly notice how happy we all look.  From the first week to the last, I look back on these with joy, and some of them are so touching they bring me to tears.  But these tears I know, are a beautiful reminder of the deep connections I built in such a short amount of time. They tell a story – mostly one which captures both joy and sorrow, poverty and a richness in culture, simplicity in lifestyle and complexity of challenges.

I have the addresses and some phone numbers I need to keep in touch, but in the meantime, I’ll continue to look back at these pictures that tell my story of this experience from beginning to end, the first day to the last.

Every last that we had in the village was so memorable.  Our last dance circle with the girls, our last supper, the last prayer we said before eating, the last game of cards we played, our last lunch, the last time I heard the children screaming, “JOANNA!” as I walked by, all of it is so vivid in my mind.

One of the things I am bringing home is the way Malawians treat their guests.  The Benesi’s, in particular did so with such grace and generosity.  They got to know us – our likes and dislikes, our interests, our sense of humor.  Living with them was always a special experience but in these last few days, perhaps more than at any other moment, I was most overwhelmed by their generous and positive spirits.

Our last lunch, for instance, consisted of the foods we grew to love the most – chickpeas cooked with tomatoes, okra, hard-boiled eggs (as Diana knew I only liked the white part of the egg), avocado and fresh cucumber grown in their garden.  And, of course, nsima.  Yes, I grew to actually like this bland food that Malawians eat with everything.  I even started to like the taste of it with nothing else.

ZOKOMA! (delicious)

A few hours later, we drove Diana to her sister Martha’s house in Likuni, a town not far from the village.  Mostly we wanted to meet Martha and her children who we had heard so much about.  And when we arrived, we sat down to a serving of our other favorite vegetable, boiled pumpkin.  They bent over backwards for us, always willing to introduce us to new recipes, new traditions and their own family customs.  Everyday Bertha would tell us when “our water is ready,” for our bucket baths, all of these gestures so telling of how comfortable they wanted us to feel.  And comfortable is what I felt.  Deena and I will be back for Diana’s wedding, and I’m not kidding.

Our dance circle of girls, made up of relatives and neighbors, gave us one last dance party, during which we danced, sang, and got in a yoga practice.  All over Mkongamira, children know the meaning of “namaste,” and were so tickled by the yoga poses I introduced.  I loved their openness and willingness to learn.  They shared and we shared and what we learned from each other was celebrated with love before we said goodbye.

We walked to the center, dressed in our matching chitenges with our “asis” (sister) Diana and before we got to the door, Mama came out to say they needed time.  We walked a couple of feet away and a few moments later, all of the women came outside, dancing and singing while making their way over to us to escort us inside.  While we didn’t understand all the words to the song they sang, we did make out the words arendo, which means visitor, Joanna and Deena.  With arms stretched out wide, a gesture of the most generous offering, these women embraced us.  This, we learned, is the customary way to treat arendos who are always “most welcomed” and invited into their world.  Though it was similar to how we were welcomed on our first day in the village, it felt different this time.  Six weeks ago we watched and tried, as best as we could, to follow the women’s lead.  This time, we got right in there with them, dancing in their circle without hesitation. Their ceremony was even more powerful and meaningful once we had become a part of this community and once the women’s faces were no longer foreign but rather people we lived and worked with so closely.  This time, I didn’t feel like an arendo.  I felt like a part of their community.

After several songs, the function officially began.  Chairs were set up in the front for us, positioned right beside the chiefs.  Elaine, who doubles as both a nursery school teacher and the secretary of the CBO, facilitated the program.  We watched Mama act out a comedy with one of her friends and lead Tiyambe Nawo’s choir through several beautiful songs, sung it seemed, with a natural harmony.  I caught most of them on my little hand held video camera so that I can always go back to re-watch this to remind myself of the culture so rich with customs, made up of people so proud of who they are and where they come from.

Then people spoke.  Deena and I addressed the group, gushing with gratitude for our time there, in a place that quickly felt like home with people who made the experience so rich for us.  Chief Mkongamira made special mention of how special it was for him and his villagers that we openly greeted everyone we passed.  We “didn’t discriminate” and were loving and friendly to everyone, he said.  And for many, this was their first experience shaking hands with an azungo.  From the moment I arrived, it was so important to me to form relationships with the people we’d meet, so that our intentions were clear, and we didn’t appear to be foreigners judging what they do, but rather, two people from a different corner of the world eager to live with our neighbors, helping and empowering them to teach more effectively.

Papa also spoke.  He is one of the most sensitive, heart-felt men I know.  With a soft-spoken, gentle voice, he isn’t afraid to wears his emotions.  He expressed what a joy it was to have us in his home and how sad he feels that our time has come to an end.  He’s told us before that even a year wouldn’t have been long enough, six weeks felt like 6 hours.  When several of the other men who spoke, they shared an apology, knowing that their CBO has made mistakes, but explaining that nothing they did was intentional and they hope to continue to improve.  I wanted to tell them that for me, despite the seemingly insurmountable problems they face, they made this experience perfect.  There is much more to do, but I was so taken by their honesty and humble way.  And what I do know is that nothing about my time in this village, despite these challenges, was unpleasant, thanks to the people who surrounded me.

Diana pulled out two wooden carved key chains from her bag.  One said “Joana,” the other, “Dinah.”  She told us she wasn’t sure she had the spelling correct, but it didn’t matter.  We were so touched.  Later, we gave the family the little tokens of appreciation we bought for them, a copy of The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind for Papa, necklaces for Mama, Diana, and Bertha, and matching bracelets for their nieces Kevin, Patricia, and Martha.  Papa gave us bags of chombe tea, the kind we enjoyed for breakfast every morning and told us to bring Malawi home with us, and Mama gave us matching chitenges to wear to our goodbye ceremony and keep as yet another reminder of our Malawian family.  The truth is, there are no gifts that could possibly express just how grateful we feel for their hospitality, for their willingness to make us feel like their daughters, and for the special relationships we built over these past several weeks. But, I did take great joy in seeing their faces light up upon receiving our gifts.

More meaningful than the material things we gave were the handmade cards that went along with them.  Deena and I spent a solid hour with markers, construction paper and plain white paper decorating individualized cards for each of them and spelling out our sincerest gratitude with words.  We watched the girls sit, one at a time, with Papa or Diana as they translated them from English to Chichewa.

It was so important for me to tell them that we are bringing our memories of them home with us, I needed them to know how special they each are, how much potential they have, and how much I will miss spending time with them.  Similarly, Mama, Papa, and Diana needed to know that to me, they are among the strongest, warmest, most beautiful people I’ve ever known.

The next day, Patricia (pictured in the middle) gave us two of her own cards, my favorite part of which was “Presently, I have copied your morning exercises such that I cannot forget the moment you spent with us here.”  Later in the day, Kevin ran over to me hiding something underneath the hand-woven wool poncho she often wears when the temperature drops.  With a giddy Kevness-like smile, she pulled out two cards that she made for us, both of which resembled the ones we gave to her.  On the front of mine was a heart with the words, “I love you,” the same heart and words I wrote on the front of her card.  I read this note, which her Aunt Maryanna helped her to craft.  She told me how much she will miss me and never forget me in her lifetime, that she hopes to see me again, and reminded me to “keep loving children.”  And then I cried for the first time here.  Uncontrollably.

That day marked the beginning of a very difficult, yet bittersweet goodbye, a description of which is to follow.

On the Monday of our final week, we were told the next day would be our last day of school, as this marked the children’s last day before a 2 week break and Wednesday was reserved for a function at the center, planned in our honor.  I wasn’t sure which piece of this information was most jolting, that we learned at the last minute that we had one less day than expected with the children, the fact that the school was closed for an entire 2 weeks, or that our departure was worthy enough for a community-wide ceremony.   It was a lot of information to digest at once.

In a way, the abrupt last day may have made goodbye to our students easier. Attendance was still down, likely due to the fact that the others were already on break, and we couldn’t make a big production out of our last day that quite literally crept up on us.  Despite this, that final Tuesday was a special day.  Metze and Elaine led the class beautifully.  They did so with the most energy and creativity we’d seen from them yet.  Watching them follow the routine with smiles and excitement to lead the children, gave us confidence that we did help them to get in touch with their love of teaching. They even made homemade clay for the children to use during the floor games portion of the day.  Deena and I were so pleased.  The two women we worked with over the past few weeks came out of their shells and taught the way we knew they could - but hesitated to - all along.

One of the best measures of our work, I think, comes from what the teachers have to say about their classrooms and their students.

Below is our final meeting agenda, next to which we posted a plethora of songs, games and project ideas.

And during this session, we began with two simple questions: How are the children? And what are they doing differently because of changes you’ve made?  Deena and I generated a list of the successes we noticed in the past few weeks, but I was most eager to hear what the teachers had to say, so we started with their reflections.

And this is what we heard (in Chichewa first and translated, of course, by Diana):

-The children now know how to share better and know that they will take turns.

-We’ve never taught in small groups before, but they are working well and give the children the chance to use different materials.

-Clean up happens much more smoothly because the children take the responsibility to put their materials away.

-Now we know what activities to do in what order – before we would do different things everyday with the children, but with a routine to follow we know and the children know that time each day is devoted to something specific.

If I had scripted out what I would have hoped teachers would say as a result of our project, these reflections would be it.  This was a great start to our final meeting, a great testament to the work we did, a satisfying piece of evidence that we worked with the teachers in a way that meant something to them.  We understood what they needed. They understood what we gave them.  But at the same time, I still ask myself if this will stick.  Will this last?  When can I come back?  In the meantime, how can I continue to know how things are going for this special group of children, all of whom deserve the very best from their hard-working teachers?

After our meeting packed with idea sharing and ending with tips on how to keep their programs sustainable, we had the opportunity to say our goodbyes.  Although we would see the teachers the following day, it was important to all of us to express what we’ve felt from our collaboration and how much it meant to us.  Deena and I shared our gratitude for the opportunity we had to work with them and for feeling so welcomed into their schools.  We shared the confidence we have in them to provide their students with the programs they deserve and promised to never forget about them, the children, and this experience.  And the teachers – they were so genuine and kind.  Elaine, in particular, someone who has so often appeared unemotional in front of the children, became so full of emotion during our final days.  She spoke about how much they appreciate what we did for them and how much it meant that we traveled from so far to be there.   “We will never forget Deena and Joanna,” she promised, and I hope that’s the case.  We certainly will never forget about them.

Before we closed our meeting we took pictures and exchanged addresses.  There is so much I will miss in Malawi, these 5 women included.

Auntie Joanna showing love to little Maria.