Bright and early Monday morning we headed back to our family.   Though we’ve gotten into the full swing of life here and built our routines, it was a bit of a bumpy ride there.  And by bumpy, I mean that literally.  About 20 minutes away from the dirt path, Deena looked at me with a ghostly complexion and said, “We have to pull over.  Now.”  There was such panic in her voice.  I yelled, “RAPHAEL, please pull over, Deena is going to be sick.”  And before the car shut off, I reached over her to open the door so she could jump out.  There was nothing in site but the rolling hills and green we see on during every drive in Malawi.  A perfect place for Deena to puke her brains out.  Of course, as is the case on all the roads here, people were walking by, walking I imagine, for miles to their destinations.  Like a champ, she got back in the car, took a piece of gum and claimed she felt so much better.  Since we had Diana in the car with us, I thought we would stop by the Benesi’s to drop her and our things off and head back to the orphanage for another night.  But we didn’t.  Deena really did feel fine and was ready to get to the children at school.  Way to go, D.  I was impressed!

And at school, we began our routine, which really is taking form and becoming consistent.  But today was different.  I remembered those days in Miami when disruptions would arise without notice, from assemblies, to fire drills, to visitors, and I became flexible as a teacher, able to move with the flow and make sure my kids did the same.  Here in Malawi, Monday’s challenge happened mid-morning when about 100 more kids knocked at the door with their teachers, ready to come in and join us.  It turns out that this group had walked quite a distance from the two other nursery schools in the village.  The little ones, those who wouldn’t be able to handle such a long walk, stayed back, but the rest were there with bright smiling faces.  We were in the middle of our centers routine, quickly cleaned up the materials and had the group join our own.  All of the children formed lines later in the morning and headed to the side of the building to get measured.  That, I learned, is why so many came to the main center, which houses the community based organization to which they are all connected.

The other teachers, during my brief interactions with them, were warm and eager to meet us, happy for an excuse to come see what we’ve been doing during our time here.  And 100 plus kids handled the situation pretty seamlessly.  We sung songs, played games and just made it work.

This week, Deena and I are going to devote a few days to each of the other schools.  Now that we realize how close they all are with each other, sharing the same pride in their village as everyone else, we feel it is important to share what we’ve brought and help the other four teachers with their structures.  The few days away from our own school will be a great chance for the teachers at the center to test out their comfort levels with their new routine, ready to let us know how it goes when we return.

I know I’ve written before about how we miss our family and how eager we are to get back, eager enough to ignore a stomach bug just so we can stay, but there is so much more to it.  After school that day, I started to see the Benesi kids come back from their own classes.  They are all related, as cousins or siblings, and there was this moment after giving a big hug to Patricia when I asked her where my little Kevin was hiding.  Next thing I know, Patricia calls to Kevin and the two of us, without seeing each other around the hut between us, started running.  Ten seconds later, Kevin was in my arms, laughing and tickled as I spun her around.  She’s 6, speaks only but a few words in English and completely lights up my days.  In fact, every afternoon after Deena and I spend time with our group of girls and other children in the village, we walk back to the Benesi compound, and as Kevin’s house comes first, she pauses, looks up at me and says, “Joanna, tomorrow.”  I respond, “Yes, Kevin.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  Love you.”  Once so shy about saying anything, she now responds with “love you,” so naturally and with ease, as she skips off to her family.

So yes, we run back to this place that has become our home because the people we have gotten to know break cultural and language barriers and touch us more than words can say.

Kevin, in her dance group, full of life.