To rally up a group of children at any time, any day, all we need to do is walk along the dirt path that runs through the village in the afternoon.  It’s as though they can smell our footsteps because before we even see their smiling faces and hands waving to us, we now here them shout “DeenaJoanna!” or just “Joanna!” or just “Deena!” They call both of us by any of those names, often combing our names into one.  Here come those “azungos!”  I love that we are now more than that though – we have real names.  And I love the way the children gravitate towards us, but I know how much we stick out, even in our worn in dirty sneakers and what we think are dirty clothes because we have clothes, we have sneakers, and I even wear an old nike watch on my wrist.  To them, we are fancy.  We take their pictures, we hold their hands, we get excited to see them, and that is enough to wipe away the awkwardness of feeling like a famous person, replacing that with pure joy and a sense of fulfillment to be here long enough to become a part of their lives.

This week, Deena kicked off the choir she has dreamed of starting.  And, sure enough, because we walked to the center down that familiar path, we had so many children show up.  One day, there must have been at least 150 kids pilled into the center.  And they come because this is exciting – whether or not they are there to sing, they will inevitably get a dose of entertainment listening to music and hearing others’ voices - especially Deena’s.  It is an incredible feeling to give the children something to do in the afternoons.  I have realized so many times how very little stimulation children have in the village.  Aside from the materials at their schools, which is at most of them is very little, if anything at all, there are no books or toys at home.  Children are only stimulated by the daily work that comes with living on a farm and by the many people who surround them.   So this choir, this opportunity to spend time after-school involved in musical activities means so much.  It is something that I, despite my tone deaf inept ability to sing, so look forward to being a part of each time we meet them.

Meanwhile, I never stop thinking about the stark discrepancies between Malawi and America.  Even the poorest people at home have access to a library; they have the right to a free education.  And here, they are miles behind and at the same time, their simplicity and joy in so little makes them feel, at times, miles ahead.  I have yet to see greed here, which at home so often comes from fear that we will not have enough of what we grasp.  People in the village live peacefully.  They live with what they have, with mostly just what’s natural and that’s all.   And, I so want them to see what’s out there, what they could have, preserving their views of what’s necessary to live in this world and dreaming of a way to simultaneously bring their positive spirit and peaceful nature to those who have so much.

In my world at home we, “throw ourselves from one endeavor to another believing speed and movement is all there is to life,” as one the world’s greatest yoga teachers proclaims (and yes, I am quoting Iyengar - ha!).  But here, it’s different.  There is beauty in something so simple as getting a group of kids together to sing.  Here there is richness in moving slowly and breathing in all the natural beauty that surrounds you.