Limbe and Blantyre are full of expats. I realized that
when we were asked to go to Hillview
School, an international
school in BCA Hill for their annual Christmas Fair. I was just going to pop in
for a little while being more interested in going hiking in Satemwa Tea Estate
that morning. A group of Malawian children
stood outside the school fence at the entrance gawking, trying to catch a
glimpse of what was going on in the school yard while school children arrived
in cars driven by their parents. I would
be one of those kids outside the fence when I was growing up. Somehow I do not
remember having been envious of the kids inside the fence or that life had
dealt me an unfair fate. I knew that I
had to work hard to change my situation.
Wandering around the school yard filled with festivities, abundance of
crafts, gifts, food and drinks and Christmas music in the air, I could not help
but felt a twinge of sadness for the inequality of life and the disparity
between the privileged expats, well-to-do nationals and the local poor.
The
day before I walked deep into the BCA or British Central Africa Village right
below the BCA Hill, I tried once to penetrate it but was deterred by a couple of young men right outside a bar
from which loud music streamed out. They
looked at me with glassy eyes, having had a little too much to drink. One of them said it would make him very happy
if I could give him money to buy a drink.
I carried no money with me and told him so. Standing right at the edge of the village
prudence told me that I should not venture into it that evening. I turned around and walked right back up the
hill. This time I walked into the
village greeting the villagers in Chichewa and somehow that always brought out
friendly responses and I felt safe. Some
people called out,”Mupitakuti?” (Where are you going?). The houses were small mainly of bricks with
worn out stucco, topped with tin roofs. Narrow, rugged roads with sharp stones
crisscrossed the village. Children, most
in ill-fitted dirty clothes and some boys with big gaping holes in their shorts
revealing their bare bottoms, walked bare foot, unperturbed by the jagged rocks
protruding from the road surface. Women
and men sat on the road sides selling produce, second hand shoes and
clothes. Minibuses arrived at the
entrance of the village leaving a trail of choking dust behind them. Most of the land has been cleared for
planting. The people of the village are just waiting for the first rain to fall
before seeding.
That week the water main broke
and a string of women balancing big buckets on their heads; walked up the hill
a few kilometers to the water department to fetch water. The people living on BCA Hill have huge water
tanks and life went on as usual unperturbed by this event.
The same evening we drove to
Thyolo in a MSF minibus to the Thyolo Sports Club. At the entrance was a group of locals sitting
silently at the edge of the road. Expats
and well-to-do nationals drove in for the night was for the celebration of Guy
Fawkes Day. Guy Fawkes was involved in
the Gunpowder Plot of 1605 in an attempt to overthrow James 1 for a Catholic monarchy. However the plot was uncovered. The locals
must have experienced this celebration in years past and partook of the
festivity as observers outside the sports club.
The kids outside the gate sat on the ground in the gathering gloom
quietly while the rambunctious kids inside ran around in the lawn doing what
kids should do. A bonfire was lit as an
effigy was burnt. The evening ended with
a display of firework. We the privileged ones left in our cars leaving the
locals behind. I hope we do not take
this privilege for granted.
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