Chisankho (Election)
Turns out there are a lot of special things about the day of May 19. It’s World Hepatitis Day. Malcom X, Ho Chi Minh, and Charlotte of Mecklenburg Strelitz (namesake of my home city, Charlotte, NC) were born on May 19 in 1925, 1890, and 1744 respectively. Jacqueline Kennedy Onasis died on May 19, 1994. And on May 19, 2009, something pretty remarkable happened that didn’t get a lot of news coverage. Malawi held peaceful and credible presidential and parliamentary elections. I’ve asked one of our scholars here at Providence, Loice, to write a little bit about it. I’ve added a few notes in places where I think folks might need some further explanation, but the words are hers.
Election is procedure for choosing officers or making binding decision by the vote of those who are qualified. This essay explain more about the electoral system of Malawi.
Firstly, eligible voters should be 18 years old and above hence citizens. For non-citizens they must be residing in Malawi for seven consecutive years and must also be 18 years and above.
Secondly the eligible candidates should be resident in Malawi and have no allegiance to foreign country. Must be 21 years and above (They allow candidate aged from 21 years and above). The candidate should be able to speak and read English [although Chichewa is the national language of Malawi, English is the official language of government and education beyond the first few years of primary school]. Be registered voter and must not belong to Malawi Army, Malawi Police, and Malawi Prison. In Malawi the candidates must run election for political parties or as independent (not belonging to any policies eg UDF, DPP, Petra, and MCP). [United Democratic Front, the party of the former president Bakili Muluzi; Democratic Progressive Party, the party of the current president, Bingu Wa Mutharika; and MCP, Malawi Congress Party, the party of Malawi’s first president, Dr. Hastings Kamuzu Banda; Petra is a smaller party, and I honestly can’t recall what it stands for.]
Thirdly, eligible voter voting for his/herself without being influenced or forced. And every one being 18 years or above be allowed to vote regardless of sex or ethnic group and to ensure fairness election. One person must have one vote.
Fourthly, voting can be done using ballot papers, voting machine and punch card. In Malawi voting is done by using ballot papers. Normally voting is done at polling station. And each voter votes directly for the candidates of his/her choice. And the candidate with a majority of popular vote is qualified the winner. For a person to vote a candidates of his /her choice, in the polling station, there is polling boxes that have the pictures of candidates and the person can vote a candidates of his/her choice by seeing the pictures on the polling boxes [a handy way of doing things when illiteracy is a serious issue in the electorate].
Fifthly, according to campaign, campaigning is an effort publicize the election in order to ensure a heavy turnout. All political parries have also a right to campaigning in all election. Candidates try to appeal to the electorate personally as well as using their manifester. Methods of campaigning include rallies or social gatherings, radio, televisions, news paper, and door to door canvassing. In Malawi the period of campaigning by ever candidate is two months. Closing forty-eight hours before opening of the policies on the polling day places.
Lastly the election is very important because it enable a public office to be filled with specific policy measures decided citizens derive a sense of satisfaction participating in the selection of their political leaders. It also deciding some policies made by government for example budget and ambassadors. It also gives a peace to the country because when a country have no leader there will be conflict always and no person to support the country.
In conclusion, if a country has no leader, there will be no peace situation and no development because the president and the member of parliament (MP) are there to develop the country.
Considering this is Malawi’s 4th democratic election with a multiparty government, it was a special day, and I feel grateful to have witnessed it.
- Ben
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
New ideas and old behaviors in Christina’s village
My first impressions of Christina’s village were framed by the trip there. As I rode through hills of tea estates dotted with citrus orchards and heard more and more people shout greetings, I felt my heart getting bigger. The area is pretty densely populated. I asked Christina why so many people are living packed together in a little space, and she gave me an awkward smile and laughed, a little embarrassed to have to explain something obvious to a grown man, “Because it’s our culture.”
Christina’s family was very kind. They are like to cook boiled pumpkin for snacks and gave me armfuls of grapefruit after I met them the very first time. Christina’s parents have both passed away. She lives with her grandparents, aunt, and some children. She has a special relationship with a six-year-old relative named Doreen. Doreen’s mother died during childbirth and for whatever reason—death, divorce, or abandonment—Doreen’s father is no longer around. Christina’s grandmother is a distant relative and decided to care for Doreen. This is extremely common in Malawi where family is a vital support network. Two of Christina’s uncles also live close by in separate houses. One, Henry, is just a few weeks old than Christina.
Doreen follows us around and constantly seeks Christina’s attention. Christina attempts be stern with Doreen and tells her to go play and leave us alone for a little while, but she turns from the child with a smile on her face. At one point, she gestures towards the crowd of children gathered around the house and tells me and Marco, “All of these, they’re here for you. But this one [pointing to Doreen] is here for me.” When I asked Christina why she thinks she is so close to Doreen even with so many other little cousins running around, she answered, “Doreen, that one, I love her because before my mother died she told me I should always care for her.” Good answer.
Christina’s uncle Henry also follows us around. He’s obviously excited to have Marco and me visiting and really excited about Marco’s camera and the camera Marco has lent to Christina. We’ve had interesting conversations about gender in Malawi and what it means for young men. He’s able to articulate many things that should change so that women can be treated more equally—men should be going to the borehole to fetch water as well as helping out around the house more, girls’ education needs to be given the same weight as boys’ education, etc. As he rattled off these opinions I felt a flash of excitement that faded into a sort of melancholy as I recognized that Henry probably falls into a group of young men I’ve met in Malawi who have assimilated the words that they hear from various government and non-government organizations but have yet to translate that into practical actions that support girls and women in their lives. I didn’t have to wait long to find out I was right.
As Marco and I were traveling to Makupiza, we got in a slight bicycle accident. No one was hurt, but the eggs we’d carried didn’t make it, so we had to go find some more. As we were walking, Henry took the new batch of eggs from me, saying ‘Ah, Benja, let me carry these.’ I’m not even sure if he’d finished the sentence before he turned and gave the bag of eggs to Christina. When I tried to take them back from Christina, he stopped me and Christina laughed a little and said ‘But it’s my responsibility.’ When I asked why she gave me that laugh again, embarrassed to have to explain the obvious twice in one day and said ‘Because… I’m a girl.’ That knocked the wind out of me a bit. I mean, I know gender attitudes get internalized by girls here . . . but to hear it so explicitly stated as if it were an unchangeable truth . . .
Later Christina and I had a chance to talk more about it. First off, I let her know what’d happen to me if I ever told a friend or relative it was her responsibility as a girl or woman to carry all of my things so I could carry nothing. I don’t remember exactly what I told her would be done to me, but it was pretty graphic and painful. She laughed, A LOT.
Then we started talking about what role gender plays in her relationship with Henry. She told me that Henry does help out with household chores, but generally only when Christina’s grandmother (Henry’s mother) is away, which isn’t often. She says she’s positive he knows that he should be helping. The only reason she offers why he’s not is that he’s afraid of being made fun of by his friends. It seems that Henry is basically a good guy, and he is miles ahead of many of his peers by recognizing that there is a problem with the way girls and women are currently treated in Malawi. But it’s tough to see how far he falls short as well. There is a gap here between the attitudes and knowledge folks have about a social problem and the action they initiate and sustain to actually begin fixing the problem. This applies to issues ranging from anti-corruption to responding to the HIV/AIDS crisis.
Marco and I shared a meal with Christina’s family as we had with Idah’s. They didn’t give me the eggs this time, so no chance to redeem myself from the salt less-egg incident at Idah’s Instead I was on chopping duty with the job of making sinjiro, which is ground nut flour often added to greens to give them a slightly creamy texture and peanut taste. Making sinjiro is an incredibly complicated process of putting ground nuts into a mortar and pounding the crap out of them until they’re powder. Christina’s grandmother would stop me every so often to winnow what I’d done. In the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted this job would generally be entrusted to a group of eight year olds.
As Christina, her grandparents, and I cooked, Marco took pictures. At one point Henry rushed over, sat next Christina, and informed everyone loudly that he wants to learn how to cook. Christina looked at him like he’d just said he was going to lead an expedition to the moon. Then she turned to me and said ‘akunama.’ Which means ‘he’s telling a huge lie.’ I laughed and whispered back to her ‘mwina akufuna kuphunzira ngati pali kamara kuwona’ which means ‘maybe Henry only wants to cook when there’s a camera around to watch him do it.’ She laughed so hard she fell over.
In the afternoon, Christina showed us her photo album. As she flipped through it, Marco and I were trying to figure out how she decided which things she should take a picture of. Over several minutes of trying to explain, she told us that she took pictures of things she wanted to make special. In other words, photography, for her, wasn’t about catching something special or beautiful or good or somehow ‘worthy’ of being photographed. Rather, she chose things that were everyday things, places or people in her life and made them special by taking photographs of them. That is a very different perspective from what many people hold, and something about it rings deeply true. I thought about it for the rest of the day. As Marco stopped to take pictures of the sunset, I decided that whether that sunset was beautiful or just what we’re looking for anyways, I couldn’t be more content than I am to find it.
Ben (AGE Africa Program Director)
Christina’s family was very kind. They are like to cook boiled pumpkin for snacks and gave me armfuls of grapefruit after I met them the very first time. Christina’s parents have both passed away. She lives with her grandparents, aunt, and some children. She has a special relationship with a six-year-old relative named Doreen. Doreen’s mother died during childbirth and for whatever reason—death, divorce, or abandonment—Doreen’s father is no longer around. Christina’s grandmother is a distant relative and decided to care for Doreen. This is extremely common in Malawi where family is a vital support network. Two of Christina’s uncles also live close by in separate houses. One, Henry, is just a few weeks old than Christina.
Doreen follows us around and constantly seeks Christina’s attention. Christina attempts be stern with Doreen and tells her to go play and leave us alone for a little while, but she turns from the child with a smile on her face. At one point, she gestures towards the crowd of children gathered around the house and tells me and Marco, “All of these, they’re here for you. But this one [pointing to Doreen] is here for me.” When I asked Christina why she thinks she is so close to Doreen even with so many other little cousins running around, she answered, “Doreen, that one, I love her because before my mother died she told me I should always care for her.” Good answer.
Christina’s uncle Henry also follows us around. He’s obviously excited to have Marco and me visiting and really excited about Marco’s camera and the camera Marco has lent to Christina. We’ve had interesting conversations about gender in Malawi and what it means for young men. He’s able to articulate many things that should change so that women can be treated more equally—men should be going to the borehole to fetch water as well as helping out around the house more, girls’ education needs to be given the same weight as boys’ education, etc. As he rattled off these opinions I felt a flash of excitement that faded into a sort of melancholy as I recognized that Henry probably falls into a group of young men I’ve met in Malawi who have assimilated the words that they hear from various government and non-government organizations but have yet to translate that into practical actions that support girls and women in their lives. I didn’t have to wait long to find out I was right.
As Marco and I were traveling to Makupiza, we got in a slight bicycle accident. No one was hurt, but the eggs we’d carried didn’t make it, so we had to go find some more. As we were walking, Henry took the new batch of eggs from me, saying ‘Ah, Benja, let me carry these.’ I’m not even sure if he’d finished the sentence before he turned and gave the bag of eggs to Christina. When I tried to take them back from Christina, he stopped me and Christina laughed a little and said ‘But it’s my responsibility.’ When I asked why she gave me that laugh again, embarrassed to have to explain the obvious twice in one day and said ‘Because… I’m a girl.’ That knocked the wind out of me a bit. I mean, I know gender attitudes get internalized by girls here . . . but to hear it so explicitly stated as if it were an unchangeable truth . . .
Later Christina and I had a chance to talk more about it. First off, I let her know what’d happen to me if I ever told a friend or relative it was her responsibility as a girl or woman to carry all of my things so I could carry nothing. I don’t remember exactly what I told her would be done to me, but it was pretty graphic and painful. She laughed, A LOT.
Then we started talking about what role gender plays in her relationship with Henry. She told me that Henry does help out with household chores, but generally only when Christina’s grandmother (Henry’s mother) is away, which isn’t often. She says she’s positive he knows that he should be helping. The only reason she offers why he’s not is that he’s afraid of being made fun of by his friends. It seems that Henry is basically a good guy, and he is miles ahead of many of his peers by recognizing that there is a problem with the way girls and women are currently treated in Malawi. But it’s tough to see how far he falls short as well. There is a gap here between the attitudes and knowledge folks have about a social problem and the action they initiate and sustain to actually begin fixing the problem. This applies to issues ranging from anti-corruption to responding to the HIV/AIDS crisis.
Marco and I shared a meal with Christina’s family as we had with Idah’s. They didn’t give me the eggs this time, so no chance to redeem myself from the salt less-egg incident at Idah’s Instead I was on chopping duty with the job of making sinjiro, which is ground nut flour often added to greens to give them a slightly creamy texture and peanut taste. Making sinjiro is an incredibly complicated process of putting ground nuts into a mortar and pounding the crap out of them until they’re powder. Christina’s grandmother would stop me every so often to winnow what I’d done. In the interest of full disclosure, it should be noted this job would generally be entrusted to a group of eight year olds.
As Christina, her grandparents, and I cooked, Marco took pictures. At one point Henry rushed over, sat next Christina, and informed everyone loudly that he wants to learn how to cook. Christina looked at him like he’d just said he was going to lead an expedition to the moon. Then she turned to me and said ‘akunama.’ Which means ‘he’s telling a huge lie.’ I laughed and whispered back to her ‘mwina akufuna kuphunzira ngati pali kamara kuwona’ which means ‘maybe Henry only wants to cook when there’s a camera around to watch him do it.’ She laughed so hard she fell over.
In the afternoon, Christina showed us her photo album. As she flipped through it, Marco and I were trying to figure out how she decided which things she should take a picture of. Over several minutes of trying to explain, she told us that she took pictures of things she wanted to make special. In other words, photography, for her, wasn’t about catching something special or beautiful or good or somehow ‘worthy’ of being photographed. Rather, she chose things that were everyday things, places or people in her life and made them special by taking photographs of them. That is a very different perspective from what many people hold, and something about it rings deeply true. I thought about it for the rest of the day. As Marco stopped to take pictures of the sunset, I decided that whether that sunset was beautiful or just what we’re looking for anyways, I couldn’t be more content than I am to find it.
Ben (AGE Africa Program Director)
Friday, May 1, 2009
Idah's Village - Misomali
There is an entire world in Malawi that I’ve come to know something of over the last couple of years, and that I know few folks from a background like mine would ever have the chance to really see. Malawian folks refer to it, with a smile, as ‘the village’ as if it’s one place anyone can go to find a simple, straightforward, and strenuous way of life. In reality ‘the village’ is most of the country, since Malawi is something like 70-80% rural. While there are certainly things about village life that seem to translate from place to place—the pace, the food, the ubiquitous animal crap—every village has its own energy, its own feel.
Over the last week or so, I’ve had the privilege and pleasure of visiting the villages of two of AGE’s scholars studying at Providence Secondary School, Christina Michael and Idah Savala. Marco Baringer, a photographer who is collaborating with AGE to produce a photo essay and staying in Malawi for a few weeks, accompanied me. Idah’s family lives in a small compound made of two houses. One shelters Idah’s mother and younger siblings and the other is for Idah, her older sister, and some goats. The compound also includes an outdoor kitchen and place to store corncobs (the main fuel for the fire between three stones where the family cooks all meals), a small storage building, an outdoor bafa (a stall for bathing usually made of brick or grass) and chimbudzi (pit latrine). There’s a pen for a dairy cow and calf, which are very rare in Malawi. Idah’s mother inherited the cow from her father. They milk it daily and sell the milk to the Malawi Dairy Board for a little bit of extra cash around the house.
Idah’s village, Misomali, is about 20 minutes from the nearest tarmac road, but it may as well be hours. It’s a three hour walk to the nearest clinic and about a 45 minute walk to the nearest school. Idah doesn’t have a lot of friends here. Most girls her age are married and have 2-3 children. We visited her primary school. As she and Marco kept busy taking pictures, I took the opportunity to speak with a few young women who were peering in one of the windows. They were 16-18 years old, married, and had between two and four children. I asked Idah if she knew any of them. She said, “Yeah, we learned together here.” She looked out the window across a distance that seemed infinitely greater than the ten feet or so that separated them. Despite both the geographic and social isolation, Idah seems incredibly content here, falling into the rhythms through which she has always measured her life—the number of steps to the well, the number of family gardens left to harvest, the number of weeks until school starts up again.
I was lucky to meet two women who guided Idah through her childhood to the place she’s at now—one of Idah’s mentors who supported her during primary school through the Ambassador’s Girls’ Scholarship Program and Mrs. Savala, Idah’s mother. I’ve rarely met a woman in the village as willing as Idah’s mentor to open up so genuinely to someone new, especially to someone new who happens to be 6’7” and a white male. All she wanted to talk about is how incredible Idah is and what a great role model she’s been for current primary school students, showing that with a lot of hard work it’s possible for girls from Misomali to go to a national school like Providence. This is a lesson Idah never learned until she did it herself.
Idah’s mother is a quieter woman who carries herself with a really interesting combination of dignity and humility. She nudges Idah to behave properly, but does so with obvious love. Idah adores her mother. There’s no other word for it. If you ask Idah how it is that she’s learning at a national secondary school while so many of her friends married young and have children, Idah will almost always credit her mother’s support for education first. She even giggles a little when she remembers times that her mother had to force her out of the house into downpours during the rainy season so that Idah would be on time for school.
Idah’s primary school, Litchenza Free Primary School, is well built, comprising a half dozen or so solid blocks. Various organizations have pitched in to build school blocks and latrines, but class sizes still top 100 students per class. Idah showed us around. We stopped in one room to take pictures and soon had a large audience of children who burst into cheers each time Marco’s flash went off. Idah laughed and when we asked her what she thought of it all, she just said, “Ah, its how they behave.”
Beyond the primary school is the Community Day Secondary School (CDSS) where Idah’s older sister learned for four years. There are two blocks with students who are continuing classes through break to study for government examinations in September and October. Idah guides us around the school grounds, greeting a few people she knew from primary school. As we walk off, I excuse myself as Marco and Idah entertain a group of children with their cameras. I stare at a hand-written list naming 11 students who passed their MSCE exams from the C.D.S.S. and quickly added up their scores. None of the scores are near good enough to allow the students to proceed to a college or university. By comparison, from the class of 2007, 28 students from Providence were admitted to colleges and universities and maybe another 20 plus scored higher than the scores on that list. I stood and stared for a moment, just grateful that no matter what else was going right or wrong, I’m able to be a thread in a fabric that supports a girl as gifted as Idah as she seeks to realize her potential.
After we got back from our tour of the schools, Idah and I prepared lunch while Marco photographed everything. It’d been a while since I cooked anything in a Malawian kitchen and this time wasn’t any more pleasant. The smoke was extremely heavy and burned the eyes, especially on a fire of maize cobs. I chopped some tomatoes and cooked eggs. They came out nicely except that in the midst of wiping the tears out of my eyes from the smoke, I’d forgotten to add salt! Everybody laughed it off as sort of, ‘well that’s what happens when you let a man, especially a white man, in the kitchen.’ Idah’s family was incredibly gracious, and before Marco and I left, her mother made sure Idah thanked us for bringing and cooking the eggs that day.
Leaving villages after a visit is never easy. I always feel a little sad that I have to go. Marco and I hopped on the bike taxis, took a last look around, and started our trip back to Providence. Soon we would visit Christina’s Michael’s village.
Tsalani bwino (Stay well),
Benja (Ben, AGE Program Director on-site in Malawi)
Over the last week or so, I’ve had the privilege and pleasure of visiting the villages of two of AGE’s scholars studying at Providence Secondary School, Christina Michael and Idah Savala. Marco Baringer, a photographer who is collaborating with AGE to produce a photo essay and staying in Malawi for a few weeks, accompanied me. Idah’s family lives in a small compound made of two houses. One shelters Idah’s mother and younger siblings and the other is for Idah, her older sister, and some goats. The compound also includes an outdoor kitchen and place to store corncobs (the main fuel for the fire between three stones where the family cooks all meals), a small storage building, an outdoor bafa (a stall for bathing usually made of brick or grass) and chimbudzi (pit latrine). There’s a pen for a dairy cow and calf, which are very rare in Malawi. Idah’s mother inherited the cow from her father. They milk it daily and sell the milk to the Malawi Dairy Board for a little bit of extra cash around the house.
Idah’s village, Misomali, is about 20 minutes from the nearest tarmac road, but it may as well be hours. It’s a three hour walk to the nearest clinic and about a 45 minute walk to the nearest school. Idah doesn’t have a lot of friends here. Most girls her age are married and have 2-3 children. We visited her primary school. As she and Marco kept busy taking pictures, I took the opportunity to speak with a few young women who were peering in one of the windows. They were 16-18 years old, married, and had between two and four children. I asked Idah if she knew any of them. She said, “Yeah, we learned together here.” She looked out the window across a distance that seemed infinitely greater than the ten feet or so that separated them. Despite both the geographic and social isolation, Idah seems incredibly content here, falling into the rhythms through which she has always measured her life—the number of steps to the well, the number of family gardens left to harvest, the number of weeks until school starts up again.
I was lucky to meet two women who guided Idah through her childhood to the place she’s at now—one of Idah’s mentors who supported her during primary school through the Ambassador’s Girls’ Scholarship Program and Mrs. Savala, Idah’s mother. I’ve rarely met a woman in the village as willing as Idah’s mentor to open up so genuinely to someone new, especially to someone new who happens to be 6’7” and a white male. All she wanted to talk about is how incredible Idah is and what a great role model she’s been for current primary school students, showing that with a lot of hard work it’s possible for girls from Misomali to go to a national school like Providence. This is a lesson Idah never learned until she did it herself.
Idah’s mother is a quieter woman who carries herself with a really interesting combination of dignity and humility. She nudges Idah to behave properly, but does so with obvious love. Idah adores her mother. There’s no other word for it. If you ask Idah how it is that she’s learning at a national secondary school while so many of her friends married young and have children, Idah will almost always credit her mother’s support for education first. She even giggles a little when she remembers times that her mother had to force her out of the house into downpours during the rainy season so that Idah would be on time for school.
Idah’s primary school, Litchenza Free Primary School, is well built, comprising a half dozen or so solid blocks. Various organizations have pitched in to build school blocks and latrines, but class sizes still top 100 students per class. Idah showed us around. We stopped in one room to take pictures and soon had a large audience of children who burst into cheers each time Marco’s flash went off. Idah laughed and when we asked her what she thought of it all, she just said, “Ah, its how they behave.”
Beyond the primary school is the Community Day Secondary School (CDSS) where Idah’s older sister learned for four years. There are two blocks with students who are continuing classes through break to study for government examinations in September and October. Idah guides us around the school grounds, greeting a few people she knew from primary school. As we walk off, I excuse myself as Marco and Idah entertain a group of children with their cameras. I stare at a hand-written list naming 11 students who passed their MSCE exams from the C.D.S.S. and quickly added up their scores. None of the scores are near good enough to allow the students to proceed to a college or university. By comparison, from the class of 2007, 28 students from Providence were admitted to colleges and universities and maybe another 20 plus scored higher than the scores on that list. I stood and stared for a moment, just grateful that no matter what else was going right or wrong, I’m able to be a thread in a fabric that supports a girl as gifted as Idah as she seeks to realize her potential.
After we got back from our tour of the schools, Idah and I prepared lunch while Marco photographed everything. It’d been a while since I cooked anything in a Malawian kitchen and this time wasn’t any more pleasant. The smoke was extremely heavy and burned the eyes, especially on a fire of maize cobs. I chopped some tomatoes and cooked eggs. They came out nicely except that in the midst of wiping the tears out of my eyes from the smoke, I’d forgotten to add salt! Everybody laughed it off as sort of, ‘well that’s what happens when you let a man, especially a white man, in the kitchen.’ Idah’s family was incredibly gracious, and before Marco and I left, her mother made sure Idah thanked us for bringing and cooking the eggs that day.
Leaving villages after a visit is never easy. I always feel a little sad that I have to go. Marco and I hopped on the bike taxis, took a last look around, and started our trip back to Providence. Soon we would visit Christina’s Michael’s village.
Tsalani bwino (Stay well),
Benja (Ben, AGE Program Director on-site in Malawi)
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
What the girls face
Ku mudzi (at the village),
I recently spent a few days in a remote trading center close to the Zambian border visiting a friend from the Peace Corps. Going into villages, especially villages where I have friends, is one way I stay grounded in the realities that The Advancement of Girls' Education (AGE) scholars face when they return home during school breaks. It is difficult to describe the amount of determination and luck required for most girls from rural backgrounds to complete secondary school, and these trips reinforce what they deal with/live in and how unique they are.
While teaching at a rural secondary school over two years, I saw how the 60 or so girl scholars dwindled to 15-20 by Form 3 (junior year) and Form 4 (senior year) classes. Girls go through childhood and primary school inundated with the idea that women have only domestic value—attending to house and garden and childcare. While the belief that women are in fact capable of other pursuits if they choose is growing, it hasn’t yet translated to a groundswell of support for girls’ education. Role models who have challenged the traditional conception of women are few and far between in most rural communities.
Some images of village life and activities
I recently spent a few days in a remote trading center close to the Zambian border visiting a friend from the Peace Corps. Going into villages, especially villages where I have friends, is one way I stay grounded in the realities that The Advancement of Girls' Education (AGE) scholars face when they return home during school breaks. It is difficult to describe the amount of determination and luck required for most girls from rural backgrounds to complete secondary school, and these trips reinforce what they deal with/live in and how unique they are.
While teaching at a rural secondary school over two years, I saw how the 60 or so girl scholars dwindled to 15-20 by Form 3 (junior year) and Form 4 (senior year) classes. Girls go through childhood and primary school inundated with the idea that women have only domestic value—attending to house and garden and childcare. While the belief that women are in fact capable of other pursuits if they choose is growing, it hasn’t yet translated to a groundswell of support for girls’ education. Role models who have challenged the traditional conception of women are few and far between in most rural communities.
Some images of village life and activities
Girls are frequently given a disproportionate share of household chores, leaving them with less time to study than boys in their classes. Unsurprisingly, girls often fall behind because they lack the academic support from teachers and family necessary for success. Of all primary students taking exams to determine where they can continue their educations, the estimates I’ve seen say that 25% to 35% are selected to secondary schools. Assuming girls buck the trend and make it into secondary school, they will probably learn at a sub-par Community Day Secondary School, where I taught previously.
A Community Day Secondary School is a rural secondary school that receives a significant amount of support from the surrounding community. I’ve taught in one for two years, I’ve known volunteers who’ve taught at probably 50 others, and I’ve visited maybe another 20 or 30 since I’ve been in Malawi. Frankly none of them have been equipped to offer anything approaching adequate education. Class sizes can climb as high as 100 to 200 students, and classes are led by untrained teachers who are unmotivated by a system that renders them unable to create anything approaching a genuine learning community. Classes, if the teachers show, generally range from lectures with maybe a couple of questions requiring memorized or one word answers to notes to copy from the chalkboard.
At most Community Day Secondary Schools, there are no laboratory facilities, even though the girls’ final year examination, the Malawi School Certificate of Education exam—MSCE—will consist of a practical or lab as well as theoretical knowledge. Teachers are forced to do a demonstration of a lab for their students or even resorting to such methods as drawing on a chalkboard what a slide under a microscope would look like if there were a microscope and slide available to actually use. It’s entirely possible that the teacher has also never actually seen the slide their drawing.
These schools may be as far as ten to twenty kilometers away from a girl’s village, and few have boarding facilities, frequently leaving the girl in a position of being a self-boarder. This means that she rents or finds a place she can stay that is within walking distance of the school. If she’s lucky, she stays with a relative or friend of the family, however girls often simply rent a place wherever their family can afford it, leaving a girl without the protection of family and her own village and much more vulnerable to sexual abuse from men in the area as well as from teachers at her own school. These problems and others show in Community Day Secondary Schools’ pass rates on the MSCE. Of 70 or so MSCE candidates, the school where I taught would manage to have two or three selected into a college or university, and that was considered remarkable.
If a girl manages to dodge the troubles of Community Day Secondary Schools through high performance in primary school and selection to a government or mission school where there are boarding facilities, the problem becomes cost. This is the boat that the AGE scholars are in. Although the government boarding schools generally have more facilities and more qualified teachers as well as boarding facilities, they can be five or six times as expensive as Community Day Secondary Schools, and mission schools can be 10 times as expensive. Families in difficult situations usually cut a girls’ school fees to save money. Girls whose families cannot afford these fees, such as the AGE scholars, generally either stop school altogether or transfer to a Community Day Secondary School close to home. Also, even higher level schools suffer from lack of materials, overcrowding, and teachers’ reliance on very traditional teaching methods.
This, in as short a way as I can explain it, is what the scholars are up against. At AGE we try to be an ally, a source of support and genuine help to scholars who have demonstrated the ability to succeed at the primary level and potential at the secondary level.
A Community Day Secondary School is a rural secondary school that receives a significant amount of support from the surrounding community. I’ve taught in one for two years, I’ve known volunteers who’ve taught at probably 50 others, and I’ve visited maybe another 20 or 30 since I’ve been in Malawi. Frankly none of them have been equipped to offer anything approaching adequate education. Class sizes can climb as high as 100 to 200 students, and classes are led by untrained teachers who are unmotivated by a system that renders them unable to create anything approaching a genuine learning community. Classes, if the teachers show, generally range from lectures with maybe a couple of questions requiring memorized or one word answers to notes to copy from the chalkboard.
At most Community Day Secondary Schools, there are no laboratory facilities, even though the girls’ final year examination, the Malawi School Certificate of Education exam—MSCE—will consist of a practical or lab as well as theoretical knowledge. Teachers are forced to do a demonstration of a lab for their students or even resorting to such methods as drawing on a chalkboard what a slide under a microscope would look like if there were a microscope and slide available to actually use. It’s entirely possible that the teacher has also never actually seen the slide their drawing.
These schools may be as far as ten to twenty kilometers away from a girl’s village, and few have boarding facilities, frequently leaving the girl in a position of being a self-boarder. This means that she rents or finds a place she can stay that is within walking distance of the school. If she’s lucky, she stays with a relative or friend of the family, however girls often simply rent a place wherever their family can afford it, leaving a girl without the protection of family and her own village and much more vulnerable to sexual abuse from men in the area as well as from teachers at her own school. These problems and others show in Community Day Secondary Schools’ pass rates on the MSCE. Of 70 or so MSCE candidates, the school where I taught would manage to have two or three selected into a college or university, and that was considered remarkable.
If a girl manages to dodge the troubles of Community Day Secondary Schools through high performance in primary school and selection to a government or mission school where there are boarding facilities, the problem becomes cost. This is the boat that the AGE scholars are in. Although the government boarding schools generally have more facilities and more qualified teachers as well as boarding facilities, they can be five or six times as expensive as Community Day Secondary Schools, and mission schools can be 10 times as expensive. Families in difficult situations usually cut a girls’ school fees to save money. Girls whose families cannot afford these fees, such as the AGE scholars, generally either stop school altogether or transfer to a Community Day Secondary School close to home. Also, even higher level schools suffer from lack of materials, overcrowding, and teachers’ reliance on very traditional teaching methods.
This, in as short a way as I can explain it, is what the scholars are up against. At AGE we try to be an ally, a source of support and genuine help to scholars who have demonstrated the ability to succeed at the primary level and potential at the secondary level.
Benja (Ben, AGE Program Director on the ground in Malawi)
Monday, March 9, 2009
Moni nonse
Moni nonse—Hello everyone! My name is Ben Chambers, and I’m the Program Director for The Advancement of Girls' Education (AGE) here in Malawi. This is an exciting time for AGE as we look to significantly increase both the number of scholars we support as well as the quality of the support we provide, and I’m excited to share our work as well as our lives in Malawi with anyone who wants to know about them!
(AGE Scholars with Mt. Mulanje as Backdrop)
I live at Providence Secondary School in Chisitu, a trading center in Mulanje, which is a district in the Southeastern part of Malawi. We’re in the shadow of Mount Mulanje, Malawi’s tallest mountain, which is around 3000m high and is in the background of the picture I've posted (in the foreground stand some of our scholars!). We’re heading towards the end of the rainy season here, so everything is green, wet, and a little muddy… often times a lot muddy. My aim here is to develop a mentoring program for AGE scholars starting with those at Providence Secondary School which is here in Chisitu.
I joined AGE this past January after working in Malawi for the Peace Corps, and it’s already been a bit of a roller coaster ride for me and our scholars. I’ve visited all of the schools we partner with (5 at present), met with the administration of each school, and gotten to know all but one of the scholars which was incredible. I’ve also been in the national capital, Lilongwe, getting into the registration process for NGO’s and taking care of a couple of program issues there. Tragically, we’ve also had to begin to cope with the loss of a student at Providence Secondary School, though not one of the AGE scholars, who passed away from malaria while at school. Working with AGE has already brought me into contact with the joy, tragedy, tediousness, and moments of beauty that I’ve found characteristic of life in Malawi.
We at AGE would like this blog to be much more than a series of one person’s reflections about living in Malawi. We intend this to be an interactive tool, allowing the scholars as well as myself to share news about AGE’s program in Malawi, the kinds of lives we lead here, and to establish dialogue about whatever topics both the scholars and their readers are interested in discussing. All of that is a long way of saying ‘Don’t be shy!’ If you have questions, comments, or any message at all, please feel free to pass it our way.
As you read this blog throughout the year, it is my sincere hope that you come to know something of the challenges girls go through in Malawi, and the resolve that often allows them to thrive in the face of such challenges.
Tsalani bwino (Stay well),
Benja
(Ben, AGE Program Director on-site in Malawi)
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