The Cowboy Rides Away...
“I’m in a glass case of emotion.”
-Ron Burgandy, Anchorman
You can learn a lot from a dummy, or even an over-the-hill news anchor created from the mind of Will Ferrell. When looking for words to describe my last few waning hours in Malawi I don’t think I could have summed it up any better. Tonight I’ll see my last sunset in Malawi and tomorrow morning I’ll catch my last Malawian sunrise from the bus on my way out of the country.If I were in a sappy Lifetime movie this would be the point where they’d run the montage of images with emotion-stirring, heart-wrenching songs overlaid. So I thought that’d be a good way to finish the Malawian portion of my blog…
“I gotta get home there’s a garden to tend.”-Jack Johnson, “Home”
To be honest I’ve never felt this way as I’m leaving a country. I’ve spent the same amount of time in Mexico by myself and El Salvador with friends. And I spent a month in both Costa Rica and Hawaii/Japan. Each time that the last week rolled around I was counting the days until I could get on a plane. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy those experiences. I just wanted to go home and resume my life – take care of my proverbial gardens.
For the first time in my life as a traveler, though, I am not ready to go home. Up until about 2 weeks ago I wasn’t able to say that. But then this country just grabbed a hold of my heart strings and wouldn’t let go. This was helped by a couple of great friendships that popped up along the way with two vegetarian Yankees. And maybe my success at the poker table (chip leader 3 out of 4 times). But the bottom line is that I am hurting to have to leave tomorrow. I just got settled in and 
was just starting to form relationships.
But, like Jack said, I’ve got that garden to tend back home in the form of my final year of graduate school and working to find somebody to pay me to come back.
“I’m leaving on a jet plane.
I don’t know when I’ll be back again.
Oh babe I hate to go.”
-John Denver, “Leaving on a Jet Plane”
Ok, well, maybe a part of me wishes it were a jet plane, but how can I pass up on adventure? Tomorrow morning I’ll board a bus for a 30-hour trip across Southern Africa. I’ll cross through three border checks and one of the poorest countries in the world, in terms of money and hope. During my entire stay in Southern Africa, Zimbabwe has been the 900 pound gorilla in the room we’ve all had to learn to deal with. Tomorrow I’ll see some of the country up close as we make
our way through Harare, where Robert Mugabe calls home, and then head south through the villages and farms that he has ruled with an iron fist.
It’ll be kind of like heading to the dark side of the moon since I’ll be out of internet and phone communication for the first time since the last time I traipsed through Southern Africa on my journey to Malawi. Except that on the other side of this safari I’ll find modernity in the form of Johannesburg and then Cape Town. In between I’ve got another 25-hour train trip across the South African bush.
“Now my heart is sinking like the setting sun.
Setting on the things I wish I’d done.
Oh, the last goodbye’s the hardest one to say.
This is where the cowboy rides away.”
-George Strait, “The Cowboy Rides Away”
But like any great story, there must be tragedy and like any great cowboy movie, the cowboy must ride off into the sunset, never content to settle down to a domestic lifestyle. Again, if this were a movie, as I’m riding off the director would splice in memories as images of all the people I’ve seen and places I’ve been that I hate to leave behind. Malawi is different than any country that I’ve been to, or heard about from others. When you tell Malawians that you’re leaving they get genuinely saddened that you would leave so soon. It’s more than just the obligatory “I hate to see you go, please come back soon.” I thought this was just tourist industry propaganda, but it has happened too much for it to not be inherent in the country.
Yesterday one of my guards, Tuso, gave me a photograph of himself so that I could remember him. I asked him how he had a photograph made since he gets paid peanuts and lives in a mud house. He said that he paid 35 cents to have it made. That doesn’t sound like much until you realize that he gets paid about $1.25 a day (which actually keeps him just above the poverty line here in Malawi if you can believe it). When I got back in the house and looked at the photo I swear it got a little dusty in there because my eyes started to water a little bit.
Most of the long-term expats are cynical about these acts. Most just assume that Africans get to know you so that they can figure out some way to get money from you. And you know what? That’s probably true. And I definitely have felt jaded myself about the routine. But I think the thing I’m starting to realize is that, just because it originates out of desperation, does not make it any less true. Of course I’m a meal ticket and a dollar sign to them. But that doesn’t mean there’s not a human connection as well. Tuso also recently asked me for a job if I ever come back to Malawi as a gardener so that he won’t have to work the hours that guards work. And I could see 
in his eyes and in his voice how difficult it was for this proud African father of two to have to beg for a better life. He wants to work hard, but doesn’t have the opportunity.
Of course it’s so difficult to say yes, but know that I have no idea whether or not I’ll ever be able to help him. But the act of him reaching out to me for help while still maintaining his pride is so humbling for me. And it creates a human connection all of its own. He allowed me to stare directly at his own poverty instead of looking the other way or continuing down the road like I usually do. And in that connection I believe there is humanity and I feel blessed that he trusted me enough to let me experience it. Or maybe that he felt desperate enough to let me in. Either way a bond was formed and a friendship created. Maybe it’s not a type of love that I’m used to, but in this country it’s the type of love that’s available for muzungus with fat wallets. If I deny that type of love then I deny that Malawians could ever love an outsider and thereby reduce their humanity. In reality, maybe we’re the ones that reduce our humanity in order to prevent ourselves from being affected by our surroundings in a detrimental way. Maybe it’s not the Africans that keep us at a safe distance, but our natural inclination to protect ourselves from the difficulty of understanding the choices and sacrifices they must make every day. Or maybe I’m just sad about leaving a good friend and a country I’ve called home for two months.
was just starting to form relationships.But, like Jack said, I’ve got that garden to tend back home in the form of my final year of graduate school and working to find somebody to pay me to come back.
“I’m leaving on a jet plane.
I don’t know when I’ll be back again.
Oh babe I hate to go.”
-John Denver, “Leaving on a Jet Plane”
Ok, well, maybe a part of me wishes it were a jet plane, but how can I pass up on adventure? Tomorrow morning I’ll board a bus for a 30-hour trip across Southern Africa. I’ll cross through three border checks and one of the poorest countries in the world, in terms of money and hope. During my entire stay in Southern Africa, Zimbabwe has been the 900 pound gorilla in the room we’ve all had to learn to deal with. Tomorrow I’ll see some of the country up close as we make
our way through Harare, where Robert Mugabe calls home, and then head south through the villages and farms that he has ruled with an iron fist.It’ll be kind of like heading to the dark side of the moon since I’ll be out of internet and phone communication for the first time since the last time I traipsed through Southern Africa on my journey to Malawi. Except that on the other side of this safari I’ll find modernity in the form of Johannesburg and then Cape Town. In between I’ve got another 25-hour train trip across the South African bush.
“Now my heart is sinking like the setting sun.
Setting on the things I wish I’d done.
Oh, the last goodbye’s the hardest one to say.
This is where the cowboy rides away.”
-George Strait, “The Cowboy Rides Away”
But like any great story, there must be tragedy and like any great cowboy movie, the cowboy must ride off into the sunset, never content to settle down to a domestic lifestyle. Again, if this were a movie, as I’m riding off the director would splice in memories as images of all the people I’ve seen and places I’ve been that I hate to leave behind. Malawi is different than any country that I’ve been to, or heard about from others. When you tell Malawians that you’re leaving they get genuinely saddened that you would leave so soon. It’s more than just the obligatory “I hate to see you go, please come back soon.” I thought this was just tourist industry propaganda, but it has happened too much for it to not be inherent in the country.
Yesterday one of my guards, Tuso, gave me a photograph of himself so that I could remember him. I asked him how he had a photograph made since he gets paid peanuts and lives in a mud house. He said that he paid 35 cents to have it made. That doesn’t sound like much until you realize that he gets paid about $1.25 a day (which actually keeps him just above the poverty line here in Malawi if you can believe it). When I got back in the house and looked at the photo I swear it got a little dusty in there because my eyes started to water a little bit.
Most of the long-term expats are cynical about these acts. Most just assume that Africans get to know you so that they can figure out some way to get money from you. And you know what? That’s probably true. And I definitely have felt jaded myself about the routine. But I think the thing I’m starting to realize is that, just because it originates out of desperation, does not make it any less true. Of course I’m a meal ticket and a dollar sign to them. But that doesn’t mean there’s not a human connection as well. Tuso also recently asked me for a job if I ever come back to Malawi as a gardener so that he won’t have to work the hours that guards work. And I could see 
in his eyes and in his voice how difficult it was for this proud African father of two to have to beg for a better life. He wants to work hard, but doesn’t have the opportunity.Of course it’s so difficult to say yes, but know that I have no idea whether or not I’ll ever be able to help him. But the act of him reaching out to me for help while still maintaining his pride is so humbling for me. And it creates a human connection all of its own. He allowed me to stare directly at his own poverty instead of looking the other way or continuing down the road like I usually do. And in that connection I believe there is humanity and I feel blessed that he trusted me enough to let me experience it. Or maybe that he felt desperate enough to let me in. Either way a bond was formed and a friendship created. Maybe it’s not a type of love that I’m used to, but in this country it’s the type of love that’s available for muzungus with fat wallets. If I deny that type of love then I deny that Malawians could ever love an outsider and thereby reduce their humanity. In reality, maybe we’re the ones that reduce our humanity in order to prevent ourselves from being affected by our surroundings in a detrimental way. Maybe it’s not the Africans that keep us at a safe distance, but our natural inclination to protect ourselves from the difficulty of understanding the choices and sacrifices they must make every day. Or maybe I’m just sad about leaving a good friend and a country I’ve called home for two months.
“Home is wherever we are when love’s there too.”
-Jack Johnson, “Home”
-Jack Johnson, “Home”
posted by Michael, aka Tex, aka Jett | 11:26 PM
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