Funkification

I've been in a funk. Generally when I'm funkified, I hunker down and trust it will pass eventually. This funk is taking longer than I would like, but I'm letting myself off the hook. There's very little external pressure on me: the house is not burning down, and in fact, no one is expecting anything much of me except myself. It's July 4, 2026 and I hold these truths to be self-evident.

In the meantime, I take long walks on the weekends. I pop in headphones, hit Liked Songs on Spotify, and let The Highwomen or Matisyahu soundtrack my life. The dogs come with me, which I love. They're nothing but joyous, bounding around the countryside, exploring just ahead of me; as a bonus, they keep the weirdos away.

Last weekend we rambled for miles, on dirt roads leading to narrow dirt paths leading to makeshift bridges over brooks, through small fields of cassava and tea and sweet potatoes. At one point I happened upon an expanse of mature pineapple plants like I haven't seen since I lived in Mozambique, and a reserved but kind farmer named Chris answered all my questions about them. I walked past the yard of an old woman with no front teeth who came out to chat and I was surprised that I could understand most of our short Chichewa conversation. I saw men farming their fields wearing worn old suit jackets, bent low and working the red dirt with wooden hoes; one man stood and saw me in the far distance - the wind blowing dust across his field, a wide sky outlining him like Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind ("I'll never go hungry again!") - and he gave me a big wave with his arm. I gave him a big wave back.

It's hard to think of anything that gives me more genuine pleasure than these walks. My head needs space to let the confusion settle out, and while our house has become very comfortable for our needs, it is small. We paid for the addition of a back patio off of the kitchen, and it's one of our main living spaces, something we're grateful for every day. But I'm sitting out there right now and all I can hear is a metronome and Thea playing "Three Blind Mice" on her recorder. Getting out into the Malawian countryside can be a big relief. Just what the funk ordered.

The other favorite part of my week is riding to work in the mornings with Rex. Rex is my mototaxi driver when I go to the district hospital. His day job is in TB surveillance but everyone here has as many side gigs as possible, by necessity. During the fuel shortage, I was considering my options for transportation. A nurse called Soldier, who often works at the prison clinic, told me I should give Rex a call.

I'm so glad he did. Rex is soft-spoken, reliable, a safe driver, and a nice person. He just turned 52 and has two polite children, Juliet and Martin, age 8 and 12. The three of them putter up the tarmac road on his small motorbike, he drops them off at the mission primary school, then swings by to pick me up around 7AM.

He is always on time. He always has a friendly inquiry about my family. He pays very close attention. As we sail down the highway, he has started to satisfy his curiosity with questions for me, one or two per ride: Did we get married in a church? (No. This is something many Malawians aspire to but can't afford, because you have to pay a small fee to do so.) Are there any people in America without electricity? (Yes - but not really.) Does Matthew get paid to work at the mission hospital? (No, and even with a helmet on I could see his mind being blown at the idea of us having enough savings to volunteer our time.) Do I eat pork? (Not generally.) Do I drink beer? (Yes, but I don't really like it.) His questions are as interesting to me as my answers are to him.

Rex

I ask him questions too, depending on him for interpretation of this place I understand so little: What is that little green flag I keep seeing with pictures of maize on it? (It's the flag of the political party currently in power, the Democratic Progressive Party.) Why is there so much smoke over there this morning? (Burning rubbish.) Why are so many people sitting on that road? (A big funeral is going on.) Does your Catholic church also start at 6 AM, is that normal? (Yes.)

He is also how I gauge our status in Malawi, how we're being perceived. This week I offhandedly pointed out our new tomato plants to Rex and he replied, meaningfully, "Yes, I've seen them." The subtext was that we're finally proving ourselves to be normal people, because normal people - that is, ALL Malawian people - grow their own food and we finally got around to that. I suspect Rex may saunter past our house on his lunch breaks just to size things up. He clearly had already peered into our little garden patch and was pleased by what he saw.

I love feeling normal here (or at least, more normal). I love seeing all the signs of life on a typical Monday: the men driving wiry horned cattle up the road, the kids swinging their backpacks walking to school, the teen boys lightly holding hands, the women washing clothes under the bridge (when it's foggy and 60 degrees, I can't believe how they can stand up to their ankles in cold water so early in the morning), the bicycle taxis weaving and bobbing with their passengers, straining to get up the hill. It shows me the most admirable trait of Malawians, which is their quiet perseverance.

I'm taking notes from their way of being in the world. I'm trying to get out of my own head, out of my own house, and let being here change me - simply that. I think sometimes the funk comes from subconsciously fighting against the discomfort of being changed. But life ought to change you. I don't need to go home exactly the same as I was. I want to be me, with a little Malawi mixed in: the dusty walks, the happy dogs, the charcoal and wood fires burning outside small brick homes, the beautiful mountain, the bemused old women, the children bouncing along the road, shouting as I whiz past with Rex: "AZUNGUUU HOW ARE YOOOU!"

Even if it's painful, even if the struggle puts me in a funk, I'm trying to let that be enough.

"Make him a nice card," I urged the kids, and this is what they made.

I wish you could walk this with me.