Stipend vs salary

The peculiar thing about living in Lilongwe, is that for certain moments in time it is completely possible to forget you are in Africa at all.

The expat community is quite established here it seems and the steady flow of people in and out has made a fairly well networked community of people and events: Monday is Hash House Harriers (“Drinkers with a running problem” as their saying goes), Tuesday yoga, Wednesday volleyball, Thursday movie night, Friday soccer, and a party somewhere most weekends. (The very important caveat however being that you of course need your own transport, or the assistance of an automobile owning friend to be able to access these events, or an extensive phonebook of gypsy taxi’s to call and an equally extensive fistful of kwacha to be able to pay them). It was one of these parties to which I had an invitation extend on Friday, and got to experience my first taste of the 2 different types of expats: The kind I am now, and the kind I want to be. To set the scene, Jules, Janna, Regan and I waited for over 1 hr for the gypsy taxi we called who said he would be there in “just 10 minutes”. We clanked and squeaked in said taxi all the way to the party, and had to pass 4 security guards stationed at the gate. We wound down the driveway, past rows of SUVs to a beautiful house full of white people, free alcohol, and a newly dug pool (the only aspect of which reminded you that we are still in Africa being the 2 underground power lines that were discovered during the digging, and yet the digging continued, leaving a perfectly shaped pool with 2 power lines running through it). The couches were soft like at home and the tv was large, flat and connected to a satellite. Ah, what a life! Are we in Africa? Can it be that people living only 10 minutes from here survive on less than $1/day? We mingled, danced (Regan was mortified that her parents were dancing), drank, forgot we were in Africa, and realized that we could never invite these people to our house. To be on a salary, not a stipend. I dream of the day.

I found it reassuring however to know that others have stipends even less adequate than mine. I met a fellow UW grad at the party who is here with Engineers Without Borders, who makes a measly $450/month, which is just less than 1/3 my allotment. Considering I was at the final stages of interviewing with EWB when I accepted this job, I feel like I dodged that bullet.

I was warned that the expat community could be a bit cliquey, but as we walked into Brian O’Brian (his real name, I have been assured) of the Irish Embassy’s home and introduced ourselves he seemed quite happy to welcome newcomers. We also got a taste of just how small a community we are, because prior to leaving Canada Janna scoped out some blogs and was following them. One she particularly liked, and sent to me, was by a woman named Amy Gottlieb (amygottlieb.net). I didn’t read much of it, but she has really great photos posted. Have you yet guessed that she was at the party? It was kind of funny as she introduced herself “hi, I’m Amy”, and my response was “I’m Heather. Nice blog. Great pics. Glad Andy [her husband] finally made it”, and then of course Andy appeared, as if to prove that he had, in fact, made it. She works for the CDC which is right near me so she suggested we have lunch sometime. I’m not concerned that we forgot to exchange phone numbers because I have a feeling we will bump into each other at some point.

It can’t go without saying that it was Janna’s 35th birthday on Sunday and in celebration 2 WUSC volunteers – Melissa and her husband Sean --, who conveniently live only a 90 second walk from our new house (that we still have not moved in to) hosted a really great afternoon bbq. We ate lots of meat, chatted, drank, had a bit of a jam session, and I tried to soak up the feeling that this is probably more my scene, and that maybe there will be some fun involved in the next year and a half (if I really try hard at it).