Ras, me and Shu vs the trash

One of the last things I expected to be doing when I returned to Lilongwe was picking up the trash on a 300-meter stretch on Youth Drive just above the Lilongwe River. However, Ras Maziko Dunken exudes an enthusiasm that won me over, so here we were, Shu and me, stuffing garbage bags with broken glass, flattened plastic bottles, scraps of decomposing plastic bags and all manner of other items while the locals walked by pushing their bicycles or carrying massive loads on their heads and wondering what that mzungu (the white guy) in the big hat was doing. But how could I say no to a Rastafarian?

The neighborhood

I met Ras on my first walkabout from the Klaus Guest House, where I took up lodging after abandoning the safari. Now you have to understand that the Klaus Guest House is not the Grand Budapest Hotel, although you meet some very interesting characters there -- and I'll be telling you about them. The nameless dirt road off of Youth Drive that Duncan, my driver, navigated to find The Klaus is anything but flat and smooth.

The view of the Klaus Guest House compound from the gated driveway

The back courtyard at The Klaus

The Klaus is situated in a pretty scrappy neighborhood (you'll see photos later), which is why I love the place. This was the right place to be. The people living outside the locked wall-gate that only allows a view if you peek between the massive driveway doors confront their poverty with determination, and the beautiful children display a mouth full of smiling white teeth as they run up to say hello and I struggle to remember how to say "muli bwanji!" It was Ras that taught me that phrase.

These boys were too excited and happy to talk to the tall mzungu with the great big hat (Micah).

A 3-month old peers at me 

as her mother sits next to me

on a cement bench at the 

entrance of The Klaus

Finding my way

During my first few days at The Klaus I was trying to get my bearings. My room locked with a skeleton key which I used even when I went to the common bathroom, because I didn't know the other roomers. I had already lost my beloved Flip camcorder on my taxi drive back to Lilongwe from Zambia, and I didn't want to lose my computer or cash or passport as well. But over time I've learned that you don't have to worry a lot about the other guests. These two Nigerian men in the photo below, for example. You'll notice that one of them is wearing my Madison Street Marathon shirt, the one I wore when I was performing my publicity stunt a couple years ago to raise awareness of the One World Futbol.

Soccer player Osborn models my Madison Street Marathon shirt next to his compatriot, Oladimeji.

The shirt was one of the garments I had brought along after the African Hat Dance at First Class Ballroom in Everett WA to gather clothing to bring to this impoverished nation. It seemed right to give the shirt to a soccer player, who had never seen a One World Futbol. It was a great opportunity to get back into the practice of proselytizing. I got to talking to these guys (English is prevalent in Africa) while they were washing their duds in a plastic basin in The Klaus' courtyard. Those are their shoes in the photo below, drying on the tin roof of one of the buildings on the site.

Meanwhile, their just-washed shoes dry on a roof under the sun of a warm winter Lilongwian day.

That was just the first of the interesting guests I would meet at The Klause, but after a day or so I wanted to venture out on foot and see whether I could navigate the town alone. So I began my walkabout.

Ras Maziko Dunken

The Road Without A Name took me as far as Youth Drive, which I crossed and then paused to look at a square tent with a row of some tall vessels on display in front, and some plants. It was there that Ras snagged me.

Have some sweet potatoes, my friend!

Now Ras is a character, no doubts about that. He is a Rastafarian, with all the dreads that come with the territory, gathered up and behind his head in a loose knit Rasta cap. He also has a row of the whitest teeth in the Eastern Hemisphere, and they are always smiling and never holding still, because Ras is a hustler, and he was engaging me. For four hours he engaged me.

Ras painting pottery. On left, Edvard Jackson; center, William Mapulango. Bottom: the meal.

He talked me into sitting on a rock in his cramped tent, eating sweet potatoes and  later a mixed plate of beans, maize and greens, including pumpkin leaves. (You didn't know that pumpkin leaves can be delicious, did you? They actually are. Here's how to prepare them ) So, after the men in the tent rinsed their hands in a common water bowl, we ate the food as I calculated the odds of needing my diarrhea meds later on. (I didn't.)

I listened to Ras talk about any number of subjects, including brotherhood (he wants all people to live in peace together) to Trump (he thinks he's a good leader because he's strong, and that the corruption in Malawi's government could be cured with a benign dictator). But the passion that eventually led to my taking up arms with him against the trash was his vision for what he was doing along Youth Drive.

Ras is a former farmer turned nurseryman, and he shared with me the papers showing that the city's grant for his use of land beside the highway included the provision that he clean up the trash.  So now we literally were taking trash.

An example of the many piles of trash along Youth Drive

Now stay with me, because this story is going someplace. There's a future here, and if it turns out as hoped, it will be something I can tell my grandchildren about, if my son would only produce some for me. (Are you reading this, kiddo?)

A brief glimpse of poverty

A tree brutalized by poverty.

A woman makes gravel

Ras has dreams. He wants to beautify the area where he's set up shop. He wants the people to stop chopping down public trees and chopping down the limbs of those trees for firewood. And that's an important notion, because Malawi is being denuded of its forests because people need firewood.

What is a minor chill for me at this point of their winter is quite uncomfortable for them, and firewood is the source of cooking fuel for many as well as for heating. And if you want a quick image of how desperately poor these people are, take a look at the photo at the left. That woman is making gravel with a sledge hammer. That's her job, and she's proud to have it. She sauntered past us with her sledge hammer resting atop her head at a jaunty angle like a baseball cap turned sideways.

And she let me take her photo for 1,000 kwacha. That's about $1.40. Five co-workers gathered around to watch, and out of guilt I gave each a MK200 note -- so about 48 cents each. And they were glad to get it.

Ras' nursery. He has cleared the brush and debris and shaped the land by hand.

Ras would like to see the land behind his business turned into organic farming so that people are eating healthy food and making better use of the land. He took me on a brief walking tour that included a peek at the place along a path where people had dug up sand to use in mortar. He told me he had dug one man out of a cave-in, possibly saving his life.

Ras shows that, when people need sand for cement, they may mine it at great personal risk.

The photo below shows how the railing of the bridge over the Lilongwe River has been patched, Thieves cut off the railing, probably to use for axles, and the city welded a new railing over the remnant left against the post. Ras believes the presence of his business will discourage this kind of theft.

A new railing, welded against this post, replaces the one taken by thieves, possibly to use for axles.

Drainage canal; Lilongwe River

At right, you can see where Ras has to continue his cleanup of a drainage canal and, the Lilongwe River, from which he hopes to pump water  for his nursery. He needs capital for a pump, and bank loans come with a 10 percent interest rate-- expensive for a start-up business operator with a tent for collateral.


But Ras' enthusiasm is infectious, and so, for reasons I will explain later, I promised him a day of my time to help clean up the mess. It was a great opportunity to give Shu a field test, and Shu, The Shoe That Grows, is what I wore when I walked out into the tall grass, trash and brambles. Shu provided a surprising degree of protection and comfort, but by the end of the day, with dirt stuck between foot and sandal, I was glad to give my feet a break.

My cleanup footwear -- Shu

I had showed up with two pair of work gloves--who knows what you're going to find when you start rooting around? I could only use one pair at a time, so the other pair was divided between Ras and William. Both had blistered hands from working the problem the day earlier, and they were grateful for the gloves.



I coughed up a couple thousand kwacha for Matthew, a passer-by who is building a home nearby, to bicycle to a nearby shop for garbage bags. He returned with the bags and no change. I apparently had given him precisely the correct amount for his services and the bags. Right.

William's blistered hands were grateful for the bright red gloves.

Ras generated a cloud of dust and debris with a tool that was a blend of machete and scythe. 

At day's end, the tall grass is beat down and the trash is bagged.

Ras is a player in a serendipitous outcome that I'm going to share with you in a few days, but now it's time to sign off. Sorry but I have to go back to my old end-of-posting graphic. Micah, Jean Baptiste and Carlita are no longer traveling with me. Yes, three of my companions are gone -- at least two of them to a better place. I'll tell you more about that in a few days, but tomorrow I begin the long Odessey home, and I'm heading for bed.

Goodnight,

Love,
Robert

And Shu

A sign bordering All Race Nursery