Breathing in

We've been here since Sunday afternoon, and the bags are unpacked, the closets assigned, the routines started. The weather has been amazing--dry, highs in the mid-70s and lows down to the high 40s--and sunny, breezy...perfect for dinners on our verandah. Had to use that term because really, what other word would describe this?

It's funny how a bit of wicker furniture, some columns and good back lighting make a mood, in the same way that mosquito nets are ridiculously romantic, suspended from the sticks fashioned into four post cages that guard our beds. The kids enjoy sleeping under them, pretending to be zoo animals in cages with me as the zookeeper. Stas is on a shark kick so he pretends to be a shark, Agnieszka's a cheetah, and somehow it creates endless entertainment.

I made it to the hospital for the first time today. Morning report starts at 7:30, a rough deadline given that Janek screamed for a solid hour and a half last night in protest at being stuck in the Pack'n'Play instead of sharing our bed. We spoiled him out of necessity during our French adventure, and now we're paying for it. Out of the three, he's been the least well adjusted, and it only comes out at night, to the everlasting enjoyment of all involved. Otherwise the kids have all been champs, and love it here. How could you not, when you've got a resident dog, a horse-shaped swing, and a banana tree in the yard?

After morning report I got access to the server and said hi to the clerks, but as for getting security clearance, that will have to wait for tomorrow. We also toured another school for the kids, which is easier said than done considering the school doesn't have a website and the streets here have names no one uses. Google maps works decently well here, though some places appear in completely inaccurate areas. Add to that driving on the left, windshield wiper switches located where the turn signal switch should be, traffic laws that are mere suggestions, all sorts of imaginative modes of transportation--the minibuses that fit three-to-a-seat or bikes carrying four passengers apiece--plus pedestrians intent on committing suicide by crossing the road immediately ahead of your car--and driving becomes a major sphincter-exercising adventure.

In the first 24 hours here I got pulled over twice. The first was for making an allegedly forbidden right turn out of a parking lot. The cop claimed there was a sign; I didn't see one but then I also didn't really see him, suffering as I was at the time from that annoying lack of differentiation between the important and the mundane details, which is what makes the first days in any new setting so hard to navigate. I would've driven right past his upraised arm if it hadn't been for Aggie, our housekeeper-cum-guardian angel, who was with me and screamed for me to pull over. In the ensuing five minutes of awkwardness I attempted to explain to him that I'd just arrived, couldn't read Chichewa, that there hadn't been a sign, and that I didn't have a Malawian drivers' license, all of which he ignored and continued to insist on a fine of 10,000 kwacha (about $13), until finally I played my ace and told him I'm a doctor working at Kamuzu Central Hospital. He then refused to believe that I could really be a physician until I pulled out my ID, at which point he let us go without payment.

The second time happened 8 hours later, this time with the whole family in the car. We were coming home from a grocery shopping trip, it was later than I wanted and there was a traffic stop right before the turn leading to our street.

Star marks the spot--house 35 in area 6, aka home!

A snidely-smiling cop pulled me over and said: "Hello. What have you got for me?" He didn't pretend I'd broken any laws; he just wanted money. Since Micah was sitting next to me, I felt comfortable joking "I'll give you a hug!" He laughed uncomfortably, shone a light in the back window at the three kids huddled in the back seat, and then I offered "I'll let you have one of my kids too, if you want," at which point he admitted defeat and let us go. Even though the cops here are largely good natured, every time this happens the obvious abuse of power makes me both scared and really mad. Clearly I need to get over that because I'm sure I've got about 2,405,938,271 traffic stops ahead of me before this year is up.

Small, colorful reminders of the utter foreigners of the this of this pepper every day here; like the traffic stops, or the indescribably and inexplicably wintery hue of the tropical light that suffuses our afternoons. At the same time, in the background there's the constant awareness that we have the luxury of being here by choice; we have the luxury of being able to leave whenever we'd like. Does this ability to chose create an inevitable "us" versus "them"? What to do with the dumb luck of being born into one set of socioeconomic circumstances and not the other? Is the guilt over this luck in itself a form of entitlement?

It's too late for more of this and I'm tired. Tomorrow the burn unit awaits. Today I am grateful that I get this opportunity, happy that we're here, and relieved that so far, it has been mostly blissful and joyous and full of light. Thanks for reading, and good night!