Facing Humanity in Malawi
An Adventure A Week
It took me three days, two coach buses, one minivan, two shared taxis, and three regular taxis to complete the trip from Livingstone, Zambia, to Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi. Malawi is considered by the World Bank to be the 4th poorest country in the world, with 70% of the population living on $2.15 per day.
It was here in Lilongwe that I met Lois, a woman who represented foreign charities in Malawi. Lois showed me the human side of poverty. She also served me my first true slice of humble pie.
Lois told me about the struggles of women in rural Malawi who need to travel great distances to receive medical care during pregnancy and delivery. This burden is due to a misguided government policy stipulating that pregnant women should deliver their children in medical clinics instead of in their home villages with the assistance of a local midwife (as has been the practice for centuries). Due to this policy, when women enter labor or are close to it, they are escorted by the midwife to the nearest medical clinic, sometimes enduring a multi-day journey to get there.
The journey to the medical center is hard physically. Since there are almost no private cars in rural areas, a laboring woman is usually transported by bike. Often, she sits on the bike while the midwife pushes from behind. Lois explained that, despite this arduous trip, when the woman finally arrives at the health clinic, she is frequently denied medical care.
Why? There are no rubber gloves—and without adequate protection, doctors and nurses in this part of Sub-Saharan Africa do not risk HIV/AIDS infection. So in the end, after a grueling, uncomfortable, and painful multi-day journey, the rural midwife is still the one to deliver the child.
A series of questions ricocheted through my head upon hearing this story: “How much can a box of rubber gloves cost?” “Couldn’t we just buy cases to distribute to medical centers?” Why would the government ask these women to travel long distances to receive medical care and then decline to offer care once the laboring women arrived?”
I began to feel frustrated. Not only was the journey physically perilous for these pregnant women but also emotionally draining. One of the women’s main concerns was that if they had to travel overnight they would need to take a blanket. It was Lois who explained to me the importance of blankets for a family. Since most children sleep with their parents, they all share a blanket. If the mother-to-be took the blanket with her to the medical clinic, her husband and children would have nothing to keep them warm as they slept.
Lois’s explanation gave me pause. I’d noticed during my three-day bus ride that the locals were often carrying blankets in clear plastic duvet covers. I assumed that each traveler had wrapped the blanket around something precious that they were carrying on their trip. It never occurred to me that the blanket itself was valuable. I found it hard to grasp that a blanket was the family’s most prized possession.
This realization about the importance of what I considered an everyday item was one of the most humbling moments during my travels and one that will stick with me forever.
To me, a blanket is no longer just a blanket. It will now always symbolize the warmth of a family, the closeness of children as they sleep, an irreplaceable comfort during childbirth. A family in Malawi is lucky to have a blanket. And I am fortunate to have learned its value.
Even within extreme levels of poverty in Africa, I noticed subtle dividing lines. Someone who doesn’t even own a pair of shoes indicates a deeper level of poverty. Engraved in my memory is the image of a young man wearing a broken plastic shoe in Ethiopia. In his world, one shoe was better than no shoe, even if that one was plastic with holes in it. It still had a sole. It could, at least partially, protect him.
Clothing—or the lack thereof—is another indication of poverty. In many African countries, it’s not uncommon to see young children, especially those under the age of five, not wearing pants. (I figured this was for potty-training reasons in a world without diapers.) But when older children, and especially adults, have no clothes, it is a tragic sign of extreme poverty.
My first experience with a man in tatters was years ago in a village in Tanzania. A friend and I were walking together on a dirt path bordering a national park. The man stepped out in front of us, facing us square on. At the time, I thought he was going to rob us. But he didn’t. Instead, he was challenging us, insisting that we see him. What I saw was desperation in his eyes.
Houses likewise tell a story. Many dwellings in Africa are built of straw, sticks, or bricks. In Namibia, we passed by entire villages made of straw huts, each house partially hidden in the folds of the sandy dunes. The countryside in Zambia is dotted with stick houses that couldn’t withstand a gust of wind.
The use of roofing materials in particular can be indicative of a family’s relative wealth. Palm leaves for roofs are seen throughout semi-tropical Mozambique. Tin roofs are a step above, and tile roofs are considered a luxury item. Windows are also a status symbol—whether there is a plastic covering, a wooden shutter, or in the most elaborate homes, glass window panes.
What I found most heartening while traversing the continent is the care taken with many of these homes. Even when a house has a palm roof and no window coverings, the courtyard will be swept clean of debris. Oftentimes you’ll spy flowering trees and plants surrounding the doorway, or a touch of paint added to a wooden window sill.
These types of adornments indicate a pride of home ownership that is uplifting. We all must deal with the circumstances we’ve been dealt, and yet to see this careful tending of one’s home, even in areas suffering from entrenched poverty, is inspiring. These house-proud dwellings reflect the resilience and pride of the families that live there.
These were my thoughts as I continued my journey across southern Africa. Staring out the bus window at the countryside, I reflected on the symbolism of shelter, the necessity of food and clothing, and the need for basic healthcare. And so I spent the long hours in transit chewing on these thoughts and swallowing another healthy serving of humble pie. 🦋
Have you seen extreme poverty during your travels? What did you notice? Did it change how you view basic necessities in your life?
⭐ An Adventure A Week is a serial based on my autobiography “Adventures Of A Nomad: 30 Inspirational Stories.” You can read the essays in order (or not). Can’t wait for the next installment? Get the book.
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Christened “Wander Woman” by National Geographic, Erin Michelson is a professional speaker and author of the Nomad Life™ series of travel books and guides, including the #1-ranked “Explore the World with Nomads.”
Thank you for this thoughtful post, and I love how you highlighted the way people in Malawi care for their homes--reminded me of Chimamanda Adiche's TED talk "The Power of a Single Story." It's important to always remember how multifaceted human lives are, in all circumstances