The students are finishing classes this week, tomorrow is mother's day, this weekend is Lake of Stars and so it is only fitting that I take a few days vacation.

The three-day music festival has inspired me to take a week-long vacation at the beach. I have never been one to crave the beach for more than a few hours at a time but somehow Lake Malawi is much different.

I had taken an overnight trip to Cape Maclear a few weeks ago and I didn't realize how much I needed to relax until I actually got there. We went swimming and kayaking, relaxed on the beach, ate yummy food and explored the cliffside. I don't really have any plans for what I might do there but my room is booked and I will be on my own so I guess anything is possible (if my bank account allows it).

That being said, I will not be checking email or Facebook from this moment further. Until I return, of course.

Oops

note: prepare yourself for an extremely informal posting that sounds like it was written by a 12-year-old

Hey readers,

Sorry it's been so long. I know, I know, a typical apology from a typically lazy blogger.

Poor excuses aside, I have been searching for a new house, updating my visa (the back-alley way) and trying to get some work done at MIJ in the meantime.

With all the pressure that has been building up, I finally relaxed for half a second on Saturday evening and that's when the flu hit me. I was hoping for malaria, as it's sort of a rite of passage for living in an African country, but my test results ruled that out yesterday.

Three full days in bed and I knew it was the flu. But more on that later.

Anyways, consider this my official "blo-pology" (Shoutout to A. Hayter for his love of smooshing words together).

I am alive and will be posting more soon. I have a few postings in the works so it's just a matter of smoothing them out and publishing them.

Love from Malawi!

Student Body Politics

For photos and a more interactive read, check out: http://www.jhr.ca/blog/2010/09/female-dominated-elections/

At 11:52 a.m. there was a knock at the office door. It was the students informing me that they were ready to begin. On Wednesday, September 1, 2010 a group of classmates gathered together for the first ever jhr chapter elections at the Malawi Institute of Journalism (MIJ).

Eight minutes early—an unusual feat for Malawian students who often abide by “Africa time.”

I hopped out of my chair, encouraged by their excitement and walked across the hall with voter ballots in my hand.

Of course, we didn’t end up starting until a few minutes after noon. We waited for the stragglers to trickle in. Some had still been in class while others were practicing their speeches on the steps outside.
As approximately 30 students took their seats, a quiet buzz in the room turned into a boisterous chatter—making it sound more like there were 60 students present—and soon enough it was difficult to speak two words without being interrupted.

Shouting over the students’ voices, I described the process for the election: first speeches, then voting and the results would be posted the following day.

During our jhr information session the previous week, everyone wrote their names on a sign-up sheet and stated their position of interest, of which each person indicated they would run for a spot. But only half decided to follow through.


A student votes as executive candidates take a break
Nineteen people ran for nine positions. Secretary went to Iness Chilangwe; the lovely Olivia Mlelemba took Treasurer; VP Events went to the outspoken Triza Chikwawa; VP Promotions was appointed to Chance Mwai Mfune; Nandie Mambucha beat two others for VP Outreach; VP Communications was taken by the inspirational Stephina Gwetsa; Maggie Wingolo took VP Finance in a landslide; and Vice President was appointed to Geoff Justice Kawanga—the only candidate for the position.

Shockingly enough, in a male-dominated school, of the 19 people that ran for executive positions, 11 of them are female. And seven of the nine elected positions are female. Gender deliverable for CIDA—check!

The speeches began with the secretary position and dramatically worked their way up the presidential race. Some of the speakers gave short, timid speeches while others rambled along until they were clapped off the podium.

One student named Allan Nyasulu, who ran for VP Outreach, started his speech by saying, “I am not a politician, but allow me to speak as a politician for a moment.” He continued on for a couple of minutes and finished by explaining that although “Malawians don’t know their rights,” he has the ability to reach out.

Maggie Wingolo, approached the stage with confidence and addressed the audience with one line: “I am a business lady so I know how to keep money safe.” It took 13 words to secure her votes for VP Finance.

The noon-hour was coming to a close, and after the only candidate secured his position as Vice President we moved on to the four presidential speeches.

One candidate didn’t receive a single vote. It was down to Elizabeth Muapasa, Sahiba R. Kour and Archibald Kasakura.

Muapasa spoke first. She also shouted over her peers’ voices. Although she seemed to have the most captivated audience (which is tough to say with such an animated crowd), Muapasa’s speech about being open-minded only locked her into second place in the presidential race.


Students pose for the camera as they submit their votes
Next up was Sahiba R. Kour, who had approached me a couple of times before the election to get more information about jhr and the chapter. I sent her off with my best wishes and a USB key full of information. She was prepared. Speech scribbled on a piece of paper, Kour mentioned numerous qualities of a good leader.

“Active, enthusiastic and passionate…available for anyone at any time…[and a] respectable public persona,” were a few traits Kour self-identified with. Further, she has also worked with Amnesty International.

“Ooooh, really?” some of the students asked. “Yep,” she replied assuredly.

Last but not least, with his vest flung over his right shoulder, Archibald Kasakura walked slowly to the front of the room. He asked the rowdy students for permission to speak. The room hushed for a moment.

“I am not here to tell you what leaders do but I do have a couple other things to say,” Kasakura mentioned coolly as the noise started to pick up again.

He described himself as “established, organized…[and] a natural-born leader.” Kasakura closed by telling the newest group of jhr-lovers, “in my heart, there is human rights.” His regular human rights freelance pieces to The Daily Times puts truth to his words.

Luckily, as mediator, I couldn’t vote. It would have been a tough call.

As voted by the first jhr student chapter at MIJ, Sahiba R. Kour has acquired the position of President. With her knowledge and respect from her peers, Kour is well-equipped for the job.

Kasakura’s response to the outcome is one of honour: “I will do whatever I can to help out in any way that I can.”

Three cheers for suicide

Note: The title is not meant to offend, but merely provide an example of sensationalism

A few days ago I was hosting a study group with a few MIJ students. We were speaking about the importance of quality writing and the concept of sensationalism came into mind. When I brought it up, the students admitted to having never heard of the word.

I gave them a brief lesson, citing the aforementioned story on the woman being dipped into boiling porridge as a local example of sensationalist photography.

We were also looking at an article titled "Measles kills 19 in Dowa in one week". This story refers to a local church not allowing vaccinations for a group of children, leaving many to die. I suggested that one way to create a sensationalist headline would be to say, "Church kills 19 in Dowa".

I also referred to some international examples of sensationalist cover stories after the earthquake in Haiti.

Recognizing that sensationalism is fairly relative, I explained to the students that there is a fine line that some media outlets have crossed in order to sell more copies of their paper.

They understood... I hope. Although it was only a few students that received this mini lesson, if it means that three more journalists understand the concept of sensationalism before they move on to careers in the media, I feel a-okay.

On a similar note, yesterday afternoon there was a lively discussion in the newsroom of The Daily Times (as described by jhr-intern Philippa Croome) about this very subject.

They were covering a story about three siblings who took part in "a bizarre religious ritual". Two men and a woman committed suicide by jumping into a fire. The debate over which photo and headline to use became heated (no pun intended).

Most people in the newsroom wanted to use "SHOCKING" as the headline, along with a photo of the charred bodies laying in a fire pit.

After much debate, Philippa left the office without hearing the final decision. Her and the EIC felt the photo and headline were too unprofessional, while all of the reporters and the Managing Editor wanted to use the sensationalist cover.

This morning as we drove off to work, Philippa and I peered out the window at the boy selling the newspapers. He held them up for us to see and laughed at how intently we stared.

We both cheered. They went with a less graphic photo and the headline, "Horrible suicide".

Yes, the cynical print journalists cheered for horrible suicide.

"Woman dipped in boiling porridge"

Front page of The Nation today.

Yes, this stuff actually happens.

Sobbing on a doorstep at 5 a.m.

Some days out here in Malawi are really $%*?ing tough.

I often wonder if I did the right thing taking "my dream job." I have wanted to work with jhr overseas for as long as I have known about them. I've been building my portfolio for this job. At 23 years old I know that I have achieved something that many are still dreaming of.

But I am sometimes unsure if it was right to leave my friends and family behind to make temporary relationships with people I will likely never see again. From this six-month contract I can only pray to do something beneficial for someone.

A couple of nights ago I hit a breaking point. After a night out on the town, my friend drove me home at 4:30 a.m. I was exhausted from dancing the night away and socializing with my new friends and all I wanted to do was crawl into my bed and sleep.

As my friend drove away, I put the key into the door. Mysteriously, the key snapped in half - one section stuck in the keyhole, the other in my hand. I tried and tried again to pry the door open, tearing the skin of my thumb, but it was no use. Of course, moments later my phone died and the only person that was home was my landlord. Because I was getting home so late (or rather, early in the morning) I didn't think it was right to disturb him by banging on his bedroom window. So, I sat down on the pavement and cried. Nay, I sobbed.

The mangy dogs came over to comfort me and it was surprisingly nice until the little one started biting me. I pushed them away and continued to cry.

I missed everyone back home. I missed my family, my friends (who I hope will still want to hang out with me after my second stint to Africa) and most of all, I missed my fluffy, white duvet. There was nothing I could do at that point. I couldn't wander the streets to my friendly neighbours because I don't know them. I couldn't call anyone because my phone needed charging. All I could do was cry out the frustration that had been building up for weeks.

At 6 a.m. the landlord came to the door and had a good chuckle at how pathetic I was. To make matters worse, he had been awake for the past hour but didn't know I was curled up in a ball on the doorstep.

Apologizing through my sobs about breaking the key, I walked to my bedroom and collapsed on my bed. When I eventually woke up, the tears had dried on my cheeks. I washed them off (along with my pitiable demeanor), got dressed and sat down to do some work - one of many sources of frustration. But this is what I came here for... to work.

So, I will keep trekking - keeping in mind that it is important to have the occasional mental breakdown.

The first report

Each month I am required to submit a monthly report to jhr so I figured I would do the same for you, my readers. For those of you who know exactly what I am doing here, you are exempt from reading this entry.

Blog postings
Every Friday afternoon, I submit blog postings to www.jhr.ca/blog. Although I have been lazy with my postikadi blog (in that I typically repost these weekly entries), I am satisfied with the amount of blogging I have done. Compared to my trip to Uganda last summer, I have a lot more work to accomplish (as per CIDA and jhr requirements) and so, I do not have nearly as much downtime as I did then. And I can honestly say this in the best possible way.

But, the time is passing quickly and there is so much left to do.

Portfolio development classes
We have split up two classes into eight study groups. From Tuesday to Friday, Amy and I each work with a group of five to eight students (if all are in attendance). Each week has a theme. Because none of the students have practical journalism experience, we have started with the basics: story pitches, components of a story, research, interview tactics, fact-checking, etc.

We have asked each of the students to come up with a story idea and use the study groups as a basis to form an in-depth human rights story. The hope is (for those who are ambitious) to pitch their stories to media houses in town and possibly internationally.

Some students have decided not to show up to these classes, but we are doing our best with the ones who are keen to learn. A few of the students have said that they are very grateful to be given the opportunity to learn outside the classroom. It is these student journalists that are going to achieve the greatest work.

Human rights debates
Every Monday morning, the certificate students have a human rights class. Amy and I take over the last half hour and their subsequent break to monitor human rights debates.

Some of the topics we have covered so far are: prisoner’s rights, children’s right to primary education, the right to economic gain vs. land ownership, and issues of a liberal dress code in relation to the rise in rape cases.

Yeah, heavy stuff.

The students get really fired up about the debates and usually when they approach the point of no return, we take it down a notch and relate the debate to journalism. Our intention with the debates is to get the students to see both sides to contentious issues.

Stay tuned for a full posting about the future debate on homosexuality.

MIJ FM
The Malawian Institute of Journalism is also home to a radio station. Although I don’t have radio experience, I sometimes sit in on their editorial meetings to give my input on their stories. I regularly find myself encouraging the reporters to speak with people who are directly affected by the issue they are researching, as most journalists in Malawi restrict themselves to speaking with only one source (another topic altogether).

Student chapter
After re-building a jhr presence at MIJ (as it has been two years since the last jhr intern has been here), we are in the early stages of establishing a jhr student chapter.

For those of you who don’t know, it is a campus club that raises awareness of human rights through events, fundraisers and by reporting on human rights issues through various mediums.

We have interest from the university across the street and they will be holding elections for the executive positions sometime this week. Because the students at MIJ have been off for two weeks, we are only just holding an information session this week. So far, they seem interested.

I’ll keep you updated on the progress of the chapter.

Other
We are supposed to be re-building the online newspaper at MIJ but this will likely coincide with the student chapter. We are working on recruiting a team of volunteers to run the publication so that we don’t get stuck doing all the work and then have it come crashing down after we leave.

I have a couple of potential freelancing opportunities lined up. If these are successful, I will post the links for you to read.

That seems to be all for now.
It’s nice that I’m busy this time around. Makes for less blog posts, I know, but it means I am holding onto my sanity.
Thanks for reading, as always.

Shoulder-to-shoulder

Imagine you live in a country the size of New Brunswick, but inhabited by half the population of Canada. The people are generally very friendly, but you are constantly bombarded, shoulder-to-shoulder, by people every day. Everyone knows where you live before you tell them – taxi drivers, colleagues and new friends.

When you leave your house each morning, people shout “How are you?” from across the road as you approach your bus stop. You are in a good mood that morning so you wave, smile and return the question. One member of a group of girls walking slowly in front of you sees that you are behind her. She taps her friends on the arm and they both look at you and giggle. Soon they are all quietly laughing but you aren’t sure why. You laugh to yourself.

When you reach the bus, you climb on, catching the sleeve of your shirt on a bar that is sticking out of one of the benches. Luckily, you are able to maneuver it without tearing the material.

You crawl over a woman and her four-year-old child, who is perched on her lap, and settle yourself on the bench with two men on your other side. You have to duck your head down and pull your knees up toward your chest, as you are slightly too big for the space that you have squeezed yourself into.

As the bus pulls over to your stop, you tell the woman that you must crawl over her once again. You stumble out of the bus – all eyes on you – bumping your head on the ceiling. The man you were sitting beside is following behind you and as you rub your head, he says “oh, sorry white person.” You smile politely and hurry off to work.

As you rush past everyone around you, you wonder why everyone is taking their time getting to work. Won’t their superiors be upset if they are late? People come in and out of your office all morning, either to ask questions or just to say hello and stare at you. Finally, it is lunch time.

As you enjoy your meal, a group of children sit outside the window. They are waiting for your leftover food. You have mistakenly built an expectation in their head since the first week you were living in the densely populated town. You selfishly wish that you hadn’t given them your leftovers that first week because now you feel guilty finishing any of your meals.

As you leave the restaurant, you pass off the remainder of your lunch to the children and head back to work. After working the entire afternoon, it is time to go home. A colleague stops you on your way out. “Where have you been hiding?” he asks cheekily.

You reply, “Didn’t we see each other a few hours ago?” “Oh yes, that’s right. Let’s have lunch tomorrow,” he says as his eyes trace the length of your body. You scurry off again.

As you walk home, your phone rings. It’s an obnoxious ring tone but you have never been able to figure out how to change it. You answer. It is a new friend of yours, “Hey, I saw you walking down the road at 11:55 today.” You wonder why they didn’t say hello but you receive so many calls and texts like this each week that you have given up asking such a question.

You arrive home at 4:15 p.m. and your neighbours notice that you are home 15 minutes earlier than normal. They make a point to verbally recognize this. At this stage of the day, you want to say, “So what?! I am tired today!” But again, you politely smile, shrug your shoulders and walk up the driveway.

After supper, you crawl into bed, only to wake up into your nearly-celebrity-status life all over again.

"Flash me"

Since arriving in Malawi, I have flashed—and been flashed by—many people. Oddly enough, flashing one another is a crucial aspect to forming friendships within this country.

Each time I meet someone new that I want to continue a friendship with, we flash each other. It’s quick and easy and it automatically guarantees a response—typically a smile of approval.

Over the past month I have flashed and been flashed by about 30 people—Malawians and expatriates, taxi-drivers and co-workers, women and men. But I have yet to be flashed by any children.

Aside from the initial meet-and-greet if you flash your new friend it is sometimes considered rude. It’s a teaser. It means, “I want your attention but I’m not willing to go all the way.”

For some reason though, it is acceptable for some Malawians to flash their expatriate friends but if a Canadian flashes another Canadian, it’s scandalous and you can be sure that everyone will be talking about it. A typical response to flashing within the expatriate community is dismissal with a hint of resentment.

Living in a large house with four other Canadian girls ensures some minor flashing, if only to get each other’s attention.

On one occasion, I was flashed by mistake and although it was embarrassing for the other person to admit to it, the act itself became amusing. In jest, I flashed back—only furthering the humiliation of my friend.

Flashing v. (flăsh’ĭng): A request to be called back by dialing and immediately hanging up. Typically used to save money on cell phone airtime. Commonly misinterpreted as the act of indecent exposure.

http://www.jhr.ca/blog/2010/08/flash-me/

Who Can Fight for Me?

A few days ago, fellow jhr intern Amy and I were sitting comfortably in our office at the Malawi Institute of Journalism (MIJ) when a student named Charles Chaswa knocked politely on the door before letting himself in.

He passed us a piece of paper and spoke softly to us, saying that he had to leave MIJ because his sponsor had died and he could no longer afford the school fees.

Chaswa, a student at MIJ in the yearlong Certificate program, is required to pay K 210,000 ($1,500 CAD) per semester before exam time. And fees rise for senior-level Diploma students, as they pay K 315,000 ($2,250 CAD) per semester in the program that lasts one and a half years.

In addition to these prices, the students are asked (but often not expected) to supply their own cameras and recorders but many cannot afford to purchase such equipment either.

Chaswa’s letter explains that his mother passed away while he was in primary school and soon after, his father passed away while he was in secondary school. He writes with hope, “I try to pray that God turns my darkness into light.”

Because the government only pays for public primary school, Chaswa could only pray for his secondary school fees. He and two other children received a plot of land as an inheritance from his father, they split the money and with his share, Chaswa was able to complete secondary school. To his dismay, Chaswa only had K 60,000 ($428 CAD) remaining as he entered the journalism course at MIJ.

But Chaswa’s passion made him fight harder for his education. He explains in his letter that he requested sponsorship from his church, banks, radio stations and the Bingu Silva Foundation. But his requests went unanswered.

Among the 150 certificate students and 100 diploma students at MIJ, Chaswa is not alone in his plight.

Dalitson Nkunda, Course Manager at MIJ, explained that 10 to 15 percent of students drop out due to lack of funds to support their education. “Many students attend all of their classes and are not able to write the exams at the end of the semester,” she says, clarifying that the students often search in vein for sponsors throughout the school year.

As a Rights Media Educational Officer, I have little power to assist the students in this way. My role with Journalists for Human Rights (jhr) requires me to adhere to their core principles. The final clause states, “jhr is an organization that does not provide monetary support to media houses.” And I certainly don’t have the personal funds to support even one student.

I think back to my time at university and although the debt from student loans is looming over my bank account, I am grateful that I had the relatively easy opportunity to acquire funds for my tuition.

Chaswa’s story is both compelling and heartbreaking. And I feel nearly helpless. The only way I know how to assist students in this situation is to bring awareness to the issues that many Malawians face. Frankly, Chaswa exceeded beyond many others, in that he found a way to complete his secondary school despite the death of both of his parents.

The eager student closes his letter by wondering, “Who will fight better for me? I struggle to find peace, freedom and love in order to have strength of mind.” Realizing that his dreams of journalism have been dashed, he asks, “Where can I go to find help?”

For photos: http://www.jhr.ca/blog/2010/08/who-can-fight-for-me/

Creating Facebook albums one child at a time

Blantyre is a photographer’s dream. The rolling hills, multi-coloured birds and salamanders, Lion King-style trees and bustling markets provide great scenery for a 4x6. Adorable children that dance around and play with homemade toy cars on dusty roads complement the ambiance of Malawian life. But on occasion, conditions do arise for photographers in this blissful paradise.

During a recent trip to the picturesque Mount Mulanje, my colleagues and I bypassed the lengthy trek up the mountain and stopped in a small town for a late lunch instead. As we approached Pizza Basilica, we met a group of young children.

We all had our expensive digital cameras out, snapping shots of the gorgeous mountain behind the pizza parlour, when the curious children approached us. We automatically started capturing them on our cameras and in return, showed them the pictures and videos we were taking.

I went through a nearly identical occurrence in Uganda last year and I have always felt uncomfortable with it. Perhaps I become irked by the idea of photographing children because of how it is treated in Canada – in that, we are expected to obtain permission from the guardians. Or maybe I let it get to me when the phrase “poverty tourism” rings through my head whenever I capture an every-day moment for a Malawian that I believe is quaint.

Yet, I pushed past my discomfort and continued on, with surprising delight, as I captured many endearing photos.

The shrieking laughter of the kids, as they hopped around excitedly, told us that they were enjoying the experience just as much as we were. Mission complete: no strenuous mountain climbing, great photos and we made a group of kids smile.

Sounds like a perfect Facebook album right? Upload the photos, slap a few song lyrics on as the title, and call it a day. But it’s not always that easy. Although it is not unlawful to photograph children in Malawi, expectations often arrive in various forms.

The Malawi Code of Ethics merely states that “children under the age of 13 who are involved in cases concerning sexual offences, whether as victims, witnesses or defendants” shall not be identified through any published material. Yet, this clause is only considered a moral guideline and is the only section that refers to children’s rights within the document.

Similarly, in the Human Rights chapter of Malawi’s Constitution, article 35 and 36 encourage freedom of expression and freedom of the press. Malawi’s penal code does not appear to address the issue of photographing children.

Despite these documents, there are still conditions that lie within the photography realm of Malawi.

After our mini photo shoot, a group of men approached us saying that we needed to give the children money in return. Feeling intimidated, we awkwardly passed over a few coins and small bills.

With confusion in their eyes, the children waved goodbye to us as we hurried off to catch the next minibus. As toddlers, I’m not sure if they put the pieces together as to what had just happened. After we left, I was just as baffled as the children were at what had just occurred.

Whether the money stayed in the hands of the children or not, is beyond my knowledge. But I came out with a few incredible photos and sure enough, I posted them to Facebook during my next available weekend.

Note: I submitted this blog post to the jhr site but had to change it around a bit so that it fit with jhr's policies. See if you can spot the differences in the edited version: : http://www.jhr.ca/blog/2010/08/a-photographers-paradise/

Patrick's Pizza

I have been craving cheese since my first week in Malawi. It's a rare commodity in our home and although it is surprisingly easy to find at the supermarket, it's rather expensive.

Because luxuries like cheese are not built into our food budget, a couple of days ago I sprang K1,500 (10.71 CAD) for a few blocks of creamy, delicious, amazing cheddar cheese. And so, we made pizza.

Patrick (our incredible cook who I will tell you more about later) and I made pizza from scratch. Rather than describing the process, check out these photos.













































I know that making pizza isn't exactly blog-worthy for my fellow Canadians but it is when you eat beans/peas and rice every night in Malawi and all you want to do is bite into a huge block of mozzarella.

Now, please step away from your computer and go eat some cheese.

Discovering success at MIJ

Two years ago, Simona Siad began her jhr internship at The Daily Times in Blantyre, Malawi. After a few months, her efforts extended beyond the newsroom to a classroom down the road at the Malawi Institute of Journalism (MIJ).

“The classroom was a really unique place to work with young journalists on human rights issues,” proclaims Siad. To this day, her impact resonates among MIJ students.

Archibald Kasakura, a 30-year-old diploma student at MIJ, shares the impact Siad had on his journalism skills. “Before she came onto the scene, I didn’t know how to write features,”Kasakura recalls, “Simona made me what I am today.”

When Kasakura first started writing, he relied on Siad for about 70 percent of his work. “Initially, I thought she was being so hard on me, but now I know it was part of the growing process,” he says. But these days, Kasakura works independently at producing high-quality stories on a regular basis.

Over the past couple of years, Kasakura has written nearly 40 articles. After his first article was published, the ambitious student said that he “gathered the courage to keep writing.” Focusing on human rights features, Kasakura has published stories on children’s rights (issues of forced labour and sexual abuse), the rights of prisoners living with HIV, the right to religion and free primary education, and most recently, Malawi’s development since independence in 1964.

Keen to expose human right issues, Kasakura uses his downtime between classes to freelance his articles. Writing on a nearly broken-down laptop that he borrows from his uncle, Kasakura recognizes the value of his work.

“I used to see human rights as something that doesn’t apply to Malawians, but now I see the importance of them,” he states. “[Simona] has opened my eyes.”

Siad and Kasakura worked toward making everyone on the world fully aware of their rights–at the core of jhr’s mandate. She remembers him fondly, “Archibald is a really special student…I could tell right away that he had an incredible enthusiasm for human rights reporting.”

Kasakura says, “As a reporter, I have a duty to see that human rights of Malawians are respected.” He firmly believes that writing such stories will create change.

Initially, Kasakura wanted to become a lawyer but he was always interested in writing. Upon being rejected from law school and receiving alternate suggestions that he study journalism, he decided to enroll at MIJ. Looking around the office, Kasakura declares with poised confidence, “This is where I belong.”

Bobby pins galore

For a less enlightening post:

Working at MIJ

Just outside of the city centre, tucked away off the highway is The Malawi Institute of Journalism (MIJ), a small building that houses 250 students, two classrooms, three offices, and a fully-functioning radio station. The contrast of the red-lettered MIJ FM sign on the pale yellow wall, is easily seen from the road.

Down the dusty pathway and over the protruding tree roots, I walk toward the white gate that shields trespassers from entering school property. Although I am not a trespasser, I am certainly an outsider. The students know it, the teachers know it, and the receptionist knows it... for now.

I enter the building, pretending that I don't feel people staring at me as I walk by. I try to make eye contact and smile at everyone. Some people just stare. Others wave and say hello. It will only be a matter of a few weeks before I feel totally comfortable here. I know the blank stares will turn into "muli bwanji" (How are you?); and my response will eventually be "ndiri bwino" (I am fine) rather than a meek smile and awkward wave. As such with any new job, it takes time before everyone is comfortable with The New Girl.

For the next six months, I will be working with the MIJ students to build their portfolios. Most students graduate with a great knowledge of journalism theory but unless they initiate their own freelance work, they often have nothing tangible to show potential employers.

We have split up the two classes into eight study groups. Each week has a theme as we work toward building human rights feature stories. With the hope that each student will be able to pitch their story to a credible publication, we will talk about what is newsworthy, how to research a story, how to conduct interviews, how to write/produce a story, etc.

It will probably be a little bit tricky for me to help produce stories that are meant for TV and radio because I've only ever worked in print, but I will do my best.

We will also be working on the electronic newspaper with the students. This project's goal is twofold: to rebuild the publication and to provide the students with more practical experience.

Similarly, we are going to try working with the students to create human rights features for MIJ FM. Although I don't have any radio experience, I will be able to help with the content of the stories. It's a scary thought to work in radio but there are components of journalism that I understand which expand across each medium.

MIJ is a great place to work so far. The teachers, students and journalists at the station have all been very welcoming. The students are keen and excited to work with us. It's just a happy place.

One student just sauntered down the hall singing "I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed." How often does that happen at universities and workplaces in Canada?

Jealous, dear readers? You should be. Because "I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed" to be here.

Multi-tasking women

TIA - This is Africa. A Malawian woman glides down the sidewalk. She is on a mission. She has a basket of bananas curiously placed on her head and she carries a plastic bag - bursting at the seams with cassava roots - in her left hand. Her baby is sleeping soundly on her back; he is wrapped up snugly in his mother's brightly-coloured chitenje. Incredibly, the lady is also holding a cell phone in her right hand as she speaks fervently in Chichewa. TIA.

TIJ - This is Journalism. A young Canadian girl walks at the pace of a turtle (which is still faster than most of the Malawians she is passing). She is squinting through her glasses, which were improperly-prescribed, as she studies the ground for rocks to avoid tripping over. With two newspapers tucked under her left arm and her cell phone firmly placed in her bra, the young journalist has her hands free to carry two styrofoam cups of coffee. They are filled to the brim without lids. She regrets not taking up the store owner's offer to carry them to work for her, as the coffee drips down her hands, slowly burning her skin. TIJIM - This is Journalism in Malawi

Safe in Malawi

*written on July 12*

Last night was the final match of the World Cup. A group of us went to a bar called Blue Elephant to watch the game. As the game continued into extra time, many people became more and more intoxicated. Drunken tension was building within the crowd. There was a small skirmish between a Canadian-Malawian and a local because she took a photo of everyone at the bar without permission.

One young man approached her and after many words and some shoving around, I assume they came to an agreement of some sorts. Luckily, the arguing stopped for the remainder of the game.

Although the fighting made me nervous, there was something else going
on in a similar setting in Uganda - something much worse.

I am saddened at the deadly news from last night and I apologize for
starting off my in-country blog postings on such a somber note but
safety is something I should address right away.

There is always a possibility of something like this happening in any
country, at any point in time. This is something that I am aware of.
Riots happened in Kampala after I left the country; G20 riots were
occurring downtown from where I was in Toronto; suicide bombings
happen every day. We all know this.

But I need to assure you (my lovely readers – those who care about
me), I feel very safe here in Malawi. I am living with an incredible
family, with three security guards and a couple of dogs to protect us. Although some people scoff at the idea of gated community-living, it makes me feel safe at night.

After speaking with the Human Rights teacher here at MIJ, he assured
me that Malawi does not have a history of violence like Uganda, and
that there is no desire for tension here in Blantyre.

So, despite my nervousness of small skirmishes that occur in Blantyre,
please know that it is a safe country and I feel confident enough that
I might even go to the other extreme and become too comfortable with
my security.

Only time will tell.

Countdown: zero!

Today is the day!

I'm nervous and excited. I'm afraid I won't be ready in time (and clearly this blog posting is helping with that...) And I still have to do some quick shopping and pack.

We fly out at 6pm and arrive in Lilongwe just before midnight (Central African Time). Then it'll be a long bus-ride down to Blantyre. So it'll be a good few days of solid travel.

There is a six-hour time difference (from Ontario) so however that works out for everyone in Canada -- well, you're all smart.

I'll post again as soon as I get a chance, if only to say that I'm alive.

Wish me well!

Countdown: four

Another quick update.

We've been doing training since Wednesday and it's been pretty good so far. I've been able to meet and hang out with all of the other interns and I can certainly see some great friendships building already.

The training has been alright. I try not to talk about Uganda too much but there are many ways that I've been able to relate what we're learning to my experience there last summer. We've talked about the similarities and differences between culture quite a bit. To me, it just seems like common sense. We have to know how to deal with people that may not agree with us whether we're in Canada or Malawi or Chile or Australia.

Assumptions

I was thinking about this last night and I realized that although some of the training that we've been going through seems a bit redundant, I really need to be careful that I don't go to Malawi with pre-conceived notions about how it will be because I've been to an African country already.

This time around, I may not be as shocked at the amount of clothing people wear in extreme heat or if I see two men holding hands, but Malawi IS a different country. There will likely be many differences between Uganda and Malawi (as is between Canada and the United States, for example) so I'll try to keep that in mind and not create more generalizations than perhaps someone may have that has never been to an African country.

Visiting other countries

During one of our training sessions today, a new thought sparked inside me. We've been talking about some difficulties that we might have while working in Malawi. I began to recall some moments in Uganda (there I go again, relating this upcoming trip to last summer) where I felt like an outsider. This was often made apparent to me through the kids we worked with. They would make playful jabs at us for how we talk by plugging their nose. They treated us as a bunch of Westerners that gave away some soccer balls and then returned home feeling good about ourselves, and rightly so.

Then I thought about immigrants, visitors, and refugees coming into Canada. How do we take part in making them feel like outsiders?

BUT! Despite all of this, we are somehow encouraging and happy when people leave their own countries to explore a "new world". There seems to be a collective respect for anyone who travels (whether that anyone is a Canadian going to Malawi or a Malawian going to Canada).

I haven't completed these thoughts quite yet. They are a working progress. I just thought it was interesting that as Canadians, we place value in travelling to other countries but when people from different countries visit Canada, we don't necessarily treat them the same way that we hope our brothers, mothers and friends are treated by locals when they travel.

Hopefully that made sense.

Four days until I leave for Malawi!!

Countdown: sixteen

Just to keep you all updated on the mundane details of my preparation for Malawi, here's another post.

Monday was travel doctor day. Last year when I went to the travel doctor, I was a little worried (or, dramatic ). This time around, the doctor wasn't so bad. I only needed a booster shot and she even gave me a red lollipop.

I spent a couple hundred dollars on prescriptions so hopefully they are successful. Before going to Uganda, most of the people in my group took Dukoral. I figured I could tough it out and that was a huge mistake. Although it's only 60% effective, that's better than having 100% diarrhea!

Reading through the pamphlet was enlightening.
Among other "dos" and "don'ts" here are a few that I had a difficult time listening to last summer:
DO - drink bottled fruit juices (the fresh passion juice was so yummy)
DON'T - eat fruits that don't need peeling (tomato & avocado salad!)
DON'T - eat uncooked veggies or salads (oops)
DON'T - eat foods sold by street vendors.

That last one was my biggest downfall. I had a few rolexes (chippatti and eggs; not the watch), fried plantains, and mysterious meat on a stick. The deliciousness is obviously tough to avoid.

I also picked up my anti-malarial pills. Last year I used Malarone and didn't get malaria. This year, I'll be using Mefloquine (Larium). It's known to give vivid nightmares, which is fine with me (I think). I usually get scary dreams anyways and in fact, I like them. Nightmares make me appreciate life more. ;)

That's it for updates so far.

We have our pre-departure training during the week before we leave. I'm really looking forward to meeting the other interns and learning more about my position.

Check back for more on that before fly-out day (July 2).

28 days away

It's official.

I leave on July 2 and return on December 23.

Hope you like the map! :)

“Didn’t you hate it?”

Before I found out that I was going to Malawi, I had told a few people that I had applied for the internship. In return, I saw a lot of stunned expressions and a couple people said, “Didn't you hate Africa?”

The short answer is no, I did not hate Africa. I don’t think I ever will.

For the sake of a juicy blog posting, here’s the long answer. It’s no secret that my trip to Uganda last summer was a little tough. There are a couple of main reasons for that.

One, I could barely tolerate the food. And it had nothing to do with taste (or lack thereof) but rather that I couldn’t keep it in. Lesson learned: I’ll be taking Dukerol this time around. (Too much information?)

Two, and probably most notably, I had a really rough time with the organization I was working with. Because we were the first batch of interns, there was no structure to our workday. We were thrown into an unknown country, asked to create peacebuilding programs (which we didn’t know anything about) and then were criticized—by the other Canadians we were with—for “failing”.

At times, it was a disheartening experience. I had been looking forward to going to Uganda and although I really enjoyed meeting new people and learning about the politics and culture of a country with such an intense history, the positive experiences were often overshadowed by a personality clash.

This time around will be different. I’m going to Malawi with an organization that I know and trust. I will be doing work that I know is important—to the people I’ll be working with and for my future career opportunities. Amy and I will be working closely together at MIJ and since we’ve already worked together at jhr I know that we’re a good fit.

Also, I keep hearing that nerves are a good thing (shout out to Davey!) because they keep you on your toes, providing you with a better chance to adapt to any given situation.

Before my trip to Uganda, I wasn’t nervous at all.

Right now, I am nervous. I’m anxious. I’m ready to start a new adventure and I’m excited to keep on my career path.

I learned a lot of lessons from my time in Uganda. For me, the most important one is to enjoy every moment. It’ll be over in a flash… whether it’s ten weeks or six months.

Another trip, another blog

I had been waking up early every morning for two weeks, waiting for a phone call from jhr (Journalists for Human Rights). Yesterday was no different. Except for the fact that they finally called. Rachel was on the other end of the line and she sounded a little apprehensive. I was worried. She said that they had a couple more questions to ask me. I answered them and we hung up the phone.

Let’s rewind. I first heard about jhr a few years ago when Brandon Currie did a presentation on his position in Zambia. I secretly fell in love with jhr that day and decided that I would work for them some day too.

About a year later I was signing away Mike Brown’s life to jhr in Sierra Leone. I acted as a witness to his contract, which included a statement acknowledging the possibility of death. Still, I was determined to work overseas for jhr.

In January this year, I began working in jhr’s head office as one of their communications interns. It was during the following four months that I started to understand just how incredible this organization is. I gained an intimate knowledge of jhr by working on their success stories and because of that, when the IYIP job descriptions were posted on the website, I knew I had to apply.

I applied for a couple of the internships in early April and had my interview more than a month later. Anxiously awaiting the response that I had built up in my head for about three years, on Thursday morning the phone rang again. Rachel said that after answering their final questions, they had decided to offer me the Rights Media Educational Officer position at the Malawi Institute of Journalism (MIJ) in Blantyre.

!!!!

As far as I know, there are four parts to my job:
1) I will be working with local journalists and MIJ staff to create a curriculum for a workshop series on human rights and governance reporting
2) We’ll be developing forums that will address the role of the media, human rights issues and governance issues
3) We will develop MIJ campus media outlets
4) And we’ll develop Student Chapters to host events, activities and new member recruitment.
In addition to those four components, I am also required to take part in Canadian engagement, which, luckily enough, includes blogging about my experience.

My contract runs from July 1 to December 22. I’ll be back in time to give Malawian souvenirs for Christmas.