Stuck Between Two Cultures

We had already picked up our interpreter, Samuel, and were on our way to Songani, a busy market on two sides of the main road, maybe 10 km north of Zomba.  We eased our truck over the steep curb by the minibus stop, avoiding a swarm of  pedestrians as well as the ladies with baskets piled high with green oranges who were  sitting on the ground just at the road's edge.

Of all the places we visit, including deep in rural villages, Songani is the one that seems to have an edge.  In fact, when we pull into Songani, I always feel like we have arrived in "the hood."  

As we came to a stop,  beggars and nearby vendors, including the ladies selling oranges, jumped to their feet and eased near our windows. By the time we came to a complete stop, we had already shaken our heads no a few times. 

We looked for Timothy, our well repairman, to come walking between the shops, but he was no where in sight. So,  we sat there for several minutes, just people watching. However, we weren't the only ones people watching. As usual, hundreds of sets of eyes were on us, nearby, across the street, and down the road.  A few were giving us menacing,  cross-armed, from the top of their eyes, hard stares.  

Directly in our line of vision, maybe 20 meters away, was the goat meat market. The frame was four posts holding up a bamboo and grass roof. Skinned goat quarters hung by wires from a bamboo pole just under the roof. Below this, a  bamboo surface covered with stained cardboard held a rough-cut timber for chopping goat meat. Behind this platform stood a young man with a sharp panga knife.  

As we watched, a young Muslim lady approached the butcher and bargained for a portion of meat. The vendor pulled a goat quarter from the wire, laid it on the timber, and used his machete to quickly lop off several short portions of the leg. While the young lady counted her money, the vendor  scooped the meat into a small black plastic bag. 

Before the transaction was complete, my attention turned to a young man who was moving quickly toward the butcher. I have no idea what business he was on, but he stepped up to the side of the meat market, leaned in, and started a conversation with the butcher.

It was obvious that the butcher knew the young man because he carried on a conversation and continued chopping meat without turning to look at him.  But I was looking, and what I saw made me a little sad.

The clothing the young man was wearing must have been discarded into a donation bin destined for a shipping container on its way to Malawi. His dirty jeans were faded and nearly threadbare, and in some places, his skin was visible through the holes. He wore a western style shirt with the collar stylishly turned up. It, too, was dirty and  worn.  

It was impossible not to notice that his jeans were hanging so low  that above his belt, several inches  of his dirty underwear was showing,  and above that, several inches of his bottom.  Not a pretty sight.

When he turned from the meat market and began to walk away, I noticed  his ear buds and a little hip hop swagger, complete with one hand grasping his jeans and giving them an occasional yank.  

It occurred to me that this young man is one of many living here in rural poverty  who are stuck  between two cultures. Singers, musicians, TV personalities, and others in Western pop culture have made their mark on him. So, without the essence of their material life, as best he can, he mimics their style. 

Although 90% of Malawians are farmer, many dream of a better future elsewhere, but without a good quality education and good English skills (the official language of government and commerce), it is nearly impossible to escape poverty.  1.7 million of  Malawi's unemployed youth,  just like this young man in Songani market,  are trying to survive on the line where Western culture blends with the realities of rural, third world poverty.


And tell me, please, what is their future?