I felt after recovering from my Mad Dog sunstroke that being cared for by George and Davison had strengthened the bond between us, but seeing Davison ill with malaria in Zomba District Hospital opened my eyes as to how privileged I was.
The hospital provided him with a bed and medical care, but expected his family and friends to feed him. The Sprites I kept in the fridge to relieve gas provided Davison with a safe, pleasant-tasting alternative to hot sweet tea made in the ward kitchen, as at roadside stalls, by boiling up the leaves and condensed milk in a large kettle which was left simmering on the stove.
Other visitors brought bananas from their gardens, or perhaps some tea in a twist of newspaper, or pooled their tamabalas (cents) to buy a small tin of milk.
I discovered that Davison and George usually slept in shed-like huts in a central compound reserved for the estate’s servants at some distance from my bungalow.
George’s wife left their children in the care of relatives while she brought up the ingredients for his breakfast and supper: pounding the maize flour, cooking it over a wood fire, and serving it with whatever relish was available. One of Davison’s three wives joined her in the same task.
Privileged life
As advised at my briefing in England, I had taken a daily tablet as protection against malaria from before I left the United Kingdom. I had decided against taking a weekly tablet because missing one of those might have made me more vulnerable to being infected. Davison was not in a position to take either drug.
I was the sole occupant of a three-bedroom bungalow with burglar bars over every window except the small one in the toilet. Mosquito screens were not yet in use, but a large mosquito net was suspended from the ceiling over my double bed. Moreover, the cooler, windy environment at the very top of Kalimbuka estate made it less attractive to mosquitoes
Mixed marriages
I said that Muslim Yaos, who had settled around Zomba in large numbers, might overcome the stigma of their ancestors being associated with slavery by marrying Chewa women and/or converting to Christianity.
A retired Danish gynaecologist who provided his services free of charge commonly set aside his specialist skills so he could perform Caesareans on small-framed Chewa women giving birth to babies fathered by Yao men. In fact, most patients in the hospital were women.
St. George’s
Scottish missionaries following in David Livingstone’s footsteps had had some success in converting Africans from their traditional beliefs, laying the groundwork for the establishment of the Church of Central Africa, Presbyterian. Malawi may be the only country in the world, outside Scotland, where Presbyterians form the major Christian denomination.
The Anglicans arrived in Nyasaland first, but experienced several early mishaps. They were stronger in some parts of Malawi than others, but St George’s parish church had been built for the British colonial administration in Zomba.
Through attending services there, I greatly widened my circle of friends and acquaintances, both white and black, and opened my eyes to aspects of life in Malawi that were neither mentioned by the mass media nor widely discussed at Chancellor College.
I had passed St. George’s, a small church set back from the road, daily on my way to town, before attending an early Holy Communion service in English. It resembled a said service in England, except for the sprinkling of black faces in the congregation: quietly devout, but sparely attended.
A Rhodesian tobacco farmer who welcomed me afterwards told me his family usually worshipped at the 10 a.m. Holy Eucharist, but he was taking them out for the day to celebrate some special occasion. He smiled at my reservations about attending the later service in Chichewa and told me that it was bilingual and would be a good opportunity to pick up some local words.
Church service
It was a little after 10 a.m. when I entered the church the following Sunday and a Malawian beckoned me to an empty seat. It was already nearly full, but worshippers continued to arrive long afterwards, sitting in the aisle on unfolded chairs or standing at the back. I was later told that the army erects a large tent outside on major feast days and special occasions, like a distinguished parishioner’s funeral.
I was soon swept along by the joyousness of the service. The hymnbook had the English/Chichewa versions printed side by side, and we sang alternate verses in each language, or all the verses sung in one language and the choruses in the other. A cantor sang the first line of each verse, then the rest of the congregation joined in.
Chinyanja (Chichewa’s precursor, still widely spoken in the region) had been so well transliterated that it was easy to sing the words without understanding them, except by glancing at the opposite pages of the hymnbook.
Some of us went over to the neighbouring rectory for cold drinks and a chat afterwards. The much-loved elderly English rector was a late vocation who had worked for Barclays Bank in South Africa and Northern Rhodesia before coming to Nyasaland. It was expected that he would be succeeded by James Amanzi, a final year student who intended to proceed to an Anglican seminary after graduation.
Witchcraft
One of the major concerns was the increasing reports of witchcraft rituals in the area. Someone from the mission down the road at Malosa, a few miles away, said that teachers had seen teenage girls coming to classes in a trance-like state. It was very disruptive and worrying, whether self-induced or the work of some malevolent person.
I came to know that beneath Malawi’s proclaimed image of being the “Warm Heart of Africa,” many communities in the country were driven by distrust and suspicion of anyone different, particularly in the rural areas where traditional animist beliefs still prevailed. Admirable by-products of their beliefs, like the protection of whatever animal a clan recognised as its totem, were themselves divisive.
When sickness or other troubles struck, the villagers were culturally predisposed to point their fingers at newcomers with unusual appearances, like albinos or men bald-headed before their time, encouraged by witchdoctors for their own malevolent reasons.
Moreover, members of a Chewa secret society roamed the countryside after dark, seeking to intimidate the Malawi president’s critics and settle their own personal scores, perhaps with someone who had upset them during the day.
{fcomment}