New Years Eve is always one of those occasions that I find anticlimactic. There is so much anticipation for the space of a second that marks the difference between one year and the next. In some ways, this year is no different, but in many ways it was completely different. It stuck me, as I was dancing to some Malawian beats in a primary school room with total strangers, with girls on one side and boys on the other, full from a great meal (still spread out before us on rearranged desks) and drinking bad white wine mixed with Fanta, that this was a sharp contrast to last years New Years spent driving on snowy roads to a house far in the woods to spend a quiet and cozy new years with only a couple of friends, playing board games and having fondue. It also reminded me that a year ago, I would never have predicted a year like the one that has just past, or that I would be spending this New Years Eve like this! And in that moment, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. I felt at peace with being here, with my new friends/family and with great hopes for the coming year. I still miss everyone back home, but I am happy here as well.
Arsenal: Fly Emerites!
(As a side note, I happen to have chosen to live with a family that conveniently cheers for the same British football team that I do: Arsenal. Brenda is displaying the team spirit.)
The party started in the kitchen of the deputy head-mistress’ house, in the local primary school compound. Similar to the wedding experience (although there were only 5 women and much less stress), cookers were set up outside and set to frying whatever came their way. Salads and stewed eggplant, chickens, a delicious beef stew (which I cooked… with spice!), potatoes, rice and nsima were on menu for the night. Cooking is a very social affair here, and the 4 hours spent cooking is as much about gossip and companionship as it is about the food. When all the food was laid out on the table ready to serve, we had what looked like enough food to feed an army. I guess we invited one because it was mostly gone by the end.
With the music blaring from the school room, and people slowly arriving, I expected the party to get rolling. In Canada, people would drift in, grab a drink, grab some food, chat and wander around. This was much more structured. We waited for everyone to arrive, we sat around the room on benches moved out of the way, we had introductions, a speech, a prayer, the schedule for the evening, then one by one went up to get food and a drink.
After the meal, there were more speeches, encouraging those gathered to think seriously about their actions of the past year and to change. I had just spent the day thinking about how this experience gave me limited exposure to making public speeches (one of my personal goals). As usual, I was wrong. When all the speeches (in Chichewa, so I understood next to nothing) were through, I was asked to stand and “give encouragement.” Surprised, and not unaware of the irony of my thoughts, I stood and gave a speech (in English) with my thanks and best wishes to those gathered there. That was about as close to encouragement as I could come since I’m not sure what I was encouraging them for, but thankfully much is forgiven on both sides when the meaning is lost in translation.
The party started in earnest to the tunes of Celine Dion, N’Sync, Mandy Moore, Madonna, Shania Twain, Bob Marley and some Malawian beats (usually praising Jesus). I’m mildly ashamed that I a) recognized the artists and songs enough to tell you them now and b) was found dancing and singing along. If you go to a club in Canada, you’ll find all the girls on the dance floor, the guys standing nervously around claiming they can’t dance until they drink enough beer to find some hidden courage. Here, the men were up and dancing immediately; the women sat around, too shy to be the one to start. I decided that sitting on a bench tapping my feet to bad music was about as bad as dancing to it could be, and that I could not possibly be in a safer place to try my first “dancing in Africa” experience since Brenda and Tears were certain to tell me if I made a mistake and wives and husbands were all there. So I took Brenda (who I know dances since she sings and dances through the house all day long) and we got on the dance floor. Encouraged, a few other women soon joined us, still a safe distance away from the men. I still am not sure if I was following them, or if they were mimicking me to make me feel better.
I looked around. I was dancing along to Malawian gospel music, in a school room with a tin roof, benches pushed to the side, surrounded by strangers and a couple who had kindly welcomed me into their family, and thought “even if New Years is still anti-climatic, I will always remember this one!”
I am now sitting in our newly furnished living room on orange plush couches that look like they are straight out of the 70s enjoying a morning cup of instant coffee.
So to family and friends, old and new, Happy New Year! May it be as full of surprises and interest as mine promises to be.
Other People’s Perspective