2009-11-03: Mosquito-net litterbags

Summary:

I awoke late but not too late, and spent the morning in town doing errands. Most importantly, I decided to commission a set of litterbags, but I was stymied for awhile by the fact that no one in Zomba was selling mesh fabric. Then it occurred to me that I could just buy a mosquito net and cut it up. So I bought a mosquito net and took it to a tailor, along with a sample litterbag and instructions. He's going to make me about 100 litterbags by Monday, at twenty kwacha each - good deal! In the afternoon, I went to Makoka and took some photos (drongoes, frangipani, the main offices, a poinciana tree) before getting back to work on my litterfall quadrats. It was an uneventful evening at home with another power outage.


Main text:

I awoke at 9 (rather dreadfully late, but it could have been worse considering my crazy schedule yesterday). The first thing I noticed was that my throat felt sore; I seemed to be getting a cold. Hmmm... I hope I don't repeat last year's habit of getting sick every two weeks. That was bad for productivity and morale! Hopefully my immune system and digestive system have now gotten used to what they encounter in Malawi. Whatever this was, it didn't feel too serious.

I wasn't in that much of a rush, so I decided to have some Weet-Bix for breakfast, and sat outside by the front walkway. The puppy tried very hard to join me for breakfast by putting his nose in my bowl. After I pushed him away eight times, he conceded defeat, and lay down next to me looking very mournful.

I was out the door around ten o'clock. It was a bright sunny morning, well on its way to becoming a scorching day. Because I had my camera with me, and because Tasty Bites had just put up a new border of whitewashed tyres and was looking spiffy, I took a photo of it:





Next time I'm inside, I'll try to take a photo of the inside too - not that it is spectacular, but I spend so much time there, you might want to see what it looks like.

My first stop was All Seasons Internet Cafe, where I did various semi-urgent odds and ends: got addresses for some of the letters I'd written yesterday; downloaded the application form for my next fellowship; thanked my colleague for ordering transcripts for me. (I'm afraid, dear readers, there will be a few more days this month during which my adventures consist solely of working on fellowship applications.)

Then I stopped by the market to see if I could find some mesh fabric for my litterbags. Since an example is worth a thousand words, I had brought with me one of my litterbags from last year. Unfortuately, none of the shop owners I asked had seen such fabric, nor had any idea where to get it. That's strange; I bought last year's litterbag fabric right here in Zomba Market. Now I was at a loss for where to turn. I hoped I didn't have to go to Blantyre again.

Wait a minute, I said to myself. I had just been asking the shop owners "Do you have any fabric like a mosquito net?" and they understood, but they didn't have any. Well, if I want something like a mosquito net, why don't I just buy a mosquito net?

So I went to Tachirani Drug Store to see if they had any mosquito nets in stock. There was one left. It was quite a bit more expensive (K850) than the equivalent amount of fabric would have been. Hmmm... maybe I should try to think of other places that sell fabric.

I deferred the decision and went to the post office to send the letters I'd written yesterday. One of them, a photo CD, was heavy enough to need quite a lot of stamps. Butterfly couriers! Go, little butterflies, fly away to New York!

The postmark on my letters said 04.NOV.2009. This date worried me. I thought about the rains coming, thought about the urgency of land preparation and the importance of deploying litterbags at the beginning of the growing season, and decided I needed those litterbags sooner rather than later. So they would have to be mosquito-net litterbags. I went back to Tachirani Drugstore and bought what I bet is the only mosquito net in Malawi ever to meet such a fate.

Now I needed to find a tailor who was willing to undertake such a task for me. First I sat down on the steps of a vacant shop and wrote out a page of instructions for making litterbags (the material, their dimensions, which sides should be sewn closed, etc.). I decided I would be willing to pay K20 (US$0.14) for each 20 × 20 cm litterbag. Assuming the tailor could make twice as fast with a sewing machine as I could by hand, that should work out to a fair day's wage.

As I was writing the instructions, I noticed that four young men had gathered directly behind me and were looking over my shoulder, watching everything I wrote. I looked back at them as if to say "Uhh... is this really that interesting to you?" They acknowledged my glance but didn't budge. Well, I hope my diagrams were entertaining to them.

I went back to the market to find a tailor. I wasn't sure who to ask first, but decided on a small corner stall with an elderly gentleman proprietor. The sign said "Magombo Tailoring Shop."

Mr Magombo spoke some English, so with the aid of the sample litterbag and my written instructions, I was able to explain what I needed (although I didn't even try to explain why - I didn't expect that "decomposition rates of leaf litter" would mean anything to him. I just said I was a scientist doing an agricultural experiment). We were able to agree on my proposed price of K20, and I requested that he make as many litterbags as the mosquito net would yield. I guessed it would be about 100, which would be more than enough. He said they'd be ready on Monday. I had hoped for sooner, but Monday should be OK.

It will be nice not to spend three days sewing litterbags again this year. This seems like a job that is well worth contracting out! I get to support a local tailor and have more time myself to spend on Big Important Tasks, like picking up dead leaves and putting them in envelopes. That would be my afternoon's work.

* * * * *
At Makoka, because I had my camera and it was a nice day, I took a few photos of things that seemed to deserve photos. First of all, here is a close-up of a flower from my favourite frangipani tree along the main driveway. The flowers are a beautiful blend of white, yellow and pink, with a heavenly jasmine-like smell (but sweeter and more tropical). You can see the rest of the tree in the background:






While I was taking this photo, I noticed an avian visitor in the tree. Its shape and colour made it instantly recognisable as a drongo!

Drongoes are among my favourite Australian birds, and they are also native to Africa but I don't see them nearly as often here, so it is cause for excitement when I do. Here are the best photos I could get - sorry my zoom is not too good:








According to my field guide, it was most likely a square-tailed drongo, Dicrurus ludwigii. It flicked its tail and made assertive chirrups, as drongoes usually do, but it was not as bold as the spangled drongoes that visit our birdbath in Queensland. It flew away when I tried to get closer. So that is all the drongo pictures I can give you for now.

My next stop was my office; I wanted to get some large plastic bags from my office to hold the litterfall sample envelopes at Nkula. On my way, I took this photo of the Makoka offices. (The building used by UNDP, in which my office is located, is all the way at the end of the row and not visible in this photo; however, it looks identical to the buildings you see here.)






Then I went to the nursery to check on my Gliricidia seedlings, which are now two weeks old. Aren't they cute?






Although the sprouted seedlings look vigorous, I was disappointed that the germination rate is quite low so far - it looks like less than 60%. That will be enough seedlings for the actual plots, but not for the "guards," the edges of the plots from which I don't collect data. I may have to plant another batch of seedlings for the guards.

On my way to Nkula Field, as I was passing the workshop area (where the tractors, trucks and harvesting equipment are kept), I took this photo of a fabulous little poinciana tree. At this time of year it has more flowers than leaves:






While I was photographing the tree, two young boys came up behind me and watched. I'm sure they'd seen me before - probably everyone at Makoka has by now - but perhaps they hadn't seen my camera before. I let them look at it and asked if I could take their picture. They agreed, so I did, and showed it to them:






I came across Mr Tambala on the road going the same direction as I, on his way home. Oh dear... if the day watchman is going home, it must be rather late. Indeed it was almost four o'clock. Not the best time to be starting fieldwork, but better than nothing... At least my letters and emails were sent, and my litterbags were in the pipeline.

The afternoon's work, such as it was, was uneventful. More quadrats, more Tephrosia leaves, more envelopes. I only got through one plot (four quadrats) by sunset; one quadrat alone took me an hour. I think I need to aim for less accuracy and more speed, lest this job take another week. Perhaps I should aim for less comfort, also. I can reach the ground more easily when I'm sitting down, but since I can then only use one hand to pick up leaves, it's half as efficient.

Just for the heck of it, here is a picture of me in a Tephrosia relay intercrop plot, after finishing my last quadrat for the day:






I had an uneventful and pleasant walk down the driveway at sunset. At the main road, while eating a masuku I'd just bought at the fruit stand, I saw a familiar figure approach: Mr Singo! (In case you weren't reading my blog last year, Mr Singo is the Makoka carpenter; he and his team built all my rain shelters, which are the foundation of my experiments. They did an excellent job, and I was really impressed with Mr Singo's attention to detail, as well as his willingness to question my ideas and improve upon them.)

We shook hands and I told him how glad I was to see him. We'd scarcely had time to ask about each others' families when a pickup truck pulled over on the side of the road near us. It was my neighbour wanting to give me a lift. No minibus for me today!

* * * * *

The power was out when I got home; fortunately one of my housemates had already cooked dinner. It was a long power outage. I worked on my computer (and downloaded the day's photos) until my battery ran out two hours later. I was secretly glad that the power was still out, because it gave me an excuse to lie down and listen to a Sherlock Holmes story on the iPod. My sore throat, although not serious, is definitely a real one caused by a real virus, so having a restful evening seems like a good idea.

(P.S. After the power came back on at nine, I then stayed up too late again working on blog entries. Will I ever learn?!)

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Chichewa word of the day: mavembe = watermelon.


 

2009-11-03: Ten letters

Summary:

This was not an eventful day at all. I woke up late, decided it was too late to go to Makoka, spent the rest of the day writing emails, had dinner with my housemates, and spent the evening hand-writing letters (ten of them, to be exact - so it was a productive evening, but doesn't make for an exciting blog entry). As a postscript, I describe several interesting tidbits from the past week, such as a soldier on a very delicate mission, and a rare airplane sighting.


Main text:

I should probably just leave this entry blank, since that is more or less how the day turned out. It began with, unfortunately, what has become my normal routine: seven o'clock, alarm goes off. "Uggghhh," I say, "it can't be time to get up already." (hits snooze) (hits snooze) (zzzzzzz)...

This morning, I got a phone call at nine, and by the time I wrapped up the conversation, ten o'clock was approaching. By the time I got out the door, it would be ten-thirty. I'd be arriving at Makoka just at the hottest part of the day. That didn't appeal to me, but I'd have to suck it up. Maybe I would lie down again for a little while first...

When I finally woke up, it was lunchtime, and I was very cross with myself. I suppose yesterday's victory of getting up at 6:30 was short-lived, and partly responsible for today's failure.

* * * * *

Since I only had half a day, I decided to stay at home and write some follow-up emails regarding fellowship applications. I also wanted to go to the main market and find a tailor who could make some litterbags for me. (I've decided to outsource that job this year; last year it took me nearly three days to make 36 litterbags!) But the afternoon glided away so quickly, I found myself rushing straight from home to the Internet cafe. I'd have to commission my litterbags tomorrow instead.

After I sent my emails at least I felt as though I'd accomplished something, but it was not nearly worthy of a whole day's labour. I didn't feel as though I had earned my dinner. But I shared dinner with my housemates anyway.

After dinner, I didn't feel like spending any more time on my computer, since that was how I'd passed the whole afternoon. So instead I decided to write some letters that I'd been meaning to write ever since I got here. I sat at my desk with my lamp switched on, armed with paper, pens, envelopes, cards, scissors, and glue. By the end of the night, I had produced:

      3 hand-made thank you cards;
      3 postcards;
      2 handwritten letters;
      2 small packages.

It was a satisfying feeling to put the stamps on these and put them in a stack one by one. The packages would need to be weighed at the post office, but for letters and postcards I already knew the standard rate: K115 to the US or Australia; K110 to Europe. This is about US$0.80, which would be reasonable if only the letters arrived a little faster! Last year, I seem to remember the average was about three weeks. All the more reason to get these in the mail sooner rather than later.

* * * * *

Since today was so uneventful, I will conclude today's entry with some miscellaneous happenings from the past week. I think these events were interesting enough to mention, but for one reason or another, I didn't describe them on the day on which they occurred.

• One night I felt like a late snack, so I went into the kitchen to see if there were any leftovers. There was nsima and stew, but I didn't want something so heavy as stew. So I decided to try eating nsima as dessert, with honey and butter (sort of like cornbread, I reasoned). Nsima doesn't make a very good dessert, I am sorry to say - especially not cold. Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained...


• When I was on a minibus on its way out of town, we stopped at the Army barracks, and two soldiers boarded. One of them was carrying a crate of eggs. (Egg crates in Malawi are similar to the paperboard egg cartons in US supermarkets, but are open-top and large, usually holding 30 eggs.) It was an incongruous image, the soldier in his camo fatigues and black boots cradling the egg crate on his lap. I imagined how this had come about: "We have a top secret and very dangerous mission to carry out! Any volunteers?"


• On another minibus trip, I was surprised to see a heavily pregnant woman board. Visibly pregnant women usually don't appear in public in Malawi - I think I can only remember seeing one or two others in all my time here. I wonder how they manage to run their households if they can't go out in public? They get help from mothers and sisters, I suppose? It turned out that this woman was going to Namikango Maternity Clinic at Thondwe, so she had a very good reason for breaching the usual rules.


• When I was measuring seedlings with Peter at Nkula Field, I heard a familiar droning noise from the sky, and then realised that in this context it was not familiar. It was an airplane. It's surpassingly rare to see an airplane over Zomba; there's no airport here, and although there's a small aerodrome nearby at Chinamwali, the nearest proper airport is 70 kilometres away in Blantyre. This airplane was flying right over Makoka; it was a small white prop plane (not a jet), and that's all we could tell. Where had it come from? Where was it going? Who was flying? We'd never know. I thought of the book I am reading, West With the Night, the autobiography of a female British pilot in colonial Kenya. She describes vividly the freedom of flying over the unmarked African landscape, effortlessly traversing plains and forests, mountains and lakes. I wonder what Malawi looks like from up there!

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Chichewa word of the day: -limbikira = work diligently / bravely


 

2009-11-02: Fellowship quest

Summary:

I meant to go to Makoka and continue litterfall quadrats, but I ended up spending the entire afternoon at the Internet cafe looking up information on fellowships (application deadlines are often in late fall, and I didn't want to miss any). I found a few new possibilities, and wavered between optimism and pessimism about the whole fellowship application process.


Main text:

Finally, I got up early today! My alarm rang at 6:40, and I gladly obeyed it, because I had a personal video-conference call at 8 and I didn't want to be late.

If I want to talk on Skype (to have a video call instead of just a normal phone call), I can't use a regular Internet cafe. Those computers don't have the necessary hardware or software (or privacy - I'd drive the other patrons to distraction). For Skype I need to use my own computer, so I go to one of the few places in Zomba that has decent wireless access: Annie's Lodge, a nice hotel in the foothills of Zomba Plateau. It's a fifteen-minute walk uphill from my flat. They sell one-hour wireless access cards for K900 (US $6.50).

Since I was going to be seen on video, I put more thought than usual into deciding what to wear. (More than none, that is.) My two best shirts were drying on the clothesline, so I wore my third best shirt, a red T-shirt with a collar. "Best" is a relative term - it is laughably faded and has developed a small hole near the shoulder. I trust the people around me not to judge me by my attire. I'm a farmer, after all.

* * * * *

I was out the door at seven-thirty. The day was already hot, and the streets were bustling with pedestrians and cars; this is when most Malawians go to work.

I always enjoy the walk up to Annie's Lodge; the northern suburbs of Zomba are the oldest part of town, and the most gracious. Tucked amongst shady trees are government offices, Chancellor College administration buildings, big old houses, and several upscale hotels. Annie's Lodge is one of these; it's a sprawling complex set in manicured garden terraces.

A moment after I arrived at the reception desk and bought my access card, the power went out. This was very poorly timed, because when the power goes out, the Internet goes out also. I'd have to walk all the way back down the hill and miss my video call.

But I decided to wait around and see if the power returned; morning power outages are usually briefer than evening ones. While I waited, one of the staff members (who remembered me from last year) talked to me for a little while. Last year, when I mentioned I wanted to find a Chichewa tutor, he said his wife might be interested in the job, and he wanted to let me know she was still interested. I am still interested too, so I gave him my new phone number. It sure would be nice to make some more progress in Chichewa.

Fortunately, the power came back after about ten minutes. I took my laptop and sat at my usual outdoor table under a shade umbrella. The login worked, and the connection was fast enough, and soon I was on the call. It's always a relief when information technology works properly in Zomba - that is not to be taken for granted!

When my alloted sixty minutes were drawing to an end, I wrapped up the phone call and headed back down the hill. Time to start the day's work...

* * * * *

My plan, of course, was to go to Makoka and continue the litterfall quadrats from yesterday. But first I had to go home and drop off my laptop. And since I was at home - well, I might as well cook a quick brunch (scrambled eggs and potatoes, toast and jam, and instant coffee). And if I was going to eat brunch, I might as well type some emails to send in the meantime. And if I was going to sit around writing emails, I might as well finish my next blog entry too.

So it was almost noon by the time I got out the door, and I still had to stop by the Internet cafe. Even when the day starts at 6:40, it's amazing how quickly it can be frittered into nothing!

The Internet cafe wasn't going to be a very quick stop, either. I wanted to spend an hour or so looking up information on more fellowships for which I might apply; I didn't feel as though I had enough options so far. My department at Berkeley had compiled a list of potential fellowships for PhD students, and I wanted to go through the list and see which ones fit me.

This turned out to take a lot more than an hour. The connection was slow, and the list was outdated, and I kept thinking of more things I needed to do - email professors about recommendation letters; order transcripts; and so on. I felt the afternoon inexorably slipping away, and realised that I was not going to make it to Makoka today after all. Well, hopefully this day would prove to be well spent, if I actually did get any of these fellowships.

* * * * *

I didn't budge from my seat at All Seasons until 6 PM, closing time. Whew. That was a lot of hours in front of the computer, and I was thirsty, hungry, stiff, and somewhat dazed. At least I had chased up some new possibilites that I hadn't been aware of last year:

1. Josephine de Karman Fellowship
2. Resources for the Future: Fisher Dissertation Fellowship
3. UC Dissertation Year Fellowship

None of these were quite perfect for me, but at least I was eligible for all of them, so it was worth a shot.

I had also spent a long time exploring the National Science Foundation webpage, and learned that the deadline is approaching for the Doctoral Dissertation Improvement Grant (DDIG) in Biological Sciences. November 20 is the stated deadline, but these grants have to be submitted by the university, so the deadline for the student applicant is much sooner. I wondered if I'd still have time to apply?

I was disappointed to visit the START webpage and discover that their Call for Proposals for African climate adaptation projects had already come and gone over the summer. How frustrating! This spring I'd emailed the organiser several times asking when the Call for Proposals would be announced, but I didn't get a reply. And the deadline had come and gone over the summer when I was busy with other things. Now I wished I'd checked back.

The START funding would not have been for me; I had wanted to write a proposal with Festus to get funding for a Malawian student to work on the rainfall experiment at Makoka. Well, maybe we can apply for this grant next year, to fund a student who will take over from me and continue this project another few years. There's lots of life in those rain shelters yet!

* * * * *

After paying my final bill at the Internet cafe (K2450, probably a new record), I stopped by People's Supermarket for brown sugar and margerine, and headed home. I walked into the kitchen and found that one of my roommates had bought a cake, which was a nice surprise. So my dinner was Vegemite on toast, yoghurt and fruit, and of course a piece of cake for dessert.

While eating, I sat at my desk and organised all the fellowship information that I'd collected today. Tomorrow, another round of emails will be in order, to clear up some questions I have about these new applications.

Argh, how is a scientist supposed to get research done and go begging for money all the time? This was a day I could've spent measuring Tephrosia litterfall! Time will tell whether my efforts today were worthwhile.


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Chichewa word of the day: chenjelani = look out; beware. Chenjelani ndi agalu = beware of dogs.


 

2009-11-01: Litterfall quadrats

Summary:

My main task for the day was starting the litterfall quadrats at Nkula Field. I want to know how much leaf litter the Tephrosia have dropped, and to estimate this, I am marking small squares (quadrats) within each plot and collecting all the leaf litter therein. It's not a difficult job but it is time-consuming; in four hours' work I finished two of sixteen plots. Since today is a weekend just after payday, there were many drunk men about, and I got a marriage proposal which I rejected. I spent a quiet evening at home doing laundry and cleaning up after an energetic puppy.


Main text:

It's November! By the end of this month, the rainy season will begin. Because of this, I am now making two changes in my day-to-day life:
1. carrying my umbrella;
2. writing shorter blog entries.

Things are going to get pretty busy pretty soon, so, dear readers, you will have to accept somewhat less loquacity on my part.

* * * * *

I had an interesting and novel task awaiting me today: litterfall quadrats. Soon we are going to cut down half of the Tephrosia in the seedling establishment experiment (to determine their biomass and to make room for new seedlings), but before we do this, I want to measure the amount of leaf litter they have dropped. Litterfall seems to be a substantial fraction of the seedlings' living above-ground biomass, and I am afraid that only measuring the living biomass would underestimate their productivity by quite a lot.

It isn't practical to collect all the leaf litter in every plot, so Festus suggested I sample from small sub-plots (quadrats) to make the job more manageable. Thus, I set out for Makoka armed with a tape measure, a bag of sample envelopes, a plastic tub for holding the leaves, and a measure of courage (just kidding - dead leaves are not very formidable opponents).

I got a bit of a late start because I slept in until nine, but I've had enough of these late starts. I keep saying to myself: It's November! There is no time to waste!

* * * * *

Today is Sunday, and it's the beginning of a new month, which means people have just been paid. Therefore, much drunkenness can be observed amongst the populace. When I got a minibus at Total Filling Station, the conductor was drinking a beer and tried to make conversation with me. I restricted my conversation topics to my desired destination on the minibus: "Makoka."

Minibuses are rarely comfortable, but this one was was especially jam-packed and death-defying. We were going over 120 km per hour most of the time - and this on narrow, potholed roads in a rickety vehicle filled to twice capacity. We overtook other vehicles with abandon, as though the right half of the road was a special lane just for us. Had I been the type to pray, I would have prayed to reach Makoka alive.

When I disembarked at Makoka, I said "Zikomo" rather coldly and wanted to add "Thanks for not killing me," but kept quiet. The conductor, who had since finished his beer and thrown the empty bottle out the window, said:

"I want to marry you. I'm a bachelor."

"No thank you," I replied, already walking away.

"I'm a bachelor, I say. Come on. I want to get married."

"Iyayi." (An emphatic no.)

"Come on. I want to marry white girl, have white children."

"Khalani chete!" (Be quiet!)

"Yeah, I want to marry white girl. I want to marry you and have lots of white children."

"SHUT UP!"

He continued shouting propositions at me, and I decided just to keep walking and not say anything more. Eventually he turned to the task of helping a boarding passenger load two dozen chickens with their legs tied together.

I was fuming as I walked away. I've had plenty of marriage proposals before, but none that obnoxious. It occurred to me, too late, that I would have been justified in throwing a dirt clod at him. It's probably just as well that I didn't think of it. I probably should have laughed at him.

* * * * *

I'd just missed a phone call from Mr Tambala, and called him back to say I'd be at MZ12 in a few minutes and we could talk in person. Cell phone airtime is so expensive here, long conversations are to be avoided. As it happened, it was nothing important - he just wanted to tell me that the night watchman wanted to swap with him, but he didn't want to swap, which I said was fine.

Since I was embarking from the far end of MZ12, I took a shortcut to Nkula that I haven't taken before, through the football pitch and next to a patch of forest. I heard some peculiar birds calling from the forest - they sounded like babies sobbing or laughing, I couldn't tell which. Perhaps they were... babblers? I got a pretty good look at one - it was s medium-sized grey bird with darker shades around its head and tail. I'd look it up when I got home.

I followed some small paths that paralleled the main road; although I'd never taken this route before, the landscape was open and I could easily see where I was. I walked through fallowed fields, many of which had been recently burned, and accumulated charcoal streaks on my skirt. Shortly before reaching Nkula, I saw a clump of very tall grass with stiff, straight stems. Perfect for making the edges of a quadrat! I cut four of the stems with my panga.

What is a quadrat, anyway? Don't I mean "quadrant?" Nope...

quadrat, n.
a square area of convenient size laid off for close study of the relative abundance of species or of other questions.

It was a cloudy day, pleasant for working in the field. I greeted the watchman and retrieved the basin and other materials that I'd left with him on Friday. Then I went to the first Tephrosia plot and tried to figure out where to start. (A slim bird the size of a robin - some kind of pipit(Anthus sp.), I think - flew ahead of me, perching on several rain shelters in succession.)

OK, now I had to make several decisions:

• What size should the quadrat be?


• How many quadrats should I sample in each plot?


• Where should I place the quadrats?

For the first question, I found a good solution: I'd use four Tephrosia trees for the four corners of each quadrat (they are planted in a grid pattern). Thus, each quadrat would represent one tree's worth of litter, averaged over four trees. Because the planting distances weren't perfect, each quadrat wouldn't be exactly the same size, but it was probably more important to estimate litterfall per tree rather than per area.

I walked through several plots, looking to see how much variation there was in litterfall, and thus how many quadrats I'd need to sample for a good estimate. The litterfall was quite variable, so I decided to do two quadrats per plot. Now, the scope of my task was determined:

      2 quadrats per plot
      2 planting dates
      2 different Tephrosia systems
      2 rainfall treatments
    × 4 replicates
    -------------------
      64 quadrats to sample

I drew a plot diagram and numbered the quadrats (excluding the edges, which are always discarded):






Hey, this was kind of fun! It reminded me of that pencil-and-paper game I used to play with Cliff as a kid, in which you make a grid of dots and take turns drawing lines to connect pairs of adjacent dots. When you are the one to complete the fourth side of a square, you claim the square by writing your initials in it. The winner is whoever has claimed more squares when all the dots are connected.

It's always nice to have a job that reminds you of a game. I wondered if it would still feel like a game by the time I was finished with it.

Now I just had to decide which quadrats to sample. I decided to choose randomly, as long as the random quadrats weren't right next to each other. If they were, I'd choose again.

And how, you wonder, did I generate random numbers in the field? That's where having a digital watch comes in handy. Whenever I happened to think of doing so, I looked at my watch, and if the seconds displayed were between 1 and 48, I assigned that number (or that number divided by two) to be the next quadrat. Thus I gradually accumulated a list of quadrat numbers.

OK, it's not truly random, but good enough - I'm not aiming to publish this in Science, after all!

* * * * *

Now I was ready to start. I was pleased that my idea of using the trees as corner-posts worked quite well; since there are two trees per corner, I could actually insert the grass pieces in between the two trees, holding them firmly in place.

Here I am collecting the litter in my very first quadrat, in a Tephrosia improved fallow:






The first quadrat took me about ten minutes, which was even easier than I expected - but it turned out to be an especially easy one, with only a small amount of litter and not too many weeds mixed in. The second was more time-consuming. While I was working on that one, I got a welcome distraction: a phone call from Cliff. Unfortunately, his calling card soon ran out, and my calling card wasn't working, and I didn't even have credit to send him a text message. I had plenty of Tephrosia leaves, but that was about it.

Here are some photos of the next plot (an early-planted Tephrosia improved fallow), showing my technique. Here's the quadrat before I collect the litter...







...and after.







It took me about 25 minutes to do that, and the litter filled two A4 envelopes. "Why does it take so long?" you wonder. You'd think you could just grab the litter, put it in the basin, and stuff it in an envelope, but there are two complications:

1. You must handle the litter carefully, lest it blow away or you drop it outside the quadrat. The pieces of litter are awkwardly different shapes; there are small leaflets, big leaflets, stems, and so on; if you grab big handfuls, you'll drop some.


2. You must exclude leaf litter from other species; stems of weeds and grass; clumps of dirt; termite castings; and anything else that isn't of Tephrosia origin. This is what really consumes the most time.

The plot above is very tidy, but my next plot (a relay intercrop plot) was full of weeds and maize stover, and relatively few Tephrosia leaves. Those quadrats didn't even yield enough litter to fill an A5 envelope. Sorting the leaves from the weeds was picky business; I hope I get faster with practise.

Another complication: I realised that the amount of litter in the quadrat would be expected to depend upon whether all eight of the corner-post trees are alive, and how big they are; fortunately, I now (as of Friday) have that information for every tree!

In mid-afternoon, sleepiness caught up with me and I decided to take a nap under the Tephrosia improved fallow where I have slept before. The carpet of leaves was very comfortable (in fact, it was because of napping there that I first realised I needed to quantify litterfall: if there's enough of it to sleep on, it must be significant.)

The cloudy sky was pleasant, and there were many birds in the field today; I drifted off to sleep listening to them. When I awoke it was nearly an hour later. Lazybones! It's November - lots of work to do!

I completed a few more quadrats uneventfully. It's not a difficult task; it's just a little awkward to do something so precise at ground level. I tried crouching over the quadrat, sitting next to it and leaning over it, and then - eventually - just sitting inside it. Being comfortable was important, otherwise I wouldn't be able to do this all day tomorrow.

Around 4:30, Mr Tambala stopped by on his way home from MZ12. He asked me what I was doing, and I explained as best I could. (Mr Tambala's English is good enough, and he is bright enough, that he can understand pretty much everything I do in the field, as long as I explain it carefully.) He watched me for awhile. Mr Malalo, the Nkula night watchman (who had just arrived), joined and watched too.

I felt silly that the two men were watching me pick dead leaves from a patch of ground. "I know you are watchmen," I said, "but you don't need to watch. It's not that interesting!" They laughed and left me to my work.

* * * * *

At five o'clock I packed up my things; I didn't want to stay too late because it can be difficult to find a minibus on Sunday evenings. I had gotten through two of my sixteen plots, so that was substantial progress but I still had a long way to go.

Hey, finally - a praying mantis! I'd been waiting all day to take a photo of one, and wouldn't you know it, they were hiding today. Now that dusk was approaching, I saw a big tan praying mantis creeping along the edge of a Tephrosia plot. Here is the best photo I could get in the evening light:






I am very fond of these chiswambiya, and they always make me smile. So it was a nice way to end the day's work.

It wasn't so nice to be followed down the driveway by a drunk man on a bicycle who tried to speak Chichewa to me and ignored my protestations of "Sindikumvetsa" (I don't understand). He was probably a guest at the wedding that took place this afternoon at Makoka. Also wedding-related, no doubt, was the large crowd of people in the station yard. (The station is the cluster of buildings where machinery is kept and crops are processed.) Streamers were strung and music was blaring. Nobody was working today except for me!

My trip home was uneventful, except for some rowdy drunk guys shouting on the minibus. When I opened the front door, the puppy dashed inside. He seemed to be in high spirits tonight.

I said hi to my roommates and we talked for a while, then I showered and put some laundry in a bucket to soak, and ate dinner. When I went back into my room, I did a double-take: why was my laundry basket emptied onto the floor? Why were the contents of my rubbish bin strewn around my room?
Oh well, one can't blame a puppy for being a puppy.

* * * * *

For the rest of the evening, I finished washing my laundry, boiled my water for tomorrow, made some tea, slowly worked on my blog, and whiled away some time looking at photos. Tomorrow I will resume the litterfall quadrats where I left off. Eight down, sixty-four to go... I will be very well acquainted with Tephrosia leaves by the time this task is finished.

PS According to my bird book, I think the birds I saw in the forest this afternoon were arrow-marked babblers (Turdoides jardineii).

-------------------------
Chichewa word of the day: nkhwali = francolin

 

2009-10-31: Annie's application II

Summary:

I spent a quiet day at Tasty Bites finishing my application for the Annie's Homegrown Sustainable Agriculture Scholarship. Though my morale flagged somewhat when I reviewed my unsuccessful applications from last year, I managed to write what I think was a good Personal Statement about my career motivations and my views on sustainable agriculture. I e-mailed the application uneventfully and spent the evening at home doing... more writing! (Blog writing. I won't start on the next fellowship application until next week.)

Main text:

At least this morning I didn't wake up too late but still tired and say "Ugh, I should get going to Makoka." Instead, I woke up too late but still tired and said "Ugh, I should get working on my scholarship application."

Despite the fact that all I had to do today was sit in a cafe and type, it still took me a while to get out of the house. My goal for today was to convince the Annie's Homegrown Sustainable Agriculture Scholarship Committee to give me money. I had already written a complete draft of the application, but the Personal Statement was still similar to the one I wrote last year, and last year they didn't give me a dime, so revisions were in order.

* * * * *

Goodness, Zomba was lively this morning. A beautiful sunny Saturday in October is the perfect day for weddings, golf tournaments, and many other things, all of which seemed to be happening in town. The golf course is on my way to Tasty Bites, and indeed it was crawling with golfers today, as Mrs Mkandawiri had said it would be. No sign of the president, though - perhaps he was at Gymkhana Club drinking a toast to the eventual victor.

(When I say "golf course" you probably think of manicured emerald lawns. Erase that image from your mind. Zomba's golf course is not watered during the dry season, so in October it is scruffy brown grass scattered with dead leaves.)

A wedding convoy drove past, horns honking in rhythm, newlyweds waving triumphantly from a black convertible. The groom wore a charcoal-coloured suit, and the bride a white gown and a white pearl headdress. Following their car was a minibus containing the wedding party, which I thought looked funny - one doesn't normally see a minibus full of suits and ties. Although traditional marriage ceremonies are still sometimes practised in Malawi, Western-style weddings are very common, especially in towns and cities.

Even Tasty Bites was busier than usual. It is just across the river from the golf course, and the waiter explained that spectators from the golf tournament had been stopping by for refreshments. Knowing my habit of staying all day with my laptop, he told me "If lunchtime is very busy, maybe we ask you to give your table to someone else."

Aw, rats. I wanted to be able to settle down and spend six uninterrupted hours begging for money. But of course I said OK, ordered my usual egg and chips, and got to work.

* * * * *

I started out by writing a cover letter and converting all my finished documents to PDFs, so that they were ready to send. Now, the last and hardest task remained: writing the personal statement. Annie's wanted to know, in three pages or less: why I'd chosen my field of study; what I thought "sustainable agriculture" meant; my future plans; and the expected impact of my work. I found it a little hard to tie these ideas together coherently. The beginning was not so hard:

From my early childhood in Australia, the plants around me have provided the context for my life. ItÕs no surprise that I developed an enduring interest in agriculture when I was helping my mother shell broad-beans at age five, helping my grandfather tackle ferocious brambles at age ten, and honing mango-harvesting skills at age fifteen. How can one not be interested in agriculture? IsnÕt that like not being interested in breathing?

In the process of writing the rest of the essay, I dug out some of last year's applications to see if I could recycle ideas from them. (Last year I applied for six fellowships - each application carefuly wrought and polished, and approved by my professors - but got nothing). I opened my personal statement from last year's Switzer Environmental Fellowship, searching for a particular paragraph, and ended up reading the whole thing from beginning to end. It was really good! Interesting, articulate, touching - I had worked so hard on it. And they utterly rejected me; I didn't even get an interview. This was disheartening. I wanted to cry. What's the point? Did I really want to spend a hundred hours again this year accomplishing nothing?

"You can't give up," I told myself, "you don't have a choice." Well, I suppose accumulating debt is a choice, though not a very appealing one.

* * * * *

I wrangled with the personal statement all afternoon (fortunately no one asked me to give up my table), and when five o'clock came around, I was finishing the final paragraphs. Whew, I would still have time to get to the Internet cafe before six.

I felt pretty good about it - the statement was exactly the right length, answered their questions coherently, and seemed crisper than last year's. I felt odd not to have described my actual research in more detail, but they really didn't ask for it; perhaps that had been my mistake last year. I tried to sum up by saying:

Improving the long-term productivity of agriculture through the application of ecological principles is not only intellectually compelling for me, but personally compelling as well. I always feel this acutely when I walk down the long dirt road to Makoka Research Station, with laughing, chattering schoolchildren following in my wake. I find myself thinking about their future: I hope that they never go hungry. I hope their parents have enough money to pay their school fees. I hope their young country gives them opportunities for prosperity when they grow up. Fundamentally, this all depends upon agriculture Ð productive, profitable, socially just, ecologically sensible agriculture.

All right, time to go! I paid my bill for one egg & chips, one piece of chocolate cake, and two cups of tea. I hurried across town to All Seasons, reached their door by 5:40, and by 5:45 my application was sent.

Well, that was a bit anticlimactic. Since the application was submitted not through a webpage but just as an e-mail with attachments, I didn't get a confirmation of any kind; my days of hard work just disappeared into the cyber-void. And I wouldn't hear a word from the Annie's Scholarship Committee for six months. It was time to forget about Annie's and start thinking about the next challenge.

* * * * *

As soon as I got home, I started looking at the material for my next fellowship application: the American Association of University Women (AAUW) Dissertation Fellowship, due November 16. Unlike the Annie's scholarship, which is cheerfully informal and open-ended, the AAUW Dissertation Fellowship is a Prestigious Fellowship That Makes You Jump Through Many Hoops. I didn't apply last year, so I'll have to start from scratch; a lot more essay-writing (and rewriting) awaits me in the near future. I will start working on the AAUW application next week. For now, a break.

I spent the rest of the evening tenaciously ploughing through some overdue blog entries. Since I had already spent the entire day writing, I was rather tired of it, but a blogger's gotta do what a blogger's got to do.

All right, that's enough writing about writing. I just hope my dream about the Annie's scholarship will come true!


-------------------------
Chichewa word of the day: mphaka = cat; aphaka = cats
(note: the "h" is not pronounced; it sounds like "mpaka.")


 

2009-10-30: Butterfly couriers

Summary:

I departed early for Blantyre, where my main task was to send a package. On the way, I stopped at a bakery for a huge cream bun, and at Chichiri Shopping Centre for a new tape measure and other field supplies. The package is now en route, completely covered with twenty-kwacha butterfly stamps. At Makoka, I rescued a flower spider from the minibus, finished measuring the last of the seedlings at Nkula Field, and was lucky to get a lift to town from Mrs Mkandawire so I could reach the Internet cafe before closing. At home, I ate dinner with my housemates and tried to go to sleep on time.


Main text:

I had to wake up not long after 7, because I was planning to go to Blantyre and Makoka today, a feat I had never before attempted. Success would require an early start. I needed to pick up a gift that I had ordered in Blantyre and mail it to the US; then I would return to Makoka and finish measuring the seedlings at Nkula field.

I was out the door before eight, looking even sillier than usual because I was carrying a large empty cardboard box to use for the package. I'd have liked to sleep on the minibus, but I got a seat in the back and it was far too bumpy. So I just looked out the window for the duration of the hour-long ride. Usually, I do some of my best thinking while looking out minibus windows, but today all I could manage was just staying awake.

* * * * *

We arrived in Limbe a little before 9:30. I got cash at National Bank in Limbe (suspecting the ATM queues would be longer in Blantyre), and then set out to walk to Chichiri Shopping Centre, which is about one-third of the way to Blantyre. It's a half-hour walk; I could have gotten there faster by catching another minibus, but not as much faster as you might think, because of the slow and uncertain nature of minibuses. I noticed darkening clouds in the sky and wondered if I should have brought my umbrella.

On the way to Chichiri, I stopped by Sasha's Bakery for a large cream bun, as has become my habit. I should explain a bit about bakeries in Malawi: In Zomba, if you walk into a bakery, you'll see loaves of bread, and rolls, and... that's it. Bread and rolls. The bread is all similar; it's more or less like Wonder Bread. For someone who is used to San Francisco crusty sourdough, Cheesboard cheese scones, and Neto's chocolate babkas, this does not really do justice to the term "bakery."

The bakeries in Limbe and Blantyre are a step up from those in Zomba. They at least have more variety, and they often have glass cases displaying various sweet concoctions made from leavened bread. No pastries or cakes, alas! But you can get:

• Fruit buns (I tried one once, and learned that "fruit" referred to the two raisins that were hiding in the corner of the bun)


• "Doughnuts," which are baked circles of sweet dough dusted with powdered sugar


• Cream buns, which are sweet bread rolls filled with highly unnatural icing (probably a mix of powdered sugar and vegetable shortening)

At this particular bakery, the best value-for-money is the large cream bun. For K120 (US$0.85), you can buy a cream bun the size of a loaf of bread. It is surely a day's worth of calories. I bought one and started eating it (with difficulty, since it far exceeded the height of my open mouth) as I walked down the highway to Chichiri.

I noticed people staring at me. A man passing me in the opposite direction chuckled and said "That is too big for yooouuu!" A group of ladies, sitting under a mango tree, pointed at me and burst into giggles. When I first arrived in Malawi a year ago, I might have felt offended by this. Now that I understand Malawian culture better, I can share the amusement. Malawians can find humour in pretty much everything, and a minor faux pas or misunderstanding will often catalyse uproarious laughter.

So, this morning, I had to laugh at myself along with them. I did look pretty ridiculous. A mzungu eating a cream bun the size of her head, covered with powdered sugar... you don't see that every day.

* * * * *

I quickly did my errands at Chichiri: I printed the photos I took yesterday of Peter's family (yikes, they cost K70 each! - I thought it was K30), bought a kitchen scale for weighing biomass of seedlings at Nkula, bought a new tape measure to replace my dear departed one, and bought a roll of packing tape to make sure the package would be well sealed. Then I caught another minibus to Blantyre. Oh dear - those dark clouds had indeed turned into big fat raindrops, and I didn't have my umbrella. Well, hopefully the showers would soon pass.

Disembarking in Blantyre, I stopped at Arkay Plastics to buy a medium-sized basin for holding leaf litter (my next task is to measure leaf litter in the Tephrosia plots). Then I went to the crafts stalls and collected the item I had ordered. The craftsman helped me wrap it up, and now I had only to take it to the post office.

Two errands awaited me first, though: I needed to buy some more Mefloquin (malaria prophylaxis) at the pharmacy across the street; I'd never bought Mefloquin in Malawi before, but a friend told me I'd find it there. I also needed to get more cash, since upon further reflection, I remembered that sending packages is always more expensive than I expect.

The Mefloquin was a pleasant surprise: I knew it'd be cheaper here than in the US, and it was less than one-third the price! Each weekly pill cost K280 (US$2) instead of the US$7 that I'd paid at Walgreens in California. Now I felt stupid to have bought a seven-month supply before I left California last year. Had I know it was so easily available and so cheap here, I could have saved myself a couple hundred dollars. Well, live and learn.

I ended up having to wait in a long queue at the ATM, as I suspected. Next time I sent a package, I would remember to get more cash than I thought I would need. Live and learn.

On the way to the post office, I passed a casual restaurant-cafe and wondered if they would let me use their toilet. Public toilets are rare in Malawian cities, and where they do exist, they are usually pay toilets (cost K20). I'd willingly have paid that, but I knew there were no public toilets at all in downtown Blantyre. I inquired at the front counter.

"No," said the proprietor, a stout Indian woman with grey hair. "Toilet is only for customers."

"Oh, okay," I said. "I will buy something then. May I have a Cocopina?"

"NO, we don't DO that," she said scathingly. "You can't just buy a drink. It's only for customers who are eating lunch." She turned away.

"All right, then I'll go," I sighed, and added (too crossly, in retrospect) "And I won't come back." I guess I have been spoilt by the friendly staff at Tasty Bites. Still, I did not like being treated as though my polite request was objectionable and unreasonable. I told myself to forget about it and proceeded to the post office.

* * * * *

I'd never been to the Blantyre main post office before; it is a long grey two-storey building on Glyn Jones Road, with walls of post office boxes painted in a black-and-white chequered pattern. Inside the lobby, I spent a few minutes at the side counter reinforcing the package with additional tape, then I carried it to one of the service windows.

The clerk said, "You must go to the parcel office, we don't accept parcels at this counter. Just a moment. Let me call them."

Parcel office? Why did she need to call them? Was my request that unusual?

After a moment, the clerk told me "Go out that door and turn left. You will find someone waiting for you." I followed her instructions, found a door labeled "PARCEL OFFICE," and was welcomed inside by a plump middle-aged Malawian woman. The sign on the door said "Closed for Lunch 12:00 - 1:00." It was currently 12:25. Oh dear!

"I'm so sorry to disturb your lunch hour," I said. "I didn't realise you were closed."

"No problem," she said as she walked behind the counter and pulled out a black binder. "I saw you coming up the street with that package and I knew you would come here eventually."

She weighed my package - 2.5 kilos - and looked up the cost in her black binder. Good thing I went to the bank again! It takes quite a fistful of kwacha to convey a package to the US.

Since this post office was clearly more sophisticated than the Zomba post office, I wondered if they might have a machine for printing labels with the exact postage amount. But no... the clerk reached for another binder, and out came the stamps. Just like in Zomba, my package was going to get plastered with thousands of kwacha worth of stamps.

Each Malawian stamp depicts a different species of native butterfly. Malawi has a great diversity of colourful butterflies, so they make a good theme for stamps. The clerk was getting out sheets of K20 stamps, which featured a yellow-and-black Charaxes castor on a green leaf. But K20 was not the highest denomination. I asked the clerk why she didn't use K75 stamps instead.

"These ones are easier to count," she said, ripping off 5-by-5 squares of stamps - each representing K500. "You can help me put them on."

So the two of us embarked upon an art project: covering my cardboard box, which was more than a foot on each side, entirely in butterfly stamps. She procured a little saucer of water (missing its sponge) for us to dip our fingers in. Soon the counter was covered with drips of water, smears of stamp-glue, and discarded strips from the edges of each stamp sheet.

Finally the last butterfly was in place and the last kwacha was accounted for. The package, formerly plain brown cardboard, was now swarming with hundreds of yellow-and-black butterflies in grid formation.

I smiled to imagine the butterflies taking flight and lifting the package, each butterfly attached to its burden by a slender thread. Had the butterflies been real, I think there would have nearly been enough of them to lift 2.5 kilos. Go, butterflies, go!

To my amazement, the clerk put a bar-code sticker on the package and gave me a receipt with the same bar code. A tracking number? This was fantastic. I would never send a package from Zomba again. (I wonder if my parents' 2008 holiday package will ever reach them... it hasn't so far...)

I thanked the clerk profusely for helping me over her lunch break. Her friendliness had cheered me up greatly. I smiled as I watched her carry the package into the back room, hoping and expecting that it would arrive safe and sound.

On the way out, I examined my receipt, which said "Department of Posts and Telecommunications." I think it should have said "Malawi Butterfly Courier Service."

* * * * *

As I walked to catch a minibus to Limbe, I stopped by the big Petroda filling station, where they were happy to let me use their toilet. And they didn't even make me buy petrol. Now I know where to find a toilet in Blantyre - live and learn.

Once in Limbe, I had to find a Zomba minibus and wait for it to fill. While I was sitting in the Zomba minibus waiting to depart, there were two notable occurrences:

1. I wrote an outline of my dissertation (this I had done in my head last week while lying awake jet-lagged, but it was good to get it on paper);


2. I noticed a flower spider hiding in the window frame of the minibus.

What was a flower spider doing in a minibus? Its round golden yellow body, somewhat smaller than a pea, would have been well camouflaged on a sunflower but looked very out of place inside a minibus. I thought about tossing the spider out the open window, but that would have been a death sentence - below was a barren dirt shoulder upon which minibus tyres crunched endlessly. At a loss for what to do, I left it where it was, and kept reminding myself not to hit it with my elbow.

Soon after I'd finished my dissertation outline, the bus engine started and we were on our way towards Zomba. The rain had stopped a while ago in Blantyre, and had never amounted to much, but as we proceeded northwards I could see that some places had received heavy rain. Had it rained at Makoka, I wondered? Would I be spending my afternoon struggling with wet Tephrosia seedlings as they soaked the pages of my notebook?

When we passed Namadzi, the last stop before Makoka, I finally had an idea that might save the spider. I got an empty small plastic bag and coaxed the spider into it, blew a little air into the bag, and tied the top closed. I tucked this little bag gingerly into the top of my shoulder bag. The spider should be safe there until I disembarked at Makoka.

My plan worked! I hopped off the bus at Makoka to find, as I expected, only faint signs of raindrops on the dirt road. I carried the spider to the nearest yellow flower - a lantana, whose flower clusters had pink centres and yellow edges. I opened the plastic bag and turned it inside out to reveal the spider, which I placed on the yellow part of the flower. There it sat, looking right at home. I bade it farewell.

I have to say, that was one lucky spider! I'm glad I could save it from its uncertain fate as a minibus passenger.

* * * * *

I passed Chiku on the road, and he told me that someone had already done the next task for my swazi bed, which was to raise the layer of grass to give the seedlings more light. I wanted to check on the swazi bed anyway, so I stopped by the nursery. The grass had indeed been raised; it was now lying atop three small logs that were laid perpendicular across the bed. More than half of the Gliricidia seeds have now germinated; I hope the rest soon follow!

On my way to Nkula, I called Peter, but he said he couldn't help me this afternoon (I didn't catch the reason why). No problem, I should be able to finish measuring the seedlings today even without his help. I left my basin, kitchen scale, and my other Blantyre puchases with the watchman, then I unfurled my new tape measure and got to work. It took a bit of getting used to - it was lighter and more easily bent than my old tape measure, and retracted more strongly. But soon I got into the swing of things.

I enjoyed the afternoon; the weather was cool and cloudy after the rain, and very pleasant for working outside. The birds seemed to like it too. I saw a lilac-breasted roller (a gorgeous blue bird somewhat like a kingfisher) winging over the forest, and I got a close-up view of a male blue waxbill who perched on a grass bough close to me and said "Zwee zwee zwee."

As four o'clock approached, and I still had one Tephrosia plot remaining, I realised I'd need to work very fast if I were to have any hope of getting to the Internet cafe before six. So I ploughed through that plot in record time. All by myself, a Tephrosia plot in less than one hour... not bad! Practise makes perfect, and heaven knows I've had enough practise at this job.

"Eighty-two... fourteen. Done." And thus concluded the grand task of measuring 2,376 seedlings. Rather than savour my victory, I tossed my notebook and tape measure into my bag, slung my bag over my shoulder, and hurried down the path as fast as I could without running.

Halfway down the driveway, I heard a vehicle approach and then slow down. This was a good sign. It meant someone was likely to give me a lift. Mrs Mkandawire! She said she was coming from a Mother's Day party at Makoka. Mother's Day was two weeks ago, but this was the best day for the Makoka staff to hold a celebration.

As we approached town, I asked Mrs Mkandawire why the flagpoles had been erected along the main road; flagpoles usually signify that an important government official is visiting. "Tomorrow the President is coming," she said. "There will be a big golf tournament here in Zomba, and the President will attend the festivities at Gymkhana Club."

Mrs Mkandawire insisted on driving me all the way to All Seasons Internet Cafe. It was my lucky day - thanks to her, I had twenty-five minutes to spare, which at least was enough to check my email.

* * * * *

As I was heading home, just passing Shoprite, one of the taxi drivers shouted "Catherine" at me. "Yes?" I said.

"Come here, I want to tell you something," he said. It was Collins, a driver I've used several times.

Collins gave me a long lecture on how I shouldn't be walking home by myself too late because Zomba is becoming more dangerous. He told me about several recent murders (a soldier at the aerodrome, and a street boy at Mponda River). He said that because I was not Malawian, I wouldn't hear about these things. But he was, and he did, and he was warning me.

"Please, Catherine," he said. "You shouldn't walk late at night. You should get taxi."

"Is this late?" I asked. It was ten past six, and twilight had fallen. I wasn't quite sure when, in his opinion, the streets became dangerous.

"Maybe this is OK," he said. "But seven, or eight, or nine, is not so good. I saw you the other day walking home at seven o'clock carrying many jumbo [bags]. That is not safe for you. You should call me for lift."

I wasn't sure whether to trust his advice, since as a taxi driver he stood to directly profit from my apprehensions. I thanked him noncommittally, but that didn't satisfy him, so he reiterated his warnings about the dangers of Zomba. I was quite relieved to finally get away; I don't really like being lectured by near-strangers for ten minutes at a time. Perhaps there is some truth to what he was saying, but hearing it three times didn't help. I will seek a second opinion.

* * * * *

At home, I joined my housemates for dinner and TV. Then, since I'd contributed to the eating but not the cooking, I washed the dishes. I used up the remainder of my energy scrubbing the pot I'd burned last night. So that was my last useful accomplishment for the day - after that, I only managed to read a few more chapters of "West With the Night."

There was a lot of commotion on the streets outside as I tried to go to sleep. People were yelling, cheering, and hollering; horns were honking. I don't know what it was all for. Pre-wedding festivities? End of term at Chancellor College? Excitement about the President coming tomorrow? Whatever it was, I was glad to be home in bed!


-------------------------
Chichewa word of the day: -bwera = to come; abwera = he/she comes


 

2009-10-29: Lunch with Peter

Summary:

After a slow start to the day, made even slower by a minibus plagued with delays, I finally made it to Makoka in time to meet Peter for lunch at his house. We ate nsima, beans and usipa, and then had a photo session with his family in the courtyard (I had brought my camera for that purpose). Peter and I spent the afternoon measuring seedlings and nearly finished, but not quite; he had to leave early. I tried to finish by myself but my tape measure broke; my bag was full of ants; and I burnt the groundnuts I cooked for dinner. Oh well - at least I successfully prepared everything for my trip to Blantyre tomorrow.


Main text:

I'm sorry to say that I disobeyed my seven o'clock alarm. I even went back to sleep after getting a phone call at eight. Finally, when Peter called somewhat after nine, I managed to wake up completely.

"Are you already at Nkula?" Peter asked. No, I said, I was still in town, but would be on my way soon. I hadn't forgotten that he'd invited me for lunch today, so I suggested that I meet him at his house for lunch, and then we could work a half-day at Nkula Field after that.

I did some errands in town on the way - checking email, posting a blog entry, buying envelopes for litterfall samples. By the time I got on a departing minibus, it was exactly eleven o'clock, which meant I should reach St Anthony's by 11:30, just the right time for lunch.

My choice of minibus proved to be rather unfortunate. The minibus was stopped by traffic police at Three Miles and sat on the side of the road interminably. I was wedged in the very back on the sunny side, and I started to feel more like a braised Thanksgiving turkey than a minibus passenger. I suppose the driver had no license, or the bus wasn't insured, or there were too many passengers (that's for sure!). Whatever it was, it took nearly half-an-hour to sort out.

Even if that were the only delay, it would've been bad enough. We also sat at the Five Miles stage for about ten minutes while the driver went off to conduct some business (perhaps borrowing money to pay whatever fine he had just incurred). And when we reached Thondwe, most of the passengers disembarked (Wednesday is market day) and we sat waiting for the bus to fill again. At least, while I was waiting, I finally got a chance to take a photo of the ladies waiting to sell fruit to minibus passengers:






They sit in the shade awaiting the arrival of a new minibus, then they all rush to the bus windows displaying their wares. If no one wants to buy masuku or mangoes or peaches, they retreat back to their shady spot and wait for the next bus. I wonder what they gossip about in the meantime?

My minibus never did accumulate enough passengers to make the onward trip worthwhile, so the conductor told everyone to get out and board another bus. By the time I finally disembarked at St Anthony's, it was nearly 12:20. I think that's a new slow record: eighty minutes from town. On other occasions I've gotten there in twenty!

* * * * *

Peter was there waiting at the bus stage (I'd texted him to warn him of my very late arrival). I apologised for keeping him waiting; he said he'd been there since eleven but he didn't mind because he had people to talk to. Malawians really never seem to mind waiting.

On the road to Peter's house, we encountered an older gentleman wearing a battered blue suit jacket. He greeted Peter in Chichewa and then shook my hand in Malawian fashion, gripping it for a long time while he continued to talk. Unfortunately I scarcely understood a word, but Peter answered the gentleman's questions (I presume) on my behalf. Once we parted ways, Peter explained to me, "That was the village chief, Mr Blair. He is always drunk."

At Peter's house, lunch preparations were nearly finished. Peter's mother had cooked lunch, and Peter and I were to eat it by ourselves, without his mother or sisters. It seems to be customary for only the man of the household to eat with an important guest, which supposedly I was.

To try to recompense Peter's family for their hospitality, I had brought my digital camera, and I offered to take as many photos as they wanted and print them when I went to Blantyre tomorrow. This is something I am always happy to do for people - it's little trouble for me but means a lot to them.

Peter said we should have lunch first, since it was almost ready. In the meantime, he showed me around: there was a two-room brick house in which he slept (it was comprised of his bedroom and a small sitting room); there was his mother's house; there was his sisters' house; and there was a small separate building that was comprised of the kitchen on one side and the bathroom (i.e. place of bathing, not toilet) on the other. I gather this is a fairly typical layout for a rural Malawian household.

The buildings were made of red brick, as most Malawian buildings are, and roofed with thatch. The nearest electricity and running water are a few kilometres away, at the main road. Peter said that they used kerosene lanterns at night; and if there was no kerosene, candles; and if there were no candles, they slept.

* * * * *

We sat in the low armchairs in Peter's dark sitting room. His sister, Jane, put a bowl of hand-washing water on the concrete floor in front of us. I had the privilege of washing my hands first, because I was the guest. Peter used the bowl after me. (I'm no public health expert, but I wonder if this practise actually cleans anyone's hands - even the first person's, because you dip several times into the same bowl rather than using a running stream of water.)

When our hands were washed, Jane placed in front of us several covered bowls of food. There was nsima - of course! - and boiled brown beans, the size of kidney beans but softer in texture. As a special treat, there was also a small bowl of usipa (dried fish) simmered with tomato and onion. There were five fish, each about the size of my little finger. I took two and left three for Peter. Usipa come from Lake Chilwa or Lake Malawi, not locally, so they must be bought with cash (unlike the other components of the meal, which mostly came from their farm).

Peter and I each took an empty bowl and served ourselves nsima, usipa, and beans. I ate slowly, not only because I always eat slowly, but because I am still not very graceful at eating nsima with my fingers. Over lunch we talked about goverment and politics, and compared the laws of Malawi and the US.

After lunch, I offered to take some photos of Peter with his family, and said I would print them in Blantyre tomorrow. Unfortunately my camera batteries ran out while we were still taking pictures. That meant there was nothing left but for Peter and me to go to work.

* * * * *

I've already told you all about the process of measuring seedlings, so suffice it to say that Peter and I measured seedlings uneventfully until 4:30, at which point he had to leave to go to town. I paid him for his two days' work and said I'd call him tomorrow.

When Peter left, we were halfway through the last replicate, and I hoped I might be able to finish it myself before day's end. But alas, that was not to be. In the middle of a Tephrosia plot, I accidentally released the end of the tape measure when it was extended a metre or so. As I mentioned the other day, the tip of the tape measure had broken off, and I'd inserted a twig (which I later replaced with a metal ring) to stop the tip from being withdrawn into the body of the tape measure. But this time, the tip snapped back hard, and at a slight angle, so as to suck the ring inside.

That in itself wouldn't have been a problem; I could just unscrew the back of the tape measure as I'd done before, and retrieve the end. But for some reason, when I opened the tape measure this time, it went haywire. The spring got reversed and started pushing the tape measure out of its casing, instead of pulling it in. (Sounds crazy, I know... beats me!) I couldn't get the tape measure back together properly; my repair attempts left it almost completely immobilised.

So that was the end of my faithful tape measure. Requiescat in pace, old friend. I had procured it ten years ago when, as a Stanford undergrad, I bought a tool box to assemble some furniture in my dorm room. Its life was fairly uneventful until I brought it with me to Malawi, at which point it became responsible for measuring the width and length of every plot at Nkula Field, the location of every post of every rain shelter, the height of many hundreds of maize plants, and - its dying effort - the height of many thousands of seedlings.

Now I couldn't bear to throw it out. I should keep it on my desk as a paperweight when I am a Big Important Professor.

* * * * *

That would have been a reasonable end to the day's work, but the unreasonable ants would have none of it. Oh, no. While I'd been at the other end of the field, they had found my pink shoulder-bag that I'd left under a Tephrosia fallow. What did my bag harbour that interested them so? WRAPPERS. The Clif Bar and biscuit wrappers from yesterday's lunch apparently retained just enough sugary crumbs to warrant a full-scale attack of the Unreasonable Ants.

So, instead of heading home, I spent twenty minutes taking every item out of my bag one by one, and blowing and brushing and shaking and tapping the ants off of it. I placed the de-anted items in a pile far away from the horde of angry and confused Unreasonable Ants, who were distraught to lose not only their biscuit crumbs but also their lines of communication with their unreasonable colleagues.

I wasn't in quite such a good mood after that. But at least I was on my way home now, and soon I would be on the minibus, and soon thereafter in the shower, and then at my desk, and then in bed. I was looking forward to all these things.

As I passed the senior staff quarters, a young man with a bicycle approached coming the opposite direction. "Halloooo, madam!" he said.

I looked more closely. It was Gift, a Makoka resident and employee who had been working as a cowherd last year. It had been his job to take the cattle out to pasture each morning, watch over them in the field all day, and take them home in the evening. He and his cattle were often found along the road to Nkula Field, and every time he saw me pass, he would rush up to me and talk to me very enthusiastically.

I greeted him and he quickly told me that he had lost his job, and he wanted to know if I could hire him. He didn't want to take "No" for an answer, but I'm afraid that was the answer, and I got a little impatient with his persistence. I wish I could give a job to everyone who asks - I just can't!

* * * * *

At home, I tried to expedite dinner by putting some groundnuts on to boil while I took a shower. Alas, my timing was off, and by the time I got out of the shower (even though I was rushing), all the water had boiled away, leaving a blackened pot. Confound it, I do seem to have a real talent for burning this pot. I heated up some leftover rice and cabbage to go with my toasted groundnuts that were supposed to be boiled.

It was nice to have a real dinner for a change - so often the power is out, and I just have a peanut butter sandwich. My housemates were each doing their own thing, so I ate in my room while working on my computer. I also recharged my camera batteries, which to my great relief restored my camera to full working order.

The last thing I did before bed was get ready for my trip to Blantyre. I prepared a package I was going to send and made a list of the other things I needed to do. I certainly needed to buy a new tape measure!

This took a while, and it was late by the time I finished. Unfortunately, in my search for packaging materials, I unearthed a Doonesbury book, so I stayed awake even later reading comics in bed. But at least I was genuinely tired by the time I went to sleep!

Tomorrow: I shall travel to the big city, and the last seedling's height shall be known.

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Chichewa word of the day: bwanoni = katydid


 

2009-10-28: Twice as fast with Peter

Summary:

Today I measured more seedlings at Nkula, this time with the help of my acquaintance Peter. With Peter recording data and me doing the measuring, the job went twice as fast. It was a very hot day but there were pleasant distractions such as praying mantises. At day's end, we stopped by his house so he could give me masuku from his tree. I reached town in time to go to the market and buy vegetables, and I made vegetable pasta for everyone for dinner.


Main text:

At 7:45, as I was getting ready to go to Makoka, my phone rang. It was Peter Mkondambiri, a man in his early twenties who was my neighbour in Kalimbuka last year. (He is described in my blog entry from 2 November 2008). His family lives near Makoka, and he spends a lot of time there, so he knows Mr Tambala, which is how he got my new phone number.

Peter helped me quite a lot at Makoka last season, mainly with clerical and precision tasks such as recording data, labeling envelopes, and making rain gauges. As I've mentioned, most of the Makoka labourers don't have the ncessary education to do tasks like this. Peter, who speaks English fluently and has a high school diploma plus a one-year Accounting certificate, is amply qualified to help with data management, and has generally done quite a good job.

"Catherine," Peter said. "Can I assist you at Makoka today?"

"Well, actually," I said, "yes, you can help me. I'm going to be measuring seedlings today and you can be my data recorder."

"What time shall we meet?"

"I'm still in town, but I'm leaving soon. Let's meet at Nkula Field at nine o'clock."

It was probably a mistake that I decided to sit down and have a proper breakfast of Weet-Bix. That always takes longer than I think. I was going to be a little late, and I texted Peter from the minibus to say that my arrival would be closer to 9:30.

As I walked down the Makoka driveway, rushing so as not to be even later, I heard a vehicle approach behind me and then slow down. It was a white pickup truck with the ICRAF logo on the side. Mwafongo! I opened the door.

"Hallo, Amber," he said. "Get in." I told him I was on my way to Nkula, and he insisted on driving me all the way there, even though his destination was the nursery.

During the brief drive, I asked him what he'd been on this trip to the Southern Region; he said he was collecting mango scions for grafting, and also doing farmer training for a project promoting the use of climbing-bean agroforestry systems. The life of an ICRAF technician is always busy, but Mwafongo's competence and sanguinity never fail to impress me. I thanked him again for collecting the MZ12 biomass data shortly before my return, and told him I'd received the data sheets from Steve Gomomba.

Mwafongo dropped me off at the path to Nkula, and I waved goodbye. That was only the third time I had ever been to Nkula in a car - what a strange feeling, to arrive so quickly and with so little exertion! For a moment I felt like a World Famous Agroforester, driving around in my 4x4 with the NGO logo on the side. But in a moment I was back to my grad student self, walking down the dusty path.

* * * * *

It was 9:26, but Peter hadn't yet arrived, which was a relief - both because I didn't want to keep him waiting, and because it was nice to begin the day quietly with my own thoughts. Measuring seedlings is a slow but pleasant job to do by one's self.

Well, it would have been pleasant if the sun hadn't been so scorching. It felt like high noon in the Sahara. I drank some water, pulled my hat down a little further over my face, and got out my notebook and tape measure. 114, 107. 139, 96. 130, 102. 118, 86...

A little before 10, Peter came walking down the path. We briefly chatted and caught up on our respective family news, and then got to work. I handed Peter the data sheets and the mechanical pencil, showed him how the printed grid corresponded with the plot, explained the notations I used, and then wielded my tape measure again.

"43, dead. 66, 48. 42, 42. 31, 29..." How strange not to have to memorise the numbers! It was so much easier! Although the constant stream of spoken numbers precluded actual conversation, it left my mind free to pursue other thoughts.

I was astonished that Peter and I finished a Tephrosia plot in only half-an-hour. When I was working alone, the Tephrosia plots had been taking me a full hour. So together we really were working twice as fast.

In between measurements, I took advantage of Peter's presence to learn new Chichewa words, and to tell him about the insects amongst the seedlings. There was an abundance of praying mantises (chiswambiya) in various different colours and sizes; my favourites were the little sea-green ones. I wished I had my camera. I also asked Peter to remind me of the word for the katydid species (bwanoni) that is abundant and eaten for food in the wet season, and I asked him the word for ladybug, but he didn't know it. So instead I taught him the ditty "Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home," and demonstrated with a ladybug that had crawled upon my finger.

These agroforestry trees really are a boon for invertebrate diversity. I just don't know whether they're a boon for farmers.

* * * * * *

When twelve o'clock came, we retreated to the shade of a Tephrosia improved fallow to eat our lunch, such as it was. I told him he was welcome to go home for lunch, as is Malawian custom, but he opted to stay and share my food and water. There were enough biscuits for us each to have a handful, and we split the Clif Bar in half. But water was running short. We'd already drunk most of it in the heat of the morning. So after lunch I sent Peter to get more water from the hand pump a kilometre away.

He was gone a long time; I went back to work and got through two Gliricidia plots and half a Tephrosia plot without him. When he returned, we worked for several more hours, our progress somewhat hampered by the many branched Tephrosia that needed to be measured in two parts. (That was necessary if the tallest part was a branch that emerged at a right angle from the trunk.)

Then, a bit after three-thirty, I said we had better call it a day. Peter had asked me to come back to his house to get some masuku, since they had a big tree and more fruit than they knew what to do with. I wouldn't refuse an offer like that, but I also wanted to get to Fegs Stationers before five o'clock, so that I could buy some envelopes for litterfall samples.

Peter led me to his house the back way, through a tangle of paths and abandoned fields behind Nkula. We disturbed several large birds, the size and shape of small guinea hens, that had been hiding in the dry grass. "They are nkhwali," Peter said, and I wrote that down in my notebook. I tried to match their image with an image in my bird book. Francolins, perhaps?

Our shortcut took us just behind the football pitch (which in turn is just behind MZ12), and into a beautiful miombo forest that was recovering from a recent fire. The burnt trees and shrubs were resprouting abundant tender leaves in pastel shades of green and pink. I wished I had my camera with me! I'd have to return soon and take some photos.

On the path to the village where Peter's family live, I noticed a phenomenon I've been curious about, and asked Peter about it: why do farmers' fields have long straight lines of soot and ashes running through them? The answer, as I suspected, is that farmers rake all the surface rubbish (weeds, maize stover, fallen leaves) into a linear pile and then burn it. "They don't know any better," said Peter. "They don't know it is not good for the soil."

At Peter's household, which is a modest cluster of buildings on the edge of a spread-out village, Peter's mother was at home doing chores. I had been to the house before, so she remembered me. I greeted her as politely as possible with my rudimentary Chichewa. Peter explained that we were here for masuku, and I heard her reply something about a fire (moto). Oh, I saw what she was talking about: two-thirds of the masuku tree's crown had been scorched by a rubbish fire that had been lit directly underneath it. The tree's leaves had not actually caught fire, but the heat had shrivelled them. That was a shame, it had been a beautiful tree.

Nevertheless, the existing masuku fruits were still OK, and Peter knocked down a dozen for me with a pole. They were still green and hard, but they would ripen in a few days, he assured me. I thanked him (and his mother, who plied us with raw cassava on our way out), and he walked with me through the village paths until we reached the closest minibus stage on the main road, which was St. Anthony's, just before Makoka.

As we walked, he told me about a controversial proposal to introduce regional admissions quotas in Malawi's universities. Currently, students from the Northern region tend to be overrepresented, and students from the Central and Southern regions are underrepresented; this proposed system would admit students from each region in a fixed ratio. Peter asked me what I thought of the idea.

"I think that solution is too simple," I said. "The problem must be quite complicated. Why are Northerners overrepresented? Is it because they have better secondary schools? Or a different culture that emphasises education? Or something else? In any case, that difference will still remain." It sounds like an interesting debate - I will have to read more about it.

* * * * *

I arrived back in town at 4:55, but unfortunately Fegs was just closing its doors. I'd have to get my envelopes tomorrow. Instead I went to the market and got some vegetables for dinner, then went to All Seasons Internet Cafe. When I got my flash drive out of my pocket, a Tephrosia leaf came along with it.

At home, I decided it was about time I cooked dinner for everyone, so I made a big pot of pasta with cheese sauce. (Not too exciting - it's powdered cheese sauce mix from a packet. But that's better than nothing.) I added fresh green peas, julienned carrots, sauteed onion, and - at the very end - diced tomato. Once that was finished, I sauteed the Chinese cabbage I'd bought at the market, since that doesn't tend to keep.

After cleaning up the kitchen, I was too tired to do anything useful, so I lay down and read a few more chapters of "West With the Night." (I'm not sure whether to be envious that I didn't spend my childhood getting gored by wild boars like Beryl Markham did.) Eventually I mustered up enough energy to write a blog entry.

Before going to sleep, I wanted to figure out how much I should pay Peter for his work today, so I looked through my old notebooks from last year to see if I had made a note of his salary. I ended up spending twenty minutes nostalgically thumbing through my notebooks page by page, remembering why this page was mud-splattered and what that scrawled note meant. I had worked so hard last year! Just look at how many drafts I'd drawn of these rain shelter blueprints. And how I'd calculated the evaporation pan diameter as that of a cone, rather than as a cylinder. And oh - those pages of soil sample moisture data - it made my arms ache just to think of all those hours with the Edelman auger!

Even though last year's work didn't produce the results I hoped for, let it not be said that I didn't work hard. I hope I can work equally hard this year, but be smarter about it, and end up with something worthy of a dissertation.

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Chichewa word of the day: chingwe = string, twine