MSF Blog: Chiradzulu part 18

The rains have arrived and I can smell it

. The clouds roll in dark and low, like the Nothing from the Never Ending Story. When living on a mountain, you don’t look up in the sky to see if it’s going to rain – dark clouds tell you nothing. Instead, look across the landscape for a grey curtain passing along as hills and valleys disappear behind it. It’s raining everyday now. The humidity has exploded my hair and made drying clothes a multiple-day chore. We’ve adopted the Asian practice of going barefoot in our houses, leaving our shoes caked with red mud at the door.

Despite these inconveniences, I like the soggy interruption during the day. I’ve become too accustomed to my daily rhythms and the raindrops beating on our metal roof are a nice percussive interlude. It’s raining again and I’m distracted from my work. When it rains like this I just want to stare out the window and watch it come down. Fortunately I’m alone in my office lately, and being the data manager, there is no one to scold me back to work.

I may be the only “manager” at MSF France. MSF doesn’t like to use the word “manager,” instead they use the term “coordinator.” I guess they figure people prefer to be coordinated rather than managed. Data doesn’t have any feelings on the matter. Perhaps management is more about managing expectations than managing people. People have different motivations for their job, and making an honest living is noble in itself. In public health, there’s not much money to be made, or let’s say there are more efficient ways to make money. People are drawn to this line of work for other rewards. There is a motivation to help others, and a good manager knows how to nurture that seed. It can be frustrating as an employee to be planted with no opportunity for growth. Still, once I start any kind of daily grind back home, I know I will ache for the management frustrations, political discourse, and technical difficulties in Chiradzulu. But I miss my
family and friends. Thanksgiving has come and gone and we’re headed straight for Christmas.

I’m starting to feel a twinge of sadness that comes with the bittersweet end of something good. I’m two months from completing my mission and will spend these last eight weeks trying to preserve each moment. My favorite is the 15 minutes of chaos in the morning – people rushing about finding their teams, land cruisers and assignments for the day. It’s an organized madness that I relish. On my rides between Blantyre and Chiradzulu, I stare out the window and try to absorb images like a sponge. I want to remember the piles of fruits and vegetables sold on the side of the road, currently mangoes. Or the bicycles piled high with chickens, eggs, or some other commodity ready for the market. Or the children and their wide-eyed curiosity at the Mzungu in the white land cruiser. Meanwhile the landscape is turning green. Maize fields are showing their sprouts. I’m preparing the job profile for the next data manager. The cycle continues.