Phalombe

A girl in the Phalombe (PA-lom-bay) district is the same as any other girl anywhere around the world. She has two legs, arms, eyes, ears. She is curious. She is interested. And she is eager to learn, grow, and become the best version of herself. The thing that sets her apart; the thing that puts her at a disadvantage; the thing that makes her journey different right from the start is that she was born in Phalombe. 

After the rainy season, Phalombe is vibrantly verdant. Maize (corn) sways and shushes in the afternoon breeze. An

enormous mountain shrouded in trees, bushes, and flowers, Mount Mulanje, rises like a great protector and shades the homes and villages below. Dwellings that border the road are modest: they have roofs made of tin held down with bricks and large rocks, and there are one or maybe two rooms. They contain no furniture. But they are impeccably swept, and everything looks tidy. 

Philip Morris purchases a great deal of inventory from subsistence farmers here. Tobacco plants number even
greater than maize. The people harvest and dry small amounts of tobacco and sell it to an intermediary for pennies, who then combines the bounty from the small farmers into larger lots. Those then are sold to another middle-man, and finally, at some point, the tobacco ends up in the lit end of a cigarette where a guy in the US sparks up his Marlboro Red.

The girls in Phalombe are the daughters of these origin-crop farmers. The farmers who are fortunate if, at the end of this process, they have two pennies to rub together. They are the ones who must choose between feeding their family or sending their daughter to school.  Right here is the quintessential poverty dilemma: existence vs. education. Survival today vs. generational escape. The choice is clear, and we would all do the same: feed the hunger.

The girls AGE Africa supports in Phalombe are of this ilk. Without radical support, they won’t go to school. It’s far, it costs money, you must purchase a uniform, and if you are in school, you are not earning money to help cultivate that tobacco. The reasons NOT to go are numerous and valid.

And yet, these circumstances do not quell the burning fire of humanity within the beating heart of each kid. The curiosity for knowledge is insatiable, and it is precisely at this juncture that we find the nexus where AGE Africa changes lives.

The scholars on AGE Africa Scholarships wake at 4:00 AM to walk 12 miles, EACH WAY! These girls are the epitome of determination and are most deserving. And they are quite literally the least resourced of anyone on this planet. It is here today, seeing this part of the world, so very different from my own, that I discover deep satisfaction and honor to be in a position to connect you with them. It’s powerful.

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There were a few things during the time of COVID that were better than either before or after. No traffic on the road. Hours of puzzle time guilt-free. Maybe, for some, ready-made cocktail delivery. And the sound of birds chirping each morning, unobstructed by the grinding noise of delivery trucks and early commuters. I loved it. Laying in bed being woken by the sounds of Mother Nature— like being a kid at camp in the north woods or something.

My bedroom room here in Blantyre has a window that looks out into a small yard with a few sprawling trees. (Yes, there is a screen to keep the mosquitoes out… but there is a hole in the screen, so there’s that. But I do sleep ensconced in netting as a second layer of protection and slathered in bug repellant as a third!) Anyhow, at exactly 4:00 AM the birds of Malawi commence their song. It’s bold and it’s unabashed. They call to one another, and they respond. They pause and wait for a reply and then they answer in return. I can’t imagine shouting my early-morning innermost thoughts out into the universe. (I’d likely be put into some sort of padded room! Ha!) But these sopranos of the sky are putting it all out there. An early alarm, that’s for sure.

I’ve downloaded an app in an attempt to figure out who is calling me to rise so very early in the morning. But I haven’t quite figured it out. Maybe a whippoorwill?  But I’m no ornithologist. I’ve asked a few of the folks who live here, and they think it’s funny that I wonder about such a thing. To them, it’s just the sound of the morning; I don’t think they even notice the morning sonata. They are just getting up and getting ready for work!

Click here to hear!