I did actually have a dream and a cardigan, but that’s beside the point. After two weeks of the best kind of exhaustive training, the Malawi and Rwanda teams made our way to Johannesburg where we went our separate ways. Rather than a leisurely layover, though, we had 20 minutes to make it halfway through the airport through various security lines to make the one flight going to Lilongwe that day. No questions asked, we created a buddy system, with some running ahead to scout the lines and plea with security guards to jump to the front and others staying back to relay the message to those held up in the visa line. Some with extra hands took weight off those who had bulky carry-ons. Somewhat winded and still sleep deprived, all 19 of us made it onto the plane, fastened our seat belts and readied ourselves for the start of a new adventure.

The first time I made the journey to Malawi I was alone and had a 24 hour layoverI still remember the image out my window as the plane made its descent onto the landing strip in Blantyre, the commercial hub of Malawi. Hot season was waning, leaving a dusting of burnt brown-orange everywhere you looked. The trees looked as thirsty as the goats grazing nearby, trying their best to find shards of greenery in the shriveled bushes. As my head bounced along with the wheels making contact with the ground, I remember staring at my hands, asking myself a whirlwind of questions, for which I wasn’t sure I had the answers. “Why am I here? Am I ready for this? What could I possibly be adding that is of worth? Do I understand or know what kind of impact I want to make? Did I pack my Cipro? Did I pack enough Cipro?” I’ll give my mother credit because she asked me all of those things repeatedly when I told her I’d be going to Malawi for six months to do field research. While I brushed her worries and questions off as motherly instinct, I realized they were all important and necessary questions I should have given myself space and tools to answer, or at least try to.

Fast forward eight months after my first touchdown in Malawi, I am in New Haven, Connecticut at the Yale University campus with 105 of my new co-fellows, our amazing staff and hard-working interns asking myself the same questions. This time, though, it’s through a series of inspirational speakers like Noerine Kaleeba, Phil Wilson and Mark Schoofs and engagingly introspective sessions led by Still Harbor. While I still don’t have the answers to a lot of those questions, yet, I am armed with a truly global community of leaders and change makers who are at hand to help me answer them. While this is  “round two” in Malawi, the questions are piling on as I face a new city, job and circumstances. So, it is the everyday community that stands out the most. For example, getting a call from my co-fellow checking on me the first time I take the minibuses to work by myself, running into another fellow at the grocery store and losing track of time as we catch up, receiving an exclamatory text when someone sees a courier from Riders for Health, or celebrating each other’s victories via email blasts and texts. My roommates ground me in our nightly kitchen-couch conversations as we laugh and share our frustrations, our Malawian counterparts patiently answer our questions and observations, and our program manager fields our calls while crisscrossing the country to strengthen GHC’s presence in Malawi.

We challenge, support, teach, and learn from one another. Just like our airport dash, we’re running through our year together as a team, helping ease burdens, giving help unasked, laughing while winded, and celebrating each other’s triumphs as we reach the gate. That is community. That is GHC.

 

Group shot of Malawi fellows at Chelsea Piers

 

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