The Ripple Effect
He is wearing bright yellow and is intimidatingly tall, but his smile is warm and he has kind eyes.
He is standing with a tiny girl in a rainbow dress. She obviously trusts him. I decide I will, too.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me kindly.
“I’m collecting stories.” I answer.
“Oh! Can I tell you my story?” he asks.
I’m honored to oblige.
Before Davies can remember, his father died of malaria. When he was 13, he lost his mother to the same disease. He was the oldest of four and was left to care for his younger siblings. He worked as a fisherman to earn money for food. “Life is hard here.” he tells me. “I was so sad when my mother died. But my story is common. You just keep going.”
He is now in his late 30s, has three children of his own, and is also caring for his niece. The day we meet, we are at Kapanda Community Day Secondary School, standing on the sidelines of the football pitch, halfheartedly watching the game as we chat. He is nearing the end of his studies to become a secondary school teacher in biology and agriculture. At Kapanda, a school built by Ripple Africa, he is doing his final practicum.
I ask Davies what he loves about teaching and he tells me that there is nothing quite like watching a student master something you’ve taught. He believes that agriculture and biology are particularly important subjects, especially here. He talks passionately about how vital it is that people here understand the problems facing Malawi and work to find solutions. In particular, we talk about the lack of jobs available after college. Education here is no guarantee of work in your studied field. But despite the problems he sees, he feels hopeful about the future. There likely won’t be a job for him when he finishes his studies, but he will volunteer to teach agriculture here because there is no one else. He wants to help his community, whether he is paid or not.
He started his teaching journey at the preschool level and has an obvious love for children. As we talk, which we do for two hours, various students come and go, and it’s clear they feel at ease with him. Hannah and her friend Glory tell me a little about themselves. Hannah and I share excitement about having the same name. I teach them the word palindrome. Hannah wants to be a heart surgeon. It’s a big dream. There are very few women who practice medicine in Malawi and getting into one of the few medical schools here won’t be easy. Glory wants to be a singer. On a big stage, she tells me. They sing me a spiritual, and for a moment I think my heart will burst with longing that both young women will see their dreams will come true. I urge them not to give up.
Davies doesn’t work for Ripple Africa, and he knows very little about it. But the ripple effect applies. I imagine all the steps each of us has taken to find ourselves standing together on the sidelines of this football pitch, in this small village so far from my home. As we part, Davies asks if I like art.
From his pocket, he pulls a worn piece of paper with a beautiful drawing on it. “I want you to have it.” he says. I fight the urge to cry. I’m not typically one for mementos. But I will cherish it.
We’ll likely not see each other again, Davies and I, but now we are a part of each other’s stories, and what a beautiful thing that is.
