Thressa Loga (L) and Rachel Mhango say plump or thin, Malawian women should love their bodies the way God made them

“I like your shirt,” I say to a student after her visit to the jhr office at the Malawi Institute of Journalism.

“Thanks,” she says with a smile as she leaves, “you are fat.”

Later when the subject came up again, I tried futilely to explain to her that in North America and most Western cultures, being called “fat” is a negative thing and that most women want to be smaller in size than they are.

“Do men in your country only like thin girls?” I pause for a moment on this valid question and answer truthfully that they don’t. “Men like women of all sizes, just like here,” I say.

“So who told you to be thin?” she asks, confused. “Your President?” At this I couldn’t help but laugh but I stopped short when I realized my response was equally as ridiculous.

“The models…” I said unsurely.

But this student is just one of many young women in Malawi who are slowly being exposed to a different kind of body image. The pro-thin message coming from Western media, music videos and celebrity culture contradicts traditional values which encourage women to be fat to attract a husband, ensure safer childbearing and represent a perceived cultural femininity.

Almost immediately after arriving, my figure was openly discussed among the women I met. “You would make a proper Malawian woman” my former landlord approved, “Malawian men like their women fat.”

I quickly noticed that the younger generation is torn between traditional and foreign influences.

“I diet” Thandie Karrot, 18, tells me, “I skip breakfast and lunch so I won’t get fat.” But Karrot completes the dialogue she has been taught and adds, “it’s okay to be fat, people shouldn’t try to change their size, they should just live.”

All of the women I spoke to more or less agreed that you should love yourself the way God made you and they encourage acceptance of all sizes. But most of them have at some point dieted or exercised to alter their weight.

“There is no difference between Malawian women and Western women” says Rachel Mhango, 27. She admits that neither culture has found a way to accept varying body sizes.

When I asked for examples of ideal body types no one said Kate Moss or one of the Olsen twins, rather, Beyonce and Jennifer Lopez were the names that came up—women who they classified as “average sized.”

And if the ‘great fat woman’ rhetoric is partially because it’s what women believe Malawian men want, this idea is slowly dying as well.

“With the changing times men are starting to accept different sizes,” Mhango reasons. “It all depends on what somebody finds desirable.”

I can’t help but notice that women the world over are defining what men want instead of accepting the reality that men have always, and will always, like women of all colours, shapes and sizes.

In truth, perhaps these idealized body sizes have nothing to do with what men want. There are no men, models or presidents telling us to be a certain size. As women, we are our own worst enemy.

“It all has to do with acceptance” Mhango, a slim woman herself who faced teasing because of her size. “If God created you to be fat or thin, that’s the way you are, you just have to accept it.” She pauses for a moment and sits up straight, “God created me the way I am. I am beautiful.”

“Is it true,” a journalism student asks me, “that if [a source] doesn’t want to comment we can say that we will just write whatever we want to?”

In my first week at the Malawi Institute of Journalism (MIJ), I was eager to assess students’ skill levels. I asked them each to read an article I clipped from local newspapers and identify what they would have changed or kept the same.

Most said they wouldn’t change anything. Remarking on an article about an underage rape victim, one student said he would have included the name of the victim while another student said he would have noted whether the victim contracted HIV/AIDS.

At these observations, alarm bells went off in my head. I knew journalism ethics were something we were going to have to address.

Just last week in conversation with a senior student, I held up the Malawi Code of Ethics and asked her if she had ever seen it before. “No” she admitted. She’s set to graduate next year along with the many journalism students in Malawi who don’t fully grasp media ethics.

I quickly realized that like my fellow interns who’ve witnessed chequebook journalism or seen reporters fabricating quotes, most students I work with are unaware of—or indifferent to—proper journalism ethics.

Evidently, it’s a problem not only among inexperienced journalism students but accomplished reporters as well. A lack of journalism ethics is a problem that has poisoned the Malawian press and it starts in the country’s journalism schools.

A few weeks ago, outspoken local human rights activist Rafiq Hajat, revealed that one of the national daily newspapers quoted him in a story he hadn’t even been spoken to for. He chuckled as he explained that the reporter insisted he knew Hajat would have said something like that anyway. Unfortunately, with occurrences such as these, he admits that the “standard of journalism [ethics] in Malawi seems to be very shallow.”

With experienced journalists using dubious reporting practices, journalism schools are left to curb the bad habits learned by their predecessors. If change will occur in Malawian media, it will start in journalism schools where ethics need to be enforced and where young journalists need to learn the value of responsible reporting.

Last week as I edited an article written by an MIJ student, I asked him to rework an unclear sentence that summarized one of his interviews. After establishing that he didn’t record any direct quotes from the source, he ponders my advice and then says, “I can rearrange it and make it a quote.”

I realize as I correct him that there may be journalists in the country who know better. But perhaps many are like these young students who are attracted by the thrill and the chase of journalism but lack the training to go about their stories ethically.

I now understand that having an impact on the press doesn’t only mean helping students produce stories about human rights abuses. While that’s a valid goal, there is equal value in helping students gather the knowledge and skills to produce ethical journalism, which is the first and perhaps most necessary step to producing effective rights media.

I’m still apprehensive to release these students into the murky waters of Malawian journalism. For my own peace of mind I will arm them with the Malawi Code of Ethics and a portfolio of accurately quoted, well-researched, objective articles to light their way.

Telecom and Zainifer have been at the Blantyre Kennel for seven months, waiting to be adopted

“Stay away from dogs in Africa. They will bite you. You will get rabies. And you will die.” Sensible words of warning from Journalists for Human Rights’ travel doctor, appropriately named Dr. Wise.

Eyes wide, I jot down “NO PETTING DOGS” in big bold letters in my notebook. Simple enough, I thought. However, my resolve to not go near dogs during my stay in Malawi didn’t last very long. When I arrived in Blantyre I was immediately drawn to all the stray dogs roaming the city.

I try to keep my distance from the rabid dogs with sad eyes that follow me in the streets. But generally, I find myself drawn to these defenceless creatures. They find me when I’m at outdoor restaurants, the beach, the bar…just about everywhere. “Amy, stop petting dogs!” fellow jhr interns scold me as I mutter a pathetic apology.

The reality is that in a country that struggles with human rights abuses, animal rights are a low priority. But up against widespread cultural apathy, political hurdles and a lack of resources, the newly-formed Blantyre branch of the SPCA and a few local animal lovers are doing their best to create awareness about animal rights issues.

Curious about official protection for animals in Malawi, I meet with a local lawyer, Noel Chalamanda, who confirms my suspicion: there’s no specific legislation for the protection of animals. There is a single provision, Section 343, in the Malawian Penal Code that deems unlawfully killing or injuring animals an offence and possible felony. Mostly though, minor offences, such as maltreatment of animals and carrying chickens tied by their feet upside-down, are regulated by city bylaws. Chalamanda explains that these offences are technically “forbidden, but they are just bylaws.”

Brown K. Soko grooming a puppy at Blantyre Kennels

“Sure, the city bylaws are there,” says Dr. Kholiwe Mkandawire. She’s a local veterinarian, outspoken animal rights activist and the Chairman for the Animal Welfare Committee of South Regional Malawi. “But they aren’t being [implemented],” she adds.

Enforcement remains a major challenge, which is why the SPCA hopes to establish a coalition with the Blantyre Police, City Assembly and the Malawi Veterinarian Association to create an authority to actively seek out and eliminate animal abuses.

“At first people thought it was a joke when I started speaking about animal rights,” Dr. Kandawire admits. And understandably so. “Bear in mind,” a spokesperson for SPCA notes, “that people don’t have enough to eat, never mind dogs.”

Despite that, there is a longstanding history of efforts to improve animal welfare in Malawi. Brown K. Soko has worked at the Blantyre Kennels since 1967. He now runs the kennel alone with his son, taking in stray dogs and feeding them food purchased with the meagre salary he makes from his dog grooming business.

Some dogs, such as Simba, a five-year resident of Blantyre Kennels, have been abused and have a tendency toward violent behaviour, which means they will not likely be adopted and will probably spend the rest of their lives in Brown’s care.

When asked why he continues to take in dogs, Brown responds with a casual smile and says, “because I love animals. No one else takes in strays; there is nowhere they can go.” A former employee of the SPCA in Salisbury, in formerly named Southern Rhodesia, Brown returned to Malawi in 1963 and committed his life to protecting and caring for animals.

The SPCA in Blantyre is admittedly off to a “slow start, but it’s better than doing nothing at all.”  If the SPCA can form a coalition that holds some real authority, I’m hopeful that animal rights awareness will take hold in Malawi. And maybe a few dogs will even be adopted from Blantyre Kennels. If you’re interested visiting, you’ll likely find me there, petting the pups.

“1,500 kwacha,” says the man in the market as we examine a second-hand tank top, which he priced at $10 CAD. I’ve avoided the market for most of my two months here, knowing that my bartering skills are lacking and not wishing to haggle over used clothing.

jhr crew in Malawi's Limbe market

“Those are not the actual prices,” I say firmly, “those are mzungu prices,” referring to the term used to describe foreigners in Malawi. I know t-shirts typically sell for K50 to K100 (approx. $0.35 to $0.70 CAD). I am not at all ready for his response: he laughs at me. A knowing look and laughter that indicates we both know his prices are unreasonable.

“It’s not funny,” I snap. But he won’t lower his prices—probably because he can tell my friend really wants the top or because I insulted him. Either way, after some soul-searching and deep breaths we swallow our pride and return to the vendor, finally paying him K850 ($5.50 CAD). As I watched the bills being handed over, I know we’re being ripped off.

“It’s not really that much money,” my friend says as I sulk. “You would pay way more for this at home.” Perhaps that’s true, but as I tell her, “it’s the principal of it.”

It’s the same principal I couldn’t let go of a few weeks ago as I climbed into the back of a minibus in Zomba, a town about 65 kilometres outside of Blantyre. I sat down, and as my friend followed in behind me, I flipped down the seat in front of me for her. The conductor shouted that she should squeeze into the back row with me, so he could fit another passenger in the car to earn an extra fare. “No, four is too many,” I responded, referring to a local law that prohibits more than three to a bench.

Minibus travelling

But the conductor wasn’t having it. He flipped open the trunk of the minibus and directed a young man to climb over the seat. “THIS IS AGAINST MALAWIAN LAW!” I shouted futilely as the bus erupted in laughter at my outburst. I wasn’t sure why that was funny but I shoved over to let the man sit down.

As simple and inexpensive I may find these predicaments, I can’t help but care about those lost kwachas and the three-to-a-seat rule. Not just because I like my money or my space, but because rules matter. I like rules. I like price tags and generally agreed-upon worth. I like laws that were created for my transportation safety. After all, “it’s the principal of it.”

But some rules aren’t easy to enforce here in Malawi because another kind of rulebook has taken precedence—the kinds of rules that a society learns through trial and error. These are rules that govern how Malawians get from one day to the next. The kind of rules an alien such as me would not (and often do not) understand.

Requesting too much money for a tank top that the mzungu girls have their eye on is acceptable. It’s a rule that has been culturally learned because Westerners with their government-funded programs and NGOs generally bring money to Malawi.

Squeezing in as many people as is humanly (and sometimes not quite-so-humanly) possible in a minibus that ends up feeling like a clown car with way too many people, goats, and chickens stuffed in is acceptable. It’s a rule that decides it would be economically stupid for the minibus to leave the bus park before it is completely full.

As frustrating as this new rulebook can be, it’s useful to remember that things are often the way they are for a reason. Right or wrong, social rules often hold more weight than those in ink. But I still prefer price tags.

Last week I narrowly escaped a deadly encounter with a minibus. The last words I would have read would have been “Fear God” in flashing blue on the hood of the car. Do you think it means something that I almost got run over by the fear of God?

My close call with the "Fear God" minibus

Minibuses aren’t the only sources of religious verbiage, what appears to be God’s sticker-graffiti army has plastered the city with amusing slogans such as “This car is protected by the blood of Jesus” and “Jesus Never Fails.”  As you drive through the Malawian countryside, passing villages outside of Blantyre, you can’t help but chuckle at the “Let God Be God Tailoring Shop” or “Jesus is My Boss Mini Shop and Restaurant.”

Earlier this week after a successful meeting with journalism students at the Polytechnic University of Malawi, we thanked the students for their time and interest in jhr and began to pack up our stuff. “Since Malawi is a God-fearing nation,” the professor piped up, “you won’t mind if we close this meeting with a prayer.” After we nod in dumb agreement, a prayer closes the meeting and the students file out the door.

After nearly two months in Malawi, we realize that this process is pretty standard. Upon meeting our coworkers, questions pertaining to our religious affiliations were almost immediate and we were promptly invited to attend several church services. As a Christian, I admit I feel rather comforted by the prayers that open and close editorial meetings each morning at most Malawian media houses.

Curious about statistics on religion in Malawi I was shocked to discover that 80 percent of Malawians claim affiliations to Christianity, only slightly more than Canada’s own 77 percent. But with only a three percent difference between Canada and Malawi’s Christian population, I have to wonder where Canadian Christian enthusiasm has gone? Has our focus on “cultural sensitivity” and “political correctness” silenced the voices of religious Canadians or have we collectively accepted that religion is a private matter?

As far as anyone can tell, Christianity first came to Malawi in 1859 when Dr. David Livingstone reached Lake Malawi via the Shire River. A slew of Christian churches followed Livingstone and Malawi was subsequently “mission-ized.” Religion became an all-encompassing social norm that trickled into political and economic practices.

"Jesus Is My Boss Mini Shop and Restaurant" Photo courtesy of Rebecca Jacobson

In 1992 the Roman Catholic Church exercised its power in making the unprecedented move to publically criticize the government in a widely distributed pastoral letter which noted that the “monopoly of mass media and censorship prevent the expression of dissenting views [and] some people have paid dearly for their political opinions.”

The government attempted to muzzle and slander the Catholic priests that were involved but the damage was already done. Several other churches followed suit and subsequently made huge strides for freedom of expression.

Not long after this episode, a political upheaval resulted in the introduction of a multi-party system and the sense of excitement for journalistic freedom that Jika Nkolokosa, the Acting Executive Director at MIJ (Malawi Institute of Journalism), describes in an earlier blog, Political Fascination in Malawi.

But with enormous social power, religious institutions also have the burden of social responsibility. The concept of the separation of church and state go back at least as far as 1802 and since then there has been serious debate as to the presence of religious associations in a political context. In Malawi, the church’s social influence both directly and indirectly affects political activity and for now the debate seems stifled, if existent.

With blatant displays of the church’s reach through messages of God flashing at me from the minibus to the newspaper stand, I’d like to explain to the Malawian sticker-graffiti army that I already had a healthy fear of God, now I fear minibuses.

God Bless.

“Is there anything further to discuss?” the Chairman of the editorial meeting asks. “Of course there is,” I think to myself. The conversation in the editorial board meeting follows a similar routine – after stories from yesterday have been rehashed and stories for today have been pitched, discussions on lack of resources always trickles in. Yesterday it was airtime (prepaid minutes to use the phone), the day before that it was computers and days before those it was a myriad of other challenges. Today the problem is a lack of recorders prohibiting reporters from completing documentaries. A few completed documentaries sit and wait for fear that there will be no resources to fill up their timeslot in the following weeks. Reporters also fear that successfully completing documentaries would mean rejection from the Board to buy new recorders as it would appear they are not needed.

Conversations like these are standard in editorial meetings at Malawian media houses. Often they turn into negotiations for airtime, recorders, cameras, batteries and transport fees.

Lack of resources often results in unmotivated and uninteresting journalism. Minimal airtime often means that only one source is contacted, resulting in an unbalanced story, while scarce Internet access and other resources make finding contacts for possible sources challenging. Some media houses do not have a car or have little or no compensation for transportation subsidies. However, lazy journalism is not confined to African media institutions with limited funds.

In Canada perhaps the opposite is true. With our company BlackBerries, we have the Internet and a world of resources at our fingertips and yet journalists will write complete stories perched at their office desks. To get any stories done in Malawi, journalists are forced to seek out sources and information on the ground. Sources are found through word-of-mouth, phone numbers are acquired through mutual contacts and interviews are held in person.

At the Malawi Institute of Journalism (MIJ), students are expected to provide their own recorders and cameras but with tuition at K95,000 (approx $650 CAD) per semester for a Certificate program, few students can afford to provide their own equipment. So when students wander into the jhr office at MIJ and explain they need a recorder, camera, Internet access, or money for photocopying and printing, I hesitate. I haven’t used my digital recorder once since I’ve been here and it’s sitting in my bag. It would be so simple to just hand it over for the day. “I’m sorry” I say, “I can’t do that.”

I explained that I’ve been to media houses here and I know for a fact that there aren’t enough recorders and other resources to go around. “What will you do when you’re graduated and working there?” I asked. So we discussed some possible solutions. “Get creative!” I cried as they giggled.

I know that in the near future, the bright students here at MIJ will be sitting in those editorial meetings where lack of resources is a primary concern. It’s my hope that they’ll understand that they can’t just give up on a story because they’ve hit a wall, financially or otherwise.