.eleven years ago in Malawi.

NOTE: I found this in my drafts, never published. I wrote it a year ago. I landed in Malawi on December 1st, 2011. This is the distant memory of my first day.  

Eleven years ago today, I was in Lilongwe, Malawi. It was my second in the country, but my first full day. I arrived on a Friday afternoon, delirious from the 37 hours of travel, the heat, and the confusion. It honestly felt like a fever dream. I landed in Johannesburg and somehow arrived at the gate for my connecting flight to Lilongwe. There were no announcements. I just stood and waited and watched as the departure time got closer. I wondered if I had misunderstood something or if my gate had changed. For my flight leaving New York, I boarded 30 mins before the plane was to depart, but not here, 20 mins till departure - still not call, ten minutes...five, then right at the time of departure, they began to board the plane. With only a year and a half in the states, I had already forgotten the ambiguity of being abroad.

I landed in Lilongwe, stunned by the flat red soil. Was it real? I staggered off the flight in Lilongwe, the airport in the country's capital was unassuming. A gentleman asked me if I was Aricia. I would later realize that Malawians often switch the l and r. I would become Arisha. 

I said yes, and he guided me to baggage, and there I found two other men and a frizzy hair chain-smoking Brit named Irene waiting for me. They grabbed my bag and put me in the Peace Corps car. I held my breath as they drove on the wrong side of the road with Irene talking a mile a minute. I had no idea what she was saying. At one point, she mentioned Madonna and motioned to a field with a pile of bricks - talking about school and fake promises. Bicycles were everywhere. One man riding a bike with what looked like flat tires and a dead goat strapped on the top bike rack gyrating up and down with every bump. I don't know if I even said a word. She pulled out a stack of money. Telling me she could count money by measuring the height. I got two small stacks for two weeks.

They took me to the hotel with a metal green gate and a guard. I arrived on a Friday and would be here until training on Monday. She left quickly and said she'd come for me in a few days. I found my room, a tiny brick room in the back of the hostel, infested with mosquitos with a small window that opened to the little plot where the workers washed and dried the sheets. I sat on the bed, hungry, confused, exhausted, and sweating, listening to the loud Chichewa spoken outside my window. I drifted to sleep, not waking until the next day - confused, exhilarated, and anxious. 

Eleven years, it still feels like a dream.