For the Warm Heart.

To Malawi: For rain storms on tin roofs that leave one deaf. For sima patties that fill me like I’ve never been filled. For friends in the village and in Peace Corps that I love more than I thought I ever could. For establishing a heartfelt appreciation in me for beers that are cold. For walks that are filled to the brim with goats, cows, and all their waste. For bicycle taxis and their surprisingly luxurious cushions. For jungle oats cooked over a fire. For bucket baths that leave me sparkling. For the delight of filtering rain water to drink. For the satisfaction of getting and receiving notes through chief’s daughters on bicycles. For the time to read more than I ever have before. For knowing what home truly is. For strangers that are automatically friendly and kind. For truck rides that not only blow your hair back, but almost inflate individual strands with air. For views of some of the most beautiful and comforting mountains I have ever seen. For losing my sense of time. For tailors who take and then sew sketches of dream dresses. For satchets of almost intolerable alcohol. For crazy African cats. For an expansive and beautiful lake. For hair extensions and the styles and fashions they bring. For coffee made over a fire. For bicycle rides to nowhere. For women’s groups that start meeting on their own. For tea rooms that hold and feed you. For guitars played at harry’s. For Sunday night site-mate dinners. For murals painted and spray painted. For chiefs who tell you ‘you will never know what you mean to me.’ For women who tell you nothing is impossible. For all the seeds saved and planted. For women’s centers actually being built. For free hitches and free lunches. For tang and vodka. For always knowing I am invited to my neighbors for any meal. For the satisfaction taken after eating oily chips. For dancing. For the embarrassment dancing can bring. For beers coupled with tears. For sitting at kiboko with red wine that matches the pillows. For meetings that go well. For postal boxes full of package slips. For signs suddenly appearing everywhere with the word ‘Remixed’ in them. For ‘Development Remixed’ offices. For Rocket Tea. For ESJO nursery school, that remixes child development. For kids to share spaghetti with. For cold cokes. For strange Malawian snacks. For meeting presidents and slipping them notes. For long weird Malawian ghost stories. For bridges built I know will not last. For relationships I know will last. For everyone who cared and loved from so far away. For lentil babies. For impossible mountainous bike rides. For limericks in text messages. And for cementing in me that there are times when being in love with the world is worth it. For cementing in me that I am so in love with the world. For cementing in me that there are times when the world might even give you love back. For all of this and more, Malawi, I thank you.