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Writers' Circle What with writing letters every week, and the efforts to produce a monthly news-letter, it seemed the natural thing to join with others interested in writing. So, every Tuesday we take turns to host a writers' evening - providing food, and a convivial place to discuss words. Originally there were four of us: Kris, Bob, Tim and myself, but Tim has since returned to UK. I didn't really know Tim or Bob, and they seemed such extroverts that I was surprised they had a quieter side - a writers voice, as it were. A writer's voice they had though: with tales of restless travelling, or explorations of the self (!). Kris writes poems - good ones - though I struggle at their meaning sometimes. At first, reading out aloud was a very nervous affair - so was cooking for three relative strangers - but now we are easy in each others company, and I feel we all benefit from constructive criticism of words or ideas. So far the evenings have been famous for glorious cordon bleu cooking - at least at the other homes - and a tendency for our discussions to trail away from the confines of the art of writing: I mean, do you know the true meaning of democracy? On Tuesdays, that's where you'll find me, talking of "...inexorable winding bends..." and such like, with my bestest voice. Levitico and Friends There's this small group of young men, that have befriended us - I'm going to call them Levitico & friends. We see them at the weekends, and sometimes during the week - we ask of each others day, or just play. They are Levitico, Roderick and Raymond. They're keen footballers; they skip; they dance to reggae; and they fool around. I like them! Levitico speaks good English, and has this impish grin that is difficult to resist. I have visited his home in the township; we've giving food - we've received (modest) food back; and he's made us our very own Galimoto (wire-framed car), that are all the rage with Blantyre's young. Roderick lives above us - or rather works above us, as a house boy. I practise my Chichewa with him, and he his English with me. He has such a friendly nature, and is so pleased of our company that we cannot fail to enjoy his company too. Raymond - the Malawi wide boy, as Rachel likes to call him - is also genuine in his affection for us. He barges in, announces his arrival - a quick chat, and then he's gone (upstairs to visit Roderick). We don't always see them together, we don't always have much to say; but when we have fun, WE HAVE FUN: Rachel, myself, Levitico & friends! N'Jala Bwana! So yeah! With so many beggars here you learn to live with the hassle. When they say: "N'Jala Bwana!" (hungry boss!) you shrug or shake your head, you probably don't even make eye contact - just walk by! So when you go to town to buy food, and they say: "Give me money", you lie and tell 'em "Ndilibe dalama!" (I don't have any money.) At first the lie hurts you, fills you with guilt; but after time, you don't even blink. And when you're miles from anywhere, and when you smile to the kids, and when they reply: "Give me ten Tambala!", you start to seethe inside - why do they always want want want? You start to think of replies, put-downs: "Give ME ten Tambala!", or "I gave at the office!", or "Chifukwa chiani?" (why?) or simply "NO!"; or any damn thing... you just can't give to everyone. And if you give to one, they ask again to someone else. The Give-Me cycle keeps turning, keeps these people from learning to earn and not take. And it gets me mad... 
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