Part of The PRESS...

We arrived home to Malawi a week ago. The road from Thyolo to Makwasa had deteriorated significantly since we left on leave, taking over 45 mins for the usual 25 minute commute. But just days after coming home, an intense work began to fill the potholes, widen the road, and scrape off the mud and rocks in an effort to smooth out the incredibly bumpy road. We passed dump trucks and men with shovels working late into the night, only recognizable at a distance from their glowing pants and vests.  Was our road finally getting fixed? And if it was, what was the sudden rush?

The rusty sign communicating “Malamulo Mission” and “Come Again” were getting a fresh coat of paint. We had been wondering how to get this done since arriving at the mission 3 years ago. The barrier was being painted, the cracks in the sidewalks at the hospital were being repaired. New signs were being erected on the campus. There was a general make over going on at Malamulo and I was wondering what on earth was happening!?

“President Dr Joyce Banda is coming to Malamulo!” announced my husband (after hearing of the news at work).  Suddenly the road patching and sign painting made sense. Suddenly I wished the road was still pot-holed, so the President would see how bad it really was. Suddenly, I was wishing for a mega rain storm to wash out the patch job and create craters too large for a Landcruiser, or Hummer to glide over…

The Malawian President was coming to Malamulo to tour the hospital and cheer the sick patients on the wards.

The thought crossed my mind, “maybe the boys and I could stand outside our gate and wave to her as her convoy passed to the hospital. Maybe she would have her window down and wave back.”

Tuesday morning came around. Our hospital CEO, Jason Blanchard had mentioned he would like it if I could take a few pictures of the event for the hospital records. I imagined standing behind the flame tree snapping a few shots from the distance as President Banda arrived.

I splashed on makeup, donned a dress and combed my hair. Thoko, our boys and I started to walk to the hospital. Benson asked, “Will we see Army guys?” but before he could take a breath an entire truck of soldiers whizzed by us. “Cool” he muttered. Huddy just chuckled.

Blantyre Adventists’ CEO, Kirby Kasinga picked us up and drove us through the gate. Red carpet was laid out awaiting Her Excellency’s arrival. Nurses, students, medical staff and others were gathered at the front of the hospital eager for the proceedings to begin. We found a place to stand towards the back of the crowd.  My phone rang, it was Jason Blanchard. “Shar, meet me at the stairs. I got you a Press pass.”

Jason introduced me to the press agents for the President. They handed me a badge, “Official Press”. The gentleman told me, “With this pass, you may take your pictures. You can move around freely.” I looked at Jason who just raised his eyebrows and smirked.  I felt like a paparazzi impostor as I pinned the badge to my dress. I hovered around the man who had handed it to me, but he kept urging me away, “you may move around” he kept stating. So that’s what I did. For the hour and half before Her Excellency arrived I snapped pictures of the setup, trying to capture the mood as dozens of dignitaries greeted each other with handshakes and smiles.

The delegation appointed to greet the President took their place on the red carpet. The noise began escalating outside the gate, and sirens were approaching. It was go time. My Press buddy grabbed my elbow, “let’s move”. We pushed to the front of the red carpet. The President’s convoy entered the gate. The Press began jostling for position.  I realized, if I was to get those pictures Mr Blanchard had asked me to capture, I had to vie for position in the Press frenzy, elbow for elbow, nudge for nudge, shot for shot. I leaned on the back of an experienced photographer, willing my camera into position, hoping to obtain at least one focused picture of the important moments.

As the President Dr Joyce Banda exited her vehicle, a slew of secret service agents descended on the carpet, ushering her forward. Bodyguards seemed to drop out of the sky and the movement was rapid.  It seemed like only seconds passed and the red carpet entrance was over. I apologized to the photographer in front of me for practically riding on his back down the red carpet. The head of the President’s protocol was sharp, and controlled the press and speed of the event. I learned quickly to watch him for cues of where we were supposed to be and when we were supposed to leave. Perhaps experienced press don’t mind being a nuisance, lingering for the last and best shot, dusting off the disapproving look from the head of Protocol. But not me. I was too careful, feeling the weight and responsibility of the official “Press” badge that sat on my chest.

The hospital was at attention.  Doctors (including my own husband) and nurses waited in line at the general ward. The choir sang and their voices echoed down the archway corridors as the President approached. Eeesh! The lighting was bad! My heart started racing. My little built-in flash was struggling to keep up with the external mega flashes on my Press competitor’s cameras.  ‘Keep shooting’ I encouraged myself. Bumping and pushing from each side, cameras being hoisted in front of my face, the head of Protocol sweeping the party forward, and I kept thinking, ‘don’t flub it up! Don’t miss the handshakes!’ I moved the camera up and down trying to get the best lighting. I edged forward, gripping my camera, pressing the button with vigor.  The introductions concluded and the party was proceeding with haste down the ward. A burly bodyguard crossed in front of me, and blocked my path into the ward room where Ryan was presenting patients to The President.

‘I’m out of the room. I can’t believe it!’  I tapped the large bodyguard on the shoulder and presented my Press badge. “Er, excuse me Sir,” I started…”I’d like to get into the room…” he moved to the side and I squeezed by him, relieved to have an opportunity to photograph the President on her first patient visit of the day.

                                       
 (Dr Hayton was excited to share with The President about the PAACS program to train Malawian Dr's to be surgeons)

By Maternity ward, I had secured a favorable position for photographing Her Excellency with the patients and staff. I started to breathe a little easier. The lighting improved and the speed at which the party was moving had slowed. I even enjoyed watching The President interact with our patients and staff, often sharing a joke or smile with those on the wards. I thought she was particularly gracious as she talked with the patients and staff, humored in one room as Dr Shank pointed out that discussions about family planning were under way with one patient who had just delivered her 6^th child.

As I was listening to the President talking with our staff and patients, I momentarily forgot that I was 'Press'. Suddenly I realized the party was getting ready to move again, and the head of Protocol was staring at me, trying to get my attention and speak with his steely eyes, “get out! We’re on the move in 3,2,1…” ‘right’, on the move again. I popped out into the hallway, falling behind the main Press again…

                                           (Dr Shank informing about the LEEP procedures)

The women’s center wrapped up the President’s visit. While it was particularly difficult to shoot in the overcrowded spaces on the tour, I managed to get a good enough position to photograph the main events. But as we departed the last room, the head of Protocol swooped over and snatched my Press badge from my dress. I immediately thought, “I’ve done something wrong!” But soon realized that was the end of the tour, and my day as the official Press of Malawi had come to an end.

I was no longer allowed to walk with the party up the corridor to the President’s car. I sauntered in the background behind the soldiers and poked my head and camera out one of the arches and waved to Her Excellency as her land cruiser rolled away.

In a glorious whirlwind, my day as part of the ‘official Press’ for Malawi was over. I was back to being a stay at home Mom of 3 boys. Back to being a housewife, hostess, t-shirt and jean wearing nobody. And I decided, that is that way I like it.