Yesterday the Malawian currency devalued by 50%. It had been artificially high because the previous president, who died 10 days before our arrival, refused to deflate it. The new president took the IMF's recommendation to restart the flow of aid into the country.
I read, the kwacha is no longer pegged to the dollar at 170, it is now closer to the bank rate of 250. The downside is that while it is no longer pegged to the dollar, since yesterday everyone has increased their prices by 50% so that they can get the same dollar's worth of kwacha from every sale.
In the long run, this will be good for the country, but in the short run it's a burden on people whose cost of living quadrupled last year. It's inconvenient for us because our planned overnight at the game park later in the month became unreasonable. But we'll still eat.
And speaking of eating, we've been sick. That didn't take long. It's not clear if we have the same thing, I puked my guts out two nights ago and Tom has had a grumbly tummy for four days. Nancy quoted to me in an email yesterday what my dad must have said to her in about 1986, "This was what you wanted."
We're also back to the friend conundrum, that is, not having any. Tom's colleagues have established lives, and while they've helped us play defense – find a mechanic for our dead car – they haven't helped us play offense – invited us to join them for dinner. We have been good friends to each other, but despite Tom's newfound chocolate soda skills, I'm starting to get extroverted tendencies. Thankfully we connected with an expatriate church on Sunday. I'm hopeful we'll make connections there when we're feeling better.
Lastly, I thank God for the good gift of toast. I've been on a toast kick for the past two months, eschewing any thoughts of the paleo diet. Even if it's hit by inflation, the loaves of brown bread will still be $1.20. It's good bread, and I'm sitting here with three pieces for breakfast: butter and marmalade, peanut butter and honey, and marmite and butter.
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