Farmer and children (credit: Bee Wuethrich)

It is the rainy season, and there is no rain. We take the road toward Monkey Bay, and pass a pick-up truck, people wave wildly. The driver stops the car; it is Justice and Eddie who have jumped out of the pick-up, and who run toward us. “Forgive me if I am tired today,” Justice says as he settles into the back seat. “I returned this morning at 3:00 a.m. from a funeral in my home village.” His cousin’s daughter, four years old, dead of malaria.

We drive. Through Mangochi, past the Hotchkiss gun, across the Shire River bridge, and wind up the hills west of Lake Malawi, long and dusty. Dustier still the dirt road that branches off, abandoning thoughts of trade with Mozambique to cross a plateau crisp with brown dry leaves and shriveled ears of maize.

It is nearing harvest time, the hungry season, when last year’s stores of food are running out, cash is short, and it is not yet time to bring in the harvest. It is like being on an ocean with nothing to drink, these endless fields of drought-plagued maize.

According to recent newspaper reports, people are beginning to eat seed processed for planting—fumigated with chemicals to protect it from insects. And they are selling the fertilizer purchased with vouchers to raise cash to buy food.

“I bought my mother a sack of maize for 2000 kwacha,” a man tells me. “It is a 100 percent increase in price.”

Then, look at this. The farmer leads us through his village, over rutted roads. Green in an ocean of brown whispering leaves. We see a field of maize taller and greener than the rest. An abundance of big cobs jutting off of each strong stalk. The farmer has planted a different seed than his neighbors, an improved drought resistant variety. He sells the seed in his village store to farmers who travel miles on foot or bicycle. Most farmers purchase it with vouchers issued by the government. It is known as “Champale” or poundable, the hard outer kernel lends itself to be ground into maize flour, and its yield is 30 percent higher than the local variety. As the farmer shows off his field, his family gathers, many of his 14 sons and daughters. They are smiling, his wife give us a thumbs up.

Demonstration plot (credit: Bee Wuethrich)

The seed farm that grows this improved seed sold 50,000 packets this past year—enough to feed an additional 150,000 people. They sold it through a network of 29 agro-dealers, spread out across a region that encompasses one million people.

One of those agro-dealers used his income to buy a car, so that he could distribute the seed to another three outlets. The route took him half a day and covered some 30 kilometers. Before the start of the growing season, he sold 2,000 sacks of seed.

“I know the people,” he says. “This area is where my home is. I want to assist. That is why I spend my money on fuel. In other areas there is drought. But in my area, because the farmers got the seeds early, they are going to survive.”

For now, success in Malawi’s green revolution is measured in survival.

Editor’s Note: This story was reported in March 2008.