Roundup herbicide means GMO maize

We delayed our departure from Mchinji because Julia, that business lady who took us to Ndawambe Village, asked us to wait for her so that she could accompany us to Lilongwe.  Julia said she needed to buy farm inputs and leave with her workers for her maize field near Kamwendo.

So, we spent the waiting time first at the St Andrews Hotel reading newspapers and later at the Shabeen eating chips mayaya and drinking the latest beer in the world. 

“Where did you get this?” Jean-Philippe asked the barman as soon as he sipped the latest beer in the world.

“My uncle sent us five six-packs from Scotland just to test them out here,” the barman said.

“This is deadly!”

“It is tastier than Kadansana but more prestigious!”

“Prestigious?  Yes. But at 65 percent  alcohol, this is real Armageddon!”

Jean-Philippe asked the barman to give him the remainder of the pack.  We went to sit under the shade of  mango tree within the Shabeen yard.

“There are certain things, events, and people I don’t understand,” Jean-Philippe began.  “I don’t’ understand how a political party can switch sides in Parliament three times in three hours. And why are Malawians so quiet about it?”

I did not answer him because I knew Amargeddon was working. He then asked me why some Malawian academic analysts and lay commentators made declarative statements about serious issues without citing any research findings.  I still did not answer him. He then asked me why Nalia, that young ever smiling waitress at St Andrews Hotel in Mchinji, sobbed when we bid her au-revoir.

“In training those girls and boys are taught not to over-befriend their clients,” I answered.

“What are you implying?”

“That you were more than a client to her. You sounded like a suitor each time you talked to her.”

“And she took that seriously? Well ‘the tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops’”.

“That must be Samuel Beckett.”

Around 3pm Julia called to find out where we were. I gave her directions to the Shabeen.  Within minutes, she emerged, accompanied by five boys carrying cartons.

“Hi baby!” Jean-Philippe greeted Julia.

“Hi!” Julia answered before whispering to me: “Na imwe, wanzanu wokolwa. What beer is he drinking to look so drunk already?”

“What is in those cartons?” I asked, changing topics.

“This is Harness.  This is Roundup. This is the NK 603 hybrid maize seed,” Julia said as she pulled from the cartons one sample item after another.

“Why do you use Roundup in your maize?” I asked.

“It is recommended in conservation agriculture because you don’t need to weed the maize garden.”

“Sounds good. But do you know that worldwide that herbicide is associated with a lot of negative side effects, including cancers and male impotence?”

“Above all Roundup means the maize itself is Roundup ready,” Jean-Philippe said, dizzily.

“I don’t understand. Nobody has told farmers the side effects of this herbicide,” Julia said.

“The manufacturers of that herbicide have genetically modified their maize seed to withstand their herbicide.”

“In short Roundup means GMO maize.”

“That’s why France and Russia have banned that type of maize!” Jean-Philippe said.