In Central Malawi, serious food shortages are devastating life in villages like Gwengwe, leading to malnutrition, disease and even death.

On a recent visit to Gwenge, WFP spokesperson Richard Lee found that without large amounts of food aid, millions of people face a bleak future.

Gwengwe , July 15 - On a ridge overlooking the village of Gwengwe lies a field of graves. A few of them are old, concrete-covered tombs. The rest - row upon row upon of them - are mostly unmarked mounds of fresh earth.

Over 70 people were buried in Gwengwe's hastily expanded cemetery in the first four months of this year. Most were men. All were victims of the district's severe food crisis.

Madyawako Lepu lost her husband in March, burying him - like so many others - in the new graveyard up on the hill.

"We had no food at all and eventually my husband started to swell," Madyawako said, cradling the youngest of her seven children in her arms.

"In desperation, we started eating banana roots and other wild plants, which we had never eaten before. But it was not enough to save my husband."

His death left Madyawako with an extended family of 12 to feed.

FOOD AID

Usually, after the harvest, she would have a granary-full of maize and pumpkins to fall back on but not this year. Due to her husband's illness, Madyawako was forced to spend most of her time looking for work rather than tending to their small farm - leaving the family with no homegrown maize to rely on.

We have been surviving on pumpkin leaves and maize husks for the past three months and the situation is getting worse
Madyawako Lepue

Like many other women in Gwengwe, Madyawako does receive a small amount of food aid once per month from St Joseph's Health Clinic - an arduous two-hour walk from the village.

WFP provides the supplementary food ration that is intended for Madyawako and her malnourished daughter, Tiphetsa. However, it is shared out among all of her children and grandchildren and usually lasts no longer than three days.

For the rest of the month, Madyawako sells firewood to feed her family, leaving before dawn and returning just before dark. Occasionally, she earns enough to buy some maize but most of the time it barely pays for a small portion of maize husks.

"We have been surviving on pumpkin leaves and maize husks for the past three months and the situation is getting worse," Madyawako said.

"I have already sold my only goat and even some of my underwear. Now I have nothing left to sell and I'm worried about what will happen if we don't get more help."

BAD HARVEST

All of Gwengwe's 2,000 inhabitants, even those who did manage to harvest something this year, echo this view.

"In the past, we have grown enough to fill two ox-carts," said Serneja Chiguli, lowering a basket full of maize to the ground.

"But this year was terrible and we have only harvested enough to fill two of these baskets. It will soon be finished and then we will have to rely on casual work to survive."

Like the other farmers in Gwengwe, Serenja blamed a combination of factors for her bad harvest, including poor rains, lack of fertiliser and the debilitating effects of hunger.

Others were forced to pick their maize too early or even to eat their stock of seeds.

"I was fortunate because I kept enough seeds to plant," said 77-year old Zakeyo Mose, standing next to a mat full of maize corns drying in the sun. "But the maize is much smaller than usual and it will not last beyond September."

THEFT

And having food in Gwengwe brings its own problems. Theft was threatening to tear the usually close-knit society apart.

Zakeyo and his wife, Kate, lost a large chunk of their maize crop as well as all their chickens to thieves. They did catch one of the culprits, but he escaped and fled the village. If he had not, his punishment would have been severe. At the very least it would have been a hefty fine, at worst a serious beating with a whip or metal bar.

"People went mad," said Zakeyo, a former soldier and miner.

"They were stealing from each other and digging up each others crops. It's never been like that here in the village before. It was terrible. And with all the people dying, it felt like a war."

Meanwhile, the elderly couple also have to deal with another agonising dilemma - begging.

With so little food in the village, many villagers approach them in desperation, pleading for help. But there is no way that they can provide for everyone, even though three of their children have already left for Malawi's capital Lilongwe in search of work.

"Lots of people come here and beg and it is very difficult to say no when women come with crying babies," said Kate. "But I also have a family to feed. So sometimes I say yes and sometimes I say no, but it is always a hard decision. I cannot remember it ever being this bad."

TRADITIONS

Wandering among the graves, the village's three sub chiefs stressed just how catastrophic the first few months of the year had been.

Pointing out where six members of one family had been buried, the chiefs added that the village had been forced to ignore long-established customs because of the numbers of people dying.

I am very worried about the village during the coming months. And what about me, will I even be here in 2003?
Madyawako

Contrary to tradition, people were sometimes buried on the same day, while in a few cases two people were buried in the same grave because the villagers did not have the energy to dig two.

Other traditions have also been affected. So far the village has witnessed no weddings or similar ceremonies at all this year because there is simply no food to spare for celebrations.

"This is even worse than 1949," said sub chief Bowa Gwengwe.

"Things were cheaper then so people could survive. Today people have nothing - no money, no fertilizer, nothing. I am very worried about the village during the coming months. And what about me, will I even be here in 2003?"

COPING MECHANISMS

The answer depends on whether or not enough food aid arrives.

After two bad harvests in the past two years, the people of Gwengwe have exhausted most of their coping mechanisms. They have already sold almost all their possessions and have already resorted to eating wild plants and banana roots.

A few have turned to theft; others have left the village in search of work. And by September, the harvest will run out and an already serious situation will become critical once again.

"Sometimes my children sit outside and cry from hunger," said Madyawako Lepu. "Sometimes they put a pan on the fire as if expecting me to cook. I tell them there is nothing. After that all I can do is sit there helplessly and watch them cry."

And unless food supplies arrive in the next few months, the people in Gwengwe will once again be able to do little but sit around helplessly and watch their loved ones die.