Welcome to my online journal.
*Click on the "archived posts" link to the left to view past entries
We received the following letter from Erin on May 22, 2006:
Muli Shani Bonse? I have just returned to my village after spending some time in Kasama taking care of some paperwork (I'll go into details later). It actually feels good to be back. I wouldn't call it "home sweet home" just yet, but it does feel like I'm beginning to create a place for myself here. Upon returning to my village, I was glad to find that my hut was not robbed (not that theft was a serious concern, but it's always a possibility. Plus, it was my 1st time away). However, upon inspection of my house I found termite dirt EVERYWHERE, the cat's bag of kapenta (sardine-like fish) was full of roaches, and I killed a couple FAT daddy long leg spiders. I then picked up my cat from my friend Rhodah's and proceeded to get a tweezers and remove a large, swollen tick from the back of his neck... FYI: my official count of ticks that I've removed from my own body is now up to 5.
Well, not a whole lot has happened recently, but I do have a few stories to tell... Enjoy!
Illegal Alien Status
Okay, so after sitting and staring at the heading "illegal alien status" for about 5 minutes, I've decided that it's probably not in my best interest to post this story on the world wide web for all to see. So instead, I'm going to relay to you some information that I may or may not have completely made up concerning some occurrences that probably didn't (but maybe could have possibly) happen(ed)...
So, let's say that - hypothetically - there is a person working in a foreign country. This person has a temporary work permit (visa) which authorizes him/her to be in that country for 3 months. Afer his/her initial 3 months in-country, this person is required to renew his/her work permit so that he/she will be able to remain in that country for the remainder of time that he/she plans to work there (for this completely fictional scenario, let's just say that he/she plans to stick around for... maybe 2 years)...
Well, let's say that the expiration date of that work permit comes and goes, but the immigration office isn't able to grant an extension because certain paperwork may or may not have gone through on time (due to no fault of the totally made-up person we are talking about)... Wouldn't that be a funny situation? And, wouldn't it be even funnier if this person was hypothetically (of course) told that he/she was forbidden to move about town because on the crazy off-chance that if he/she were approached by a government official and asked to display his/her passport, this person could have been detained in a foreign jail? And wouldn't it be stinking hilarious if this person was then told that if this absolutely fabricated scenario actually did transpire that there is nothing that this person's own country - the embassy or the organization that he/she may or may not work for - could do for him/her???
Wow, that sounds a little stressful and ridiculous. Good thing this was a completely fictional account of what could or could not have happened in some undisclosed country! ... Note: my work permit has recently been extended and I am authorized to stay in Zambia for the time being (since we happen to be on the topic of work permits).
My 1st Run-in With The Law
As I was returning home from Kasama the other day (April 29), I was about 1 hour into my 3 hour (55 km) bike ride when the following incident occurred...
I was cycling on the right-hand side of the road (which I often do) because I prefer to see oncoming traffic heading toward me rather than trusting the people behind me to look out for me. (Cultural Note: Zambians drive on the left-hand side of the road.) So, whenever a car is coming toward me, I simply move into the left-hand lane where I belong. Well, on this particular day a car was approaching so I moved over to the left lane. As soon as the vehicle had passed, I began to merge back into the right-hand lane and I almost cycled right into a truck that was passing me on the right! It scared the shit out of me because vehicles usually honk ALL the time here (rather obnoxiously too, I'll add), so it's pretty impossible for one to sneak up on you. (In retrospect, I probably heard the vehicle coming up behind me but misinterpreted it for the sound of the other vehicle headed toward me... Anyway, I digress). So, I got some seriously dirty looks and I'm sure I got called a few choice Bemba names by the occupants of that truck for almost side-swiping them with my bike.
Well, about 100 meters down the road, the truck stops and I see a passenger or 2 getting out of the back. So, I speed up and try to pass them as quickly as possible - I was already embarrassed enough as it was, so there was no need to coast by and let them gauk at me... As I'm passing, several people yell from the truck: "Stop! Madam, stop! Stop!" I didn't even hesitate, but kept going as fast as I could and pretended that I didn't hear them (I'm getting good at ignoring certain villagers when I'm on my bike - I just pretend that I'm really struggling)... Besides, what was going to happen if I stopped? I didn't want a confrontation (or worse, to get my bike stolen).
So, about another couple 100 meters down the road, that vehicle shows up AGAIN - this time is pulls up alongside of me and people are yelling at me: "Stop!" Honestly, I was getting a little freaked out and after about 10 seconds of keeping pace with this truck and everyone yelling "Stop!" at me, I finally looked over and yelled "Why?" Then a Zambian in the back wearing a dark khaki overcoat and a green beret stood up and said: "Because I am Zambian police! I said stop!"
So I stopped... and so did the truck.
The police officer dismounted from the back of the vehicle and stomped over to me with his "Now listen here, stupid foreigner!" face on. (I was imagining smoke billowing out of his ears and little red flames reflecting in his eyes)... What proceeded to happen next was I received a 5-minute griping out for riding my bike on the wrong side of the road. "Where are you from?!" - "America" - "Well in Americal you follow American rules, you understand me?! In Zambia, you follow Zambian rules, you understand me?! You could have caused an accident and your family could have lost you... or I would have been forced to write you a ticket, you understand me?!" (I understood he was being a condescending asshole on a power trip, but I bit my tongue and took the entire lecture like a good PC Volunteer). I even got a little spit on my face as he leaned in to explain the difference between left and right to me... When he was finally out of steam, he climbed back in the truck and they took off. I waited until they were completely out of sight before crossing over to the left-hand side of the road & continuing my journey home.
Now that I think about it, it probably wasn't the best idea to have an altercation with the Zambian police when my visa is technically expired and I only have a temporary extension... Good thing he didn't ask to see my passport!
A Candid Sex Conversation
*The following content is rated PG-13 and may not be appropriate for all ages.
A few days ago I was sitting down talking to my friend Rhodah, her mom, and her friend, when the topic of conversation made an unexpected turn from "Why I have to filter my water" to "The differences between sex in America and Zambia" (Call me crazy, but I just didn't see it coming.)
We briefly discussed shaving customs, and although I was already aware of the fact that Zambians will shave each other before sex, I found out that if a woman (at any point in the marriage) wants to shave herself, she must have her husband's permission first. Otherwise, he has the right to assume that she has been unfaithful (and that another man has shaved her) and he can get divorced.
It's also considered a law that a woman must "dance" during sex... This "dancing" during sex consists of a particular way of wiggling and circling the hips. (Yes - I've been shown how to dance. No - not by having sex with Zambians... I just wanted to clear that up!) Anyway, if a Zambian woman doesn't dance during sex (or in Rhodah's words, "if she lays like a log") then the husband is legally entitled to a divorce!
Then - and I had a feeling that the conversation would inevitably go here - we talked about our labias. Everyone was SHOCKED that I haven't stretched my labia. So all the women are staring at me and I already have this uncomfortable feeling that they are mentally undressing me, trying to imagine what I must look lilke beneath my chitenge, when Rhodah's mother asked me point blank, "So how long is yours? Mine is this long..." And she lifts up her hand and measures off a few inches on one of her fingers. As much as I was trying to be open-minded and not get embarrassed, I could feel myself turning read... "Well?" She said. They were all staring at me, waiting for a response. "I don't know." I said, and I thought, "Holy moly, if they ask me to show them my labia, I am out of here!!!"
I went on to try to explain to them how women in America will actually have cosmetic surgery to remove excess labia skin (I had ironically just read an article about that in a magazine), but I don't think any of them believed me.
Finally, before a girl gets married (maybe the night or even weeks before the wedding), she is sat down by her mother (and probably also her grandmother and aunts) and is lectured on everything a "good" Zambian wife should know - from cooking to cleaning to how to properly have sex, etc. When I told Rhodah that we don't traditionally have a sit-down meeting like that in the US, she said, "then how do you know what to do?" - "We just know from talking and learning over the years... Plus, people don't usually openly discuss sex with their mothers and grandmothers in America." Rhodah then said, "So you women just lay there like logs?" - "Well, some do. Some don't..." I could feel my face turning red again. (I can be so immature sometimes... I was trying not to giggle.) ... "Some will dance just the same as you do," I went on to explain, "it's just not taught to us the same way that you are taught." I felt like I was bumbling myself through the entire conversation and not making a whole lot of sense to them. I'm sure I simply confirmed their belief that American women must be lame in bed...
Okay, well until next time - THANK YOU for all of your thoughts, prayers, and continuous support! Those of you who have sent letters and packages - Thank you, thank you, thank you for remembering me... I love and miss all of you!
Shalenipo,
Erin
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