June 29, 2006

 

Greetings from this side of the world!  All is well here in the village.  I have begun doing some work these past few weeks, which consisted of meeting each of the rural schools in my catchments area (which, of course, implies finding them first!), talking to teachers, greeting village headmen, and basically realizing that there is more to be done than could ever be accomplished in just two years… I have decided to work with eight community-run schools in my vicinity – ranging from five to thirty-something kilometers from my house.  Three of them require me to cross the Lukulu River to reach them…which means I get to load myself and my bike into a dugout canoe to get across!  Fun. Fun.  A few of the schools are in such rural areas that it feels like I am biking through a discovery exclusive on Africa to reach them…it’s breath-taking, and it makes every pedal of the two hour bike ride to get there worth it! 

 

June has been an interesting month for me…I hope you enjoy reading about some of the following experiences of mine…

 

To Be or Not To Be…Sick

 

If I had to give the month of June a theme, I would have to say that it was “the month of ailments”.  At one point I had my first malaria scare – but no worries, my malaria test came back negative and I was (self-)diagnosed with the flu.  I have recently had to add a few more foods to my “things I forbid myself to eat until I return to the States” list.  Among them being Chinese cabbage, a certain type of beans, and more than a handful of fruit in a single day.

 

Also, as a result of my digestive system being on the fritz (I think I’m the first PCV in my group to request a refill of Pepto Bizmol already), it seems that I now mostly fluctuate between extremes in terms of my visits to the icimbusu…If I’m not suffering from explosive diarrhea, I’m constipated for miserable stretches of time.  Just think - there’s only so much nshima you can put into your body before something must come out.  Not too long ago I decided to track my “disposal progress” on my calendar and I went fifteen days without pooping!  As I told a couple of my friends already, when I finally went it felt “like I was giving birth to a hippo out of my ass”!  Not fun.

 

Third Time’s a Charm?

 

I’ve recently had my work permit, which allows me to temporarily work and live in Zambia, extended for the third time.  From what I understand, all of the paperwork and money for my official visa have gone through the appropriate channels, but they (Zambia?) do not have the certain type of paper that is used to print visas on.  So, in the meantime, I have received another thirty-day extension until my actual visa is printed.  Bizarre.

 

Fat vs. Slim

 

One morning I was chatting with Rhodah when I mentioned that I should start eating smaller amounts of nshima so that I could lose weight.  She looked at me and said, “But you look good.  Why do you want to be slim?”  I tried to explain that I would at least feel better if I was healthier, and she said – “Do you think people who look like nails look good?” – Or something like that…Lesson learned.  Zambians don’t think people who look like nails are cute.  At least I don’t have to worry about that one.

 

2006 “Tour De Zambia”

 

About a week ago Rhodah needed to bike to our neighboring village Nkole Mfumu (about 12K away) to talk to the headmaster of their school and to have some maize ground into mealie meal (flour) at the local mill.  She hasn’t much experience riding a bike (in fact, this was her first time to actually ride a bike on a road), so she asked me to accompany her.

 

I didn’t have any plans for the day, so I agreed to go along.  Then she asked if I would carry a 25 kg bag of maize on the back of my bike (that’s about 55 pounds).  At first I was a little annoyed because it was a free day for me and I didn’t necessarily want to spend it lugging maize around…but once we started on our way I immediately dropped the resentment and was glad that I came along.

 

Rhodah was riding on a bike which she borrowed from a fellow teacher and there was something wrong with the seat (“the saddle” according to Rhodah).  Anyway, it kept shifting into a position where it pointed at about a 60 degree angle up into the air!  It looked really painful.  Also, she had her four-month-old baby Mapalo strapped to her back, and he kept sliding around and throwing her off-balance.  Oh, and the bike had only one gear and there are about five major hills between here and there…In short, the typical thirty-minute ride took a little over an hour.  Rhodah had to walk up the hills and she even fell off the bike once (I almost flipped out and wrecked my own bike because I though Mapalo was hurt, but he was fine and so was she – she just sort of tipped over and landed on her knees).

 

At Nkole Mfumu, she visited the school and then we waited in line to have the maize ground…it was getting really hot and I could tell that Rhodah was dreading the return trip home.  The poor thing looked so tired!  Even I was beginning to dread the ride back.  However, while waiting for our mealie meal, Rhodah talked to some high school boys and convinced one to carry her on the back of his bike while the other boy rode her bike for her. They carried her about three-fourths of the way home, so she only had to bike a few kilometers.  She kept going on and on about how tired she was and how she can’t believe that I cycle as much as I do...when we arrived at her place, I unloaded the mealie meal while she went into the house with Mapalo – a few minutes later I went inside to find her sitting spread-eagle on the floor with her shirt off!!  Her eyes were closed and it was obvious that she was exhausted…even Mapalo was seated on the sofa adjacent to her with his shirt off – it was very cute!  I don’t think they’ll be going for another bike ride anytime soon.

 

A Bad Day in the Village

 

The following is an excerpt from my journal on June 21^st:

 

 First, here’s a little background info…Dominic, the head of my house maintenance committee, was scheduled to meet with me on this day to have a look at my roof, which is being devoured by termites and needs to be repaired.  He never showed up…

 

“…What a fiasco!!!  So I decided to walk to Dominic’s to see if he was around (maybe he simply forgot that he would meet me today) and when I got there no only did I find him but he was slobbering drunk!  I was so angry – He was slurring all his words together and could barely stand up.  I asked him why he didn’t come by the house today and he said, “What…no one came by?”  Then I explained: “You were supposed to come by (you stupid drunkard)!”

 

Then I basically told him that if my roof didn’t get fixed and it falls down, then PC is going to take me away from this community and place me somewhere that will provide me with a secure house…yahta, yahta, yahta (my journal doesn’t say that, but you get the picture).  Then, he went into this diatribe where he blamed the community members for not cooperating.  He went on and on and on about how I shouldn’t leave because I am here to do good work for the community and the schools…then he started to talk about how  I should go find people nearby to fix the roof and how I will have to “entice” (his words) them to work for me (at this point he is rubbing his thumbs across he fingers, signifying that I should be ready to pay)…by this time I was livid and I just wanted to get away from him before I lost my temper.

 

I stood up and told him that I expected to have my roof repaired before the end of the month (I was very stern; I was rather impressed with myself).  Then he insisted on walking with me as I turned to leave.  “Great”, I thought (note: I replaced my actual thoughts with the word “great” to make this suitable content for all ages).  So we walked together for about one-half the distance to my house.  All the while he is sputtering and re-hashing all of the same drunken mumbo-jumbo he was telling me at his house…I finally hit my boiling point.  I stopped in the road and told him that I was extremely disappointed in him and the housing committee…yahta, yahta, yahta.  I can’t believe that he was at home getting drunk instead of being a responsible adult…yahta, yahta, yahta.  I figured that since he was drunk there was no telling how much (or how little) he would actually retain from this conversation, so I really told him everything I thought – especially emphasizing how disappointed I was in him.  By the time I finished, I think I had him feeling pretty bad – I definitely killed his buzz.  Then I said good-bye and stomped away.

 

Then, as I am on my way home (fuming about the conversation I just had), I cross paths with a man carrying a big piece of wood.  After some strained conversation (he understands no English whatsoever), I discover that the wood is intended to be a rafter for my house – yes!  Finally, something is going right! – So, this guy accompanies me to my house with the wood.  All the while we try to talk, but be can’t seem to understand anything the other person is saying.  After he puts the wood down and I am shaking his hand, I think he asked to have sex with me!  - What!  Surely I misinterpreted that! – So I asked him to repeat and yes, that’s what I think he said.  This time he added:  “Please, just once, one time.”  I’m thinking – oh my God, this can’t really be happening.  I’m sure he’s probably saying something like:  “Well, here’s your one rafter…I’ll be seeing you” instead of what I thought I heard as: “Can we have sex – just once?  I will come to see you.”  By the way we were having an everlasting handshake and he wouldn’t break eye contact, I was willing to place my bets on the sex offer.

 

At that point, I had to pry my hand away from him and I just said “NO” about ten times while giving him the worst “go straight to Hell” look I could conjure…He left, I went into my house and tapped one of my rafters to knock some termite dirt off of it and the rafter collapsed!  Perfect.  Could this day get any better?!

 

A Good Day in the Village

 

The following is an excerpt from my journal on June 27^th:  

 

Today was my introductory visit to Bwacha Community School, located in Nduta village in the Chanda Mukulu Chiefdom (note:  I live in the Nkole Mfumu Chiefdom).  It is about a two hour bike ride away – which really wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be (I still packed about twice as much water as I actually needed).  The head teacher, who started the school a few years ago and who is also a Church of the Nazarene Pastor met me at the tarmac and escorted me the final 5K or so through the bush to Nduta village.

 

A bunch of the local community members were gathering at the school to meet me, but before we could start the meeting, I was taken to the village headwoman’s house (which was very nearby) to be presented with cassava, ground nuts, oranges, dried fish and a live chicken!  The head teacher, Ba Chishala, explained that this was a Bemba tradition for welcoming a distinguished guest to the village.  With all of the food laid out before me, I was to choose which items I wanted to take home with me as gifts (I could, of course, have everything they were offering, if I wanted to).  I had explained to Ba Chishala earlier that I was a vegetarian, so it was not an issue that I told the head woman “Thank you, but you can keep the chicken and the fish for yourself”.  When a Bemba offers you a chicken, I know that it is a very big deal – it is like the ultimate sign of respect, so it was a wonderful experience.

 

Next, we returned to the school and held a meeting with the community in which I was able to talk about PC and what I am doing here.  I am the first muzungu (white person) ever to visit their village, so everybody was incredibly welcoming and grateful to have me there…This community is really interested in HIV/AIDS awareness and obtaining better access to medicine and healthcare, so I think I have a large task ahead of me as far as this village is concerned.  There were even two teachers from Menga – a community school I will be visiting in July – who attended this meeting because they were so anxious to meet me.

 

After the meeting was over, Ba Chishala took me to see his home and to meet a few of his nine children and his wife.  His wife immediately gave me a bag of dried groundnuts to take home with me.  Ba Chishala explained to me how he is a Bemba originally from Luapula Province and his wife is actually a Nyanja from Malawi…. “The Bembas and the Nyanjas are cousin tribes.  So as you can see, it was very good that I was able to marry my cousin!”…His children (a couple grandchildren, I think) were gathered all around me – staring, of course.  “I will have quite a story to tell them tonight”, he said, “You are the first white person they have ever seen.”  One of his kids, who was probably ten or eleven years old, was suffering from malaria – She looked like death as she was resting beneath a tree outside – but even she came over to greet me and have a look at the Muzungu.

 

Next, we headed back over to the headwoman’s house, where several women were preparing lunch for me and the head teacher (rape ifisashi and maize nshima –it was very good, I ate way too much!).  While we were waiting to be served we had a nice conversation about Witch Doctors!  An elderly woman whose husband had died a few years ago at the hands of a village witch doctor had sat down beside us to talk and that’s what started the conversation.

 

Apparently, there was a man who used to live in the village who was very hateful and jealous of other villagers…it was known that he was a witch doctor and one by one the hard-working men of the village started dying and they, of course, blame this witch doctor for causing the deaths…”So, how does he cause someone to die?  What does he actually do?” I asked.  “He just has to hate someone and they will die”, Ba Chishala said, “He is evil and has the devil in him.”  When I asked where the witch doctor is now, he explained to me that he committed suicide by hanging himself a few years ago…his children were angry with him for being a witch doctor and killing so many husbands and fathers, so they told him that they would beat him – five slashes across the back – each day until he stopped.  Eventually he could no longer stand the beatings, so he killed himself.

 

“But I don’t believe witch doctors really have powers”, Ba Chishala explained, “I am a Christian.”  I think he was glad to hear that I shared his point of view.  So, after lunch we biked to Chanda Mukulu Village to pay a brief visit to one of the teachers there that works closely with Ba Chishala and had visited my house a while back.  We were served boiled groundnuts and sweet potatoes (I was stuffed at this point!) as we waited for the teacher and his wife to arrive.  After a brief chat, we said our goodbyes and headed home.

 

I arrived home around 18:00.  It was just getting dark and cold, and all I could think about was a hot bath.  As I biked up to my house, Bana Chibamba strolled up (this is my lovely neighbor who so eloquently reminds me of how fat I am all the time)…”Ugh, the last thing I need is to deal with her – I’m tired and I just want a bath”, I thought. But then I was completely humbled because she asked for my jerry can of water so that she could heat me some bathing water!... After one of the best hot baths I’ve taken in a long time, I went over to her house to thank her and give some of the cassava I had received from Bwacha Community School earlier in the day.”  Bushiku ulifye bwino saana! (It was a very good day).

 

Well folks, that’s about it for now.  I have been in Zambia for five months now…Wow, it’s still a little surreal for me.  Please keep the letters and packages coming, they mean so much to me!  And THANK YOU for your prayers and support.  Until next time…

 

Shalenipo,

 

Erin (AKA: Elleni, Ellen, Helen, Eileen, and Irene…)

Erin,

Again, I want to thank you for the wonderful entries, about your experiences in Zambia. I know that we should not take things for granted, and hearing what you are going through, is quite and eye opening. There are those that are less fortunate than we here in America. You help us see those things just from sharing it in your journal.

One of may favorites, is that one you posted just recently. Having all sorts of ailments, and you making light of any difficult situations. It is not funny when you are actually experiencing it, but, the aftermath it seems humorous. I hope you don't mind, but, I have shared your site with many of my other friends and relatives. I don't want them to pass up this great opportunity to see what is truly happening out there in the world. Also, to see how we could help.


Mahalo for that journal....

Theresa Manous:)

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