Welcome to my online journal.
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Erin's formal employer, Global Impact, has recently published one of Erin's journal entries in their newsletter. Please go to www.charity.org to see the article! (It is located in the "Blogs from the Field" section at the bottom of the page.)
November 24, 2006
Hello everybody! I am in town celebrating Thanksgiving with the rest of the Peace Corps volunteers… Well, well, well, so much has happened since last I wrote! I have just completed a 5-week stay in the bush, which is quite an achievement… Most volunteers will come to town at least once a month or so. So, needless to say, it’s a pleasant change to have access to a phone, post office, grocery store, etc.
Over the past month and a half, almost all of
Finally, I’d like to inform everyone that I am now an official member of the PMPC- That’s the Pooped My Pants Club! Regardless of what you might be thinking, it’s not a very glamorous story, so I’ll spare you the details… You have plenty to read in the following sections. Enjoy! J
2006 Presidential Elections
It was on September 28 that Zambians all over the country turned out to vote. Elections happen every 5 years here, and this year actually marked a record voter turnout for
Although violence wasn’t necessarily expected, PC has to anticipate all possibilities- which mean that for the entire week following the elections all volunteers were ordered to remain in their villages and be prepared to consolidate with other volunteers in their province on short notice, just in case violence ensued throughout the country… Well, thankfully there were no major uprisings or political/military coups threatening to challenge the government. However, the elections weren’t completely without drama. Mwanawasa was declared the new president with only 43% of the popular vote, and within hours there were protests in
Well, within a week or so the dust from the elections had settled, cries of scandal faded, and most Zambians went back to their daily routines… And that, my friends, is my version of the 2006 Zambian Presidential Elections.
Just Another Day At Bwacha
My trips to
I brought my camera (luckily!), and so I tried to take as many photos as possible throughout the day… And let me tell you, villagers love having their pictures taken. As soon as they see the camera appear in my hand, they are all smiles (even though they never smile for the actual photos… it’s a cultural thing). Several women made comments about how they would’ve put on nicer clothes if they’d known I was coming by. One old grandma was sitting outside her nsaka, topless, eating nshima when we arrived… She put on a shirt and headscarf for her photo- I was not about to protest! (FYI: This grandma and her husband are the “trustees” of the village, which from what I understand, means that they are very well-respected and they perform all of the local wedding ceremonies).
I was escorted around by Ba Passmore and Ba Matthews (the local health extension volunteer and PTA member). At certain points Ba Passmore had to walk his bike because he had no brakes (which I remember noticing during one of my previous visits). I asked him about the brakes, and he said he’s wanting to buy some in the future… He had bought the bike from a man who was looking to buy some pigs, and (take note guys!) the going rate for a bike without brakes is 2 pigs. Sounds like a deal to me. J
I gracefully fell off my bike at one point when we were going down a particularly difficult path. Ba Matthews and I had a good laugh… Especially since my safety helmet was strapped to my bike rack at the time. (Note: If you are an employee of the US Peace Corps and you are gasping and reaching for the phone to call my supervisors, I just want to state that I may have just made that last (very not funny) part about not wearing my helmet up for the purposes of this website entry. J)… Each family that I visited was compelled to give me food to take home with me, in accordance with Bemba tradition. So, by the time I left I had accumulated a 50kg sack full of sweet potatoes, dried groundnuts, oranges, 3 giant lemons, and 4 fresh eggs.
Now, let me tell you about these fabulous lemons- They were unlike any I’d ever seen before… They were the size of cantaloupes (literally), and when you cut into them, there is about 3-4 inches of meat (just like a melon) that tastes just like a lemon… It’s really good! We ate one of them just before lunch. At the center is juice and seeds, as if a typical lemon is buried inside.
We ended up taking way more time visiting Sunday village than we’d anticipated. In fact, we didn’t even have lunch until almost
I remember that there was one time on the ride home when this huge bug landed on my cheek (just below my right eye) and simply sat there. I wanted to reach up and knock it away, but I was completely exhausted, and I couldn’t see anything, and I was afraid that the act of removing my hand from the handlebars (even for a split second) would mess up my balance… Thus resulting in a painful bike wreck, and no one would find me until the next morning- bloody, unconscious, and covered in mosquito bites and smashed eggs. So, I left the bug there, assuming that he’d simply fly away after a few seconds… I bet we cycled for at least 5 minutes together!! At that point I took my chances and brushed it away. (FYI: I survived.)
Zambian Independence Day
“Ms. E. Wolf, You are cordially invited to come and attend the 42nd independence celebrations on
“Zambian Independence Day. This is considered an official holiday for PCVs, so I know that a lot of volunteers travel on this day or go do something with other PCVs because it doesn’t count against our vacation days, but I wouldn’t have wanted (nor would I recommend) to spend it anywhere other than in the village.
Festivities were supposed to begin at
The events started with each of the grades grouping up and parading to the football pitch (along with their respective teachers) singing a song. The songs were in Bemba, but I was able to decipher that they all had something to do with
Next, Ba Chikonde (the deputy head teacher) made the opening remarks and thanked everyone for coming or participating. Ba Musonda then gave a brief speech, and I was even asked to get up and say a few words… I was totally unprepared because I had no idea I’d be asked to speak, so I said something along the lines of: “Thank you for inviting me today. This is my very 1st Independence Day in
Next, the entire school sang the national anthem in Bemba (which was a 1st for me). For the next hour or so the drums were played and the different classes wrapped chitenges around their waists and performed traditional dances and songs. There were even a few short poems and drama sketches that were performed. Then the official Mwelwa drama group came out and did some really great singing and dancing for everyone.
Next, it was time for games… There was a “dressing competition”, where 4 or 5 boys wearing only an undershirt and shorts, raced to see who could get dressed the fastest. They had to put on their trousers, button-down shirt, belt, tie, socks, and shoes. Then they were inspected by the judge (Rhodah) to ensure that all buttons were fastened, the tie was tied properly, no belt loops were skipped, etc. Stanley (the boy who stays with Rhodah and is also a good friend of mine) competed, but he didn’t win.
There was also an “eating competition”, where 3 boys each knelt before a bowl that was filled with cassava mealie meal (flour) with a biscuit (cookie) buried at the bottom. The goal was to be the 1st person to blow all of the flour out of the bowl, then pick up the biscuit with their mouth and place it on the judges’ table… The crowd loved it, and they erupted with shouting and laughter as soon as the whistle was blown! When it was over, the 3 boys’ faces were completely covered with the mealie meal, and they were as white as ghosts… I have some great photos- I think this was everyone’s favorite game. J
Finally, there was a “modeling competition”, where about 5 boys and 5 girls put on a fashion show in which they modeled office wear, casual wear, and traditional wear (there was also a sports wear category, but it was knocked out because the whole thing was taking too long- The models strutted along very slowly as they showed off their outfits). There was even a pseudo-catwalk that was created by sprinkling mealie meal along the ground to form lanes that they had to walk within. (It looked a bit like the chalked lines of a baseball field). After it was over, the top 3 male and female winners were named Mr./Miss Independence, 1st Prince/Princess, and 2nd Prince/Princess… It was like the Zam equivalent of being named prom or homecoming king/queen, I suppose. Many people were unsatisfied with the results, since both of the teachers’ sons were crowned Mr. Independence and 1st Prince…
This was followed by a lunch break, which mean that there was homemade munkoyo for everyone (this is the village version of a soft drink… let me tell you, it tastes like dirt! Pepsie would go broke if they ever bottled this concoction). All of the “invited guests” were taken to Ba Musonda’s House, where he served nshima, beans, and some unidentified bush meat.
After the lunch break, everyone joined back together to watch an afternoon of football and netball games. By
The Meeting From Hell
I’m about to give you a really good example of a really bad day… I don’t intend to make light of the extremely important work that you folks are doing in the States, but maybe this story will make you think twice before going on a rampage when your computer is being slow.
It all took place a few weeks ago. First of all, when I was running that morning I came across a dead goat in the road that must have been hit by a vehicle. There were 5 or 6 women standing around it, along with some children. I think they were trying to figure out what to do with it… This may have had something to do with the fact that the goat happened to be right in front of the Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall, which I believe forbids the eating (& even handling?) of dead animals that weren’t slaughtered specifically for eating. Regardless, I should have taken that whole dead goat thing as a sign that this day was not going to be fun.
I started off around
When I got to the school (finally) nobody greeted me… In fact, everyone just stared blankly at me. The head teacher who had asked me to come was nowhere to be seen, and I was starting to wonder if I was at the right place on the right day… After only 20 minutes of waiting in awkward self-consciousness (that was an extremely sarcastic ‘only’), the head teacher showed up and we started the community meeting.
I didn’t know what was on the agenda or what specifically they wanted me to talk about, they’d just told me to come. I assumed the head teacher would at least brief me on what would be going on and give me a heads-up on what to say. Nope… The meeting began with a prayer and brief introductions, and then they handed the floor over to me. I felt like an idiot. I reverted to talking about Peace Corps and the type of work I’m doing here, the importance of HIV Awareness, etc… My whole introductory spiel. Then… (if I could go back in time to that day, this is the exact moment where I would reach into my bag, apply sunscreen, and bolt out the door)… I asked if there were any questions. This is where it all started falling apart.
“What have you brought us?” “How can you assist us with new desks for the school?” “Can you get the Ministry of Education to increase our grant?” “Can you give our teachers money for teachers’ college?” “What about fertilizer- we need fertilizer!” It was like a bad dream. I kept stating and re-stating that I did not come to hand out money, but instead to help the community in other ways- by sharing information, skills, ideas, and so on. That’s when about ½ of the group started laughing- literally laughing- at me, like the whole Peace Corps program was a ridiculous joke and they couldn’t believe this was for real. (Oh, and there were over 40 people at the meeting. I had to get a head count once the laughing began.)
“What about orphans- Can you assist us with money to help care for the orphans?” I said something like, “No, but I can help the village come up with ways to support the orphans… Like maybe you could have a community vegetable garden that would help pay for their school fees.” It was as if no one in the room heard what I’d just said. “Well, we can give you a list of the orphans’ names and maybe you can take it to town and find donors to assist them?” No! At this point I had to have been visibly upset. I was so irritated that I thought I would begin shaking. I stood up and spoke very seriously and slowly, trying to make direct eye contact with as many people as possible. “I do not bring money, and I will not search for donors to just give you money. I am here because I want to help this community help itself.
Then, this one jerk (Note: That’s not what I called him in my head that day) who had already asked 2 or 3 questions said, “So you won’t give us any money… Can you assist us with seeds?” That was it- I’d had it! I mentally checked out of the meeting at that point.
When the meeting finally came to an end, I went outside to find my front bike tire to be completely flat… Figures, I thought. I was shuffled to a nearby house to have lunch with the teachers, and afterwards they helped me patch my tire. I could tell that the patch wasn’t molding to the tube the way it was supposed to, and I suggested that we use some more glue or let it sit in the sun a bit longer, but the head teacher insisted it was fine… My tire was flat by the time I got hom.
To top this whole fine day off, it had been scorching hot all afternoon, and somewhere in the midst of my trying to justify my presence in
Note: Each section of this journal entry is taken chronologically from my personal journal. If a section seems random, it is because it is placed in the order in which it occurred.
Fresh From The Farm
In a conversation with Daniel, Rhodah’s new boyfriend, he told me that when he was in school, boys would sit around watching the girls walk by and say, “Do you think she’s fresh from the farm?” (Meaning, is she a virgin?) If they thought that she probably was not a virgin, they’d say, “No, she looks too dry.” This means that she doesn’t have that youthful look in her skin. (Specifically her face)
Daniel then asked me, “Are you fresh from the farm?” That caught me a little off-guard, but I told him that way my own personal business… to which he responded, “Well, if it is so personal, then you must not be very fresh.” Ha!
The New Kid On The Block… Again
So, as many of you may already know, I shifted to a new village recently (Note: In Africa- or at least
My house is a short walk from the
So why did I shift to a new village? Well, as far as my work is concerned, I was biking to this area 2-3 times a week (between 4-5 hours, roundtrip), and it just makes more sense to live within and among the communities I am most involved with. On a personal level, I simply never felt completely at ease with the people of Mwelwa village. Not that they did anything wrong (well… stealing from me was wrong, but that only happened 3 times- okay, 4 times if you count when someone took my toilet paper from the icimbusu). Mostly, I never felt a sense of “home” there, and to be honest, I don’t think a lot of the people of Mwelwa have even realized that I’ve moved- seriously. I was at Mwelwa to speak to a teacher a few days ago and a villager asked me, “Where were you yesterday?” Yesterday? Don’t you mean “where have you been for the past 2 weeks?”
So, enough about the old place. What matters is that I am staying in Safwa now and I love it! This kind of life is what I had in mind when I arrived in
Other than my roof leaking so badly on the 1st night it rained that my entire bed- sheets, mattress, pillow, everything!- was drenched, almost every experience here thus far has been a positive one. J I am surrounded by budding mango trees (They are everywhere… It’s like living in the middle of a mango orchard), banana trees, orange trees, and even some popo trees, which I think are papaya. The scenery is beautiful, the people are friendly, and I’m looking forward to being here awhile.
The Male Nurse
I recently went to the local clinic to introduce myself and see how I can get involved wit health-related activities in the area. When I arrived (completely un-announced), the head nurse was gone, so I sat down to speak with the volunteer who was managing the clinic for the day.
After the standard greetings and some small talk, I finally asked when would be a good time to return so I could speak to the person in charge… “Oh, the male nurse is in Kasama and will return tomorrow.” -“Is this the man I should talk to about getting involved with the clinic?” I asked… “Yes. His name is Mr. Siame, and he is a male nurse.” –“So he’s also the head nurse here?” –“Yes. You can talk to the male nurse when he returns tomorrow.” I suppressed a smirk. Male nurses must be so rare here that it’s an unspoken rule that you have to refer to them as the male nurse at all times.
When I returned to my village, I was talking with my neighbor about what I’d done that day, mentioning that I’d stopped by the clinic… “Oh. Did you talk to the male nurse?” He asked. I smiled and told him that he was away for the day. “Well, I think the male nurse is coming to this village for the Under 5 clinic. You can meet the male nurse then.”
A few days later at the Under 5 clinic, I finally met the illustrious male nurse (and by this time, trust me, I’d come up with so many “Meet the Parents” jokes, I was about to burst)… “Hello, madam. I am Mr. Siame, the male nurse.” I could not believe that he actually refers to himself that way! I wanted to badly say something –anything- funny about his title, but instead I said, “So… you are a male nurse. Where did you go to nursing school?” He pulled a small laminated ID card out of his back pocket and handed it to me. Along with all of his official school information, there were 3 simple pieces of data that happened to be listed, each 1 above the other that specifically caught my attention: Leonard Siame, Male, Nurse.
How To Make An African Fridge (Part 1)
The following is an excerpt from my journal about my recent experience of making an African fridge- A traditional clay pot that can be used for storing water (it keeps the water really cold). It’s a specialized craft that is usually passed down from generation to generation. Few people still know how to make them, so I am extremely fortunate to have come across someone (Mary Katongo) who not only can make them, but was willing to take me through the entire process, step by step.
October 6: So today we only completed the 1st stage in making an African fridge- getting the clay. There is a certain type of soil that can only be found at a few particular spots near the
Mary had borrowed a Zam bike from her brother. The bike had no brakes, and there was something wrong with the chain where it was constantly falling off (about once every 5-10 min). So, for every downhill slope she had to get off and walk the bike and everywhere else the chain would simply fall off. Also, she kept complaining that she could not ride well with shoes on (Huh… and I thought it had something to do with the lack of working bike parts), so the majority of the trip she biked barefoot.
From her house to our end destination (her sister’s house), it took about 2 hours. The entire way we used these super-narrow bush paths- the kind that are about 10 inches wide and sunken into the ground, so if you’re not paying scrupulous attention at all times, your pedals will hit the earth or ridges or stumps or whatever else along the sides of the path and almost throw you off your bike. I’m surprised I even have any pedals left because I took a few hard hits today. I really beat the hell out of my bike.
So a lot of the trip was through charred fields that had recently been cleared and burnt. We even passed a huge tree trunk laying on its side that was still smoking. When we arrived at the Chambeshi there was only a very small dugout canoe available for us to cross with. There were 2 girls about my age who were at the riverbank wringing water out of the little suitcase they were sharing. I assume it was dumped in the water when they were crossing. I did not take that as a good sign, and it did not ease my nerves as my bike was hoisted into the canoe and paddled across the river… Mary and I (and our bikes) safely arrived on the other side, where she soon showed me where the special clay can be found. Her sister had already collected some for us, so we simply proceeded to her house.
At the sister’s house, we gathered in the nsaka and chatted. It was a really windy day and dust/dirt was flying everywhere. They showed me a few sample African fridges- They’re beautiful! I can’t wait to make one!- Then they took 1 of them and smashed it on the ground (like a pumpkin). Mary gathered up the pieces and explained to me that when making a new pot, you must 1st pound up an old pot and incorporate that dust/dirt into the new soil… So, the pieces of this broken pot will be used for us to make our new pots. I was temped to crack a “What came 1st- the pot or the soil?” joke, but I knew my humor would get lost in translation (if there was really any humor there to begin with).
We ate roasted groundnuts and cooked sweet potatoes… Her family speaks about as much English as I speak Bemba. So, there was a lot of helping each other out, but in the end I think we were able to communicate rather well. We talked about
One of Mary’s brothers arrived and asked what I knew about stones. Stones? I was confused. It took awhile before I finally understood what he was getting at. He had come across (what he believed to be) some emeralds on his land, and he wanted to sell them. But apparently, the only way he could do this is illegally- like a covert black market deal. A mining license is incredibly expensive, and that’s the only way he could sell them legitimately to a jewel company… Anyway, I guess he wanted to know if I had any advice or knew of someone who could help him out (because I obviously have the look of someone who frequently deals with black market jewel smuggling). Actually, the thought of buying an emerald for myself naturally crossed my mind, but he thought the gems were worth something around Zkw 25 million (USD $6,000)- slightly out of my price range!
After some more chatting, some banging on the drums and watching the children dance, some picture-taking (which they loved), and some lunch, it was time to get going. We loaded up the clay, the pot fragments, and a bunch of seeds that Mary was given to plant in her garden all on the backs of our bikes and started off.
The return trip also took about 2 hours, but we left around
Next, it was time to cross the Chambeshi again. This time there was a slightly larger canoe, so he was able to load both of our bikes at once and take them across. Of course, I was nervous about my bike (as always), but this time for good reason… ½ of my bike got dunked in the river! Everything tied to my rack was soaked, along with my bike seat, and my shoulder bag- good thing my camera was still in my pocket!! Then, as we were starting off on the other side of the river, my rack began to fall apart… I think some screws fell out during my bike’s near death experience on the canoe. However, it was quickly repaired with some of the “fibers” (they’re like ropes made from stripping tree bark) that they sue to tie stuff together here.
When we finally arrived at Mary’s house, I got off my bike and it looked (and felt) like I’d peed in my pants because the seat had been dipped in the river. Mary offered me a cup of homemade village wine, which is basically sugar water with yeast, but it wasn’t that bad… The sun was setting, and I knew I should be heading home so I could bathe before dark. We decided to complete stage 2 of the African fridge making process in a few weeks when we can get together again. I’m looking forward to it!
How To Make An African Fridge (Part 2)
From my journal on November 2: I spent most of my day at Mary Katongo’s, watching her make clay pots- the African fridge. The Bemba word for it is mutondo. It was an all-day affair, and the 1st one that we worked on was considered a large pot (holds 10 liters) and it developed a big crack as it was drying, so it had to be torn apart (so we could reuse the soil). Another pot had to be torn apart because it was on the way to being really big, and we wouldn’t have enough soil to complete it… I think we may have gone through 3 failed attempts before we finally started a medium-sized post (holds 5 liters) that was about halfway finished when I left her house.
I got my hands dirty only briefly, as I tried to mold the pot into shape. The clay was a lot grittier than I thought it would feel (don’t ask me what I was expecting)… It reminded me a lot of that scene from “Ghost” where Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore are shaping a clay pot together, except minus the nice pottery tools, the beautiful background music, and the hunky man rubbing mud all over my arms… I gladly handed the job back over to Mary and was satisfied with her simply narrating the work she was doing. This clay pot making business is a lot harder than it looks- it’s truly an art form! I loved watching her hands move about the soil- shaping it and etching little decorations on it once it began to dry- creating something beautiful out of a clump of mud!
The tools used were: a big metal bucket turned upside down to be used as a table/stand; an old mealie meal bag to place between the bucket and the clay; an old maize cob to be used to comb and shape the clay; a small piece of something that looked kind of like a turtle shell, but it could have easily been a smooth piece of wood- This was used to shape the inside of the pot; a hard reed (about 4 inches long) that was used primarily to smooth the outer surface; and finally a leaf- to help round out and make smooth trim around the mouth of the pot. These things were also used to etch whatever designs she wanted to put on the pot.
To make the pot you must first pound up the remnants of an old pot and add that to the soil collected from the river. Next, you take big handfuls of clay and form it into 3 or 4 big rings- kind of like donuts- and stack them 1 on top of the other. Then you begin shaping it into a cylinder… After lots of stretching and smoothing and combing and molding (this part takes the majority of the time), when the soil is beginning to resemble a big bowl, this is when you will begin adding clay and forming the rim along the top. Once this is complete, the pot goes in the sun for about an hour or so. When it is beginning to get sturdy, but it’s still malleable, you can add decorations to the outside, then return it to the sunshine….
When the mouth and rim of the pot is completely hardened and the rest of the pot is fairly stiff, you take the pot and flip it over so that it is being supported by the mouth. Now you can add clay and continue with the same shaping/combing/molding process until the bottom of the pot is complete. (This requires lots of skill, but Mary seemed to do it effortlessly.) The pot then goes back into the sun until it is completely dry. After about 3 days, the pot must be put on a very hot fire, where it will burn for several hours (or maybe even all day- I’m not sure). And that’s it! I am going to Mary’s in 3 days to see the finished product. I’ve already decided that (if I don’t break it in the next 1 ½ years) I’m taking this back to
How To Make An African Fridge (Part 3)
From my journal on November 13: Today was the 2nd meeting I’ve had within a week that no one showed up for because they were all in the bush collecting caterpillars… I did, however, stop at Mary Katongo’s. She gave me the mutondo, which looks great! Although we were stumped about how I was going to get it home because it’s kinda heavy and very breakable… She kept saying that taking it by vehicle would be the best choice (duh, you think so?). We ended up putting the pot inside a reed basket on top of a thick layer of leaves, then padding around the sides of the pot with more leaves. I then strapped the basket onto the back of my bike… This actually worked really well. I was impressed. (…To be continued)
How To Make Beer
… Before leaving Mary’s, I asked her about the huge pot of what looked like murky water cooking over her 3-stone fire. She was brewing millet beer, which she would sell in the next day or so for Zkw 1,500 (that’s about USD 38 cents) for either 2.5 or 5 liters (I don’t remember which, but she was making about 60 gallons, and I remember thinking that was a good chunk of cash (by village standards).
She gave me a quick lesson on how to make the beer. From what I understand, you combine hot water and ground millet, then stir and let it sit in the sun for the rest of the day. The next day you will add yeast, and then it’s another day or so of sitting before it’s ready.
How to Make An African Fridge (Part 3 Continued)
… Soon after the beer lesson, I headed home. The last 5K of the bike ride was really difficult because the road is rather bumpy and obviously not designed for transporting fragile pottery. However, it survived the ride, and I’ve already put it in the house and added water… Ahh, nice and cold!
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