Let it take away all of the darkness

After I wrote that last blog, I stayed in the village for 6 weeks! All the chickens in my village died from a disease. The guineas lived though...and decided to roost on my roof and right behind my house. I haven't needed an alarm clock in weeks! I baked Idah a birthday cake! I also taught her how to bake one herself. My family enjoyed it very much. I think my father gets to move back home to the village anytime this month. His contract work with Cargill will end soon and then the whole family will be together again!

Fish farming work has increased to a satisfactory level. During those weeks, I conducted site surveys, pond staking, and pond construction. I also experienced my first pond harvest! It was fun and frustrating. People were in good spirits but trying to get assistance from the Department of Fisheries was like pulling teeth. They finally came through 2 hours late with a net that we no longer needed. Oh well. The pond got harvested and my farmers went home with delicious fish to fill their babies’ bellies. Success!

At the beginning of September, Peace Corps sent 3 newbies (new volunteers in training) to my village for a site visit. 9 total came to Lundazi for visits. 3 to my village, 3 to Cherie’s village, and 3 to Ryan’s (my ex-nearest neighbor) village. The 3 to Ryan’s were/are the 3 newest editions to the Lundazi family!!! My 3 visitors, Clara, Chuck, and Jim stayed at my village for about 4 days. I took them around to visit fish farmers and they helped stake a pond for my wonderful friend, Thole. We had a pretty fun time around the village and I think my villagers got a kick outta them as well. They were especially impressed by the brightly colored kanyumbas (small houses…which really were their tents) that they brought with them.

On our last day, I arranged to hire Thole’s oxcart to take us the 8 km to Ryan’s village. The oxcart ride was hilarious! It took us over 2 hours. We looked ridiculous and everyone that passed us laughed. Once at Ryan’s (now Mahdi has replaced him as my neighbor in that village), we met up with most of the Lundazi crew and the 9 newbies that were visiting volunteers in the area. We had a village party complete with dancing, a hair cutting, alcohol, and a bonfire/campfire! For the first time in Africa, I slept outside under the stars (no tent…only a blanket). It wasn’t scary at all, but I don’t think I’d do it during rainy season with all the freaky bugs.

Soon after, Idah and I went on an adventure to find Spider. I’m gonna skip the details of the “finding” part of the adventure because they are overshadowed by the actual adventure that is the person. Spider Lusale is a man of my parent’s age who is filled with more spirit than I’ve seen in most. As Idah and I passed one end of his village, where most of the people were dulling their consciousness with village brew, Spider was hard at work, bent over his 80+ year-old hand-crank lathe. Of course, another man was cranking/spinning the lathe. I soon was to find out that the lathe had first belonged to the father of Spider. His father is also the one who taught him (beginning in 1974) to create such beautiful carvings. He almost immediately became one of my most favorite people I’ve ever met. He was welcoming, enthusiastic, and engaging. His presence was comforting and his personality encouraging. He was honest about his struggles yet not once did he try to cheat me on price; which, by the way, fell way short of truly reflecting the value of his work and creative ability. $5 for a pair of candlesticks. $5 for a pair of goblet/chalices. I even was able to order a complete chess set for $12.

The process and machinery is all hand and manpower. The way he described it was a tree in between two ball bearings. A roughly whittled piece of tree is stuck on the outer end and the inner tree is spun with a rope that is looped around several times. Spider would then use different shapes and sizes of wedges to cut into the tree. When the carving was finished, the pieces would be sanded and varnished. When I inquired about the lack of varnish inside the sugar bowls, Spider warned me to never put water inside because “it will go into the tree and push out.” I enjoyed how even when he was referring to the finished pieces he would still call them trees…never wood. It was a beautiful way to express his relationship with his art. He never forgot its living form, its true nature.

I passed my one-year anniversary of moving to my village on October 1. Then, 2 days after that I jumped on a Peace Corps cruiser and went to Lusaka with all the other fantastic people from my intake. It was time for our Mid-term conference. The “conference” consisted of basically medical and dental formalities mixed in with sessions where we discussed what’s happening at our sites, how we feel about our service, what challenges and successes have we experienced, etc. I think I’ve sprinkled my other blogs with answers to these questions and I don’t feel like talking about it right now. So I’ll leave it at that. I will say that it was really nice to see everyone from my intake again. January was the last time we were all together in one place. Change and growth are fascinating phenomena to observe.

Well, after it was all over I hitched back to Chipata. Once there, I piddled around a few days and caught up with some Chipata friends. The day I was going to head up to Lundazi, I was all packed up, about to throw my bag over my shoulder and walk out the door, when I decided to eat an apple. And it was a delicious apple. When I was finished I stood in the doorway to the living room and told some people good-bye as I picked at the pieces of apple that were stuck in the bottom permanent retainer on my teeth. All of a sudden the retainer popped off! I thought, “Well, crap” and got my phone to call medical in Lusaka. It happened to be Columbus Day and the office was closed, so my only choice was to call the emergency medical number, which goes to either one of the nurses or the doctor. I got the doctor: our new doctor from the Congo. We exchanged pleasantries and then I got down to telling him the events that just happened. Now, the wide-world of orthodontics is not as wide-spread as one might imagine in sub-saharan Africa. So the doc and I had a funny conversation as we tried to sort out what had happened.

First, we established that something had come off:
Me: my bottom permanent retainer popped off
Doc: so your IUD has come out? You should come in so we can put it back.
Me: what?! No, the bottom retainer on my teeth. It has come off.
Doc: what?

So then, we cleared up what a retainer was:
Me: sometimes people have braces when they are younger and when the braces come off a piece of metal is permanently glued on the teeth to keep them straight. It’s called a retainer. It is a small piece of metal wire. This is what has come off
Doc: It has fallen out of your uterus?
Me: *smack forehead*

So finally, I elaborated on the commonly accepted locale of said retainer:
Me: No! Mouth! My mouth! It came out of my mouth. The piece of metal was stuck to my teeth and it has come off.
Doc: Oooooooh. Hm, you have to come in for that tomorrow.
Me: Really? Tomorrow? To Lusaka?
Doc: Yes. We must put it back.

So Tuesday morning, bright and early and still not really sure that doc knew exactly what had come out from exactly where, I boarded a bus for Lusaka. The weather has gotten extremely hot (October is the hottest month) and the ride down was less than comfortable. Needless to say, it was a wasted trip because 1) a retainer coming off is not an emergency and 2) dentists in Africa are quite similar to those in America in that it is very difficult to schedule an appointment on short notice. So I trekked that entire way to Lusaka, back to where I had just come from 3 days earlier, to schedule an appointment for next month. And it’s with a dentist. All she’ll probably be able to do is take the cement/glue stuff off my teeth. At least I timed the appointment so that I get a cruiser ride down. And Peace Corps will pay for it.

I return to the village tomorrow. I plan to stay there for 5 weeks. So you might hear from me around Thanksgiving time…maybe.

Sleep well and wake even better.

Remember to balance and forget to worry.

Oh, and my family and some others in the village always tell me when I leave to greet those at home and those I meet. So I greet you on behalf of my loved ones here.

What lies ahead I have no way of knowing

I started writing this last month, but just wasn’t able to post it. I’ve got 2 big issues to talk about and then maybe some little ones to throw in. First, my adventure hitting the Zambian hotspots. Second, an examination of one year.

So last month (July in case you have forgotten as I tend to do from time to time), I got to dabble in the tourist life. Now, unless your only mode of cross-country transportation is by plane and you stay in the moderately pricey accommodations and you avoid villages, you will be forced to experience what Zambia is proud to offer as “The Real Africa”. It does not leave you with that blissfully-ignorant I’m-just-here-to-pamper-myself taste in your mouth. In fact, you usually end up with a mouthful of dust, a mindful of frustration, and a heartful of severe contrasts. My trip with Oliver was brilliantly successful, especially in how things just always happened to work out. Mostly this came down to transportation situations; barely making it to the Lusaka bus station to catch our lift to Livingstone, a successful plane landing in terrifying turbulence, catching a hitch from a generous Lutheran who ended up driving out of his way to deliver us at the doorstep of our safari camp. I must thank Oli for his humor and good nature when situations were potentially frustrating. Our ride from Lundazi to Chipata was in the back of a canter, sitting on bags of maize, the sun scorching our skin, battling the awful road while following a huge truck carrying loads of cotton kicking up exorbitant amounts of dust.

Allow me to start at the beginning of the adventure. I picked up Oli in Lusaka and we headed down to Victoria Falls or Mosi-oa-Tunya (the smoke that thunders). The falls were beautiful. There was a lot of mist being thrown up which partially obscured the view, but we got to walk across a bridge through the thick of it over to a plateau that seemed to receive perpetual rain. We went on a booze cruise one evening and met a croc named Duncan. Later, with the help of my good friend whiskey, I was able to charm our taxi driver into charging us ½ the fare by utilizing my previously untapped ability to conjure up a conversation in Nyanja (a Zambian language in which I have received zero training).

We flew from Lusaka to Chipata to save time. It was an interesting flight. There were seats for 6 passengers only. I had flown on a similar sized plane a few times before, but Oli had not. I was quite comfortable during take-off and Oli was not. By the time we were going in for a landing Oli was excited and I was not. I was freaked out by the turbulence and thought we were going to land short of the tiny tarmac run-way. But here I am writing to you.

The village was really fun. I had been given a small chicken when Marcey visited and by this time he was good and fat so we decided to eat him. However, mama was out in the fields and Idah didn’t know/want to kill the chicken sooo I had to step up to the plate (or chopping block…which was actually just the dirt ground under a tree). So I stepped on his wings, grabbed his head and proceeded to saw at his throat (knives are very dull here). Lots of blood came out and he went limp and that was that. I stepped off him, grabbed his legs and was carrying him over to Idah when he went crazy, flapping his wings and I dropped him. There were a lot of feathers, dust, gurgling noises and at one point he flopped his half sawed-off neck over my foot. Somehow I snapped out of my shock, pinned him again and finished the job. I must say he was delicious later that night.

After a relaxing Beatles and Burritos time back in Chipata we traversed our way to the valley for a chance to view the famous creatures of Africa in South Luangwa National Park. As I’ve experienced a peek into the local side of culture, heritage, history, development, and environmental issues, I failed to be the ideal tourist here thanks to the bittersweet complexities of human need and environmental strain with a little politics thrown in (is anything without?). Regardless of how I defined myself, the beasts were magnificent, the birds beautiful, the company delightful, and the experience sublime. My favorite animal (and the one I wanted most to see) was the giraffe. During the day we also saw: lions, elephants, hippos (in and out of the water), crocs (not the footwear), zebras, puku, impala, water buffalo, water buck, birds and birds, etc.

The game drive at night was interesting. We drank beers by the river as the sun sank beneath the smoky horizon. Then, they popped on the spotlight and we took off down dirt paths. It almost felt like I was back on the ranch driving around late at night to catch a glimpse of the shining eyes of raccoons, possums, owls, or coyotes. Only here we saw hyenas, lions, a civet, grazing hippos, and a leopard stalking impala. Once the leopard was spotted, 4 other vehicles drove up with their spotlights and the leopard lost its dinner. This I didn’t like so much. However, I guess the night drives are justified by the park closing at 8:00pm so that only 2 hours of the animals’ night are interrupted. Pristine environment competing against the desires of the curious human…in addition to the country’s need for the almighty dollar. At times I felt like we weren’t justified in our intrusion of the wild animals’ habitat. However, without the conservation money the tourism brings in, which funds the national park, a vast majority of the creatures would have been hunted down by now (so how “pristine” would have the ecosystem had actually been even without tourists?). But then this also conflicts with the health of the local people who have depended on these bush animals meat for centuries. Oh the complexities of the earth and its inhabitants.

No less are the complexities within the mind. My happy feelings towards this place/lifestyle suffered a minor blow when coming back from Germany. Hitting my one-year mark has taken me down another peg or two. Sorry if this next bit is a downer, I just want to be honest. How else can I expect understanding when I return to you? And its not that I'm unhappy either. Its just that the new car smell has worn off. I still enjoy the vehicle and the places it takes me and the things it shows me and the perpetual bend ahead that sustains the mystery.

When reflecting on the last year, I’ve come to realize the greatest sacrifice was/is the relationships I had with every person I knew before stepping onto that plane in DFW. With the free and decent internet now available at the provincial house, I have been able to begin reconnecting with some of you beautiful people. In fact, one of my dear friends asked me the other day if it helps or hurts being able to talk to and know what people are doing back home. I think it’s a mixture of both. It makes those relationships seem to have been somewhat maintained, but it also brings into better focus the massive distance between us. And not just the physical distance. I can find out about events in a persons life, but truly knowing a person requires more than just facts. People change: attitudes, beliefs, habits, preferences. I know I've changed just as everyone else has. Though, I don’t think I will realize the extent of it until I’m plopped back down into Texas (that faraway magical land of donuts and Dr. Pepper), back into the culture from which my own attitudes, beliefs, habits, and preferences were first developed. I’m already apprehensive about that transition and I’ve still got a year to go.

When I look at the one year I have remaining in Zambia it feels like so long. But when I look at the year I’ve just lived it feels like it happened so fast. I miss home and I long to be there, but I know once I am I will miss this place and certain things about this life. So I think it would be best to continue to immerse myself in the experiences and the life to be lived here while I’m here. Aware of it or not, with every decision in life there is an inevitable sacrifice.

Now, it’s story time:

On my way back to the village last month, I attended a 3 year-olds birthday party. Nobody in my village celebrates birthdays. However, I was in Chipata. My guess is they have more access to western culture and therefore regard birthday celebrations as a “sign-of-development.” The Zambian spin on certain customs familiar to you and me are pretty funny. Blue and pink toilet paper was used as crepe paper. My favorite Zambianized custom was the contents of the goodie-bags. In our culture, children find candy and cheap plastic toys. In Zambian culture one finds a small package of biscuits, 2 potatoes and a piece of chicken.

Now, how bout a story about Gooey Sana? Two weeks ago I was sittin on my couch, holdin her on my lap all content and peaceful when my father ran in and asked if I would bring her outside quickly. I wondered what the hell was going on that a grown man would need a little cat. When I got outside with her they showed me a deep plastic bucket with a cover on it and said there was a mouse inside and they wanted me to throw Gooey in to catch it. Really? So of course I agreed. But Gooey was getting scared of being confined in my arms with all the people around and she started to squirm, even scratching my arm a little. No matter. They opened the lid and I threw her in on top of the mouse which turned out to be quite large. Everyone jumped back as Gooey hit the bottom. She shot outta there like a cannon, knocking the bucket over in my direction! The mouse darted at me and I freaked out! I backpedaled a few steps and then turned to run. But before my eyes turned I saw one of my little brothers smash the mouse with a stick. Then a dog picked it up and ran off.

And I’ll leave you with a funny bedtime story. One for the kids. So there is a guesthouse we stay at in Lundazi. It’s quaint and affordable on our budget and the staff knows us by name, well, village name. The biggest plus is that they are one of the very few that do not have a noisy bar that bumps obnoxious music all night. What they do have is a small concrete fish pond. It’s about 2x4 meters and maybe ¾ of a meter deep. Awhile back, they decided to stock this “pond” with about 300 fingerlings (juvenile fish). This is really way too many fish for starters, but it was just ok. But then, they began to neglect adding water to the “pond” for several months. Scotty, Cherie and I walked over to it the other day to find the water level had dropped to about 4 inches and all of the fish were piping (when fish gulp the air due to a lack of oxygen in the water). And it smelled like shit. Upon closer examination we realized that the smell was, in fact, coming from floating chunks of human fecal matter. Cherie pulls the garden hose over and turns the water on. A few of the employees rush over to inform us that the chlorine in the tap water will surely kill the fish (hence the reason they had neglected to add water themselves for months). But I mean REALLY? 300 piping fish in 4 inches of turd-infested water and they are worried about a small amount of chlorine killing the fish?? Come on people. And we’re not sure if Lundazi even bothers to add chlorine to the tap water.

It’s the numerous stories like these that make this place frustrating, hysterical, and endearing all at the same time.

Hello ruby in the dust

Zambia since Germany. I knew I was back in Zambia when on the bus ride from Lusaka to Chipata I saw 2 herds of blue-butt monkeys playing in trees and then a little kid crapping in the ditch. I got to Chipata in time for provincials. We had some fun; dress up party and East Point Discotheque dancing. The next 3 weeks were spent in the village, during which time I started another women’s group, checked on some ponds, attended some agriculture shows, conducted HIV/AIDS sessions, worked with my local NGO and taught some women how to make onion rings. Oh and my last day there I went to a really interesting school event. All the area schools met and competed in traditional dance, choir, drama, and poetry. My sister, Idah, led the Phikamalaza choir and they won first advancing them to the District competition! She also won an individual first for best kapellmeister (thanks for that word Jim)!!!!

Readjustment back to village life was a bit slow. Can’t say it wasn’t a little mentally painful. It wasn’t the reduction of comfort and convenience that was difficult; more the loss of physical proximity to my family. It has also been a mental challenge to have tasted and been reminded of the life and lifestyle I used to have and what little regard I had for the everyday blessings. Zambia is still exciting and there are still some grand adventures to be had, yet it is not home. My head tried to make it, but my heart has overruled. It is the prairie to which I belong.

How about some cheerful news? I’m in Chipata for a workshop with the Department of Fisheries. I’m headed down to Chadiza to visit my ridiculous friend, Julie. I will celebrate the independence of my homeland along with Arianna’s birthday here at the house. Then, I’ll set off on an adventure with a friend from the island country from which my country won independence. Good thing he’s not coming a day earlier otherwise I’d be obliged to read him the Declaration of Independence. :) We are going to explore Victoria Falls, my village, and South Luangwa (the best game park in Zambia and possibly Africa). Sean, I’ll be able to fill that camera up to send back to you. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get a shot of one of those blue-butt monkeys for ya! At the end of this trip, I’ll be just days from my one-year anniversary of being in Zambia. My, how time flies.

The weather here has grown chilly. This is a new word I’ve taught my village. I don’t believe it is really cold as really cold goes. They certainly think it is and I’ll admit that the nights do reach cold levels, but the days are merely chilly at times. Sometimes it still gets pretty hot even, but I guess we are somewhat close to the equator. The wind has picked up quite a bit reminding me of west Texas...there's even lots of dust to boot! If only I had my boots...

I’d like to devote the rest of this space to wish my dear sister, Marcey, a magical birthday filled with the kind of fantastical adventures I know she can find in Berlin.

I would like you to dance - Birthday
Take a cha-cha-cha-chance - Birthday
I would like you to dance - Birthday
You say it's your birthday
Well it's my birthday too, yeah
You say it's your birthday
We're gonna have a good time
I'm glad it's your birthday
Happy birthday to you.
I love you, Bunny!

Booboo's Mama!

Tomorrow I'll miss you

I only have a few hours left in Germany. It has been quite a rollercoaster. Hanging out with the whole family was fantastic and beautiful and refreshing. Not sure what to report on the adjustment side of the trip. Landing in Frankfurt was emotional, but I still can't really explain. I wasn't sad, happy, fearful or really any one specific feeling....just somewhat overwhelmed.

I had a few days with just Marcey and Heather before the other 3 got here and let me tell you we hit the ground running. I had an epic first impression of Berlin and fell in love. Of course, with any place there are good and bad things, but I really like the feel of this city. I must thank Marcey's friends for the warm reception and their enthusiasm for showing me a grand time. Unsurprisingly Marcey has found genuine people who are each unique and possess the kind of spirit that makes you feel alive.

After Mom, Dad, and Tanner arrived we headed to Quedlinburg (where Heather studied abroad twice). It was a very cute and very historical little town. Beautiful houses and kind people. Her host family was so generous.

Back in Berlin we toured it up and celebrated Marcey's graduation! Oh her graduation day and night can only be described as magical. The photos are beyond hilarity. Which reminds me...I'm sorry for not posting new photos. I was too engaged in enjoying my time here, riding bicycles all over town, riding the U-bahn, eating deliciousness, sight-seeing, being ridiculous with the family, picnicking, sleeping in parks, dancing, and other nonsensical things. Maybe in a few more months (oh, but I did post a few for my undergraduate adviser...so enjoy those).

Now, I'm packing up and tying up loose ends. Marcey, Heather and I are going to enjoy a German brunch, then head to the airport.

Until we meet again in Afrika. Tchuess!

swaying daisies sing a lazy song beneath the sun

Think I’ll begin this blog with updates on organisms not found under the classification Homo sapien. The mama hippo, which lives in the small lake to the east of me, attacked a man who was illegally fishing at midnight. The area of the lake the man was fishing in is well known by all the villagers as the hippo’s territory. The man is still alive, though in the hospital. Riding my bicycle home from town one day, I stopped to talk to a friend traveling in the opposite direction. While we were talking, two men passed on bicycles headed in my direction. Both had big firearms strapped across their backs. This isn’t too unusual, especially since one had an automatic and this is what most military personnel carry, but the other man had a humongous rifle. It was the first rifle I have seen in this country. I noted it, but shrugged it off. After saying good-bye to my friend, I continued my ride home, cutting across a shortcut path through a small forested area. I came out on the feeder road to Phikamalaza and the two men were just ahead of me (they must have taken the long way). They were a bit too far ahead and a bit too speedy on their bikes so I couldn’t stop them. When I asked my villagers about these men I was told they were game rangers and had come to kill the mama hippo. I was a bit upset considering the circumstances (I mean, the man was illegally fishing in a notoriously dangerous area), but as of now they still have not shot the hippo and I think they have even left the area. That same week, two elephants passed less than a kilometer from my house. Yes. Two wild elephants left tracks in the sand and mud in the dambo (same as a draw) just a short walk to the northwest of where I was sleeping. I suggested to my village that maybe, just maybe the elephants were coming to rescue the hippo. I don’t think they believed me.
When I got home from my HIV/AIDS workshop I was told that a pig ate Blanco Pollo. It was a sad day. I was left with four orphan chicks. Then, a hawk picked one off. So I think I’m down to three, but I’m not really sure. However, the circle of life has blessed me with another hen (a gift from my mama’s brother’s second wife). Her name is Bubbles and she doesn’t seem to be very intelligent, even by chicken standards.
The kitties, Gooey Sana and Simon Says are doing fine, sans worms.
It’s sugar cane season.

Now for updates on the Homo sapiens whom I so love. My new baby brother was named after the late Agogo who died in January: Johnston Nyasulu. But the Agogo’s nickname was Scale so this is what everyone calls the baby too.
I am currently in Chipata helping the newest intake shop for their huts. It’s been quite a long few days, but they are all sweethearts and it’s been fun.
I will be reuniting with my dear biological family in LESS THAN 3 WEEKS!!!!! After this shopping adventure in Chipata, I’ll head back to site for a busy week already packed full of activities. Then, I’ll be truckin’ back down here for a Bob Marley festival. Then, scootin’ across the country to ol’ Lusaka. Theeeen, surfin’ the blue skies to zi fatherland (Germany), where I’ll be celebrating Marcey’s graduation from her school of governance in Berlin! Things I’m most excited about: my family, good sausage and even better beer, crazyfast internets (lots o’ photo uploads!), dance clubs, cheese, reliable transportation, reliable water, the ability to go out into public and be completely ignored and/or not stared or yelled at, and the freedom to show the world my whiter-than-a-fishbelly thighs, but most of all I’m excited about hugging my family.
Things I’m slightly apprehensive about: advertisements, pollution, noise (other than the calming effect of chicken squawking), bright lights = less stars, crowds of businessmen with briefcases, shiny objects, over-priced everything, and is there such a thing as over efficiency? If there is, I bet the Germans have mastered it and it will spin my head around. Regardless, I’d say the excitement blows the apprehension out of the water (the water which is currently refusing to flow out of the tap, thus preventing me from taking a much needed shower so that I can make it to my afternoon meeting smelling clean and fresh…Zambian efficiency at its best).

Work is going well. It is definitely picking up. I met with a fish farming group and will be conducting a training session for them on pond management next week.
I’ve been meeting with some active youth groups. At PEPFAR training we received a board game that educates the players about HIV/AIDS. It’s called Edukator. The youth really enjoy playing the game. I taught one youth group how to play Red Rover. They absolutely loved it, except they had a really difficult time pronouncing the name of the game and because this is essential to actually playing the game, we had to rename it with a Tumbuka word: “belelawela,” which means you come over here.

So I know I’ve mentioned before that Zambians interchange their “r’s” and “l’s” quite often. Some are easy to decipher: like cobla instead of cobra, Ellen instead of Erin, Bob Marrey instead of Bob Marley, led instead of red, geoglaphy, engrish, and the rist goes on. Fly and fry trip me up sometimes because they are both English words as do light and right. Some mix-ups are hilarious. Around election time it is really funny when a Zambian wants to talk to you about the “upcoming erections.” Jokes aside, I had my first slip-up the other day. I was discussing the cost of planks for making benches with someone and I said, “Well, how much for just one prank?”

Since arriving in Zambia, I have crocheted 31 beanies (I’ll finish #32 tonight and I have 2 others half finished as well), 4 scarves, and 1 handbag. Obviously, I have a lot of downtime, mostly on account of Zambian time-management skills.

Rainy season is petering out which is good because Simon Says likes to crawl around between the plastic lining and the grass of my roof and this has caused big holes to form where rain now leaks right over my bed.
Also, with the end of lainy season comes the beginning of cold season. I’m not rearry looking forward to it as central heating exists in none of the structures I frequent. But on the blight side, I’ll get to drink more hot chocorate. :)

All of you affiliated with schools, I wish you well during finals. All of you not affiliated with schools, count your blessings! The next time you’ll be hearing from me, I’ll be in Deutschland enjoying the lederhosen!

Typical

Life here is not without its frustrations. One thing that makes things more difficult is the effort required to do basic tasks. Marcey even observed that so much effort goes into everyday, yet so little seems to get done. For example, to travel down here to Chipata the distance is roughly 180km (approximately 110 miles): a distance that in America would most likely take less than 2 hours to cover. It took me over 5 ½ hours (after waiting 2 ½ hours for a ride)! Well, for one thing the road is complete shit so understandably the owner of the car I rode in cared enough about the vehicle to drive ridiculously slow. Then, we stopped a couple times to pick up other passengers, one of which, a lady headed to the hospital and to whom I got the distinct pleasure of being squished up next to, repeatedly threw up in her lap. Well, into her chitenje. Then, she would just ball up that part of the cloth and barf in the next section over. It would have been the most miserable ride had I not been in such a good mood. Why was I? Not really sure. Sometimes Zambia has a mysterious way of making you feel great. Maybe with all the frustration and dispair that can hang so heavy, the brain must just really latch onto the small pleasures scattered throughout each day. Or maybe its just that the situations you find yourself in would be considered so absurb to the person you once were, yet you find yourself void of any surprise. You really have no choice but to just accept the situation for what it is - not what your American brain thinks it should be - and go with it. Eventually, the absurd becomes the typical. Sometimes I wonder if I will be able to discern what is typical in American culture when I get back.

I stayed by myself in the huge provincial house last night. It was ok until the power went out when I was halfway through cooking supper. Luckily we recently purchased a gas powered stove so I was able to finish and eat. It was still pretty freaky. Especially when someone started banging on the gate. I closed myself in my room with 3 candles, a couple beers, and some music. After almost 2 hours the power came back on so I watched a movie, curled up on the couch with a blanket, a mountain of pillows, potato chips and cookies, I felt like a normal American.

So I must also tell you what happened last time I was in Chipata. Cherie, Ashley, Major, and I went to the East Point Discotheque to watch a popular Zambian pop musician perform. His name is Dandy Krazy (look him up. says he’s touring the U.S. maybe you can catch a show). It was quite a cultural experience, I must say. I’m not really even sure how to describe the event. Just know we had a GREAT time. At one point during a break, Cherie announces, “I’m gonna go meet Dandy.” And she just marches off towards the side stage. The rest of us look at each other, shrug, and follow her. We met them and talked awhile and exchanged numbers. Then, we danced on the stage a little. Went to the back club area and danced some more. A very nice, upstanding woman (most likely a prostitute or "sex worker" as is now pc) showed me how to dance like a Zambian. Then, at some unmentionable hour, we made our way back home and crashed. The next day, around lunch time Dandy called Ashley and brought his friends over for lunch. Ashley cooked some spectacular sima, soya, soupu, and chigwagwa. We hung out and talked to them for a few hours. The kraziest things happen here. Countless times have Cherie and I looked at each other and wondered: what the hell just happened?

I also have a new baby brother! Marcey, Anya Theo was pregnant! I had no idea until I got back from Malawi. She had the baby yesterday.

This is all I have energy for. good night and make nice dreams.

Lost in a memory

Happy New Year! And what better way to start the new year than to write a blog...remember the flexibility of time here..in fact, I'm probably still early. I started writing this blog entry in January. Yeeeeeeaaaah. So we’ll start at the obvious place: New Years.

New Years was fun. I spent it in the village. A few days after, however, my Agogo Idah’s husband died. He was the old headman before my Zam-dad. I saw him just a few hours before he died. He was not well. The funeral that followed was quite the cultural experience. I’m still trying to process it. Sure, I had been to a few Zambian funerals before, but this one was right next door, so I got to experience the entire process. First, I helped my family clear the house in complete silence and watched as they tenderly carried the deceased man’s body from one room to another. The village gathered in the sitting room and just outside the house. I sat in a corner. Then, as if on cue the women began wailing and crying and screaming. This went on for hours…well into the night. I went to bed around midnight and got back up at 4. I sat outside the house and watched the sunrise. Then, some men went off to dig the grave and others began constructing the coffin. I never went back into the house. I helped care for my sisters and the small children. People just kept pouring into the village from all directions. There were hundreds as this old headman had been very good and was loved by many. Then, they took the coffin inside the house and you could hear the nails being driven in. Not one person spoke. Preachers stood up and began what I can only imagine was preaching, but it seemed like they were yelling at the people. I think one was drunk. Then, the coffin was brought outside and some women made a circle around it and sang and danced slowly around it. The chief showed up, which at first I thought was quite impressive. But as he gave his speech, he said some of the most disrespectful things I could imagine being said at a funeral…especially in front of the grieving family….with his hand resting on the coffin. After he left, we all proceeded to the gravesite. It was a very long and somber day.

Shortly after, I traveled to Lusaka for In-Service Training. It was so good to see everyone from my intake. They kept us quite busy with sessions and classes and gardening and a counterpart workshop. The most awesome thing that happened, however, was that my sister, Marcey, flew in! Well, that, and I won a lot of kwach at the casino thanks to Sajay, my enabler.

Marcey’s visit was ridiculous, insane, incredible, heart warming, heart wrenching, hot, humid, hilarious, etc. I usually wake up in the village between 6 and 6:30. With Marcey here, we slept in until 7:30 or 8! And let me tell you, my village is a ghost town at that hour. EVERYONE is either at school or at work in their fields….and who said Peace Corps isn’t the real world?

My Zam-fam (Zambian Family) got 2 kittens while I was away! One is a great mouser (with which they are quite pleased), the other has rickets and worms. So many, in fact, that Marcey and I named her “Gooey Sana.” It’s Spanish for “worm” although I’m fairly certain I’m not spelling it right. One night, Marcey went to bed kind of early so I went over to my family’s house to hang out. After about an hour, I went back to my hut to find Marcey, not sleeping, but standing in the middle of my room with a candle. She just looks at me and goes, “Gooey Sana is throwing up under your bed.” So I get on my hands and knees and shine my light under the bed. Sure enough there are several small piles and she is in the back corner hovering over one and scarfin’ it back down. There is a large pile real close to where I am so I shine my light on it and see that it’s moving! Naturally, I freak out. Then, on closer inspection we realize that it isn’t the puke itself that’s moving, but tons of white skinny worms waving and wiggling around! It is like a scene from a horror film. So, I ran to get Idah’s help. I have dealt with grossness here that I never imagined having to deal with and I did it gracefully. But this I just couldn’t handle. Ask Marcey.

Speaking of worms, I was sick the first half of Marcey’s visit and she was sick the last part. :) That did not stop us from gallivanting around the Zambian bush almost everyday (even though I’m pretty sure it was the constant traveling in the unfamiliar heat that got Marcey sick in the first place). We sang lots of Disney songs on our travels. We played netball with the teachers against the students at the school. We got to sit in on a few classes and they sang songs for us! It was really cute. After one week, we went into the BOMA and watched the super bowl rerun….no commercials…it was sorta boring…just wasn't very into it. BUT I did get to make queso from a huge block of velveeta that grandma and grandpa sent me! We made potato wedges and smothered them in cheesy goodness! Along with the beer it almost felt like a genuine American super bowl party…except there were no commercials.

The next day Marcey desperately wanted to get on the internet so she could download readings for the classes she was missing by being here. Pretty important, I will agree, but allow me to expound on the difficulties of interneting in Lundazi. There are 2 known places that like to call themselves internet cafes, but really they are just dark rooms with a few old machines that pass for computers. The first one we walked to is run by an NGO. They buy internet in bundles and when the bytes run out, well, so does your luck. So no luck there, except that they had, in fact, bought more bundles, but no one was sure where they were…really? You just lost your bundles? Just like that? Just misplaced the bytes? After living here for 7 months, I’m the least bit surprised. But several times during Marcey’s visit, including this one, I was reminded of the absurdity of MANY situations in this beautiful country. So we hike over to the other “café” that is run by a religious organization. Turns out they are able to receive the wireless internet that the radio station broadcasts. But they have no vouchers to sell. Yeah. The radio station is back on the other side of town beside the other internet café we just left. So back across town we go. It takes close to an hour to buy our wireless time because the guy selling it isn’t there at first and then he doesn’t have change. When Marcey gets back to the religious café, lo and behold, it still doesn’t work. So, on her way back to where we were staying she stops at the first café where they had miraculously found their lost internets! What should have taken an hour took four. This story should also exemplify for you some of the reasons why it has taken me 2 months to write another blog.

Marcey stayed with me another week. She took astounding photographs. On our last night, we ate Comida. I almost told my mama to cook a different chicken, one that my counterpart had given us. But we decided the new one needed a few months to beef up. I found out that they eat every single part of a chicken. All except this weird skin flap on the butt. They throw that to the dogs. Oh and the feathers. They don’t eat the feathers. But they munch on the toes, feet, head. I even tried a piece of chicken intestine and guess what it tasted like? Chicken, of course. Marcey and I taught them how to bread the chicken before frying it and man, oh man, Comida tasted better than KFC, or even Grandy’s.

Then we headed to Malawi: Marcey, Cherie, and I. It was quite a long trip over to the lake (11 hours and 9 hitches to be exact). We got stuck in a small town/area called Mvera. Yes, MmmmmmVera. For those of you who don’t know, Vera is the lovely name of my even more lovely mother. There is also a very small town in west Texas named Vera. I would drive through it on my way to and from home (in east Texas) during college. It was always a nice reminder of mommy while on the long road. So naturally, I was pleased to have landed in this nice town of Mvera, Malawi, thinking we would surely be graced with a great hitch to get us over to the lake by sunset. Well, Mvera turned out to be a vortex in the universe. We were stuck there waiting for soooo long! Looking back on the experience, even though that town broke us and turned us into delirious lunatics, it taught us patience…and also that I had accidently bought raw eggs instead of boiled eggs in the last town. However, the timing of that discovering was impeccable. Just as Cherie began to laugh at my misfortune (as she is wont to do from time to time), a little old man walked up behind me and said he was hungry. I turned around and said, “Well, I gots 2 eggs here you kin have. They’re raw so be sure n cook’em 'fore ya eat’em.” He looked so bewildered (and not on account of my waning English skills). Eggs are quite expensive and to just be given them by strangers (even though, technically, he asked) is unusual. But really, what was I going to do with them?
Finally, we made it to the lake. Oh, the lake was beautiful. Swimming did my mind, body, and soul wonders, just getting to completely immerse myself in water. It was magical. Magical in that special way that gives you worms. Ha! Yeah. Worms again. So Lake Malawi is known for its schisto. Schisto is a tiny worm that burrows into your skin and lodges itself in your gut somewhere (intestines, bladder, etc). I’m sure google or wiki could explain better than me (if you are going to look it up, know that I’m abbreviating it because I don’t know how to spell it out). Peace Corps won’t treat us for it until we leave at the end of our service. So until then, you can just call me Gooey Sana! You call them worms, I call them uninvited company (but company is company here, so I can’t complain too much).
It rained a lot in Malawi. I hope some of it made it up to my farmers because they have gotten so little this year. But every night there would be a huge downpour that lasted for hours and hours. And every night the roof over my feet would leak and each night the puddle would be larger than the night before. On the morning we left to drop Marcey off at the airport and head back to Zambia (my birthday, in fact), I mentioned the nightly puddles to the girls and explained to Marcey why I had been spooning with her a little more each night. Cherie looks at me and goes: why didn’t you just move the bed over? Cherie's logic = genius.

Not only was Marcey’s visit ridiculous, insane, incredible, heart warming, heart wrenching, hot, humid, hilarious, but it also came with the most inspiring and fulfilling moments. Thank you, my sister and best friend. Thank you for the sacrifice it took to come, monetarily, physically, and scholarly. Thank you for the love and understanding you gave me and my village. Thank you for being there when I cried. Thank you for always making me laugh when I cry. Thank you for the stimulating conversations and the intellectual debates. Thank you for the part of your life that you gave to experience, understand, and live a part of mine. Thank you for being the padoko to my tutuba! Thank you for being the mbasela to my nkuku! Yeah….that last one didn’t make any sense. But then again, neither does my lack of litter box, my inability to buy sunglasses (thanks grandma/pa, I bet you didn't know that I actually needed a pair), nor my irrepressible urge to yell “Booboo’s mama!” at the unsuspecting children.

Enjoy the cold my loves. And the olympics? And for pete’s sake, would someone in Texas drink a Dr. Pepper for me? And Bird, if you get a chance, go to the candy store at the mall and get me a big-o-bag of D.P. jelly beans. I hope they still have'em.

Booboo’s mama!