Pictures from December 2011

Click this link to be directed to the pictures I uploaded to Facebook from our adventures in December 2011.

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150616755229896.485995.508904895&type=3&l=bf22bdc3fb

 

Changes?

Yesterday, a friend and fellow PCV asked me if I felt I was at the point where I could see how my Peace Corps service has changed me. What an interesting question to reflect upon at this point in my service.

My initial response is, I know my service is changing me but I'm reluctant to try to define how just yet. This experience has been the hardest, most engaging, most frustrating and most overwhelming I've had. Just when I think I am starting to know what is going on around me, another layer of the onion exposes itself and I feel as bewildered, unprepared and stunned as the day I arrived in the village. There are parts of Zambian culture, society and daily living that I think will always be a mystery to me. I suppose there is a superstitious part of me that feels if I try to define or pinpoint anything, it is tempting fate and the powers that be to turn my definition upside-down. To quote an old boss, fate will “topsy-turvy that sh*!.”

In my day-to-day life, I am consumed with trying to keep up with living and accomplishing small, short-term goals, like cooking meals, laundry, keeping snakes out, keeping the water filters full, reaching out to and teaching farmers, neighbors, mothers and children in our community and following up on programs. It's been very hard to step back and gain perspective on this experience while in the midst of it.

However, that is not to say it is without generous reward and education. I am learning every day, every hour perhaps, things that would be impossible for me to understand by just reading a book or taking a university course, speaking with a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, or living in the U.S., Europe, an African capital city.

In the future, I hope to pinpoint just exactly what these deep lessons have been. For now, my goal is to photograph and write down every memory I can- to share this journey with friends and loved ones back home, enrich their understanding of a distant land and culture, and help develop a sophisticated understanding of just what the heck this journey has encompassed.

An Eventful Day in the Village

This afternoon we participated in the Under 5 Clinic in Chebele Village. The clinic was supposed to happen yesterday, but it was rescheduled due to rain- it rained all morning and afternoon yesterday.

The Under 5 Clinic is a monthly outreach program of the Ministry of Health (MOH). The MOH trains Neighborhood Health Committees (NHCs) and Workers to provide check-ups and immunizations for children under age 5 in rural villages, where coming into a clinic for routine check-ups isn't an option. The Under 5 Clinic is run by the Neighborhood Health Committee (NHC) of Chebele, which is comprised of 3 men and 1 women who live in our village. (It's worth noting that Chebele is comprised of 3 villages: Kote's Village, Kamboo's Village and Chalibana's Village.)

At the Under 5 Clinic, the Neighborhood Health Workers weigh the children and record the child's weight on the child's health & weight card, which the mother brings with her. The children are weighed by sitting in a canvas seat that hangs on a scale, which is hung on a strong mango tree branch. The scale used today was apparently donated by UNICEF, as its logo was prominently displayed on the scale. Children may also receive immunizations at these monthly clinics, but I didn't see any administered today. I was told that any immunizations are administered by clinic staff when the clinic staff come out the village for the Under 5 Clinic (which is not every month).

The child's weight is recorded on a graph on the child's health and weight card. The graph has curves that show ranges of healthy, concerning and dangerous weight and growth. Malnutrition is very prevalent in rural villages here, and Chebele is no different. Many of the cards I saw showed the child's weight this month as either the same as the month before or lower. This is concerning and dangerous, respectively, as healthy children are expected to gain weight month after month.

Before attending today's Under 5 Clinic, I consulted a fellow PCV who regularly attends Under 5 Clinics. Her only advice was to bring earplugs. I'd heard from other PCVs that these events are quite loud- it turns out babies don't enjoy being weighed and whatnot, so you're surrounded by crying, screaming babies. Another PCV once jokingly told me it's been a great form of birth control for her.

This afternoon the women were congregated under the giant mango trees in front of the second headman's house (he is the chairman of the Neighborhood Health Committee). Some had already had their children weighed while others were waiting their turn. Most women had more than one child with them to be weighed; a few had 3 and 4 children with them, all under age 5. (Families in the rural areas of Zambia tend to be quite large. One set of children who visit us often number 7; the oldest among them is 12 and always has a baby sister on her back.)

We'd gotten together with the NHC a few weeks earlier to see how we can enrich the Under 5 Clinics and bring information to the women. The NHC invited us to this month's clinic to speak to the women about HIV/AIDS Prevention and basic principles of nutrition. We started with basic nutrition information, using the Grow-Go-Glow Model. This model breaks food into 3 simple groups based on what it helps us do:

Grow: proteins (like meat, fish, beans, nuts, eggs and milk) help us build a healthy body

Go: carbohydrates (like nshima, bread, rice and potatoes) give us energy

Glow: vitamins and minerals, found in fruits and vegetables, keep our bodies healthy and looking beautiful

In The States, we take basic nutrition knowledge for granted. In rural communities like ours, nutrition, food groups and knowing what basic nutrients each food provides are new ideas. In fact our counterpart, who is a knowledgeable farmer and father of 7, surprised me when he said the idea of food groups was new to him. He hadn't realized that meat, fish, beans, nuts, eggs and milk all are high in protein which helps us, especially children, grow. He also didn't realize that vegetables and fruits are full of different vitamins and minerals that work in different ways to keep us healthy and free from illness. We have had many conversations with our counterpart over the last year about the benefits of eggs and beans (protein, growth), various vegetables and how they help deter common ailments, etc. His reaction surprised me, but again reminded me that: nutrition takes time to understand; nutrition is a very new idea in rural areas; nutrition is a topic that can be reviewed, revisited and reinforced frequently.

At the Under 5 Clinic, we also took time to talk about HIV and AIDS. We focused on how HIV is transmitted and how people can protect themselves from the virus. This is an important topic throughout Zambia, where the HIV infection rate hovers around 14% (11% among women in Luapula and 15% among men in the province). When we asked how HIV is transmitted, the only suggestion offered from the group of mothers was that it was transmitted through sharing razors and needles. While this is true, in Zambia, this accounts for only 1% of HIV transmission. More than three-quarters of HIV transmission in Zambia happens through unprotected sex, followed by over a fifth of cases stemming from mother-to-child transmission. Thus, it is quite concerning for a group of obviously sexually active women (a vulnerable demographic) to only suggest sharing razors and needles as a means of transmission.

Knowing that most Zambians who are HIV+ became so by having unprotected sex with an infected person, the discussion on prevention necessarily focuses on safe sexual practices. Today, we presented 7 ways people can protect themselves against HIV.

1. Know your HIV status and your partner's HIV status.
2. Go for Voluntary Counseling and Testing (VCT), preferably with your partner, every 3 months. This service is offered free at the clinics and 1,000Zkw – 3,000Zkw ($0.20 – 0.60 USD) at an NGO called New Start, which does Mobile VCT to reach rural areas.
3. Practice safe sex methods: abstinence and/or using condoms correctly and consistently.
4. Have only one partner at a time. (Having multiple concurrent partners is very common here in Zambia for numerous cultural reasons.)
5. Male circumcision (This has been shown to reduce the risk of HIV infection in heterosexual men by about 60%.)
6. Participate in Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission programs (PMTCT).
7. Visit your healthcare provider regularly to stay healthy and know if you should start ARVs/ART if you become infected.

Clearly, volumes more can be said about both nutrition and HIV prevention. However, the key to educating rural communities seems to be K.I.S.S. Also, this was just our first meeting with the Under 5 Clinic group, and we plan to contribute th the future monthly clinics, at which time we can bring more in-depth and interactive lessons on basic health, nutrition, and HIV prevention. In fact, the women asked that at our next meeting we do cooking demonstrations, which is an excellent, interactive and tasty way to introduce nutrition and health concepts.

We are also talking to the community about organizing a community garden, where by the community gathers together a small amount of money for seeds, they organize a work schedule, and Shaun and I teach them about the nutritional benefits of the different foods they grow. Since Shaun and I go to the provincial capital (Mansa) monthly we can pick up and bring back a wide variety of vegetable seeds that the community might be interested in trying, and multiplying locally, but to which they lack access otherwise. Few seeds are available in Mwense.

* * *

After presenting to the women at the Under 5 Clinic, we sat off to the side while they finished their meeting with the Neighborhood Health Workers. The Health Workers had conducted the Clinic and were now giving reminders and closing remarks. One of those reminders was an announcement about the community garden.

We noticed other community members, men, other women and children, start slowly gathering in the surrounding area. Women all congregated together under the mango tree, young men gathered together under the shade of the second headman's porch and the older men of the community sat near where we were sitting under another mango tree with our counterpart, an older male in the community. I asked our counterpart why everyone was gathering and he said, “We are just waiting for the headman to arrive.”

But why? No answer.

About 10 minutes later, the headman arrived, accompanied by the village secretary, and we found ourselves suddenly in attendance of a village meeting. We had no idea this was part of our agenda for the day, but it turned out to be, which is pretty typical of our experience in the village. The day just kind of unfurls in front of us as we go along.

The meeting started when the headman, ba K., stood in front of the village and brought it to order with a greeting and assigning someone to say a prayer. The headman is a husband and father, in his late-thirties or early-forties (though he looks older). He is tall and thin, with long, lanky arms and legs, and a shiny bald head. Today he was dressed in one of his usual outfits: an untucked button-down blue-with-thin-white-stripes shirt, unhemmed, slightly tattered black dress trousers and a Chinese knock-off version of Teva sandals. He used to live on the other side of the stream, about a kilometer from our house. Rumor has it that he sold that land to a mine for about 7,000,000 Zkw (about $1,400 USD) after the mine had dug huge pits on it prospecting for copper and cobalt. Then, he moved out of the village and now lives in the township around Mwense boma.

And this begs the question: how can he be headman of the village if he doesn't live there?

The village had gathered this afternoon for a meeting at the second headman's house to talk about 3 agenda items:

1. some people not doing their part in giving small amounts of food or money to families who experience a death and hold a funeral, as is Zambian custom;
2. the village's concern about the headman not living in the village of which he is headman;
3. whether to petition the government to further grade the dirt road that goes trough town or to ask for its help in building a village health clinic.

Before jumping into the day's business, the headman read the minutes from the last village meeting in June of this year. He spoke all in Cibemba and I have to admit I kind of tuned out, as did the rest of the crowd gathered, it appeared.

Finally, the meeting got around to the first point on the day's agenda: the funeral givings. Different community members stood up and said their piece, all in Cibemba. What I gathered is they were each imploring others to give something at funerals, nothing big like a bicycle but rather some maize meal, charcoal or 500Zkw ($0.10 USD). At some point, and I couldn't tell you when, I realized the discussion moved to the idea of having a village record of who gave what to whom for family funerals. Then, when death came to your family's door, you could reasonably expect the families you'd helped would make small contributions to your family for the funeral of your loved one.

I wondered how this system would work in this rural village in Zambia where people are not accustomed to keeping records. For the last year, I've been teaching farmers, women's groups and small-business-owners about the benefits of record-keeping and no one seems to have gotten excited enough about the idea to actually do it.

As the village discussion wore on, I heard thunder in the distance and saw full, gray clouds move slowly over the distant hills and toward the village. I wondered how far into the meeting the village would get before the rain was upon us.

The first discussion subsided and now we were on the second point of the agenda: the village's concern about the headman not living in the village. The concerns brought up were mainly about what happens when a stranger comes to the village and the headman isn't here to regulate them, and then the village is left vulnerable to the mal-intent of outsiders. One of the elder men of the community stood up to say that we don't see the president of Zambia, Mr. Michael C. Sata, presiding over Zambia but living in neighboring DR Congo; thus we shouldn't have a headman presiding over Chebele but living in the neighboring Mwense township.

The community members were circling around their main desire, rather than saying it directly. The village wants the headman to step aside and ask the chief to appoint a new headman. The second headman's family expressed that the headman should allow the second headman to act as headman. I noticed that each time a community member stood up to make a strong point- or at least a point counter to the headman or status quo, the speaker would seemingly turn it into a joke. The joke clearly had an undercurrent of honesty and genuine opinion, but it was turned into a joke in order to diffuse tension and avoid confrontation. I found this very interesting and quite different from any city council meeting I'd ever seen back home where a major issue, like the mayor's ability to perform her main duties, was at hand. A meeting like this in The States could easily be filled with confrontation and acrimony. But the meeting today was filled with laughter.

I should back up and explain these terms and traditions. The headman of a village is appointed by the chief of an area. The headman is to act on the chief's behalf and settle disputes in the village and generally know who's in the village, what their purpose is and the general happenings of the village. Our village of Chebele is quite large- it is actually 3 villages in one: Chalibana, Kote (where we stay) and Kamboo (near the Chebele Basic School). So, the headman appointed a “second headman” for each of these areas to help him out. It's safe to say the “second headman” is like the assistant headman.

The headman, however, hasn't shown interest in stepping down, and he also hasn't shown interest in moving back to the village. One community member told me that the incumbent wants to retain the headman position likely because the headman receives gifts from anyone who wants to do programs in the village.

Throughout this discussion, sprinkled with tense laughter, those full, gray clouds slowly approached. Gusts of wind would push them closer. As these gusts of wind came, they would also shake the branches of the giant mango trees under which we were seated, causing heavy thuds as large mangoes would fall around us. Again, there would be tense laughter as everyone knew having a mango this size fall on your head would be like a rock falling on your head- quite painful, bordering on serious. But no one moved- the discussion continued. It continued even when large sporadic raindrops began to plop around us. However, when the rain was finally upon us, the group scattered, running into neighboring houses for shelter from the hard downpour.

Ba Godfrey and I ran under the eve of the house across the road from the where we'd been sitting. This was the house of a farmer who has fish ponds, but no source of water other than the rain (the dam on the village stream isn't strong enough to push water all the way down the furrow to his ponds.) Shaun was grabbed by one of the kids and drawn into the second headman’s house.

When the farmer and his wife got to the house, they invited us, and two young mothers- each with an infant child, to come inside and have a seat. This farmer has a nice village house. The sitting room is a good size, the roof is tall and doesn't leak, they have 4 rustic but comfortable chairs, a table, and a TV and radio powered by a solar panel and battery-inverter set up. On the walls of the front sitting room were posters from the September presidential election: one encouraging Zambians to vote, another for an MMD Party member running for a local position, and a third poster for the MMD presidential candidate, former Zambian President Rupiah Banda. Also on the wall hung a drawing the oldest daughter, Eunice, had drawn and colored earlier this week at our house during “ukudrawina”- drawing and coloring time for the kids in our insaka.

The conversation at the house was a continuation of the interrupted village meeting. But this time, the villagers were much more frank, complaining that the headman should go and allow someone else to step up to do the job they felt he was neglecting. I learned later that even where Shaun was, at the second headman's house, the talk there was the same.

After the rain subsided, the community dispersed to their homes and the meeting was over. I still don't know if this last matter was resolved or will get resolved to the community's satisfaction. Nonetheless, we liked getting to be part of the action and know what was going on in the village around us. So often, we feel cut off from the inner workings of the village, understandably as we are merely long-term visitors.

* * *

Today was quite eventful, in contrast to every other day this week, each of which has been quiet and slow. This is how things happen here: feast or famine in every way. We'll go days without anything happening, except additional empty time as programs get canceled. Then all of a sudden, we'll have a day like today that seems a flurry of activity and interaction.

This evening, after returning home from the village meeting, our gang of usual kids came over as did our friend ba F. Ba F. is a good friend of ours, a village confidant. He is also as addicted to playing chess as Shaun is, and they spend hours in the insaka playing each other in chess, trading wins and losses.

A second storm rolled in just as it was getting dark. Shaun and ba F. were deep in a game of chess and concentration, so I doubt they noticed their audience of village children retreating back to their respective homes. Then the downpour and darkness came. Still, Shaun and ba F. were playing chess by the light of two furiously flickering candles. There they sat, each hunched over the board, holding both hands up to their head as they strategized and executed their moves, all the while a storm raged around them. I had to laugh.

The final move was made, the game won and the two men snapped out of their trance to the storm around them. They started cleaning up and ba F. prepared to head home, despite the heavy rain. I was inside finding a rain poncho for him to wear on his bike ride home (he was insistent he head home), when I looked over to the small window in our sitting room and saw a long, thin snake winding its way through a small hole in the screen, around the crossbar of the window and up the wall. It looked like he was headed to hide in the black plastic of our roof, out of the flooding downpour. I can't say I blame the snake for wanting to get shelter, but he was unwelcome nonetheless.

I yelled “SNAKE!” and Shaun and ba F. came running in the house. Shaun grabbed our slasher and ba F. grabbed our rake. The two men swung and whacked at the snake as it tried in vain to scurry up the wall and into the roof for safety. The snake fell to the ground, where Shaun gave it the fatal blow to the head with the slasher. 

Ugh and phew.

A Quiet Rainy Day in the Village

Today has been one of those rare quiet, rainy days in the village. The sky has been gray and cloudy all day, with showers on and off. The kids have stayed away. The older ones are busy working in the fields with their parents, and there has been just enough rain to keep the younger ones at home. These kinds of days don't come around all the time and I really have been enjoying the peace and quiet they've brought today.

Shaun has spent the day in our insaka reading a book called War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning, by Chris Hedges. I've taken advantage of the quiet time to do some nesting, organizing and even some GRE studying. 

Most rewarding has been putting up in our “sitting room” the family holiday greetings sent last year. 2011 has been a tough year for our family with the illness and passing of my beloved mother in August. This holiday season has been much more difficult to be away from loved ones, without her cheerful, loving, supportive, anchoring voice just a phone call away. My mom was a wonderful mother and my best friend; her passing has rocked my foundation, but thank God she helped me build a strong one that will get me through.

So, putting up pictures of the family has given me some of the anchor and warm feeling of family I have been missing.

At lunchtime, Shaun started a brazier and I made us some hot soup. We sat in our insaka, warmed by our steaming bowls of ramen, as the rain pattered around us. On a tree near our insaka, a large bird landed and started performing his mating calls, complete with flashy feathers and meticulous preening. 

We sat there quietly watching him, afraid if we moved or made any noise he'd fly away. We must have sat there for an hour watching him before he flew off to another tree out of our sight. He'd call- hu-hu-hu-hu-hu-hu, display his tail feathers and wait for a response. After about 30 minutes, a response finally came from another part of the bush. The two birds seemed to call back and forth to each other in echoing hu-hu's.

I'd heard this bird's call in the wee hours of this morning and wondered what it was. Now, here he was letting us peek in on him. This was a delight for Shaun and me- we very rarely see any (welcome) wildlife, even birds, because they are soon hunted by the kids in the village and then eaten by the family as a relish with their with nshima.

This year we are getting to see more birds at our house, I believe, because the village did not burn the forest and vegetation around our house. Last year, they burnt everything to deter snakes (which still came visiting), but this year they left it. The rains came early and caught everyone off-guard. The early rains made the area wet and difficult to burn, and it called the farmers to their fields early for digging and planting the year's maize crop. Shaun and I are happy to have the bush and birds around our home. And so far, the snakes haven't been any worse than last year. Geez, I hope I haven't spoken too soon...

You Know It's Rainy Season When...

Warning: you might find this post yucky.

You know it's rainy season in Zambia when your bedding is moist from the humidity.

We came home today after being in Mansa for the Thanksgiving holiday and our Peace Corps Provincial meetings. When we got home and uncovered our bed (when we leave we cover it with a second mosquito net to keep dust and mice out), we found that our comforter, sheets, even the bottom blanket I put between the bottom sheet and the mattress, were damp from the humidity of rainy season. Being from dry southern California, this is quite new to me. We just don't have this predicament there.

Luckily, I'd washed linens before we left last time and I was able to put fresh, dry sheets on the bed. Since the afternoon was still hot, I hung our blanket out to dry on the line. Unfortunately, this just made it damper due to the moisture still in the air. Oops! Fortunately, the night was mild (not cold) so we got away with sleeping under just a sheet and let the comforter dry again overnight.

As one of my fellow PCVs in Northwestern Province told me, we are better off than a third PCV, also in Northwestern Province, who has worms growing on his bed because of the rains. He added, “That is a dark place in life...” and I couldn't agree more.

Kasanka Weekend, Part 2: Buying Train Tickets

Ashley, Garrett, Shaun and I had an ambitious agenda for the day. We are planning a Christmas vacation in Zanzibar and we need train tickets from Kapiri-Mposhi to Dar es Salaam. We'd heard horror stories of fellow PCVs who'd reserved their train tickets for the 3-day journey only to find that when they got to the train station the day of departure, their reservations had been given away to people who showed up earlier that day with cash in hand. At Kasanka, we were already halfway from our home in Luapula to Kapiri-Mposhi train station. So, we decided to try our luck getting down to Kapiri-Mposhi and buying our tickets now, and hopefully making it back the same day to Serenje, where we can stay the night at the Peace Corps Provincial House.

Our friend Vanessa had no need for this mad agenda, so she headed the other direction back to Mansa.

As luck would have it, around 08:00, after just 20 minutes out on Tute Road, a decent covered pickup stopped to pick us up. The four of us piled in the covered bed of the truck with our bags and made ourselves at home among the man's bags of dried and fresh fish (no doubt purchased from the fishermen and women at Luapula Bridge). We opened the windows as the day was already warming up, and Ashley set up her speakers and MP3 player to give our ride a soundtrack.

After awhile, we started to get pretty hungry. We hadn't had anything to eat that morning because the 2 loaves of bread we'd bought had turned unsalvagably moldy within a day of purchasing them (damn). To pass the time and forget about my hunger, I pulled up Facebook on my phone. This being the week before Thanksgiving, all the status updates were about food- not helpful.

Tute Road is notorious as the road less traveled. Riding in the hitch we'd caught, we kept thinking of our friend Vanessa who we left waiting on the road trying to catch a ride in the opposite direction. After 2 hours traveling down that road, we hadn't seen anything going the other way. There is no other road in this stretch, which means Vanessa was still waiting at the roadside. She'd be waiting there for a while. We found out later that the first vehicle finally sped by her over 3 quiet hours after she'd got to the roadside. This is pretty typical of hitching to Mansa- there is just not much traffic headed up that way and we've learned not to be too picky.

Back on our hitch, our driver made a stop in Serenje around noon and we all got out for a quick snack and stretch at one of the tuck shops. I opened my Coke on the dusty roadside and took a big, refreshing gulp in the bright sun. I had to laugh: I was living a Coke commercial, compete with a deserted filling station and a stray dog trotting by.

By 13:00, we'd arrived at our destination: Kapiri-Mposhi train station. We thanked the man who'd given us a lift and made a contribution to his fuel expense. He dropped us off at the Kapiri-Mposhi train station and, sweaty, dirty and hungry, we hauled ourselves into the train station.

We noted how quiet the train station was. I am used to train stations in California or Europe, where passeners mill about, ticketing agents are busy issuing tickets and conduuctors are boarding trains. This was different: there were maybe 4 other people at the station, including staff and loiterers. There was no train that day, which meant there was little sign of life at the train station. It also meant the ticket office was closed. Well, we hadn't expected that. Had we come all this way in vain? 

No, where there's a will there's a way. (Maybe, at least.)

After searching around the quiet station, we found someone who told us we should wait until 14:00 for the Stationmaster to come back from lunch. So we waited. At 14:30, a station security guard approached Shaun to tell him he was in fact waiting in vain: the Stationmaster had already knocked off for the day.

What? Oh no he didn't!

And sure enough, no, he hadn't. A smartly dressed man with a nice phone, who looked like he might work at the station, walked by and we caught his attention. The gentleman did in fact work at the station and he called the Stationmaster for us. The Stationmaster was at the station. Phew! 

He invited us into his office while he made a couple phone calls to see how we could purchase tickets. Despite being the Stationmaster, he was not able to facilitate our transaction. So, he called in the Booking Agent, who had already knocked off and was enjoying his afternoon at the bar.waiting in this man's office, the thought going through our minds was the same: here we are, ready to fork over millions of  kwacha for train tickets. Why is it so hard for us to give these people our money? Also, passengers of this train come from all over Africa- how do they purchase their tickets? Are they left to wait days until the Booking Office opens?

After about half an hour, the Booking Agent showed up, drunk, and Ashley and Garrett recognized him as a fellow diner in the nshima restaurant where they'd gotten lunch. The man wasn't too happy about being called in, but he took us to the ticketing office, took our money and issued us tickets, nonetheless. Sigh, success.

But the ambitious journey wasn't over yet. We still had to get to Serenje and it was getting late in the afternoon. This is a concern because being on Zambian roads after dark is dangerous for all the potholes, drunk drivers and cars with no headlights.

So we got a move on and hired a taxi to take us to the Kapiri-Mposhi junction, where we'd hitchhike up to Serenje. We sat at the junction for an hour, watching the sun fall lower in the sky and the traffic thin. We were passed by huge diesel trucks, but most of them were either not able to pick us or asking far more than we could afford to go the moderate distance. Finally, a shiny, sleek, new extended cab Toyota Hilux stopped. Driving it was a smartly dressed married couple who lived and ran a farm in the Farm Block in Mkushi. Bless them, they moved all their luggage from the backseat into the covered bed of their truck, and they let us four cram our dirty selves into the back of their clean, comfy car.

The couple recognized us as Peace Corps Volunteers, as they are good friends with several of the Volunteers who serve in Mkushi District. We had a lovely chat and ride with them. They knew we were headed to Serenje, but they offered us a place to stay at their home in Mkushi if we weren't able to make it as far as Serenje. They also gave us great recommendations for our upcoming Christmas vacation in Zanzibar.

The couple dropped us off at the fueling station in Mkushi around 17:00. We only had to wait a few minutes before we were picked up by a huge diesel that would take us to Serenje. Diesel's are known to be dirty, crowded and slow. This one was no different. It took us over 2 hours to get to Serenje (usually an hour drive). About 10 minutes outside of Serenje, we were passed by a Peace Corps Landcruiser and we all laughed at the missed opportunity of getting a clean, safe and comfortable ride in it. Oh well. We made it safely nonetheless.

The Serenje Provincial House was welcoming, if dark due to the power outages they've been having. Power here is hydro power, which means the low rainfall in Central Province was causing low water levels and thus, low hydro power output. Despite this, we had a relaxing evening with our friends in Central Province and a restful night's sleep. 

The next day, we were able to catch a Peace Corps Landcruiser that was headed to Mansa, transporting Lusaka staff who would join us for the week's Provincial Meetings and Thanksgiving celebration.

And that's our story of buying train tickets in Zambia.

21 November 2011

Kasanka Weekend, Part 1: Bats!

Shaun and I and three fellow PCV pals headed to Kasanka National Park this past weekend to see the world's largest mammal migration. Every year late-October to early-December, millions of fruit bats (yep, bats are mammals) migrate from their homes in central DR Congo to roost in the forest of Kasanka National Park. They come here, where food is plentiful, for about 6 weeks each year to give birth to their young. Anyone interested in doing a PhD research study on these bats is welcome to contact the folks at Kasanka: we were told scientists do not yet know where exactly in DR Congo these bats live or where they go after their holiday in Zambia.

To learn more, check out this link: http://thebestofzambia.com/leisure/activities/national-parks/kasanka-national-park/. Here's an excerpt from that web page about the bat migration seen at Kasanka:

Kasanka National Park is best known for the bat migration. In late October each year large numbers of gigantic straw-coloureded fruit bats gather in a small area of Kasanka National Park Mushitu swamp forest near the confluence of the Musola and Kasanka Rivers. The number of fruit bats in this gathering can be as many as 10 million and they migrate to Kasanka from all over central Africa. At twilight bats fill the sky in all directions for twenty solid minutes as they leave their roost to feed though the night on abundant seasonal fruit of the miombo woodlands. This event is one of Africa’s most amazing and unusual wildlife spectacles – never forgotten by those lucky enough to witness it. This bat migration has been the subject of intense interest from scientists. The bats remain in the area for only six weeks to feast on mangoes that ripen at this time of the year.

We'd heard about the bat migration early on in our service and have been interested in checking it out. Shaun did bat research in Oregon and Kasanka is sort of in our backyard, being situated between Luapula and Central provinces. Last year at this time we were still in Community Entry, the 3-month period at the start of a PCV's service in which they are to stay put, make connections and integrate into their community. Next year, we'll have closed our service by the time the bats come to Zambia, so this year – 2011- was our only chance. And here I should give our big thanks to our friend Ashley who made all the arrangements for the trip and allowed us to tag along.

Saturday morning, we got up at 05hrs and by 0530 we were on our way to the taxi “stand” to get a taxi from Mansa to the Musaila junction. At 0545, we were already sweating from the heat. It's that time of year.

We got a ride with a man named ba Peter, who we later learned was a science teacher a Mansa High School. He works as a taxi on the weekends to earn extra cash for his family. He was a very nice gentleman – and an safe driver- and he invited us to stay with him and his family anytime we need a place to stay in Mansa. This is just another example of how friendly and inviting Zambian people can be.

Ba Peter dropped us off a the Musaila junction and as we piled out of his car with all our backpacks, a crowd of amaguys surrounded the car trying to help us get our next ride (their motive is to get a cut of the bus ticket we might buy). Instead of taking the bus, we negotiated a hitch with a man and his son in the back of their large canter. We jumped in and became part of the cargo they were transporting. Although we were just going to Kasanka, the other items were headed for Nkonde in Northern province. The open-air, moderate-speed, roomy hitch was preferable to the crowded, hot, smelly bus. It was also about 15,000 Zkw cheaper per person.

In the back of the canter truck, en route from Musaila to Kasanka. From left to right: Vanessa, Ashley and Garrett.

It was preferable while the canter truck was moving and uncrowded. Somewhere about halfway to our destination, the canter began stopping often to pick up more hitchhikers. With more hitchhikers, you have more people and luggage in the back of the truck- crying children, smelly fish and chickens, drunk men. You also have more people who want to stop at each roadside market to buy fish, vegetables and other items from the banamaayo (women) selling their goods. Shaun was one of those folks who bought fresh fish at the Luapula Bridge- six fish for 20,000 Zkw ($4 USD). At one point, the canter truck was stopping, literally, every kilometer. By then the sun was on the other side and beating down hot on the back of the truck. What seemed like a good hitch turned into a crappy one. This is a basic a rule of life and transport in Zambia: you're luck can change at any time, for better or worse.

Banamayo (women) selling fish at Luapula Bridge.

The back of the canter truck, where we sat for hours on a hitch from Musaila to Kasanka. As you can see, things got much more crowded.

Our favorite quote of the day came from this canter ride, at one of the stops, in Mpelembe in Serenje District. We stopped at a small town to pick up a group of hitchikers. There were a lot of other people at the roadside who were delighted to see mzungus (white people) in the back of the canter. They crowded the canter remarking about the white people (us) in the truck. One of the men greeted us and struck up a conversation. The conversation took what seems like the inevitable turn of him asking us for money. When we asked him why we should give him money he said, “because you are white man and you give every Africans money.”

After six hours in the back of this truck, we finally made it to Kasanka, where we jumped off and ran into the shade as fast as we could. It's worth noting making that same journey in a Landcruiser takes about 2 hours. It's also worth noting that at no time did the bus to Kasanka pass us, which means that we made better time than the folks on the bus. On the bus, maybe we wouldn't have been sitting in the sun, but we also might have been sitting one-and-a-half or two butts to a seat, plus holding our big backpacks- and Shaun's fish- on our laps.

When we got to Kasanka, we checked in at the main entry gate. For 120,000 Zkw ($25 USD) per person, Wasa Lodge sent an open-top jeep to pick us up at the gate and take us to the camp site, about 20km inside the park. We hopped in the jeep and marveled at the comparative luxury- one seat for every person, plus space for our bags and our feet to fit under our seats. The head of the lodge, was the one who picked us up with a warm welcome and drove us in. The ride through the park was beautiful: green, lush, forested, shady, trees forming a canopy across the small dirt road, little purple flowers popping out of the forest floor. We all wondered if this is what our villages looked like decades ago before deforestation's effects became as pronounced as they are today.

On the ride, we saw baboon families galloping on the forest floor and climbing up and down the trees. We stopped at a clearing to see puku and the elusive sitatunga antelope. We even passed a small pack of about 6 warthogs running through the forest.

Finally, we reached the shaded campsite. There is a bathing shelter with a jerry-can-cum-shower, a pit latrine with commode and a nice little insaka to cook and eat food. There was black plastic where the bamboo walls used to be on the pit latrine. A week earlier elephants had come through the campsite and sort of demolished the walls. Oops.

The fancy pit latrine/ long-drop toilet.

The bathing shelter

Our tent in front of the insaka where we'd take shelter from sun/rain or do our cooking/eating.

A view of the pit latrine (foreground) and bathing shelter (background)

The river and pontoon crossing was just a minute-walk away from our campsite. After getting our tents set up, we went to the river to fill our water filter and explore a bit. Within 5 minutes of us arriving at the river crossing and discovering the pontoon, an armed guard (rifle slung on his shoulder) came from the other side of the river to cross. We greeted each other and asked him about elephants. He didn't speak English well and he seemed confused when we tried speaking cibemba with him, so we didn't learning much, other than he'd seen 7 elephants that day.

A view of the road and tracks leading to the pontoon river crossing

Ashley and Garrett onthe pontoon, pulling the platform to the side

A view of the path from our campsite to the pontoon river crossing.

The afternoon had become so hot and we all felt so dirty after our long hitch, we couldn't resist jumping in the water at the pontoon crossing. A couple of us even brought a bar of soap and bathed in the river. Shaun brought his fish down to the river and started cleaning them for dinner. We learned the next day all this was unwise. One of the guards told us there were “plenty” of crocodiles in that river not far from the pontoon. Yikes.

Later in the afternoon, toward dusk, we decided to do some more exploring on the other side of the river. We took a little nature walk along the vehicle path that meanders through the open pastures. We saw a couple herds of puku grazing and being puku, but that was it. In retrospect, we probably just missed running into elephants which is actually a good thing seeing as we were wandering without a guide or armed scout. The sun from the day must have really zapped our decision-making abilities; I truly don't know what we were thinking.

That evening, the guards brought wood and we made a campfire. We made dinner, enjoyed wine from the box we'd dragged along with us, told stories and listened to music from our MP3 player and little portable speakers.

At one point, I heard a splash from the river and then a few minutes later we heard a hippo's call. It was close and I got spooked. I immediately stood up when it called again and one of us pointed out that “hiding in your tent isn't going to give you any protection.” We all had a good laugh and reassured ourselves that the hippos weren't going to come up to our campsite. And, as far as we know, they didn't. However, that night after we all crawled into our tents, we did hear what sounded like the vervet monkeys, baboons or bush babies in the trees above our tents.

We were all very careful not to have any food in our tent, and the food we did have we gathered altogether far from where we were sleeping. We left it on the ground instead of tying it up in a tree, figuring that if we put the food in the trees the monkeys and baboons would be more apt to help themselves. We must have guessed right because when we awoke to next morning, nothing had been disturbed.

The next morning, we all awoke to the early sunlight. We made a fire, boiled eggs and sipped some instant coffee one of us has brought along. We were at our leisure, as our “bat walk” wasn't scheduled until 1400.

At 14:45 (in true Zambian punctuality), our guide showed up at our campsite and we headed out on our trek. We walked through the fields of the park with our guide and an armed scout. We thought we would see elephants, but we just saw their tracks leading to the river. Our friends who had visited Kasanka a few weeks earlier had seen many elephant. We thought we'd see hippo and crocodile in the river, but we just saw water. We did, however, pass several herds of puku and we got close looks at the forest and trees. We came upon one tree that produces a fruit that makes the monkeys and elephants drunk when they eat too much of it. We also passed a research area where a woman is doing research on the baboons who live in the forest of Kasanka. Kasanka is apparently friendly to researchers.

(Pictures to come, when the internet connection improves: PB200089, PB200091, PB200096, PB200097)

As the afternoon grew late and the sun lower in the sky, we came to one of the bat tree hides, the Fibwe Hide. This tree hide was tall- about 20 meters tall if my memory is correct. Imagine climbing 60 feet up a tree on a ladder and to a platform made by Swiss Family Robinson and you'll get an idea of what this was like. Although we'd been told the hide was recently rebuilt after wildfire destruction, the climb up was rickety and long with rusted nails holding termite-worn wooden steps in place. While climbing these, I couldn't help thinking of Shaun's parents nightmare climbing the PCT ladders.

We all took a lot of deep breaths and gave each other encouragement- and we all made it to the top platform where we had a beautiful view. We spent about 20 minutes at the top platform and then decided we'd better head down before it started to get dark. We wanted to get down in the light, but we also wanted to see the bats fly out of the forest at dusk. I learned later than some guides take their clients here in the dark before dawn to see the bats come back to roost in the forest. That further proves my theory on life: it could be worse!

(Pictures to come, when the internet connection improves: PB200099, PB200103, PB200106, PB200120)

After climbing down and congratulating ourselves on surviving unharmed, we headed to the bat viewing spot. This was a small seating area (2 wooden-plank benches) in a field across from the forest where the bats roost. We were told about 8 million bats were roosting in that forest, which is only a few square-acres. We sat and waited for the sun to fall. As we waited, we noticed a slowly swelling sound of rushing water. In fact, that was the sound of millions of bat wings flapping as the bats in the forest got ready to go out for their nightly fruit forage.

(Pictures to come, when the internet connection improves: PB200126)

As the sun got lower and the sky became pink and purple, we could see the bats start circling above the forest where they were roosting. In turn, they'd circle and then fly off into the distance. First there were hundreds, then there were thousands, then there were tens of thousands flying out of the forest and off into the night sky. Below are some pictures, but they don't capture the enormity of the experience. Unfortunately, due to the lack of light, I also wasn't able to capture the bats when their numbers peaked.

(Pictures to come, when the internet connection improves: PB200128, PB200132, PB200133,PB200135, PB200138)

After the bats had all flown out of the forest, over our heads and off into the night, we headed back to our campsite. Fortunately, we got a ride back in the Lodge's jeep. The night ride was actually cold- we covered up as the wind made by our speed in the jeep whished by. Thrilled by the massive numbers of mammals we had just seen, we rode back in good spirits, laughing (with mouths covered due to bugs) and smiling.

We were not looking forward to having to gather wood and start our cooking fire in the dark, but as we got closer to the campsite, we realized that might be a necessity and we started mentally gearing up for it. So, you can imagine our relief to see a warm campfire burning when we did reach our campsite. The guards had started it for us while we were on our Bat Walk.

That night, we made a pot of curry lentils and again enjoyed our boxed wine. It being our last night, we tried to enjoy as much of the wine as we could so as not to let any go to waste... which led to a fun night singing and dancing around the campfire to all manner of songs on the MP3 player. Nevermind about those hippos, crocs and things that go bump in the night, wink.

The next morning came early, but we were ready to head out. The Lodge's jeep came to pick us at the campsite around 0630, which we had requested because we wanted to get an early start on the day of hitchhiking. The jeep came on time and we all piled in to be driven to the Lodge office where we paid for our stay and other charges. The bill was for all of us and came out to near 5,000,000 Zkw ($1,000 USD)- which we expected. Since the largest Zambian note is 50,000 Zkw ($10 USD) we collected a huge pile of money on the counter. We had to count and recount the pile 3 times to make sure we'd got it right- hahaha!

After paying up, we were on our way out to the road. Our driver was a Londoner who was in Zambia and at Kasanka for about 6 weeks to help with the bat migration tourists and tour guiding. He was a friendly, good-humored fellow. What we laughed about was that he stopped every couple minutes on the drive to look up a bird or photograph a flower or tree he saw. On the first day, our ride from the entrance to the campsite was about 30 minutes. This ride out was close to an hour, which normally wouldn't have been a problem, but we were anxious to get out on the road to start hitching. The early hitcher gets a better ride.

Pictures from October 2011

Here's the link to our Facebook album for our October 2011 in Zambia:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150536529794896.476304.508904895&type=1&l=8d0b664a51

 

- Enjoy!

Hailing in Rainy Season

It's hailing, yes hailing, in Mwense this afternoon.

Shaun and I have come down to the boma today to meet with the Mwense District Women's Development Association at their office in the boma. I am sitting in their office now and the hail pounding on the metal-sheet roof is deafening. It's so loud that covering my ears isn't keeping the pain of the noise away. I need to leave the office. Luckily, there is a small walkway outside where I can stand and not get as pelted by the hail as if I were standing under the mango tree outside. This walkway is still under metal sheets, but the sound has somewhere to go, rather than just bouncing around the office walls and into my eardrums.

Even out here on the covered walkway, where all of us have gathered, stray pebble-sized balls of ice pelt us. I am in the middle of this walkway, but Shaun is on the end near You And I Restaurant. He is laughing as he gets hit by the ice pebbles bouncing off You And I Restaurant's roof and onto him. The whole scene is incredible: what was just 20 minutes ago a brown, dusty ground in front of the office is now a wet, puddled clay mud carpeted in ice pebbles, little clear pebbles of ice. And just 20 minutes ago, we were sweating and fanning ourselves due to the typical and very high temperatures the end of dry season brings. Literally, when I arrived to the office after lunch it was over 100F, and now there ice is falling from the sky and covering the ground.

 

 

During the hailstorm, men hide under the metal sheets at You And I Restaurant

During the hailstorm, a view of the mango tree in front of the MDWDA office in Mwense.

 

As strange as this seems, it is actually quite normal. It wasn't until the hail started that I realized this same phenomenon happened this time last year. I don't know the scientific reason why the first big, hard rains of rainy season bring hail, but our Zambian friends tell us this happens every year at this time. I see it as is the clashing of seasons: as the hot dry season is coming reluctantly to the end of its reign, rainy season forces its way to power. There are days like today when aging dry season flexes its muscles making it unbearably hot, causing rainy season to respond (to our delight) with a thundering, stormy, cooling downpour. It makes me think of a scene I once saw on a game drive: a lion and an elephant exchanging roars and trumpets as pride and herd passed on a slender riverbank.

Rainy season had better seize that throne, or we're a bit screwed. No rain means no water for gardens, crops and fish ponds, which means no food or income. Rainy season had also better force out dry season because the rain is the only thing that cools things down. And we really need things to cool down- it's really, really hot.

Zambians Looking out for Each Other

Our counterpart, ba Godfrey, is currently hosting a woman and her infant child at his house. We had met the woman the other night, but she was very hesitant to greet us. We had assumed the woman and child were relatives of ba Godfrey's. It wasn't until yesterday we learned that in fact our counterpart did not know this woman much at all. He'd met her while he was in Mwense boma the other day checking on when fertilizer would be coming in.

The woman lives in Lukwesa, about 35km away. She walked, with bare feet and her baby on her back, to Mwense boma, where she is awaiting the judgment about her husband. A few days ago he was arrested and thrown in jail for (allegedly) stealing goats. Her husband, allegedly, set up trails of maize and other food that would lure goats into his house. As most people in these parts do not house or tie up their goats from May to December, goats roam free. So eventually, some goats came across the food laid out for them and followed it straight into the man's house. When the goats were inside, the man would shut the door and lock them in. Then, he slaughtered the goats for food to eat or sell.

Ba Godfrey told us that in Zambian culture, if he meets someone in need of shelter for a night, he must help that person by providing a place to sleep for a night or two, if he has one. Ba Godfrey and his family are good, generous people so they naturally offered this woman a place to sleep at their home in Chebele while she waits for the judgment against her husband. The judgment should come in the next couple days, and then she'll head back to her home Lukwesa.

I should add that in Zambian tradition, while ba Godfrey and his family have the social obligation to take in strangers in need, they also have the prerogative of saying, “OK, we've hosted you a few days. Next time you need a place to stay, you need to ask another family in the community because we can't support you all the time. We have our own family to support, house and feed.” When ba Godfrey added this bit to the end of his story, I thought it sounded quite reasonable and reminded me once again of  the practical side of Zambian culture.

Laundry Day in the Village

Welcome! Today's blog update is brought to you from the comfort of our little house in Chebele village. It's about 10:30a and Shaun and I are just puttering about today- quite typical of our free days in the village. I am able to type up this blog entry thanks the long battery life on our handy little netbook, and also thanks to our “Zam-tricity” set-up. We have a car battery that we charge each month in the boma, and when I hook up our inverter and plug the netbook into the inverter, I am able to maintain a charge and use the computer. Cisuma saana! (“Very good!” in Cibemba)

I've spent the morning tackling the mountain of laundry we have spilling out of the dirty laundry Zam-bag, which is like a big re-usable grocery bag that zips up, hanging on the wall. (I hang it on the wall to keep creepy-crawlies and slitherers out. So far, so good.) I do all our laundry by hand, a chore I enjoy because it gives me some quiet down time (Shaun is usually elsewhere when laundry-time comes around, hahaha!). Also, splashing and scrubbing in the buckets of water keeps me cool on our hot, hot days. I am also lucky because we have little helpers always ready and willing to earn 500 Zkw (10 US cents) to fetch me a container of water, so I don't have to trudge back and forth to the stream with the laundry.

After washing and rinsing the laundry, I hang it out on the line to dry in the bright sunshine and warm breeze coming over the forested hills behind our house. The remaining, dirty water I dump out on the dry, sandy area of our front “yard” to help keep the dust down. If there are little ones around, sometimes we joke with them that it's “infula” (“rain” in Cibemba), and Shaun and I will sprinkle the water on them. The kids scatter as the giggle with delight. Last week, I did laundry was on an exceptionally hot day, so when we played “infula” it turned into a huge, hilarious water fight between Shaun and an army of kids from the village. We must have had 25 children running around our house laughing and splashing water on each other- and especially at Shaun. They were even running to the stream and back to get “ammunition”- it was great!

Reminders of Life's Fragility

Today was supposed to be the third and final of a Poultry Production Workshop we're facilitating for a Women's Group (at Road's Camp just outside Mwense boma). Sadly, tragedy has struck so we've postponed today's meeting until after the Independence Day holiday (24 October). We learned this morning that the mother of one of the women in the group had passed away sometime in the night. So, the family and community is grieving today. They will hold the funeral today and bury the woman's body this afternoon. I don't know what caused the woman's death, but perhaps solace can be found in that she was a mature woman who'd lived a full life, able to watch her children grow into adults and have families and children of their own.

Today is Friday, and since the week began we've learned each day of the death of a loved one of folks we know here. Perhaps most startling have been those deaths of a baby and a young girl here in Chebele.

On Monday, a friend ba Sally^, who lives in Mwense Central, stopped to greet us on her way to visit her granddaughter, who lives on the other side of our community. The girl was about 13 years old and attended Grade 5 at Chebele Basic School. She had been suffering for 7 years from tapeworm. Her symptoms started with pain in her stomach and grew pain throughout her body and she was now unable to eat or drink.

For most of those 7 years, the girl's parents refused to go to the Mwense Stage II Clinic just 5 km away. They preferred to use traditional medicine and practices to help their daughter. Unfortunately, these did not cure her. Finally, after years, the family took their daughter to the Mwense Stage II Clinic, only to find that at that point the tapeworm had grown so strong there was nothing the clinic could do. The clinic staff scolded the family for not bringing the girl in much sooner. The girl's condition and prognosis were so poor that the clinic staff refused to refer the girl to Mansa General Hospital, saying there was nothing that could be done there for the girl either.

On Monday when our friend visited her granddaughter, the girl was still alive. On Tuesday, we returned home from our programs in the evening to a grieving community because the girl had passed away.

On Thursday, we returned home in the afternoon to learn that a funeral was in progress for a year-old boy who'd died early that morning. We asked what had caused the death, but our neighbor said he didn't know. Just then, the funeral procession passed by our house. The procession looked to have been 40-50 men, and at the head of the group were three men carrying a small coffin, about a meter long and covered in a blue and orange chitenge. They were singing in Cibemba as they walked to the cemetery in Chebele to bury the coffin. As they passed, we all sorrowfully sat down, following Zambian custom, to show our respect for the dead and for the grieving family.

Typically, it is the role of the men to build, carry and bury the coffin during a funeral ceremony. It is the women's role is to gather with the bereaved family around the dead body, either inside the family's home or in a church, crying and wailing together. Unfortunately, Shaun and I have attended several funerals in our village, and I can tell you from experience it is a sad, sad thing. It's also a bit jarring for a westerner because the Zambian customs surrounding funerals and grieving are so different from ours. It seems the grief that we westerners internalize or process quietly over a period of time, Zambians externalize and process loudly, together, for just the day of the funeral and then life seems to go “back to normal.”

^ ba Sally is not our friend’s true name. I have changed it here to preserve her anonymity.