Happy World AIDS Day!
My apologies to everyone for taking so long to update m
y blog. My Dad phoned last night and I think he was worried I had dropped of the face of the earth, having failed to respond to any of his emails… Unfortunately my internet access here is quite limited, and let’s face it, I’m far too much of a perfectionist to update my blog in a hurry:) I also don’t like to post anything too long, which means a lot of time in the editing room, but unfortunately this time I definitely haven’t succeeded. I apologize in advance and recommend that you make yourself very comfortable!
~
I am happy to report that last weekend was another exciting weekend NOT in Lusaka. That’s right – after 6 weeks, I finally made it out of the capital!
The weekend did begin in Lusaka, however, with a trip to the cinema on Friday night with Drew and Mwelwa, an HIV-positive volunteer at NZP+, for a dose of good ol’ N. American romantic comedy (In Her Shoes). Saturday began with a trip to the monthly craft market in Kabulonga, followed by a trip to the swimming pool with a group of six kids from my neighbourhood that I met a week or so ago. Two days after meeting them they showed up at my place to surprise me with a load of drawings they had done for me (and some home made peanut butter!) and we have been firm friends ever since. Going to the swimming pool was quite a riot as Zambians, living in a landlocked country where most bodies of water are full of crocodiles, understandably don’t quite get what swimming is all about… A lot of thrashing of the arms in legs in the shallow end is what it amounts to.
I dashed off from the pool to meet Sam at 15h to head off to Kafue. He has been going on about wanting to visit his grandmother there for ages, so when I realized I was going to go mental if I didn’t get out of Lusaka I convinced him we should go for a visit.
The journey started off with excitement as we arrived at the City Market bus station where riots earlier in the day had left the place reeking of tear gas. Apparently the riots began down the road at the church of the Universal Kingdom of God, which people had accused of engaging in satanic practices, namely human sacrifice. The 40 min trip to Kafue was overcrowded and not very eventful. It was nice to gaze out at something other than buildings and burning garbage though.
Once we arrived we had to search out a cousin of Sam’s that it turned out had moved so we never found him. We did run into his ‘grandfather’ on the street though so we went to his house for a quick visit. I use quotations because Sam couldn’t actually explain how all of his ‘relatives’ were actually related to him – family ties work somewhat differently here…
We then moved on to the farm where Sam’s four grandmothers live (see what I mean…?), which required hitchhiking down the highway a ways and then walking down a long dirt road that appeared to go nowhere. I got quite excited when we came to some banana plantations, complete with grass huts and larger than life anthills – it was starting to feel like the ‘real Africa.’ Little did I know what lay ahead…
When we reached the farm, Sam’s grandmothers ran out to greet us with elated hugs. Everything they said was in Tonga, their local language, so I didn’t understand any of it, but they seemed quite happy to have me there. We sat under the mango tree for a bit while Sam caught them up on the news of his brothers and sisters in Lusaka. Sam asked if I would like a mango, and the moment after “sure” slipped past my lips an enormous bowl of the most magnificent mangos imaginable appeared in front of me!
As I munched on mangos some of the many kids about started chasing after a chicken, which Sam explained was going to be killed for the visitor (i.e. me!). I decided if it was going to be killed for me I may as well take advantage of seeing how it was done, so I observed the whole process, from the killing, to the depluming, to the removal of the internal organs, to the cooking on the fire of every edible part of the bird, including the lining of the stomach and the intestine.
I then set out with my camera to take a few pictures of the surroundings, and the incredible, National-Geographic-Documentary-on-Africa sunset, but it turned into a picture-taking extravaganza of every person on the farm. In general, I find Zambians are fond of the camera, which makes it very difficult to take any ‘natural’ pictures, as they all want to stare at the camera, and somehow manage to lose their brilliant toothy smiles as soon as the flash goes off...
Sam and his two cousins, Sunday, who is 16 and wants to be a soldier, and Fwambe who is 18 and wants to be a DJ, then left the latrine they were busy building and headed off to fetch water, so I went along for the trip. I offered to push the wheelbarrow on the way back to the farm and when I rolled up to the fire where the women were cooking they looked up at me in astonishment and immediately began to dance and sing for me. After everyone settled down I sat on an old mealie meal sack on the ground and watched them cook the ‘village chicken’ and nshima over the fire, while various young children fell asleep beside me. It turns out village chicken, the favourite of most Zambians, is a very tough version of regular chicken, but it tasted lovely all the same. Sam and I ate inside on our own, despite my protests that they needn’t treat me like such a privileged guest, and I found out the following day that we were also the only ones to taste the chicken!
After dinner I went out to give Sam’s grandmothers the chitenges I had brought for them. I gave the first to Elizabeth, a 61 year old, chain-smoking bundle of joy who broke out into an extended song and dance around the fire when I presented her with the small gift. Apparently she was singing that God should bless me all the day, and that when she was buried she wanted the chitenge to be put in her coffin with her! I assumed that meant she liked it. Sam’s other grandmothers, Mary, Rhoda and Verit, were equally elated and together they all ran around singing and laughing like small girls for quite some time.
The evening finished off around the fire, gazing at the stars and, to my delight, discussing HIV/AIDS with Sam’s family, who were all very interested in the topic. Before heading to bed I went to use the latrine as Sam yelled, “watch out for snakes!” after me. Snakes as in pythons, apparently, although fortunately I never saw one. I slept in one of the only beds on the farm and although I was originally meant to have the room to myself, Mary, a sixteen year-old orphan with a six-month-old baby boy, said she wanted to sleep with me. So she and her baby Mathews slept on the floor between my bed and a stack of 25 kilos sacks of mealie meal. As we went to sleep she said, “if you need to wee wee in the night, tell me and I will get you a tin.”
That night, the rains, which have come and gone in small spurts over the last few weeks, decided to make up for lost time. The house I was in had a tin roof and I felt somewhat like I was in a tin can under Niagara Falls. And when I thought the rains couldn’t get any louder, the sound went from loud to deafening. It sounded like a thousand angry men were beating on the roof with large sticks. Eventually, hours later, it reduced to a soft pitter-patter and I managed to fall back to sleep. Not for long though, as the pigs and roosters were warming up their vocal cords at the crack of dawn. I was out of bed at 06:20, thinking I was getting up early, only to find that every one else on the farm had been up since 04:00! I awoke to Mary telling me that I had “brought the lains” with me, which made me feel terribly guilty, but apparently it was quite the opposite – the rains were the first the farm had seen all year and I was considered blessed to have brought them.
That day was equally as magical as the previous. I ate mangos until my stomach ached and my teeth looked like they were growing orange hair (floss is on my list of things not to forget next time around!); Mary taught me how to carry Mathews on my back in a chitenge; I had my first crack at cooking nshima; I went to collect firewood and carried it back on my head; I walked down to the river and watched the local women fish; I talked to Fwambe about life in Canada and HIV/AIDS; and I longed not to have to go back to Lusaka that afternoon. Unfortunately, the time did come for me to leave, but I took 26 juicy mangos home with me to remember them by! Hopefully it won’t be too long before I can go back for another visit.
In addition to my magical weekend in the countryside, life is filled up with all sorts of exciting activities these days. Work is keeping me very busy, especially as today is World AIDS Day. Last night I donned my AIDS Day chitenge and TALC T-shirt to attend the annual candlelight memorial where Mwelwa addressed President Mwanawasa (or would have if he had actually shown up) and today I joined ZARAN in the annual march to a stadium in the Matero compound. Nyanja lessons are going well, although tonight I am forced to choose between Nyanja and a debate with the director of a controversial video entitled Living with AIDS at the Alliance Francaise… tough! This weekend I am facilitating a Strategic Planning session for ZARAN just outside of Lusaka – sucks to work on the weekend, but apparently we are staying at a lodge with a game park, so I shan’t complain!
So life in Lusaka is good. Once you get used to a few things, like prayers before meetings, Zambians sporting toques and coats when it’s 25 degrees out, l’s being confused with r’s (“I am lushing to the store”, “the lains are coming”, “have you ever had maralia?”), and life without sushi, but I seem to be managing fine on all fronts.
For those of you who have made it to the end of this epic blog entry – get a life! Just kidding – thank you! And thank you also to those of you who have been writing emails (Mike, Laura, Page, Dave, Silje, Granny) - I always appreciate having something other than the Eldis Development Reporter in my inbox…
y blog. My Dad phoned last night and I think he was worried I had dropped of the face of the earth, having failed to respond to any of his emails… Unfortunately my internet access here is quite limited, and let’s face it, I’m far too much of a perfectionist to update my blog in a hurry:) I also don’t like to post anything too long, which means a lot of time in the editing room, but unfortunately this time I definitely haven’t succeeded. I apologize in advance and recommend that you make yourself very comfortable!~
I am happy to report that last weekend was another exciting weekend NOT in Lusaka. That’s right – after 6 weeks, I finally made it out of the capital!
The weekend did begin in Lusaka, however, with a trip to the cinema on Friday night with Drew and Mwelwa, an HIV-positive volunteer at NZP+, for a dose of good ol’ N. American romantic comedy (In Her Shoes). Saturday began with a trip to the monthly craft market in Kabulonga, followed by a trip to the swimming pool with a group of six kids from my neighbourhood that I met a week or so ago. Two days after meeting them they showed up at my place to surprise me with a load of drawings they had done for me (and some home made peanut butter!) and we have been firm friends ever since. Going to the swimming pool was quite a riot as Zambians, living in a landlocked country where most bodies of water are full of crocodiles, understandably don’t quite get what swimming is all about… A lot of thrashing of the arms in legs in the shallow end is what it amounts to.
I dashed off from the pool to meet Sam at 15h to head off to Kafue. He has been going on about wanting to visit his grandmother there for ages, so when I realized I was going to go mental if I didn’t get out of Lusaka I convinced him we should go for a visit.
The journey started off with excitement as we arrived at the City Market bus station where riots earlier in the day had left the place reeking of tear gas. Apparently the riots began down the road at the church of the Universal Kingdom of God, which people had accused of engaging in satanic practices, namely human sacrifice. The 40 min trip to Kafue was overcrowded and not very eventful. It was nice to gaze out at something other than buildings and burning garbage though.
Once we arrived we had to search out a cousin of Sam’s that it turned out had moved so we never found him. We did run into his ‘grandfather’ on the street though so we went to his house for a quick visit. I use quotations because Sam couldn’t actually explain how all of his ‘relatives’ were actually related to him – family ties work somewhat differently here…
We then moved on to the farm where Sam’s four grandmothers live (see what I mean…?), which required hitchhiking down the highway a ways and then walking down a long dirt road that appeared to go nowhere. I got quite excited when we came to some banana plantations, complete with grass huts and larger than life anthills – it was starting to feel like the ‘real Africa.’ Little did I know what lay ahead…
When we reached the farm, Sam’s grandmothers ran out to greet us with elated hugs. Everything they said was in Tonga, their local language, so I didn’t understand any of it, but they seemed quite happy to have me there. We sat under the mango tree for a bit while Sam caught them up on the news of his brothers and sisters in Lusaka. Sam asked if I would like a mango, and the moment after “sure” slipped past my lips an enormous bowl of the most magnificent mangos imaginable appeared in front of me!
As I munched on mangos some of the many kids about started chasing after a chicken, which Sam explained was going to be killed for the visitor (i.e. me!). I decided if it was going to be killed for me I may as well take advantage of seeing how it was done, so I observed the whole process, from the killing, to the depluming, to the removal of the internal organs, to the cooking on the fire of every edible part of the bird, including the lining of the stomach and the intestine.
I then set out with my camera to take a few pictures of the surroundings, and the incredible, National-Geographic-Documentary-on-Africa sunset, but it turned into a picture-taking extravaganza of every person on the farm. In general, I find Zambians are fond of the camera, which makes it very difficult to take any ‘natural’ pictures, as they all want to stare at the camera, and somehow manage to lose their brilliant toothy smiles as soon as the flash goes off...
Sam and his two cousins, Sunday, who is 16 and wants to be a soldier, and Fwambe who is 18 and wants to be a DJ, then left the latrine they were busy building and headed off to fetch water, so I went along for the trip. I offered to push the wheelbarrow on the way back to the farm and when I rolled up to the fire where the women were cooking they looked up at me in astonishment and immediately began to dance and sing for me. After everyone settled down I sat on an old mealie meal sack on the ground and watched them cook the ‘village chicken’ and nshima over the fire, while various young children fell asleep beside me. It turns out village chicken, the favourite of most Zambians, is a very tough version of regular chicken, but it tasted lovely all the same. Sam and I ate inside on our own, despite my protests that they needn’t treat me like such a privileged guest, and I found out the following day that we were also the only ones to taste the chicken!
After dinner I went out to give Sam’s grandmothers the chitenges I had brought for them. I gave the first to Elizabeth, a 61 year old, chain-smoking bundle of joy who broke out into an extended song and dance around the fire when I presented her with the small gift. Apparently she was singing that God should bless me all the day, and that when she was buried she wanted the chitenge to be put in her coffin with her! I assumed that meant she liked it. Sam’s other grandmothers, Mary, Rhoda and Verit, were equally elated and together they all ran around singing and laughing like small girls for quite some time.
The evening finished off around the fire, gazing at the stars and, to my delight, discussing HIV/AIDS with Sam’s family, who were all very interested in the topic. Before heading to bed I went to use the latrine as Sam yelled, “watch out for snakes!” after me. Snakes as in pythons, apparently, although fortunately I never saw one. I slept in one of the only beds on the farm and although I was originally meant to have the room to myself, Mary, a sixteen year-old orphan with a six-month-old baby boy, said she wanted to sleep with me. So she and her baby Mathews slept on the floor between my bed and a stack of 25 kilos sacks of mealie meal. As we went to sleep she said, “if you need to wee wee in the night, tell me and I will get you a tin.”
That night, the rains, which have come and gone in small spurts over the last few weeks, decided to make up for lost time. The house I was in had a tin roof and I felt somewhat like I was in a tin can under Niagara Falls. And when I thought the rains couldn’t get any louder, the sound went from loud to deafening. It sounded like a thousand angry men were beating on the roof with large sticks. Eventually, hours later, it reduced to a soft pitter-patter and I managed to fall back to sleep. Not for long though, as the pigs and roosters were warming up their vocal cords at the crack of dawn. I was out of bed at 06:20, thinking I was getting up early, only to find that every one else on the farm had been up since 04:00! I awoke to Mary telling me that I had “brought the lains” with me, which made me feel terribly guilty, but apparently it was quite the opposite – the rains were the first the farm had seen all year and I was considered blessed to have brought them.
That day was equally as magical as the previous. I ate mangos until my stomach ached and my teeth looked like they were growing orange hair (floss is on my list of things not to forget next time around!); Mary taught me how to carry Mathews on my back in a chitenge; I had my first crack at cooking nshima; I went to collect firewood and carried it back on my head; I walked down to the river and watched the local women fish; I talked to Fwambe about life in Canada and HIV/AIDS; and I longed not to have to go back to Lusaka that afternoon. Unfortunately, the time did come for me to leave, but I took 26 juicy mangos home with me to remember them by! Hopefully it won’t be too long before I can go back for another visit.
In addition to my magical weekend in the countryside, life is filled up with all sorts of exciting activities these days. Work is keeping me very busy, especially as today is World AIDS Day. Last night I donned my AIDS Day chitenge and TALC T-shirt to attend the annual candlelight memorial where Mwelwa addressed President Mwanawasa (or would have if he had actually shown up) and today I joined ZARAN in the annual march to a stadium in the Matero compound. Nyanja lessons are going well, although tonight I am forced to choose between Nyanja and a debate with the director of a controversial video entitled Living with AIDS at the Alliance Francaise… tough! This weekend I am facilitating a Strategic Planning session for ZARAN just outside of Lusaka – sucks to work on the weekend, but apparently we are staying at a lodge with a game park, so I shan’t complain!
So life in Lusaka is good. Once you get used to a few things, like prayers before meetings, Zambians sporting toques and coats when it’s 25 degrees out, l’s being confused with r’s (“I am lushing to the store”, “the lains are coming”, “have you ever had maralia?”), and life without sushi, but I seem to be managing fine on all fronts.
For those of you who have made it to the end of this epic blog entry – get a life! Just kidding – thank you! And thank you also to those of you who have been writing emails (Mike, Laura, Page, Dave, Silje, Granny) - I always appreciate having something other than the Eldis Development Reporter in my inbox…
posted by ash at 12:17 PM
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