Culture: the good, the bad, the unusual…

Culture can be a very nebulous term. To be honest, I don’t really know how I would define it myself. But, being as invasive a creature as it is, I feel it, and over the past weeks I have had both good, bad and unusual experiences with it…

The good…

The weekend before last was packed with culturally positive experiences when I had the pleasure of visiting Mongu in Zambia’s Western Province to attend the Kuomboka Ceremony. Koumboka, which means ‘to get out of water’, is a Lozi ceremony where the Litunga (Lozi King, head of the Royalty of the Barotseland) leaves his palace in the flood plains and leads his people to higher ground. The ceremony only takes place in those years in which there is enough rain to flood the plains of the Upper Zambezi River, so, although I hate to say it, I was lucky that this year we had a particularly heavy rainy season.

The ride there took us through Kafue National Park, where we passed a big ol’ elephant hanging out in the late afternoon sun by the side of the road. His proximity made Dominic, a Zambian I was traveling with, quite nervous, but he was so magnificent I would have been pleased to have him wander right up to my window. The landscapes we passed were beautiful, especially the pink grasses near Mongu that burned an unbelievably brilliant pink from within the bush as the setting sun shone down on them. And of course, there was plenty of people watching to be done, from far and near, including swarms of young girls at my window with bundles of cassava and sweet potato trying their best to make an unlikely sale. Anyway, back to culture...

The next morning, long canoe-like motorboats leave the port in Mongu and travel for about an hour through the Bulozi flood plains – it’s a beautiful ride and a very unusual experience to zip through grassy fields in a boat, passing ‘islands’ of huts, people, cattle… Upon reaching the island where the Litunga ‘lives’ (these days he resides in Lusaka and only spends a short time in his native Barotseland) we stood around for a while with the crowd of locals and tourists from around the world and admired the traditional Lozi outfits (men wear skirts and bright red cotton hats that look like shower caps) while we waited for the King to emerge. I had a good spot where I figured I would get to watch him pass, accompanied by the Vice President, but as they emerged the crowds swarmed them and I was swallowed up in a mass of people moving towards his boat, the Nalikwanda. He boarded his boat, which is adorned with a big elephant that looks like it was made out of garbage bags, along with a host of paddlers dressed in animal skin skirts, and headed down through the plains. Luckily, they moved at a snail’s pace so we had time to race back and have lunch before we headed out to the ‘high ground’ of Limalunga. Unfortunately, the banks were so packed with onlookers that it was difficult to see much more than the big plastic elephant. Luckily a friend hoisted me up as the Litunga exited the boat so I could see him make his way to shore, donning his traditional British regalia, complete with feather-plumed hat, making it clear how much colonial influence remains after 41 years of independence.

The bad…

While ceremonies such as Kuomboka and Nc’wala are showcases of the charm of traditional Zambian culture, there are many other sides to culture here that are not as alluring. A discussion about HIV with an Irish doctor who gave me a lift to Mongu led us to analyze those aspects of culture that are contributing to the pandemic. Certainly, the culture of heavy drinking in Zambia, which is very socially acceptable, doesn’t do much to encourage abstinence or safe sex. Nor does the fact that extra-marital affairs are another socially accepted everyday occurrence. For men, that is – women of course can be taken to court for adultery. Similarly, there is a strong belief that the audacity of women who have begun wearing ‘miniskirts’ (anything above the knee) in Zambia is a direct cause of HIV transmission. Why restrict men drinking alcohol when you could ban women from wearing certain clothes (which has been proposed as a change to the constitution)? Indeed, it is disheartening how the position of women in Zambian culture affects their ability to protect themselves and others from contracting HIV. Everything from their ability to access or succeed in education, to the opportunities they have to escape poverty, to their responsibilities in the home, to the pressures and expectations of their communities, affects the ability women have to negotiate sex. It was a discussion that reminded of the importance of considering gender in the HIV work I am doing here, as its bleak relationship to both the causes and consequences of HIV is an inescapable reality

The dilemma with ‘the bad’ (which goes beyond what I have just described, but I don’t wish to dwell) relates to the sanctity of culture - while expats, especially development workers, are quick to praise and celebrate the positive aspects of culture, we avoid (openly) criticizing negative cultural practices altogether. In an effort to avoid repeating our colonial, we seem to see culture as sacred and worth preserving even when it is having a negative impact on large sections of the population. I myself struggle with how much respect I should have for culture, and how much right I have to try and ‘fix’ a culture that is not mine…

The unusual…

There are plenty of unusual cultural practices in Zambia. The problem is, as the days pass I have become accustomed to things (“I am used”, as they say here) and they have stopped seeming unusual! In fact, there’s not much at all that seems unusual anymore… Off the top of my head, one thing I discovered last week was that children are traditionally considered ready to go to school when they can reach over their head and touch their other ear! I’m still not sure what the fate of those with short arms or big heads is…


I’m not sure I’ve made much headway in terms of my discussion on culture, but hopefully the fact that it continually amazes and perplexes me is clear!

Feel Free

I feel I’ve only just begun to appreciate one of Zambia’s most common expressions: “feel free.” Perhaps it’s because I’ve heard it more often recently, or perhaps it’s because I’ve just noticed it more recently, but now every time a Zambian tells me to feel free I am struck by what a great expression it is. It can be used on many different occasions, such as when you are welcomed into someone’s home, but it also comes up at very unexpected moments, such as when someone leaves your side momentarily: “feel free, I am coming (back).” Whatever the occasion, it is always said with warmth and a sincerity that puts me at ease and really does make me feel free.

And I do feel very free here in Zambia, everywhere I go. In the last week I have been at a variety of different places with all sorts of different people and everywhere I have felt very free indeed.

My week began at a two-day civil society conference on Positive Living – Zambia’s first ever, which I was very proud to be a part of. The conference had four tracks of sessions addressing the mind, body, spirit and environment, in an attempt to get people to realize that positive living is “so much more than ARVs and… chicken!” as the MC put it. There were over 600 Zambians attending, mostly HIV positive, from all over the country who were all equally lovely, inspiring and fun, although it was all a bit tiring for the little blonde mzungu girl.

After the conference I attended a luncheon at a posh café (one of the very few) to discuss the souvenir document that will be put together and contribute the notes I had taken. I felt slightly out of place with all the wealthy expats sipping cappuccinos and eating decadent (and understandably overpriced) salads, but being ‘one of them’ it was impossible not to feel like I somehow fit in and the luxurious atmosphere definitely brought with it a feeling of freedom (perhaps too much so because I may never be able to afford to go back! If only ‘free’ applied to the grilled haloumi…).

Thursday was just work and a night of more work at home, but in both places I am pleased to say I definitely feel very free. Friday night I bounced between a number of sweaty nightclubs where, despite getting more attention that I deserved or wanted from the Zambian men on the prowl, I still felt free as I danced the night away, occasionally stopping to explain that I did not want to be bought a drink and “no, I’m very sorry but you can’t be my ‘friend’.”

Saturday I met a woman from work at the bus station in town and we headed out to the salaula (second hand clothes market) in Mandevu compound. We had a great time digging through endless piles of European cast-offs, although I didn’t buy that much because the prices had gone up, what with the month having just ended meaning people had paycheques to burn! I did, however, stumble across a Molson Canadian shirt, which I had to buy just because I couldn’t believe I had found it all the way over in Zambia, and because it gave the ladies selling it such a laugh to hear that Molson Canadian was Canada’s version of Mosi, their local lager. I think they thought it was a football team…

This morning I started my day at the 7am mass at the Catholic Church in Kalingalinga compound with Sebastien, our night guard/gardener. I have spent quite a bit of time with him lately, mostly because he has been inviting himself in to use our kitchen to cook on the nights he is working. Conversations can be trying at times, as his chizungu (English) is not the best and my chinyanja is… well, you get the point. But we manage, and after a few discussions about God he decided I must attend church with him. In return, he has agreed that he will go for VCT (voluntary HIV testing and counselling) with me tomorrow. Where was I going with this? Right: feeling free. Well after feeling free at church (as free as you can feel in a Catholic service anyway) I felt free at Seba’s friend’s ‘barbershop’ – in reality, little more than a 5ftx5ft shack with walls of cardboard and old mealie meal sacks. A good business really – all you need is a chair, a mirror, some clippers and a sound system that will blow the eardrums of anyone who comes in for a cut. Oh, and a list of prices written on a piece of cardboard is handy for new customers. In case you are wondering, a Ptotato Cut (potato cut, meaning your head is left looking like a shiny potato) is only 2000 kwacha (about 80 cents), while a Have Cut (half cut, meaning leave the top half) will cost you 2500. The Bibo Cut and Table Cut (among others) are also 2500, although despite asking several times I never figured out exactly how they left your head looking. The most expensive item on the list was the Air and Shave Cut (hair cut and a shave), which will put a 3000 kwacha hole in your wallet. I was there for maybe an hour and a half, during which time five customers came in and out (again, at the beginning of the month a haircut is an affordable luxury), and the barber’s three friends downed two teapots of home made chibuku (maize beer) – it was 10:00am when we left.

At Seba’s place, where he made me lunch, I (feeling free of course) finally tasted chibuku for the first time. Having heard it described as a mixture of sour yogurt and vomit, I wasn’t exactly anticipating that I would enjoy the experience, but even so, I have to say: it was gross!! After my first sip and subsequent violent reaction to the thick, bitter, oily stuff, Seba piled in three tablespoons of sugar and assured me it would be bearable. It wasn’t. He offered to add milk, which is apparently the preferred way to drink it, but I decided I’d leave my next taste test to another day.

This evening I was at a colleague’s house in a compound out by the airport. He is a 28-year-old Zambian who has just moved into his first place that is all his own and was very excited to have Drew and I over for dinner and show it off. It was a bit hard to stomach nshima twice within 7 hours, but it was still very tasty. Unfortunately, as a poignant Zambian once put it, nshima goes straight to your eyelids (and yes, hips too), so I am off to bed, where I will undoubtedly continue to feel very, very f r e e…