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…
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…
posted by ash at 8:11 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home