Every day is a rollercoaster
Some start of well. Others start off terribly. But no matter how a day in Zambia starts, you had better not forget to buckle up your emotional seatbelt, because you can be sure the status of each day will change multiple times throughout its 24 hours.
Take today, for example. Today started off brilliantly – I actually managed to sleep until my alarm woke me up, instead of being woken by the roosters a good hour earlier, like I am most days. I read my book (Poisonwood Bible) and sipped coffee until it was time to leave for work, and wasn’t even overly hassled on my way into town.
Then, the rollercoaster rolled over its first peak and started plummeting downwards at a stomach-turning pace. At 9:00 I went to a Real Estate agency in town so that they could take me to see a flat. I had been to the agency twice already the day before with no success, so I was already a bit cranky when I arrived. However, after only 30 minutes of waiting an agent named Mr Banda escorted me to said flat. When we arrived, however, the owner was not there waiting with the keys, as promised. He had been ‘picked’ by his sister and was on the other side of town.
“Come back at 12 hours," Mr Banda says. "He will be there. No problem.”
So I left, grumbling profanities under my breath, and returned 2 hours later having calmed down somewhat. By 12:45, however, when no one had showed up or bothered to call me, I had reached the bottom of my rollercoaster day’s first big dip. When I finally caved and called Mr Banda he informed me that the viewing time had been changed to 17 hours. I’m sure he knows I’m not telepathic, but I do wonder how he thought I would figure that out on my own…
All this wouldn’t have been so bad if this particular agency hadn’t insisted on charging a 50,000 kwacha ($15) viewing fee. But since they had, I took the liberty to complain about the terrible service they had so liberally charged me for. Normally, I’m not one to complain here. Zambia sort of sucks the complaint right out of you because a) if you were taken to complaining you wouldn’t find time to sleep, and b) it doesn’t get you anywhere. But today, I complained. I marched into the office (once I had walked myself back into town) and gave them a piece of my unsatisfied mind. Most of all, I made sure Mr Banda understood that he had better be ready at 16:45 to take me back to see the flat. They offered some lame apologies, made a lot of excuses and agreed Mr Banda would be ready at 16:45. Of course, at 16:45 I arrived at the office to have Mr Banda inform me that he couldn’t leave until he 'knocked-off' at 17:30. Funny, he didn’t mention that earlier... I refused to sit around and wait, so after much arguing I said I would meet him at the flat. I asked him to specify EXACTLY what time he would be there, and made it very clear that if he did not show up there would be, well, hell to pay!
He didn’t show up. Nor did he call. And I’m still trying to figure out just how I might create some hell to pay. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll have much success and I’ll probably just end up wasting another 4 hours of my life tomorrow playing the same game.
Fortunately, in the hours that I actually found for work today my rollercoaster day did a few loops that reminded me how inconsequential my trials and tribulations with Mr Banda were. Today was the monthly meeting for TALC, where about a hundred HIV positive people from support groups and organizations around the country come together to share information on what is going on in the organization. It’s the one day each month that really reminds me why I am here: the room is always full of wonderful people who are passionate about their fight against the pandemic, and they never cease to inspire me. Today was the first time I had seen a lot of people since I left to go home, so practically the whole room jumped up to greet me with enormous smiles and hugs when I came in – it was quite overwhelming and nearly brought tears to my eyes.
I ended up sitting next to a man who, although I recognized him, I couldn’t remember where from. Eventually he reminded me: “I am Ackim, a friend of Peter’s.” “Of course!” I replied. “You are also in the Teacher’s Ring of Hope. So how is Peter?” “Oh, Ashley, Peter has passed away.” Well that certainly brought the elusive tears to my eyes. They just began to fall, instantly, before I even realized what was happening. Peter was the very first HIV positive person I worked with when I came to Zambia. He came to the NZP+ office on my first day looking for help with a proposal for his teacher’s support group, and that was very first task I took on. Since then I had seen him often and always enjoyed chatting with him and admiring his charming smile and sparkling eyes. I can still see his face now. It shocked me that Peter had died. It shouldn’t have, because Peter, and everyone else in the meeting, battle death every day and every day some of them lose. But although many people have passed away since I began my work here, I haven’t known any of them as well as I knew Peter.
I had to leave the meeting early in order to make my 16:45 appointment to once again not get to see a flat I had paid to view. I tried to slip out quietly, but a few people managed to follow me outside to ask me for help with this or that, or find out how my trip was. Then Judith, a lovely woman I know quite well, came up to me and although I pleaded with her that I needed to go she insisted on speaking to me. She had a big grin on her face as she shared the news that a project I had helped write a proposal for had been funded! Her women’s support group had received money to start a small business tie-dyeing fabric, and things were underway and going well. Having dedicated much of my first 7 months here to building the capacity of support groups of PLHA to plan projects and write proposals, her news was my first real tangible evidence of success. I've definitely had my share of successes in life, but I was particularly pleased with this one, and Judith's exuberant high-five was the perfect reward.
I had better get some sleep. Tomorrow's rollercoaster is sure to be a wild one...
Take today, for example. Today started off brilliantly – I actually managed to sleep until my alarm woke me up, instead of being woken by the roosters a good hour earlier, like I am most days. I read my book (Poisonwood Bible) and sipped coffee until it was time to leave for work, and wasn’t even overly hassled on my way into town.
Then, the rollercoaster rolled over its first peak and started plummeting downwards at a stomach-turning pace. At 9:00 I went to a Real Estate agency in town so that they could take me to see a flat. I had been to the agency twice already the day before with no success, so I was already a bit cranky when I arrived. However, after only 30 minutes of waiting an agent named Mr Banda escorted me to said flat. When we arrived, however, the owner was not there waiting with the keys, as promised. He had been ‘picked’ by his sister and was on the other side of town.
“Come back at 12 hours," Mr Banda says. "He will be there. No problem.”
So I left, grumbling profanities under my breath, and returned 2 hours later having calmed down somewhat. By 12:45, however, when no one had showed up or bothered to call me, I had reached the bottom of my rollercoaster day’s first big dip. When I finally caved and called Mr Banda he informed me that the viewing time had been changed to 17 hours. I’m sure he knows I’m not telepathic, but I do wonder how he thought I would figure that out on my own…
All this wouldn’t have been so bad if this particular agency hadn’t insisted on charging a 50,000 kwacha ($15) viewing fee. But since they had, I took the liberty to complain about the terrible service they had so liberally charged me for. Normally, I’m not one to complain here. Zambia sort of sucks the complaint right out of you because a) if you were taken to complaining you wouldn’t find time to sleep, and b) it doesn’t get you anywhere. But today, I complained. I marched into the office (once I had walked myself back into town) and gave them a piece of my unsatisfied mind. Most of all, I made sure Mr Banda understood that he had better be ready at 16:45 to take me back to see the flat. They offered some lame apologies, made a lot of excuses and agreed Mr Banda would be ready at 16:45. Of course, at 16:45 I arrived at the office to have Mr Banda inform me that he couldn’t leave until he 'knocked-off' at 17:30. Funny, he didn’t mention that earlier... I refused to sit around and wait, so after much arguing I said I would meet him at the flat. I asked him to specify EXACTLY what time he would be there, and made it very clear that if he did not show up there would be, well, hell to pay!
He didn’t show up. Nor did he call. And I’m still trying to figure out just how I might create some hell to pay. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll have much success and I’ll probably just end up wasting another 4 hours of my life tomorrow playing the same game.
Fortunately, in the hours that I actually found for work today my rollercoaster day did a few loops that reminded me how inconsequential my trials and tribulations with Mr Banda were. Today was the monthly meeting for TALC, where about a hundred HIV positive people from support groups and organizations around the country come together to share information on what is going on in the organization. It’s the one day each month that really reminds me why I am here: the room is always full of wonderful people who are passionate about their fight against the pandemic, and they never cease to inspire me. Today was the first time I had seen a lot of people since I left to go home, so practically the whole room jumped up to greet me with enormous smiles and hugs when I came in – it was quite overwhelming and nearly brought tears to my eyes.
I ended up sitting next to a man who, although I recognized him, I couldn’t remember where from. Eventually he reminded me: “I am Ackim, a friend of Peter’s.” “Of course!” I replied. “You are also in the Teacher’s Ring of Hope. So how is Peter?” “Oh, Ashley, Peter has passed away.” Well that certainly brought the elusive tears to my eyes. They just began to fall, instantly, before I even realized what was happening. Peter was the very first HIV positive person I worked with when I came to Zambia. He came to the NZP+ office on my first day looking for help with a proposal for his teacher’s support group, and that was very first task I took on. Since then I had seen him often and always enjoyed chatting with him and admiring his charming smile and sparkling eyes. I can still see his face now. It shocked me that Peter had died. It shouldn’t have, because Peter, and everyone else in the meeting, battle death every day and every day some of them lose. But although many people have passed away since I began my work here, I haven’t known any of them as well as I knew Peter.
I had to leave the meeting early in order to make my 16:45 appointment to once again not get to see a flat I had paid to view. I tried to slip out quietly, but a few people managed to follow me outside to ask me for help with this or that, or find out how my trip was. Then Judith, a lovely woman I know quite well, came up to me and although I pleaded with her that I needed to go she insisted on speaking to me. She had a big grin on her face as she shared the news that a project I had helped write a proposal for had been funded! Her women’s support group had received money to start a small business tie-dyeing fabric, and things were underway and going well. Having dedicated much of my first 7 months here to building the capacity of support groups of PLHA to plan projects and write proposals, her news was my first real tangible evidence of success. I've definitely had my share of successes in life, but I was particularly pleased with this one, and Judith's exuberant high-five was the perfect reward.
I had better get some sleep. Tomorrow's rollercoaster is sure to be a wild one...
posted by ash at 8:32 AM
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