Chapter 8

Mwalibiya buti,

I hope everyone is doing well. Here in Monze, the rains are falling almost every day and the vegetation is lush and green. The maize (corn) is taller than me, the sweet potatoes are sprouting leaves, and my feet are continuously covered in mud. I don’t mind though. It’s a small price to pay for many people having enough food to eat this year.

I have just recently moved into a new house with a 25 year old teacher named Barbara, from Lusaka. She’s Zambian, and has a husband and 2 little boys.  She teaches metal working and technical drawing and was transferred to Monze a few weeks ago. She literally showed up on my doorstep one Sunday afternoon looking for a place to stay.  We immediately connected and decided then to become roommates.  Her husband and eldest son are still living in Lusaka, while the youngest boy, Andrew, has moved in with us.  It’s a full house, since her sister-in-law has also moved in to care for the baby. That brings our household total up to 5, if you count the dog, Mwayi. 

I have some sad news.  In my last posting, I mentioned working in the fields with a girl named Olivia and her daughter Precious.  Two weeks ago, one of Olivia’s relatives saw me in town and told me that Precious had unexpectedly passed away.  The last time I had seen the little 1 year old, she was fat and healthy looking. My heart ached. How could this have happened? In Zambia, I have come to realize that death is treated somewhat differently than it is at home.  It seems as though someone I know is always on their way to attending a funeral.  Here, Death isn’t treated as an unimaginable occurrence, rather as a reality of living. This isn’t to say that it’s not as painful, as life altering, as it would be for people at home. It’s only that many here are faced with it on a more frequent basis.

After talking with Olivia, it turns out that the baby had been given ‘traditional medicine’ and became sick afterward. Here in Zambia, there are two types of health systems – modern and traditional medicine.  The traditional remedies are most often administered by a witch doctor.  This person is unregulated and has no official accreditation.  They use local plants, herbs, and roots to make their medicines and are usually visited once modern medicine has failed the ill.  Many Zambians I’ve talked with will only reluctantly admit they’ve tried traditional methods for treating their ailments, although it’s very common. As with Precious, sometimes these medicines cause adverse reactions and result in the person becoming sicker than they were.  She was then taken to a clinic near the village where they gave her anti-malarial drugs. This is often the first treatment prescribed to patients, even without conducting a malaria test. Since the clinic was overcrowded (as they often are) and she needed to be monitored overnight, she was transferred to another hospital.  They also gave her anti-malarial medication, and eventually her little body just wasn’t able to cope with all the drugs in her system.  Olivia was so angered by this obvious case of malpractice, but yet, she probably won’t be able to receive any form of retribution for her daughter’s death because she just doesn’t have the money or resources to fight for it. At the moment, all she wants to do is go back to school and graduate. Again, because she doesn’t have anyone to support her financially, this may not happen.

A thought pops into my head. Why don’t I offer to help her go back to school? I could afford to pay for her school fees. It would only cost about $100 per term, plus a bit extra for uniforms. She only has to finish grade 12 and I could receive monthly progress reports to ensure that she’s making the most of her time there.  I’m sure that every volunteer has met someone with a lot of potential, little money, and has had this exact same thought.  So why don’t I?

Reasons such as having to consider the type of message I’m sending to others here, the sustainability of such an action, and the impact on Olivia if I make this promise and am unable to keep it. But even so, wanting to help people is a natural human reaction. There is no easy answer when deciding whether or not to help someone obtain an education.

Please send any thoughts on these topics. I’d love to hear what you think.

Lv,

Jenn

 Happy New Year!

In Zambia, New Year’s is an event that everyone can celebrate, regardless of religion.  My New Year ’s Eve was spent in the home of 2 German volunteers in Monze. At one point in the evening, I was sitting and observing the crowd. Such a diverse bunch! There were people from all over the world - Zambia, Japan, America, Germany and, of course Canada. For most people there, English was their second language, but everyone managed to tell stories and laugh with each other. This type of scene brings with it a quiet sort of comfort that someday, this will be a common New Year’s setting in every part of the world (I know that’s sappy, but it’s really how I felt).

Since we’re currently in the middle of the rainy season (and this one is unlike those of past years – there’s actually rain), I’ve decided to hire myself out as cheap labour. I know that somehow, in some small way, this may be undermining development, since I am offering my services for free. But I feel the experience I get offsets this a bit. In the mornings, I wake at 5:30am, clean up the mess that my new puppy has kindly left me from the night before, put on my sneakers, and start out on my ten minute run - chitenge in hand - to the fields.  The ‘fields’ belong to the family of a girl, Olivia, I met during one of my runs. She’s an orphan who had to relocate from town to the rural area to live with her grandparents after her mother and father died.  She has a one year old baby girl, Precious, whose father lives somewhere in Monze.  Olivia says that Precious is her first and last child – something that I rarely hear from young girls here.  Once ready, we grab the hoes, Olivia straps the baby girl to her back and we start off. I wrap a chitenge – a piece of colorful material that acts as a skirt - around my waist to hide my thighs (it’s considered improper for men to see the color of your upper leg) and work barefoot. We’ve been weeding their maize fields for the past couple of days. Before this, I was helping my co-worker, Mrs. Simoonga, build sweet potato mounds (think of large anthills) in her fields. She is up and working every morning at 5am, comes to the WaterAid office to work with me for 8am, and then back to the fields in the afternoons. It’s interesting, people here rarely complain about their workload. It’s just accepted that one’s spare time will be minimal due to all the responsibilities which they have.  One of these major responsibilities is the caring for and education of children. Families here are usually comprised of extended family members, ranging from children who have lost their parents to those who come from less-to-do families. Mrs. Simoonga, for instance, has 4 children of her own, plus 2 children from her husband, as well as a niece whose mom died when she was 3 years old. Rue, being an educated woman, understands the importance of education and works tirelessly to provide this for her children. All schools in Zambia charge tuition by grade 7, and one is able to find many a child who had to withdraw from classes due to this.  Before Rue started working with me at WaterAid, she was traveling from Monze to Livingstone (about a 3 hour trip) every week to sell tomatoes (she gets a much better price there). Her husband helps maintain the residences at the local college, and together they have been able to send all of the children to school. One of the girls is currently studying to be a teacher…. 

I am completely removed from this type of obligation weighing upon me.  Having other people rely so heavily on my actions is a situation I’ve never experienced.  Often times, the older children of the family will be required to support the younger ones acquire their education and help the family survive. My sister didn’t rely on me to help send her to school. My family never relied on me to put food on the table.  What does that even feel like to have so many others depend on your ability to provide for them??  Especially when there isn’t a constant source of income? Would I even be able to handle it? Am I innovative, resourceful enough? I’m not really sure - I’ve never been tested.

Thoughts from the field…….

Lots of love, 

Jenn

Wow,

It’s been a while since I’ve written.  The reason for this is that I’ve recently moved to a village (population 300) about 20km from Monze called Hampongo.  There is no running water, no electricity in most homes, and no internet.  I’ve moved there to work with WaterAid on the construction of latrines in three different areas. 

Before you start picturing me in a house with a grass roof and mud walls, I have to admit that I’m actually staying in a comfortable three bedroom home that’s powered by solar panels.  The house belongs to the environmental health technician, Mr. Maambo.  I, along with another lady who is working with me, Rue Simooonga, will stay with him until the end of November.

At first, I was nervous about village life.  I was worried about the customs that people followed, being a vegetarian, not understanding the language, being lonely, and experiencing a way of life completely different from my own (or so I thought).   

As expected, the people were very curious about the new resident in their village.  So many people stopped by to introduce themselves; others simply stared as they walked past the house. The children would gather in groups and just watch me.  This interest subsided after a few days and I was finally able to visit the pump to get water with a little more confidence!  It's unbelieveable seeing 9 year old girls carrying 20litres of water on their heads.  The people in the village are tough. That's one of the first words that came to mind when I thought of describing them.  Plowing fields with no shoes, getting by on one meal a day, taking care of a 20 person family. One would expect little laughter or celebration in these circumstances. On the contrary, people sing, laugh, and tease eachother on a regular basis. This isn't to say, though, that sadness isn't a frequent occurrence. A friend recently went home for lunch only to find that her father and brother had eaten all of the food. If we hadn't shared our meal with her, she and her baby would have gone without that day.

The previous two weekends,  I had the privilege of attending 2 village weddings.  They started on Saturday with a huge celebration at the groom's parents' residence.  Everyone is dancing, singing, drinking sweet beer and eating nshima.  They cook the nshima in huge caldrons and use something comparable to a shovel to mix it.  The bride is kept in a house (in the middle of the party) with a few women who attend to her needs.  She can't speak and her head is always bowed.  She doesn't get to join in the celebration, although her finace does.  The main form of music is drums and whistles.  At the first wedding, the men were playing the drums while the women formed a circle and sang traditional songs. The brave ones moved to the middle of the cirlce and demonstrated their dancing skills.  Oddly enough, they thought that I wanted to show mine off too! As a white Canadain being dragged into the middle of a group of African women who've been dancing since they were 2 years old is scary. I finally realized the purpose of all those nights dancing at the clubs back home.  Unkonwingly, I had actually been training for this very moment.  I think I pleased them though, telling by the shouting and cheering that followed my 'routine'.  

It's customary for people to stay awake singing and dancing all night. It was fantastic. I didn't make it, and had to crash around 4am.  I was awoken by the drums and songs later that morning.  The day of the wedding, a cow is slaughtered and meals are prepared.   Since I'm anti-slaughtering, I didn't participate in this activity. The wedding takes place just after lunch, with the bride finally being able to move from the house.  The wedding procedure had a Western style, although it was unnerving seeing this influence. It didn't feel as though this was completely natural for them.  They definitely added their own improvisions to the ceremony! The bridesmaids and groomsmen performed a dancing routine, and everyone cheered for them as they came through the crowd. Some even stuffed money in their clothing.  Much more exciting than weddings at home. There was no religious head or justice of the peace performing the ceremony, only an MC conducting the activities.  The marriage is stilled considered valid and the father/grandfather of the bride take turns letting the groom know (through speeches)what will happen if he treats their girl badly. After the ceremony, people travel home and sleep until the following day...

That's all for now.  I am enjoying life in the village, although I do feel a disconnect from the rest of the world at times.  I am only able to get phone reception by the 3rd pole in front of the health center, and even then it's often poor.  Not a big deal, and in all, I feel that this experience is invaluable to understanding the concept of 'poverty' a bit better.  I am determined to learn everyhting from this that I can and I will try to share these lessons as best as I can.

Miss you all and take care of yourselves,

Jenn  

Muli bwanji,

This is the 3rd installment of my time in Zambia.  I decided this time I'd give you a little insight into my daily routine as well as some thoughts about the people and culture here….

1) 6am  - Mommy (the lady I'm staying with in Lusaka) turns on the radio to her favorite Zambian music station and cranks the volume   

2) 6:45 - my alarm goes off. It didn't need to though, I've been awake since 6am

3) 7am - Since there's no hot running water in the house, Mommy heats some up on the stove for me.  My 'shower' consists of standing in a metal tub full of water and using a cup to pour it over me. Surprisingly, this works quite well, although I’ve recently decided to start toughing it out and just have cold showers

4) 7:15am - Mommy and I eat breakfast. Bread and tea.  Music is still blaring but conversation at breakfast is always interesting.  She tells me about her past, who’s ‘good’ and ‘bad’ (these are her distinguishing adjectives to describe people), and her family.

5) 7:30am - I leave Mommy's and head out for work.  It takes me about 55mins to walk to my office, with a 5 min. mini bus ride.  After I leave, Mommy's friends ask her 'Why doesn't the Muzungu have a car??' (Muzungu meaning Westerner).  Mommy is happy I take the bus - it makes it look as though I have no money. This decreases the chances of us getting mugged, so Mommy thinks.

6) 8:30am - I arrive to 'work' at the WaterAid Zambia office. My work, so far, has consisted of writing articles for some newspapers at home, reading about water provision, sanitation, and hygiene, and the other day I removed some white sticky stuff from maps.  No worries, the lack of actual productive tasks was due to delays in obtaining my work permit.  Now that I have it, I’m able to go to the field and will potentially be moving to work in Namwala or Monze (a change from Chitongo).  I’ll find this out within the next week or two. 

7) 12 - I'm soo hungry!! I'm still not use to eating until 1pm, and it takes all my will power not to leave for lunch right now

8) 12:30 – that’s it. I’m leaving for lunch.  I always go to a local restaurant near my office. This is the first place that I ate nshima when I arrived in Zambia. The owner, Betty, and I have become pretty good friends. She’s a strong, liberal thinking lady and started the restaurant on her own after her husband died.  We usually spend lunch hour chatting, but I’ll also help serve food with the other staff when it becomes busy.  The customers find this amusing.  What I find amusing is the number of times that I’m asked if I’m married by the male customers.  The man will then usually let me know that he isn’t and that he’d like my number.

9) 4:30 – I knock off from work (that’s Zambian lingo).  I usually take the bus home since I don’t want to be caught walking in the dark and I often pick up food along the way for supper.  I grab the mini bus to town and then stroll around the market picking up veggies.  As usual, I have to be wary of increased prices that people seem to like to give me!  A ‘machoma bwanji’ (good afternoon) or a ‘ndipunzira chinyanja’ (I’m learning to speak Nyanja) will often score me an extra bundle of rape (canola) or a few bonus candies. 

10) 6pm – time to go home. I grab another bus and head for Libabla, stage 3.  This neighbourhood would be considered middle class in Zambia and is relatively safe, though it would be difficult to convince Mommy to let me outside once it gets dark!  We eat and watch the cheesy, yet engaging, dubbed Spanish soap operas.  I’ll often have a visitor (someone from the neighbourhood stopping by), and just recently, a group of young girls have started coming over in the evenings before dinner.  The first time they came to visit, I didn’t really know what to do with them.  There were 4 of them, 10-13 yrs. old.  So I took them outside and showed them how to play -what else! - ultimate frisbee.  They loved it.  Just last week, we had a group of 7 or more and they’re progressing along nicely!!  

11) 10:30 – off to bed. I’ve usually done some writing by now and I’ll still have some energy left to get through a few pages in my book…  

That’s a typical day of my life in Lusaka.  Some things that I’ve had to get used to are:

Punctuality – many Zambians feel that if they arrive within 30-40 mins. of your meeting time, they have nothing to worry about. Most of you who know me would think that I’d enjoy this lack of regard for time (I’m sometimes late myself ;) ), but I’m always the one waiting for people here. Now knowing what it’s like to be on the receiving end of this, I want to sincerely apologize to everyone who I’ve made wait for me over the past years!

Religion – people are very religious here and have a lot of faith that ‘God’ is going to take care of them.  Everywhere, from mini buses to billboards, God is referenced.  On my way to Livingstone from Lusaka, a minister even started to hold a sermon in the front of the bus!  After he’d finished, he then proceeded to pass around a collection bag!! Sometimes I have to sensor my views on religion in conversations, but I do appreciate the strength of people’s faith, especially when it benefits their way of life.  

I love and miss you all. More updates to follow…