The Missed Details

(written 9 Feb. 2013 as an update to students in South Dakota and Florida)

I’m sitting in a mango tree before 7 am, with less than 9 weeks remaining before I leave my village.    What can I say in the way of an update?  How to discern what is relevant to you?  My blog entries have given little insights, I hope, but they are written when the spirit moves me and I take the time to sit down, reflect, and write, then later to type and post online.

I imagine I’ve skipped masses of daily details so normal to me now that they’re almost mundane:

The way my family eats dinner outside on the ground, around a collective pot and side dishes, using our fingers. 

The energy-efficient way of heating bath water in the sun (on days it doesn’t rain), in a large tub covered in plastic sheeting—mine was cut from my mattress packaging—held securely by a long strip of rubber commonly used to tie parcels to bicycle racks. 

The rhythm of pumping clean water from a borehole, or of hauling it up, hand over hand, from a well, carefully winding the rope in a coil on the ground without ever losing hold of the 10-liter bucket of water making its ascent.

 Gathering stems of long, wheat-like grass from the soccer pitch, and weaving the strands together to make a handheld broom.

Sometimes people write me letters and say it’s interesting to hear about how different life is here.  This always takes me by surprise, because I don’t feel that it is so different.  The threads of common humanity are stronger than we imagine.  I suppose it’s like wearing a pair of tinted glasses—at first, after you put them on, everything has a new shade and looks exciting, if perhaps disorienting.  After a while, however, the colorful tinting becomes natural, and what you see remains the same as it always has.  You’re mindful of the new hue, of course, but it no longer distracts you from the shapes and forms you see. 

If this is true, though, then will going back to the States be akin to removing the glasses?  And will I be disoriented there?  Perhaps, and a bit of anxiety about this has been popping up in the last few days.  Nervousness not just about the U.S., exactly, but about the things I want to do here, the ways I want to take advantage of the two remaining months.  I’m so very privileged to live here.  As a U.S. citizen, I had the good fortune to be caught up in the Peace Corps tornado and dropped down like Dorothy in a different place.  Moreover, I have more than adequate support—financial and otherwise—to live comfortably in that place, more comfortably than many of its own citizens.  My two-year-journey is to an Emerald City called “COS,” or “Close-of-Service,” and while it will be exciting to go home once I reach that destination, it will also mean leaving behind this enchanting Oz.

But Oz has its threats, too, and I’ve not been immune to its witches.  (I mean this, of course, in a purely metaphorical sense, though many Zambians believe that witchcraft is real, practiced, and powerful.)  I see things that make me, in turns, agitated, furious, and apathetic.  When a young man starts beating another, accused of theft, and people gather around to watch, including a mother with her second-grade son.  When a teacher is away from school for three full weeks in a term, leaving no lesson plans or even an attendance register behind, and the administration makes no plan whatsoever for how those pupils will be taught the curriculum, other than occasionally instructing another teacher (busy with a room of 100 pupils of his or her own) to “keep the unattended class busy.”  When grown men ask me for money—equivalent to 40 US cents—to buy alcohol.

There are days when I can’t wait to get back to the U.S., where [insert any particular problem bothering me that day here] just won’t exist.

Then I think back to the months prior to Peace Corps, when I couldn’t wait to leave my American frustrations behind.  Students who make sexually inappropriate comments to their teachers, in class, and don’t even see it as wrong; freezing cold weather; hectic schedules; church services people attend not out of any desire to praise or worship but to make sure they’ve been seen as a “good churchgoing person.”  Every one of these things was like a heavy coat in November and December of 2010 and January of 2011, a coat I looked forward to shedding once I hit African soil.  (I spent the summer of 2004 in Cameroon, so I had an idea of what I might find here in Zambia and was looking forward to certain elements of African cultures.)

I did shed those vestments, but found others to dress in.  No place is without troubles.  But the converse is also true: No place is without beauty.  Zambia is utterly filled with it, despite what is seen at surface level, what Westerners want to label “poverty” and aid by writing a check so they can go right on with their day.  There are birds here, and wildflowers, an airy cloak of nature enfolding us, and much of what is used in daily life is gleaned from the living world all around.  There are family bonds that make one’s aunt akin to one’s mother.  There is an understanding of real, physical labor, evident in the toned muscles and lack of excess fat in so many Zambians, bodies that look like sculptures, that reveal what human anatomy should look like, though the concept of dieting is completely foreign.  (In two years, I’ve had only one, naturally rotund Zambian woman tell me she’d like to slim down and ask for advice on how.  For most, the idea of reducing weight-gain-causing food intake is bizarre.  Imagine having so much money to buy sweets and fatty foods that you must conscious limit yourself—the notion is preposterous.) 

And Zambians have a sense of happiness and hope that seems only penetrable by the present, if unintended, message by Western countries that they need us.  My own presence is, in a way, part of this message, though I hope I’ve been more a symbol of cooperation and mutual learning than one of aid—that we, the USA, need Zambia as much as it needs us, that we’re all in a vast web that should be woven out of mutual respect and understanding.  That we’re all vital to the global effort for our shared development and progression toward a more equitable, prosperous, peaceful future.

So in the way of an update…that’s what I’ve got.  I’m still figuring it all out, and I’m afraid I’ve done an inadequate job of providing the rich details that fill my senses each day, but ultimately I’m happy to enjoy the remaining nine weeks in  my village, soaking in the African sun and all that Zambia has to teach me.

Brazier Making

(written 23 January 2013)

The metalsmith sat on the ground, as usual, working on a wide strip of perforated metal.  He brought a chair out of the house for me, and I sat under the mango tree, watching as he manipulated the sheet with his hands and a hammer, bending it against what appeared to be a scrap of railroad iron.  Folding over each end and then binding them together to form a circle, the brazier began to take shape.  Tracing around the form, he cut out a circle, perforating it with lines of circles by methodically pounding a bolt into the metal.  This he set inside the metal cylinder, a base for the amalasha (natural wood charcoal).  Underneath he had already made slices; now he pushed back portions of the metal to hold the base in place.  The top half provided a bed for the charcoal, the upper lip of the brazier a stable resting place for a pot.  The perforations allowed air flow to fuel the fire and ashes to fall through below.  Hence, the bottom needed a flat surface, too.  The man retrieved a beat-up enamel-coated serving platter from the house, again tracing and cutting out a circle from it.  He sealed it to the frame by folding the metal, bit by bit, around the edge, undoing it and making minor adjustments when he made a slight mistake.

I sat with him for around an hour as he worked.  A toddler climbed around his lap for a while.  “Last born?” I asked, thinking that perhaps he was even a grandchild.  “First born,” he replied, and, by way of explanation, added:  “I didn’t marry quickly.  Nacinanga—I played.”  It was endearing to see his affection for his child, who tumbled around on him as his father went about his work.

Soon the brazier was complete, save for a thin wire that would be inserted to function as a handle.  The barefoot craftsman—I don’t even know his name—constructed it in his dirt courtyard, by hand, in about two hours.  It will sell for K12,000—now, after rebasing, K12—about US $2.50.

Mushroom Hunting

(written 23 January 2013)

On my 29^th birthday, I went mushroom hunting.

In the US,  I tend to forget—or indeed perhaps have never really been aware—that foods have seasons.  We have mango season, amasuku (wild fruit) season, guava season…a season for sweet potatoes, fresh maize, and even animals like caterpillars and inswa (a type of flying ant/termite).  It’s delightful when a favorite food makes its first appearance at the market.  While some food preservation is practice—drying fish in the sun, for example—it’s generally feast or famine for a particular food.  We eat lots of mangoes for a few months, and then wait until the coming year when the blooms will bear fruit and grow heavy again. 

January is mushroom season.

I returned from a failed meeting at the clinic in mid-morning to find my sisters about to go into the woods behind my house in search if fungi.  They waited for me and we went together. The mushrooms we sought were roughly the size of an Oreo cookie; the color of irish potatoes on top and a light yellow, like sweet potatoes, on the underside.  My sisters—age 5, 7, 8, and 13—showed me how to find them and advised me as we plucked them from the ground:  “Iviola—that’s rotten,” they’d say, even though I couldn’t tell the difference.  I asked about other mushrooms I found as we walked—red, orange, yellow, even a white one with brown squarish spots, a pattern befitting an animal’s pelt; big mushrooms and tiny ones.  Today, however, they were interested only in the pale brown ones that were plentiful if one wandered around long enough in the right place.

We wandered for perhaps 30 minutes, until we’d filled a bright silver bowl they had toted from home.  Completely disoriented, I followed my sisters as they led me out of the woods and back into my yard.  Foraging is still an essential part of getting groceries here in the village.

New Year, New Money!

I squealed a little bit inside the ATM.  Or perhaps it was more like screaming.

"Hey, you, what's your problem?" I heard.

"Is that guy talking to me?" I asked my friend Derek, who was waiting beside his bike outside the ATM cubicle's reflective blue glass. I looked out and saw a man in a taxi looking back at me.

"What's your problem?" he repeated.

"New money!" I exclaimed, and we both laughed.

January 1st was the first day the Zambian government unrolled the new rebased kwacha.  There have been posters up for months depicting the forthcoming bills and coins, but this was the first day my bank account reflected the new notation and spit out crisp new currency.

Essentially, the government has cut three zeros off the end of our currency.  The exchange rate since I've been here has been roughly 5,000 kwacha for $1 USD.  In common parlance we say "5 pin," and I'm told it's because when rapid inflation happened years ago, people would literally pin together a stack of bills to equate to 1,000, so any multiple of 1,000 translated into that number of pins of bills.  Now we will say simply, "5 kwacha."  To take the place of amounts smaller than K1,000--particularly the highly useful K500 note, which has bought me many a bun, scone, and fritter--the government will soon be unveiling coins, with the name of Ngwee, which seem to me to be similar to the coins that were used not long after Zambian independence but were either institutionally phased out or just sort of faded away as their diminishing value made them useless.

The motto on the posters has been "New money, same value," but rebasing is a tricky business.  I don't know the economics of it, but I'm interested to see how it plays out.  Yesterday, running errands around town and asking vendors their prices, many people laughed as they would say, "4 thousand...4 KWACHA!"  The value of the currency has not changed, just the number of zeros.  But money is a psychology, and it does  involve a mental shift.  Currently both currencies can be used, which is a bit tricky.  The picture below shows a brand-new 50 kwacha and 100 kwacha note next to an old 50,000 kwacha and 100 kwacha note.  The two "50s" are equal in value--I can use either today to buy the same item.  But the old 100 kwacha note is just as useless as it's been for a while (procuring me perhaps a small candy, similar to a penny-candy idea) while the new 100 kwacha has the value of two new 50 kwachas.

Simple math, right?  But when you've been accustomed for years to the idea that 100 kwacha has almost no value, it's a change to think that it has a *lot* of value.  So much that some worry it will in effect become useless, as well, because in village economies that run primarily on (former denominations) K500, K1000, and K5000 transactions, for things like eggs, soap, cooking oil, and soda, it has always been very hard to use a K50,000 note.  No one has change for it.  As PCVs we are always very intentional to use a variety of K50,000 bills when in town, at big shops, on transport, etc. so that when we reach our village we will have small bills we can use for small transactions.  Now, however, there's not only a K50 bill (same as the previous K50,000) but a K100 bill.  The ATM gleefully deposits the currency in my hand, but I'm a little wary...how will I ever use this, other than on a cross-country bus ticket or in the provincial capital supermarket?

The two currencies will both be in circulation until June, I believe, so any effects will take a while to see.  Nonetheless, it's a fairly exciting thing to witness!

New Year's Resolutions...amended

The day after Christmas, I listed my New Year's Resolutions:

1. Remove the word "should" from my vocabulary.
2. Live in community, in honor of Ben Horne.

Then, on New Year's Eve, as I was enjoying a delicious bowl of beans, rice, soya, and guacamole with nine other PCVs--the day after an extremely adventurous 80-km ride to one of their sites, which itself followed a whirlwind tour of three other PCV friends' sites in Luwingu district--I realized I needed to add one more.  I looked at Erica O. and said,

"I want to draw a larger circle."

She understood instantly, as we had discussed at length the quote I was referencing, and the situation for which it is a metaphor, three nights prior at her house.  Her smile and nod warmed my heart and filled me with encouragement.

The reference is to the poem "Outwitted" by Edwin Markham.  I found it--or some paraphrased version--in the book Apples of Gold, a quote collection of sorts, that found its way into the assortment of books my mom and sister brought in their suitcases to Zambia to be used in my reading promotion work with my pupils and community.  The first time I read it, I knew that this was the answer to a wound I've been letting time heal (slowly) while I've been here.  I haven't known exactly how to draw a larger circle, and I still don't, but I love the idea that this poem implies--acceptance, forgiveness, and inclusion.  This idea seems to be a good approach to any hurt that may linger from 2012 or may come in 2013.  Cheers to that!

Outwitted  by Edwin Markham

He drew a circle that shut me out —

Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.

But Love and I had the wit to win:

We drew a circle that took him in!

New Year's Resolutions

For 2013, I have two simple goals:

1. Remove the word "should" from my vocabulary.
2. Live in community, in honor of Ben Horne.

Merry Christmas 2012!

In keeping with tradition, I'll sum up the year in a spur-of-the-moment Christmas letter:

Happy Holidays to all!
The past year has been so full of rich experiences that I'm struggling even to begin.  To break it into pieces:

Work: I'm a volunteer in the Rural Education Development (RED) project, and my primary focus has been co-teaching at the zonal centre school a stone's throw from my house.  Terms I and II found me co-teaching Grade 9 Maths with a wonderful community volunteer teacher who has become my best friend in the village. He left to begin studies at the University of Zambia in July, so in Term III, I continued with Grade 9 Maths (sometimes with another teacher), and I also co-taught Grade 9 English with a teacher new to our school.  I'm also taking part in a study run through the CDC (Center for Disease Control) and PMI (President's Malaria Initiative), examining the use of and damage sustained by LLINs--Long-life insecticide-impregnated mosquito nets.  I've had several counterparts in this study and it has been a much-needed and fabulously interesting way to get myself out of school and into the community.  I've appreciated the trust bestowed me as people I don't know well allow me into their bedrooms (a very private space in Zambia) to examine their nets.  I've done a bit of work at other schools--paying a few school visits, organizing and conducting a book inventory at the next nearest government school--but sometimes I feel my most valuable work is one-on-one tutoring or homework help, often with my family members or other pupils on weekends or in the evenings.

I've had a chance to do some HIV/AIDS work, which boils down to informal conversations and condom demonstrations.  For example, one afternoon I was hanging out on my porch with two of my best friends, 20-something men in the village, and we were able to discuss sexual behaviours in Zambia and America, some of our own personal choices, and male circumcision.  This kind of organic idea-sharing and planting-seeds-for-behaviour-change represents what I love best about my job here--the way it seeps effortlessly into the rest of my life if I just let it.

My fabulous team of district volunteers organised a Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) in April and a Camp ELITE (Empowering Leaders in Training and Equality) in December.  Basically these camps train grade 8 and 9 youth as peer educators in life skills, gender issues, and general empowerment in single-sex camps.  (ELITE also incorporated football training.)  We also train a community counterpart, and ideally each PCV-counterpart-youth team creates a club at their school to help transfer these skills to other youth as well.  Both camps were a great success.  Making the clubs work is more challenging, but as we say here, "bit by bit."

I've done a bit of work here and there at the clinic, helping out with Under 5, and I did a test-run of sorts with a short informational lesson on water purification with mothers at a postnatal clinic session.  I'm looking forward to doing more community education through these channels in the coming months.

A community library has not gathered the impetus it needs to transition from idea to reality yet, and I'm wary of pushing my own agenda.  However, my mother and sister both generously brought books in their suitcases, and I'm trying to promote a reading culture through exposing children to those.  We have a district library that has really encouraged me with its potential, and I've been working with a few other volunteers to help put the books in order.  We have big hopes that we can help train the library staff on how to maintain this order, expand their collection, and attract the public.  It will be an ongoing project, but I hope that my work has helped the staff to build a relationship with Peace Corps and that others will continue to carry on what we're starting to really make the library a great resource for those in the district.

As a second-year volunteer, I've tried to be a good resource for newer volunteers, taking part in an orientation panel, hosting second site visit for the new Mbala district RED volunteers, and helping design and facilitate In-Service Training for the first-year RED volunteers in August.  It's empowering to be part of a great team of talented and committed individuals!

Play: I love my house and my community, and I take plenty of time for myself to sleep, sew, write, paint, and read.  I don't bike on a daily basis due to my location and how my work has been focused, but I've had some lovely rides to other volunteers' sites and town.  Larry London's music mix blaring through the shortwave radio remains one of my favourite hours of the day, and letters from family and friends are the best things one can find in Mbala!  I've tried to reconcile two distinct parts of Peace Corps/Zambia--the personal village experience and the crowd-of-other-Peace-Corps-volunteers experience, and I hosted a cool Unity Day/American independence day party that merged the two as well as I hoped.  Nights here and there in Mbala and Mpulungu, helping out with a volunteer's health day in Central Province, visiting Kasanka National Park for the bat migration, and time at the provincial house for biannual meetings, new volunteer posting, and other work/events have provided many opportunities to develop friendships within the Peace Corps family.  Of course, visits from my mom and sister Beth were big highlights of the year!

Love: It's impossible not to think about marriage and babies in a country where every young woman has a child strapped to her back.  That said, I'm not coming home with a spouse or a child, and I'm really happy to still be shaping my own world and figuring out my own vision for the future.  When I find someone who shares the vision, perhaps the horse and carriage will follow, but in the meanwhile I'm very happy to be unattached!

Family: I've missed some big things at home this year: the birth of fourth son, Asher, to my brother Bryce and sister-in-law Ronda; the high-school graduation of my sister Beth, and countless school activities of my other siblings Jim, Anne, and Becky, plus the occasional visit home from my soldier brother Mike.  However, I was privileged to share my Zambian home with my mom during her whirlwind tour in April and with Beth during her 5-week stay in June/July.  Between these two visits, I was able to share in a safari to Chobe Park in Botswana, visits to Kalambo and Victoria Falls, general silliness in Livingstone, and quality time roaming the areas most important in my life here.  I've also experienced some changes in my Zambian family as people tend to be a bit transient in my village, and while I'm excited that I'll get more time with my American family in the very near future, I'll be terribly sad to leave behind my Zamfam.

All the rest: Peace Corps is known to be full of ups and downs, and I've had my share of frustration, disappointment, and uncertainty about my role and my work.  Nonetheless, I'm always aware of the incredible gift that this entire experience is and of the stream of sand that marks my rapidly-diminishing time here.  I have so much I still want to learn, do, and experience in my remaining months, and I'm really excited about soaking in every moment.  I'm scheduled to leave my community around April 11th, officially 'ring out' of the Peace Corps on April 18, and spend a few weeks traveling in Tanzania before I go to my South Dakota home in May.  In June I'll be back to Cambridge with Harvard Summer School, and August will bring another new entry into one of my favourite places: The Great Unknown.

The year has been an amazing one.  I'm so grateful for good health, meaningful work, and a breathtaking environment to live in, but most of all for the wonderful people who fill my world.  Thank you for sharing your lives with me!  Wishing you all the best in 2013.

With love,
Andrea (/Rose)