Settling In

Day 13 in Zambia

I am starting to feel like I am settling into life and work here in Meheba.  I’ve met with the FHS (FORGE Health Services) staff a couple times now and have my projects for the summer lined up.  I’m diving into reviewing the health education curriculum and looking forward to seeing the other clinics in camp and how the FORGE health centers interact with the Ministry of Health services.  I have a pretty good idea of how to get to all the places I need to go and am grateful to see familiar faces when I am outside of the FORGE compound.

I will admit that I can seriously get used to this schedule.  I feel so much happier without the frenetic pace I maintain back in the States.  Here, most days I can wake up whenever my body has had enough rest, go for a long run or head off to a meeting after making breakfast, come home to Alice with lunch ready and bathing water heated on the braizier (our coal stove thingy), then get some work done on my computer and read.  The evening is spent with making dinner, watching movies on Jeremy’s laptop, and more reading before heading off to bed early.

Today, I even took a break from updating the dehydration curriculum to head across the road to check out a rehearsal for the performances for World Refugee Day.  It is going to be an awesome event this Sunday.  I am so glad that I am here for this.  The refugees in Meheba have been working so hard for weeks and there will be lots of diplomats and representatives from the embassies, UN, and Lusaka visiting the settlement for the day.

Day 15 in Zambia

The quiet tonight has moved me to tears.  Jeremy left with his father and brother for their three week tour of Africa, and the bustling activity of the past couple days has dropped off into the most incredible quiet I’ve ever heard.  I am sitting in the middle of our courtyard listening to the crickets hum, while Jambo and Chindele play, chasing each other up trees and getting into the general mischief that these cats do.  Faintly in the background I hear the voices of our guards talking just beyond the gate… I find it comforting, despite being in no danger here.  And, as I tilt my head back I can see the most beautiful starry night, framed by the roof and treetops of our compound.  It certainly is a sight to see.  Without all the noise and distractions that I experience in the States, I can hear every noise… every rustle of leaves as the gentle night wind blows, every footstep outside… and I sit here in awe of the simple beauty of life… grateful that God has bestowed upon humankind the greatest gift – the ability to be moved by creation.

I had an incredible day.  Of course nothing went as planned.  When I went to the FHS office to finally take inventory of supplies, no one was there.  So I came back home to continue working on updating curriculum.  After heading across the street to the home of one of the FHS staff to get a key to the office, I collected my reading material for the weekend – some pamphlets on basic first aid, a nutrition textbook, and a book about village health called “Where There is No Doctor”.  After lunch I decided to get out and explore a bit.  As I am becoming more and more comfortable here, I am venturing out further into the camp on my own.  I decided that I would ride my bike down the road I normally run, to see what is further down that road.  On the way, I ended up running into one of the FORGE staff on his way to F block.  I spent the afternoon with him.  We rode together down (more accurately, up) the hilly path and talked.  Once we arrived in F, he showed me around.  We stopped to visit a friend who had just given birth to a baby boy four days ago.  As we chatted, she placed the baby in my arms… there is nothing in the world like the feeling of holding a baby.  We also visited the health center, school, and Catholic church.  It was wonderful to sit on the steps of the church and have a long talk about the world – about the U.S., Zambia, the Congo, the nature of human beings, our responses in times of grief and loss, and our need to feel connected to other human beings.  On a side note, we also had a very interesting discussion (well more like we sat and listened to a monologue) of a slightly inebriated old man, who probably shouldn’t be drinking as much as he does for the job he holds in the community.  It was a little concerning, but mostly entertaining, and we just smiled knowingly and laughed as we hopped back on our bikes and he showed me the way back to the road that would lead me home.

Another side note: Chindele has decided that the best place to be right now is my lap… which considering I am working on a laptop balanced on my knee, is making typing this entry very interesting.  She is purring so loud… I don’t know how such a little thing can make so much noise.  Lucky for her, she is too cute for me to kick off her perch.  Plus I am grateful for the extra warmth and the company.

I have been thinking a lot about relief and development work lately.  On the one hand, there is much work to be done and many impassioned people desiring to make some positive impact in our world.  On the other hand, the reality of this work is that a lot of it is pretty fucked up.  Despite good intentions, you still have to contend with incompetency and politicking.  And sometimes it’s the good intentions that do the most damage… making people dependent on aid and plunging economies and nations into further chaos.  I read a book recently called The Road to Hell and the author pretty much argues that relief and development work is a self-serving industry that does more harm than good in this world.  He makes some good points.  Despite the fact that reality is never as romantic and heroic as a Hollywood movie, I am not discouraged.  The truth is the same Truth there is in any situation in any part of the world.  There’s a lot of bullshit, but there’s also a lot of goodness.  I think it is important to acknowledge and learn from mistakes, moving forward with a positive outlook, but objective grasp of reality.  I can understand why some bleeding heart do-gooder who wants to emulate the heroicism seen in movies about white people going into third world countries to act as saviors might have their spirit broken by a reality that falls short of their expectations.  Sometimes I even wonder about my own motivations.  Am I drawn to this work based on some small desire to selfishly fulfill a fantasy to be the hero?  Am I just looking for adventure in the “heart of darkness”, thinking that I can be a beacon of light?  I cannot dismiss that possibility and must acknowledge my human weaknesses in order that I can keep them in check.  But the thing that drives me forward are moments like I had this afternoon.  The connection that two strangers can have, becoming friends as they talk about what they hope for the world, their communities, and their own lives.  The human spirit is incredible – something to be admired, cherished, and fought for with everything we do.  Though the world can be a pretty messed up place, there is beauty and hope in the resiliency in the hearts of people.  As my new friend said today, “We are all human beings.”

“Perhaps we are all refugees from something.  But I see now there is nothing to fear – that the world we hold onto, the lives we cherish, are a part of something greater… something more.  When I look at my children I see it so clearly – that hope, that chance of life – and I know it’s worth fighting for.” – From Beyond Boundaries

Day 18 in Zambia

What a weekend!  Sunday was World Refugee Day and there was a big event here in Meheba to celebrate.  People from all over the settlement had been working together on the performances for weeks and it was great to see the final production.  Our friend who had been coordinating the performance is an incredible artist and had a wonderful vision for what this day meant and how to portray it.  The theme this year was “Home”.  Some of the people who live in Meheba have had a very transient concept of “home”.  Many of them fled their homes, maybe even living in other refugee camps before coming to Meheba.  Now they wait, wondering where their next home will be.  Will they be repatriated?  Will they be resettled in Australia, Europe, or the U.S.?  Will they be allowed to integrate into Zambia, the country that many of the “refugees” have lived in for years, decades… some even their whole lives?  Home is not a physical location.  Home is what you carry with you inside yourself.  Home is where your heart feels safe.  Home is where your family and loved ones are.  I’ve had a lot of discussions with people about my thoughts on “home” in the past week or so.  Some have been confused about why I would want to call Africa my home someday.  They can’t understand my lack of attachment to the physical place where I grew up.  I feel at home here.  This is where I am most happy… where I feel most myself.  But, there is nothing like the feeling of coming “home” to your family.  I think about how many years I spent living in a different city than the people that love me most and how much it meant to finally come home to them.  Just thinking about getting a hug from my mom or eating my grandmother’s food makes me feel happy.  That is the feeling of “home”.  Safety… security… contentment.  I carry my family in my heart, no matter where I lay my head at night.  I know who I am.  I know where I come from.  I know what I hold dear.  Home is within me.

I made many new friends yesterday.  Not only were my neighbors (the refugees that live in Meheba) at the event, but also people from UNHCR (some familiar faces… some not), dignitaries from the embassies, Zambians from Lusaka, and even Zambian pop stars (and yes, they are just as ridiculous as American pop stars... hehe).  I met an incredible group of young people who came from Lusaka with our Zimbabwean/French artist friend (the one that coordinated the performances).  I met a journalist who also works with tobacco control measures and is working with a group of journalists to become well-informed and responsible with their public health reporting.  He has many connections in health in Zambia and we made arrangements to see each other again before I leave and to keep in touch.  One of the bands that performed is an amazing group of talented artists.  They are now our new friends and I have really enjoyed the time we were able to spend together.  One of the singers and I talked for the longest time.  She and I have a lot in common and became quick friends.  Another band member just got accepted into a university in Oregon to study civil engineering and architecture, so we will be keeping in touch so he will have a friend in the States once he is so far from home.  We even sat around as a group and jammed together.  Some playing guitar, some playing drums, and the rest of us singing.  I love the way a group of people can just come together and create something so natural and organic.  It was great to sing Bob Marley songs and old gospel hymns.  I must say that I was especially moved by our rendition of Amazing Grace.  I felt like for a minute I was with my friends at Bay Church, worshipping together.   We even played a game where one person played a tune on the guitar and another picked someone to create an impromptu song on a specific topic.  Mine was “If I was an alien”.  I was amazed at how naturally something just came out of me.  I sang a silly song about being away from home and feeling like an alien as the outsider… wondering if the people around me thought I was an alien as well. 

While the day was mostly fun and enjoyable, certain things did highlight some of the injustices and nonsensical decisions and actions that I’ve come to be very familiar with while doing development work.  The reality is that there are many Truths.  It is true that there are people with beautiful spirits who are a part of a greater movement to bring peace and community to a broken world.  There is power in love, and knowledge, and art.  It is also true that this broken world allows “power” to be defined by money, titles, brute force, and skin color.  I cannot save the world.  I cannot change everything that I see wrong in it.  All I can do is my part to be an example of love and let God use me in whatever small purpose I am meant to have.  I am not the only one with a vision of peace and love and collaboration.  There is a current, an energy flowing through civilization, through communities all over the world, and it will continue to spread and inspire.  There is love… and it is the center of everything. 

Today it was back to work.  I rode all the way out to F to help measure maize.  We have two clients in that block that were a part of our agricultural loans program.  We gave them seed and fertilizer and now that the harvest is here, we are collecting repayment in maize.  Both clients turned in all of their maize and it looked like they had a very good harvest.  By the end of the month we will have maize from all 25 clients.  It is quiet in that part of Meheba.  There aren’t a lot of people that live there.  But, I like visiting F, even if it is a tough bike ride to get there.  I got to practice my French and Swahili, which was fun.  And we had some interesting conversations (in three languages!) about religion and marriage and families.  Even though I was home before 2pm, I was BEAT.  It’s amazing how tired you get working here… even if you are only able to do one thing in a day. 

Day 20 in Zambia

My thoughts and emotions have been all over the place the last 24 hours or so.  I have been thinking a lot about the experience of refugees and my own experience and feelings about being so far from home.  I am reading an incredible book called Human Cargo by Caroline Moorehead.  If you want to learn more about the experience of refugees all over the world and why I am so passionate about working with this population, you MUST read this book.  While I have been devouring most of the books I have read in the past couple weeks, this one has been a struggle to get through quickly.  It is dense with emotion and difficult to take in more than a little at a time. 

Yesterday I finally felt the subtle ache of homesickness.  It has been a week and a half, I think, since I had internet access and contact with friends or family.  I want to talk to my best friend… to share with her every moment that my heart is heavy with sorrow and the things that make me feel like I could burst with joy.  I want to be comforted by my mother’s voice and be held safely in her arms.  I want to eat dinner at my grandmother’s house at a table surrounded by family.  I want to hear stories of my own history, my family’s stories of our ancestors and their own journey to a new home in America. 

I think that might be why my heart is so connected to the experience of refugees.  Every time I read about or hear someone’s story, I think of my own family.  I try to imagine what my ancestors experienced in Armenia so many years ago.  I think about the miracle that my great-grandparents escaped the genocide and found themselves in the U.S.  As children, did they understand what had happened to their family… why they were in this new and unfamiliar land?  What memories did they retain of their home?  How did they manage to survive and thrive, assimilating into a new culture and starting a family that would grow into the people that I call my own?  What would they think of their lineage… the incredible achievements of their children, grand-children, and great-grandchildren?  Would they be proud of me?  Is this what they had hoped for when they started new lives in America?

Sometimes I can relate on some small level to the loneliness and isolation that a refugee feels in a foreign land.  There is a reason that I am here… something that this strange place can offer that my home cannot.  But, I wonder if I will ever “belong” anywhere.  I am not entirely content at home, but I am not entirely at home here.  I feel like no matter how much my heart is bound to this land, I can never truly call Africa “my own”.  It does not belong to me.  I have no history here.  But, I have chosen to be a “refugee”.  I live in a voluntary state of exile.  These refugees that I have come to know as my friends and neighbors crossed borders to find safety and security.  I, on the hand, ran from it.  Does this make me crazy?  Some people here look at me as though I am when I tell them that I want to live in “the bush” in Africa more than I want to live in the U.S.  I am like the strange bird flying north for the winter, right into the cold instead of following the rest to the warmth of the south.

Whenever I start to crave some comfort of home, I find that the feeling goes away quickly once I get out of the house and into the community here.  Yesterday I decided that I should hop on my bike and head to Road 36.  I got a few things from the market and then decided to stop and have a cup of tea with the Somalis.  I made friends with the Somali woman that speaks English very well.  We sat and talked for a long time.  She asked my advice on a referral she got from the Solwezi General Hospital for surgery and we talked about her problems with gallstones and the surgeries she had to give birth to the last four of her seven children.  She told me about missing Somalia (especially the food that is familiar to her and her extended family) and why she and her family had to leave.  She talked about the experience of a Somali in a settlement that is largely populated by Angolan and Congolese refugees.  She talked about her husband’s death from TB and the pressure of raising her children on her own without family around.  We were joined by a man and continued our conversation, talking about life in Meheba and the relationship between the refugees and the UNHCR and the Zambian government. 

There is nothing like listening to the story of another person to put your own into perspective.  I can never understand the loneliness of being a refugee.  I can never understand the state of limbo and uncertainty in which they live and the pressure that creates.    

Tour of FORGE Compound in Meheba

Thought you might like to see where I live :)
                                                        
                                              
                                          My bedroom

The cats waiting outside my door when I wake up every morning

                                         Our courtyard and water pump

             My ride... a Mongoose mountain bike (the one in the back).

                                                Our kitchen

                       I guess you could call this the pantry?

                                 Living room / Office / Library

                The cats... still underfoot (there's actually five in total)

                        My favorite stool.... and my favorite bucket.

                           The bathing room

   Our toilet... no running water, but it does flush... this is luxury!

                                           Beautiful

       Some of the FORGE program offices are right by our house on the compound.

                   FMI... one of our agricultural programs.

             Sunrise in Meheba... what a great way to wake up :)

       The FORGE Women's Centre... also on our compound

Another building on our compound... I think it might have something to do with the Women's Centre

  Chindele... my favorite little kitten... it's stalking the camera like a little lion

                 Two of our big, bad rat catchers... they look tough, huh?

Solwezi

Day 9 in Zambia

Ahhh... internet.  We are in Solwezi today (the nearest town to Meheba... about 2 hours away).  We hitched a ride from the camp this morning.  It is kinda nice to be somewhere you can hitch-hike without worrying about being a part of a horror movie plot.

It felt really good to see Jess again.  She'll be coming back to the camp with us and it'll just be the two of us for a few weeks once Jeremy is on vacation.

Here's an entry from my journal last night...

The night is beautiful here.  When I really stop and think about it, it almost overwhelms me.  It is so quiet... so quiet that it made my ears ring when I first got here.  Now that I've adjusted, I can hear the chorus of night noises - crickets singing their lullabies, while the brush fires crackle just beyond the compound.  It casts an orange glow over the darkness just beyond our gate, but nothing can wash out the stars that pierce the night sky.  Looking up at them, I marvel at the infinite universe God has created - beyond our comprehension... beyond our wildest imaginations.  On my run this morning I thought about how the world fells bigger to me in Africa.  Looking out over the tall grass, the expanse of land seems to just go out forever.  It is easy to marvel at God's work when the works of men is not over-shadowing it.

I feel so at home here, but it is difficult to be an outsider nonetheless.  The land invites me in, but I wonder if I can ever truly belong amongst the people.  I feel as though I will always be seen as the mzungu... the chindele.  I am seen as someone with more power, wealth, and knowledge because I am White, but I am also a joke - an oddity that incites fits of laughter.  Sometimes I like just being here at the compound because I can escape from all those eyes watching me.

I am at  least starting to feel like I might actually get some work done here.  The meeting with Grassroots Soccer (GRS) was pretty neat.  I like the idea of their program - grabbing the attention of youth through football and netball so that they can be given HIV/AIDS education.  I am curious as to how effective the program is... whether there is data from assessments.  I, of course, was the only White person in the room, but at least I wasn't the only new person there.  I sat next to a woman that is the HIV/AIDS prevention coordinator from PEPFAR - a very cool lady.  The GRS coordinators made us introduce ourselves.  Always a little awkward to be put on the spot here.  As if I don't stand out enough.  I'm excited for the VCT (voluntary counseling and testing.... HIV testing) Tournament that will be held while I am here.  It'll be a big event with football matches, music, and lots of HIV testing.

I also had a very informative and productive meeting with a couple of the FORGE health staff.  We sat down to discuss what their goals were and how I can help.  It was a little funny that they both stared at me, waiting for me to start the meeting.  "I am here to learn from you," I told them, "Tell me about FHS."  It is very weird to feel like the newcomer that knows NOTHING, but then having everyone expect you to be an expert, a leader.  But, now that we've met, I have some good ideas on how we can work together and learn from each other.

It is also nice to accomplish small things.  I've organized our pantry and taken inventory of the first aid and medical supplies at the compound.  Next on my agenda is di-worming the cats (basically shoving some pills down their throats to treat the worms that I really wish they didn't have).  I'd like to not be a fan of the cats... they are pretty annoying, but Chindele (yes we have a cat whose name is Luvale for "white person") is a really cute little kitten.  Apparently all the other kittens have died, so I feel like this one is special and it has me wrapped around its finger (er... paw).  Although I will not hesitate to nudge it with my foot if it's being especially annoying.

I am so sore right now.  My shoulders ache from riding my bike around so much.  My legs were a bit sore after my long run (5 miles maybe?) yesterday, but seem to be fine now.  I am determined to defy the FORGE trend of their female volunteers gaining weight while on the very starch-based diet at the camp.

So quick run-down of a typical day... wake up around 6:00, make my bed, get dressed, brush teeth, wash face and hands while putting out some water for the cats that are bugging me by now... go start the cooking fire and put some water on for tea... try to get something done while I wait for Jeremy to wake up... cook breakfast... hop on the bike (or foot if I'm not going too far) and go to some meeting... go to the market at Road 36... come home, greet Alice, eat lunch, bath... read and/or try to get some work done (sometimes falling asleep on the couch) Alice goes home and we throw something together for dinner... when the sun sets (which is early since it's winter here) we watch a movie, read some more and then go to bed around 21:00.  Throughout the day I am constantly stopping to talk to people, either greeting them/getting introduced while I'm out and about in the camp or talking with the people that stop by the compound to ask a question or drop something off.  While it may not seem like much, I am completely exhausted at the end of every day.

Meheba

Day 4 in Zambia

In another hour Jeremy will be awake and we'll be off to the bus stop to head back to Meheba (the camp).  I’m really not a fan of this rooster outside.  I woke up early on my own after some weird dreams this morning, but yesterday I was woken up at 4:30 by the most god-awful noise.  It took me a while to figure out what animal it was… it kinda sounded like a broken rooster (who obviously can’t tell time because he just crows whenever he wants all day long).  The thought of killing that rooster and eating it, briefly flashed in my brain as I tried to get back to sleep yesterday.  He’s up and at it again, so I guess you can figure out that his life was spared.  

It was such a relief to get my bag from the airport yesterday, but also a bit of an adventure.  In typical Zambian fashion it took longer and was a more complicated process than an American might think it should be.  We arrived at the door where I came out of the baggage claim yesterday (where the door was closed and locked… I guess they didn’t have any flights coming in at that time) and told the airport guys at the door that we came to pick up my bag.  They said something about going around to the other entrance, so we wandered in the direction that they pointed (not seeing another entrance) and came across the “Lost Luggage” office.  Of course there was no one there and a sign on the door saying it had moved to arrivals (exactly where we were in the first place).  So we head back to arrivals and ask the staff there where we are supposed to go one more time just as one of the baggage claim staff comes out and greets us.  He was in charge of bringing us through the other entrance.  We head back in the direction we had just come from after waiting a little while for him to help some other lost mzungu.  We wind around through several doors, including going through an x-ray security checkpoint, and lo and behold… we end up back where we started, but on the other side of those locked doors.  Haha.  We wind around through some more back hallways and he opens up a door with a barred door outside of it.  “I think my bag is in prison”, I whispered to Jeremy.   And there it was!!  Glorious backpack!  We thanked the nice gentleman and were finally on our way.

Then it was off for another day exploring Lusaka.  Jess and Jeremy dropped me off at Arcades (a shopping center) while they had a meeting to work on some FORGE stuff.  My first outing on my own!  There was a open market with a bunch of typical souvenir and craft type stuff… a regular Sunday affair.  I wandered through the market as vendors encouraged me to check out their wares.  “Madame, come buy something from my stand.  Looking is free.  I give you good price, madame.”  I was really sick of being called “madame” after only a few minutes.  J  But Zambians are friendly, good-natured people so it was really fun checking everything out… everyone in the world is just doing what they can to make a few bucks.  Of course I ran into some Peace Corps volunteers I had met at the braai.  I got a bracelet for my much too naked wrist (jewelry was not a priority while packing) and a small coin purse to use as a wallet.  I spent 10,000 kwatcha, which is the equivalent of about $2 USD and some change.  The cheapest trip to the mall I’ve ever been on!  Mom and Dad would be so proud… lol. 

Then I headed over to the internet café.  I was pleasantly surprised to hear familiar Christian worship songs playing over the radio.  It was just what I had been missing earlier in the morning! 

Back home, Jess made some really yummy curry and I brought out the gifts I had brought with me.  I mentioned before how much the expats here love food, so the enthusiastic response to chocolate (bars and chocolate chips) was not a surprise.  After not seeing an American football for some time, Jeremy was pretty stoked about the Cal nerfball (“real football” he called it). 

It was really nice to get into some clean clothes and wash up with shampoo finally.  And now I think I’m ready for this 12 hour journey to Meheba.

Day 5 in Zambia

It feels so good to be “home”.  Yesterday was a 14 hour adventure getting to Meheba.  Jeremy and I caught an early bus to Solwezi.  Because the only reason buses in Zambia ever get to their destination is “by the grace of God”, we began the morning with some preaching, some Bible-reading, calls to come to Jesus, and a blessing upon the journey.  Jeremy did not seem to think that this would help us get to Solwezi any more safely and doubted the preacher’s spiritual authority, while I tried to decide if this ritual comforted me or only served to make me more concerned.  On the one hand, prayer is a good way to start any journey… on the other hand, when a preacher is doing his best to get everyone on that bus to accept Jesus into their hearts before it left, makes me wonder if he was merely trying to ensure that we were all “saved” when we died in a horrible bus accident.  I figured I’d say a couple prayers of my own, just to be on the safe side.

After 12 hours of a very crowded bus ride down some very bumpy roads (and one slightly frightening bout of passing on the highway) we arrived safely in Solwezi.  From there we caught a ride to Meheba in the truck of one of Jeremy’s friends.  Jeremy went to go grab us some waters quickly as I was escorted to the cab of the truck.  On his way out of the store Jeremy joked with his friend, “She’s only been in Zambia four days and she already gets to sit up front!?!  I’ve been here a year and you’ve never let me sit up front.”  Jeremy joined the other passengers in the back of the very crowded covered truck, hanging off the back for the first hour of the drive.  While Jeremy’s drive to Meheba was probably considerably more uncomfortable, I’m not sure the cab of the truck is really that much of a treat.  The driver is a great guy – very funny and full of energy – but that much energy doesn’t make for the safest driver.  I couldn’t help but smile throughout the drive as he talked animatedly with the young woman sitting in between us (flirting it sounded like), gesturing wildly as he danced in his seat to ZamPop.  He hands were on the wheel a surprisingly small proportion of the trip and the same can be said for his eyes being on the road.  But, we did end up home at the FORGE compound in Meheba safe and sound… and really, all in all, it was more entertaining of a trip than a scary one.

Today was my first day at “work”.  I decided that I LOVE it here.  I think the hardest part of this summer will be trying to get myself to leave.  Jeremy and I went out on the bikes to Road 36 – pretty much the center of Meheba where all the action is.  Most people in Meheba live there, the UNHCR offices are there, and a market as well.  A crowd of people were gathered in the field there, practicing for the celebration for World Refugee Day (coming up soon… a very big event).  Our first stop was breakfast of tea and chipati with “the Somalis” – basically a couple Somali women who run a small restaurant (if you can call it that).  I think I’ll just continue my blog with the understanding that I will refer to things in Meheba by their function, but it probably won’t look like what you think, rather it will be on a MUCH smaller scale.

After breakfast we met up with the FORGE staff in charge of the agriculture program.  A lot of Jeremy’s work right now is focused on getting things ready for the harvest of maize in a couple weeks.  We stopped at a shop to pick up the bags that will be distributed to the farmers to put the maize in and then went to the office of the ag program to drop off the bags and discuss logistics of the harvest.  Then it was off to the market where Jeremy sent me off on my own (in fairness he was only meters away) to buy some groceries for dinner while he went with the FORGE staff to look into buying some twine (another supply needed for the bagging of the maize I assume).  All along the way, we stopped to talk to people that Jeremy knows and I was introduced.  As there are currently only three mzungu in the camp at the moment (that is including me… we were shocked to see another white person this morning… the girlfriend of the gentleman organizing the entertainment for World Refugee Day), my arrival has created quite a stir.  Pretty much everyone either stops to stare, yells out greetings (small children say “howareyou” as if it were one word), or bursts into hysterical fits of laughter.

Then it was home for lunch.  Alice, our housekeeper, is officially my favorite person in Zambia.  She made us rice for lunch (and beans to use for dinner) and then heated some water for me to bathe this afternoon.  She looks after us proudly and diligently, like a mother. 

Even though we don’t have the typical 9-5 workday, we come home pretty much exhausted.  Since my arrival in Zambia I have been waking up very early (having trouble adjusting to sleeping so much… so far I’ve been sleeping about 6-8 hours each night), but I am thinking that now that I am spending my days bicycling through Meheba, I should be sleeping MUCH better.

As I’ve been taking everything in, I’ve been trying to brainstorm projects for the summer.  Malnutrition is rampant in the camp.  I saw several children who were MUCH smaller than they should be for being old enough to walk as well as they did.  Jeremy had said that the health staff are interested in getting help in developing a nutrition curriculum.  Parasites are also a problem.  This is not entirely surprising, but does not make sense with what I know about the water in the camp.  There are 172 pumps in Meheba – all regulated and monitored by the UNHRC and deemed perfectly acceptable to drink.  It goes against every instinct for me to drink water in the developing world without boiling it first, but Jeremy assures me that it is plenty safe here.  I would be very interested in doing some investigative work to figure out how (despite a uncontaminated source of water) people are being exposed to parasites.  I would like to interview people and find out more about where they get their water, what they use it for and how, how they prepare their food, bathe, etc.  I am also very curious as to where the water from our toilet goes (and any waste water in the camp for that matter).  Jeremy has no idea, but I wonder how they go about making sure that the wells don’t become contaminated with waste.

Tomorrow morning I will go with one of the health staff to a meeting with Grassroots Soccer, an NGO that does HIV/AIDS education through football (not the American kind).  I may also go with him to meet the other FORGE health staff and spend some time in the health centers.  Even though I’ve only been in Zambia five days, I feel as though I have been here a very long time and am anxious to get to work and make myself useful.   

  

Lusaka

Day 2 in Zambia

Well I’m finally here in Lusaka, Zambia!  The trip here wasn’t so bad, but I’m really hoping that someone figures out a faster way of getting around the world soon.  It’s worth it to get here, but I can’t say I’m especially fond of spending 30 hours on a plane.  It’s that first domestic flight that really gets to me for some reason.  I was hoping I’d sleep through the whole thing since it was an overnight flight, but I didn’t sleep AT ALL.  That made for a LONG five hours.  For some reason, once I get through that first five hour flight to the east coast, the rest is a piece of cake. 

The one exception this time was my final flight from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to Lusaka, Zambia.  Because we stopped in Harare, Zimbabwe we had two take-offs and landings in this plane and they were ROUGH.   I don’t know if it was the smaller plane or the pilot, but I never get airsick and I totally did.  So embarrassing!  After that first rough takeoff, I got out my candied ginger and that got me through the rest without incident.  I swear ginger is the greatest thing ever for queasiness… works like a charm!

Before leaving, I knew to expect set-backs and obstacles and just random little things to deal with.  I made sure to pack my checked baggage and carry-on strategically, allowing for the possibility that my checked bag would be lost or something.  I must have asked the guy at the counter at SFO three or four times to be sure that my baggage was routed all the way to Lusaka and I didn’t need to pick it up and transfer it to any of my flights.  I must have had some instinct about it, because I arrived in Lusaka, but my backpack did not (through no fault of the guy at SFO… the bag tag did indicate that it was supposed to go to Lusaka on my flight).  Not a huge deal… although I am kinda wishing I didn’t take out the change of clothes to make more room for the FORGE stuff, but am very glad I kept the change of underwear in… haha!  I’m supposed to call this afternoon and see if it’s arrived yet, so I am keeping my fingers crossed.  Stuff is replaceable, so it’s not the end of the world… but I REALLY like that backpack.

After the mishap with my bag and my flight arriving an hour or two late, I was so happy to see Jess and Jeremy (the FORGE Site Managers) waiting for me outside.  On a side note… Jeremy looks and sounds a lot like Adam, one of the guys in the IDV MPH program with me at Cal… weird.

It felt so good to be back in Africa… like coming home.  I started to feel that way before we even landed in Zambia… as we were flying over some small mountains as we came into Addis Ababa.  Just looking out over the landscape of Ethiopia, I felt that same feeling I had when I got off the plane in Kilimanjaro, Tanzania… like I had arrived exactly where I belonged.  There is something about Africa that has always pulled me to it… something like the magnetic attraction of soulmates.

As we were leaving the airport Jess informed me that tonight we were having a braai (BBQ) with friends (in celebration of Corey’s birthday).  On our way we needed to stop and pick up a cake at the shopping center.

Now here is where I owe my dad an apology.  As I was packing, he kept joking that I could just buy everything that I was bringing at the African Wal-Mart.  Frustrated with his “ignorance”, I insisted that they don’t have Wal-Mart in Zambia and I would be staying in a refugee camp where supplies were limited.  In a comedic twist, the very first place I went to in Zambia (other than the airport) was pretty much an African Wal-Mart.  Jess and I had a good laugh as I explained the irony.  We ended up heading to this mall and first stopped at Shoprite (like a super Wal-Mart with fresh groceries).  We also went to Game (also like a Wal-Mart… this time without fresh groceries from what I could tell).  We walked by lots of other stores… clothing stores, a bookstore, etc.  In the foodcourt area we picked up the cake at the bakery and American pop music videos (Justin Beiber… ugh!) were playing on a TV in Steers (a hamburger fast-food chain… they had one in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania too).  So, as with most large cities around the world, Lusaka is pretty westernized.  The thing I wonder is why other countries always take on the worst aspects of American society?  Even in the developing world, the big cities are where you tend to find fast-food, traffic, pollution, malls, overcrowding, and bad pop music (sorry Justin… I’m just not a huge fan).  These are the areas where you also (by no coincidence) see a lot of “western” diseases – heart disease, diabetes, obesity, and cancer.  While it’s nice to know that I can get the supplies I need here if my bag doesn’t turn up, I’m looking forward to heading into the camp in a couple days.

After picking up the cake (and some pool noodles as a birthday gift) and changing some money, we headed to the braai.  We arrived to a huge house where I started meeting Jess and Jeremy’s friends.   Many were young, and the Americans in the group were mostly Peace Corps volunteers in town for a conference.  Jess showed me around and one room had a giant walk-in closet on the way to a big tiled private bathroom.   I’m always acutely aware of this division between the (relatively) wealthy and the poor.  You see this everywhere… the U.S., Tanzania, Zambia.  The difference is that in the U.S., we typically associate that country with wealth, and we typically attach images of poverty to the developing world.  Now I do want to acknowledge that there are BIG differences in the distribution of wealth (the proportion of wealthy to impoverished) and in the gap between wealth and poverty when you compare the developed to the developing world.  As a whole, the developing world struggles more with poverty and a statewide lack of resources, and those that live in poverty are generally worse off than the poorest Americans.  But, the point is… you see pretty much the same thing anywhere you go.  There are the “haves” and the “have-nots”.  The “haves” hold the power, and the “have-nots” either serve the powerful or are overlooked completely.

While it is pretty typical in many countries (I know for sure in countries in Africa and in the Philippines) for the wealthy and middle classes to have servants, it is always something that is difficult for me to get used to as a middle-class American.  I associate this with extreme wealth, but it is much more common in other countries for anyone who has at least some amount of wealth to have cooks and housekeepers and drivers.  All throughout the evening I thought about the difference in the way this group of mostly young Americans was experiencing life in Lusaka (eating good food, talking about clothes shopping, staying in a place where electricity and running water are pretty much a guarantee, being catered to by Africans hired to work in the house) and the lives of the people in the villages and refugee camps where they work.

After my long trip, I snuck off to bed early while the rest of the group had tea and cake before going out dancing (I promised Corey I would rest up so I could go out with them tonight).

I woke up early this morning to Muslim prayers being sung… the voices floating quietly in the dark.  Grateful for electricity, I plugged my laptop in to charge and wrote a bit.  Now the sun in filtering in through my window and I have a day in Lusaka ahead of me.  Jess and Amanda (Corey’s girlfriend – both are Peace Corps volunteers) talked about going to see a movie and Jess will be taking me to run some errands. 

Hopefully this afternoon we’ll pick up my missing luggage (“delayed” the airport staff called it… which sounded much more promising that my use of the terms “lost” or “missing”).

Day 3 in Zambia

Good news!  I think the Prado has been sold and my backpack arrived at the airport in Lusaka!  FORGE has been trying to sell one of their vehicles that has been in Lusaka for a while now.  A prospective buyer called Jess yesterday inquiring about the Prado and we met up with her to look at it.  She’s going to be doing research in the bush so she says this is pretty much exactly what she was looking.

After running a few errands and grabbing lunch in Lusaka, we headed back home where I promptly crashed (slept for 4 hours!) while my new friends played on ATVs.  When Corey woke me up it was time to head out for a night on the town. 

We started with yummy Lebanese food and hookah, made our way to the casino briefly, and then out dancing.  All in all, pretty fun day.

Some random thoughts/anecdotes:

-        **  Because they’ve lived in the camp or a village for quite some time (a year for Jess and Jeremy, and two for the Peace Corps kids), I’ve come to realize these Americans are pretty much obsessed with food.  Despite having not really cared for them when they left the States, Pop Tarts are a treasured commodity, fought over playfully before being shared and savored.  There was also quite some excitement while in the Embassy (a grocery store) when we discovered dark beer.  Apparently unheard of pretty much anywhere else (Jess tells me that all that is usually sold is lager), my new friends gleefully purchased a few bottles.  I was happy to be in a country with Savannah again.  I felt in love with this cider when I was in Tanzania and cannot get it anywhere in the U.S. 

-         ** An example of both Zambian logic (which is pretty much illogical) and the entertainment that is our dear friend Corey:  As we were nearly back to the house, we came up on a man with an ice cream cart walking down the very empty street.  Corey proceeds to heckle the guy playfully, pointing out that this is an empty street and probably not the best place to buy ice cream, when Jess suddenly exclaims “I want ice cream!”.  After giving the gentleman business, Corey then continues to heckle the guy about there being no business on this street.  “My friend, why are you on this street if there is no business here?”  And the man just responds, “Yes, there is no business here,” and continues on his way down the empty street.  It was funnier in person than in the re-telling, I promise you.

-          ** On the topic of having servants:  As Jess pointed out to me last night, it’s really a very good thing in these countries.  By hiring drivers, guards, cooks, and housekeepers, you give people a safe and reliable way to earn a living and feed their families.  This is especially important for the housekeepers, as they are women.  I don’t want my previous comments to give the impression that I disagree with this practice.  I think it’s a good thing as long as people are not exploited.  There is a big difference between hiring staff to work in your home and having slaves that you treat as property and control with fear (which still happens a lot in this world… read “Not For Sale” by David Batstone). 

-         ** As I’ve been spending time with these other young Americans who have lived in Zambia for a year or more, and spent a couple days in Lusaka, I’ve decided that there are pretty much three different worlds/experiences in Zambia.  There is urban Zambian (like the people that live here in Lusaka), villages/refugee camps (what Americans tend to associate with their idea of “Africa”), and then there is mzungu Zambia (the experience of white expatriates often splitting their time between working/volunteering in the villages/refugee camps and then getting together for socializing in the big cities and travelling around Africa).  I guess technically there is a subset of mzungu Zambia that includes the white tourists that are here for a short while.

-          It is weird to not be at Bay Church on a Sunday.  I miss my friends a little bit and really miss worshipping with them as we sing along with Shad and the rest of our little band.  Music has always been the channel through which I most relate to God.  Jess says there are lots of church services in the camp (pretty much everyone goes to some sort of church on Saturday or Sunday) and they are really good friends with one of the pastors, so I’ll have to check it out next week.

I am really enjoying it here in Zambia.  I feel so at home in Africa and it’s been nice to spend my first couple days getting to know the Peace Corps volunteers and make some new friends.  It’s been great to be around so many other young people, having a good time sharing inside jokes and laughing about all the funny little things that happen throughout the day, and discussing international development, the global Church, and social justice over tea and toast (with some Adam Sandler, Mitch Hedberg and “that’s what she said” jokes mixed in).

I am really looking forward to getting into the camp tomorrow and starting to work.  It’s completely different than the situation here in Lusaka and pretty heartbreaking.  While I love studying parasitic infections, HIV, waterborne diseases, vaccine-preventable diseases, and Malaria, it’s a terrible thing knowing and seeing that there are people in this world that are suffering from them as a commonplace thing.  I really hope that I can put my studies in infectious diseases and public health to some good use and make some small difference in the camp by working with FORGE.