On hiatus

Heading out of Lusaka for a week. Be back in the new year with more exciting things to blog about...

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! May you be in company of good people and good food.

What am I doing here?

Now that I have been working at my organisation for two weeks, I am going to allow myself a stab at the ultimate question – what am I doing here?

First of all, a brief background: the community school organisation (CSO) provides support to a network of 68 community schools and over 300 teachers in the Copperbelt, Central, Lusaka, Northern, and Eastern provinces. These schools serve over 10 000 children, many of them considered orphans and vulnerable children (OVC). A large number of OVC are result of HIV/AIDS related deaths of their parents and/or guardians. Without community schools it is unlikely these children would have access to education. Community schools often work closely with other OVC programmes such as orphanages and street kid projects.

Most teachers at community schools are volunteers and have no formal training. The school themselves often have very little infrastructure and can come in many forms; rural areas they are often mud/sticks/grass structures and urban community school frequently utilise church and other available building space. The challenges of this type of learning environment are plenty: teacher to student ratios typically around 1 to 100, lack of teaching materials, poor sanitation and water facilities, teaching taking second priority to working on the farm.

The CSO works to support community schools through various activities:
Building teacher capacity by providing basic teaching workshops to untrained teachers
Sponsoring volunteer teachers to college (to be on the government payroll, a teacher must have college training)
Providing teacher and learning material supplied by other organisations and agencies (i.e. CARE International, UNICEF, Save the Children, etc.)
Linking schools with feeding programmes, commonly the World Food Programme
Building school infrastructure (including boreholes and latrines) through community partnerships – CSO provides building materials and training, if community provides labour
CSO also facilitates the development of income generating activities in the community in effort to make the community school more sustainable – i.e. volunteer teachers and donor support are not indefinite

My role as a Programme Support Officer is, as the title suggests, to support the CSO activities. The national staff currently consists of the Programme Manager, Office Manager, the driver, and me. The true work of the CSO lies in the efforts and commitment of volunteer teachers and community members. To date, I have mostly been in an organisational role working on strategic plans, following up with donors, and revising the end of year report. Seeing that I really do not know what I am doing, I expected to spend more time observing and learning about the organisation. However, jumping right in has been to my benefit as it accelerated the learning process. The last week I have been meeting with other organisations that work with community school, donors, and the Ministry of Education in addition to visiting community schools in and around Lusaka. In the coming weeks, most of my work will be focussed on specific training and education programmes. There are so many organisations that work to build teacher capacity, implement HIV/AIDS programmes in school, support life skills training, etc., so that my role is to link the plethora of resources with those can benefit from them. Most days (unless I have just attended an aimless, bureaucratic meeting) I feel very motivated and hopeful that there is so much energy, especially at community level.

The question constantly in my head is am I the right person to be doing this job. I don’t speak the local language, though I am learning quickly (appreciative responses from community members is a great motivator). I do not exactly understand the Zambian education system. I do not know the local support networks. However, even if it should not be this way, being foreign puts you automatically into the network of international agencies. And oddly enough, my computer and internet savvy have been my most useful skill. I do not think the answer is yes, I am the person for the job, but I am starting to think I can contribute and legitimately have a part in it.

Kitchen party.

Kitchen parties (aka Bridal Shower) are a legend in Zambia and I attended my first one today. Getting married is a big deal here (well, maybe it's a big deal everywhere) and the parties and celebration reflect that. On the weekend in Lusaka, it feels like every fifth car you pass is decorated for a wedding.

So the kitchen party: only women attend, bring kitchen related gifts, drink kegs of beer, sing, dance, eat, and dance some more. I did not expect to be attending a kitchen party so soon, seeing that I know all of twenty or so people in town. I am of the opinion that any large gathering of women leads to craziness, but several hundred tipsy Zambian women and two random foreigners is chaos. I enjoyed seeing the crash of tradition and modern trends. There were women wearing chitenge (traditional printed fabric) outfits and others wearing very revealing nightclub outfits. Next to the pile of gifts which included a snazzy stainless steel fridge were women sitting on straw mats drumming. When I have time (and money) I will have a traditional outfit and matching head scarf made.

The party was supposed to start at 13hrs and my friend and I forgot about Zambia time so showed up right at 1pm. For the next two hours we enjoyed Mosi beer and gossip. When the bride finally showed up she and her matron are covered with a chitenge and they crawl to a mat. The bride sits on the mat for the duration of the party without facial expression or making eye contact with anyone - the party is really for everyone else. The groom makes a brief five minute appearance to kiss his bride in front of hundreds of screaming women. Then each person brings their gift up to the bride and dances for her.

I cannot yet dance like people do here and I was hoping that no one would notice if I didn't, but I guess no one was going to let the foreign people get away with that. My butt and hips just don't move distinctly from the rest of my body. I really need to practice. So, my evening ended with a bunch of women hooting and screaming at my dancing.

Around town.

Lusaka is not a very pedestrian friendly city. My way too posh house is located further from town than I would like. If minibuses were not so aggressive, I would think about getting a bicycle. I think it would be hilarious enter a roundabout (traffic circle) on a bike. I have in fact walked almost entirely around one before I realised it would have been much faster and more logical to walk the opposite direction. Roundabouts, however, make getting to know a city more challenging. Fortunate for me, the people who used to live in the house before me took taxis quite often, so a lot of drivers know the house well; all I have to say is take me to Bob and Mary’s house. Until a few days ago, I did not even know my exact address. I don’t think I stand out that much, but I have a feeling a lot more people know me than I know them.

Sorry this is a very boring post. Work has kept me busy with meetings and school visits. I will try to write more about what I’m doing once I figure that out. The transition to work and life here has been really smooth. I keep thinking there has to be more to it, but I couldn't ask for a better first few weeks.

News.

I did not realise how much I miss having access to international news until a visit to the Canadian High Commission brought me back in touch with the Globe and Mail. I probably overstayed my visit, but a cup of coffee and the paper in my hands was incredibly refreshing. It was so good I almost stole the paper. Too bad they are not open on the weekends, or else I could turn it into my Saturday morning routine: roll out of bed, run to the High Commission, enjoy coffee and paper.

The popular newspaper here is very tabloidy and I cannot bring myself to pay for bad news. Although, the few times I have come across the paper, I cannot help but laugh when Brittney Spears gossip is printed before news on Iraq. I think news in general is hard to come by; anytime someone brings a paper into the office, people stop what they are doing and gather around the paper. Ironically enough, I think I knew more of what was happening in Zambia and Southern Africa before coming here. I sound spoiled saying this, but I do not yet have the patience to surf the internet on dial up – 28 kbps is far too slow. That is also my excuse for not posting pictures.

Compound.

It really hit me today (the whoa moment I have been waiting for) when I visited a community school in a shanty compound on the outskirts of Lusaka. Just imagine a dilapidated two-room building, formerly a government school, seven teachers, and 800 children, almost half of them orphans. There are no water and sanitation facilities aside from one public pit latrine. Five years ago, the government school closed as the marketplace encroached, but an unofficial community school soon took its place. Many of the children are likely those of the women in the market. The teachers are seeking to relocated, but the proposed new school will be 7 km away. A new school will no doubt provide a more suitable educational environment, but there will probably always be the demand for some kind of school directly for the children in the market.

I think what I did not expect was the density of the compound. It is almost impossible to walk beside someone through the maze of alleys. Houses and little shops occupy every available space. I felt obnoxiously clean in my white shirt. For me, the short stroll with a few of the teachers contextualised what it means to be vulnerable and how the factors of poverty amplify one’s vulnerability. I am not sure if I will ever grasp what it would be like to live in these circumstances. How and where people get water? How do you stay healthy? Safe? How many of people will be able to improve their situations? Will it ever be possible to meet basic needs? The solutions to meet the needs of children in the compound (whom I think are all vulnerable) includes education, but needs to involve those who can address the living conditions in the compound.

Allowances.

At the conclusion of a Ministry of Education meeting I attended today (sponsored by a Flemish organisation), each person is given a transportation and sitting allowance - 50 000 Kwacha (a little over 10 US$). It’s not a lot of money, but I am having trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that people at any kind of formal gathering expect this money. According to an NGO worker, some people will not attend a meeting/workshop that does not have an allowance. So in effect, the organisers must offer compensation to those who attend and I guess guarantee some kind of attendance.

It was obvious that people stayed to the end of the meeting for the money and I should not be surprised at the number of people blatantly napping. I had a hard time deciding if I take this money. My thinking process in the end was if I don’t take the money it will probably just go into someone else’s pocket. I could give the money to my organisation (which technically provided my transportation), but no one else does that and again it would probably just go into a pocket. I took the money, although now I’m not sure what to do with it.

Weekend randomness.

Laundry
Alas, I will have to get used to doing laundry once a week. No more are the days of three weeks worth of underwear and a closet full of clothes. I am impressed and amused enough with my set up that I have to write about it:

1. Put clothes in bathtub
2. Put Boom paste (popular Zambian detergent) in red bucket and fill with water
3. Sit in tub
4. Wash clothes… while watching Sex and the City episodes on laptop sitting on the toilet. Doing laundry has never been some exciting.

Prostitutes
Wow, they really are everywhere in Lusaka. I never noticed them around town before going out with the crazy Belgian and a group of Peace Corps people. While dancing, a few Peace Corps boys went to the bar and in the span of two songs, girls (assumed to be prostitutes) practically formed a queue behind the boys. As they turned each one away, another one would be there. Craziness. It seems knee-high hooker boots are an international concept.

Volleyball
I am still not sure how it happened, but it seems I have joined a volleyball team consisting mostly Americans and Brits. We play at a sport club next to the American embassy… strange, but it was fun. I was planning on joining a local football league; volleyball will do for now.

Community Schools.

The Ministry of Education defines a community school as a community based learning institution that meets the educational needs of children not reached by government or private schools. These children may not be able to attend government schools due to cost, distance, or other factors excluding them from the system. In urban areas, it is common to see community schools situated near a government school allowing those who cannot afford school or uniform fees to attend school. Rural community schools exist where a school would otherwise not be present. Community schools are by no means an absolute solution to education gaps, but meet needs as identified by the local communities.

Aside from cost and distance, other issues of poverty, family dynamics, and effects of HIV/AIDS contribute to additional challenges. Many children face the responsibility of caring for family members, bringing in money, working in the fields, etc. The compounding factor of distance in rural areas where children walk upward to 15 km each way makes attending school almost becomes an impossibility. The government system does not have the flexibility or the resources to meet the needs of learners who do not attend school regularly and may begin school at a later age. Outside of the Ministry of Education structure, community schools can help meet the MDG of universal primary education and help children reach functional literacy.

The Zambian government seems to acknowledge the contributions made by community schools, but feels there has been an “explosion” in the community schools movement needs to be regulated so that minimum standards including student to teacher/desk/book/latrine ratio are met. Currently the Ministry of Education is in the consultation process with various community school stakeholders to create a framework that allows community schools to exist formally along side government schools. It is too early to tell how the government plans to involve itself with community schools.

Photo: A community school being built. New three classroom concrete building on left, old school on right, and grass wall of latrine beside me.

Avocados.

The white UN Land Rover stops at the light. “Boss, some nice avocados for you… twenty-five pin.” The window rolls down and a white arm reaches out with 25 000 Kwacha in return for two avocados.

During the air-conditioned drive back to the compound the passanger says, “You know, if you want avocados, let me take you to the market.”

“Eh? I don’t go to the market.”

“Okay, give me the money and I will buy you avocados.”

A week later, three dozen avocados fall into his hands. “What am I supposed to do with all of these?”

“Take two and give the rest to your workers at your home.”

//

My house seems to have come with a Belgian boy working for the UN. He spent the last three years in a village in the Eastern Province. Shopping with his is fabulous because he speaks Chewa and Nyanja, two local languages. No mzungu prices for him. He told me the avocado story after we negotiated our own avocados, which by the way at twice as big than any I have ever seen before. I guess for a lot of expats in the city paying mzungu prices is no big deal, but it runs the price up for everyone else.

I’m learning a few words of Nyanja a day. I can handle greetings, but now I need to figure out some answers to some commonly asked questions. Right now, my conversations in Nyanja go like this:
Me: Hello, how are you?
Them: Good, how are you?
Me: Good, thank you.
Them: [a question I don’t understand]
Then we laugh and switch to English.

House.

I have moved into my flat (a condo or townhouse in North American standards). Is it wrong that it is nicer that some of the places I lived in as a student? Apparently, according to the person who manages housing, Canadians have a tendency to feel guilty when their accommodations are too posh. I suppose that follows the habit of incessantly saying sorry.

The house, which I share with a speech therapist from the UK is more spacious than it needs to be for two people. It has a kitchen, large living and dining area, three bedrooms, two full bathrooms, and a garden. The neighbourhood consists mostly of expats, UN workers, and embassy people. It feels weird living here, but I guess most middle/upper class including the staff I work with live in places like this (guarded compound). I am starting to think I have some kind of complex. Maybe somewhere in my subconscious I think that if I live as modestly as possible, I am making up for my privileged upbringing. There is a supermarket a ten minutes walk from the house, but for now I think I’m going to try to make it to the market in town once a week. Again, probably part of the complex, but I love getting fresh vegetables market.

International volunteer day.

Considering I have done essentially nothing in Zambia, it was strange to be invited to commemorate International Volunteer Day (December 5). The UN organised an event in a village a one hour drive outside of Lusaka. They set up a big circus tent, arranged a marching band and dance troop, and invited dignitaries. The event took over the village for the day. Buses dropped off volunteers (national and international) and the white land cruisers normally seen in Lusaka lined the road and maize fields. Most NGOs have their headquarters in Lusaka and by holding the event outside of the city, the UN organisers felt that the local community could be more involved. It was obvious the village felt proud to host the event and the local women selling vegetables certainly has a good day.

I have mixed feelings about international days. Maybe it is possible they garner attention that can serve to increase people’s awareness on the issue. December 1 was World AIDS Day and I think this past year the focus has been “Keeping the Promise” (a slogan I saw on a shirt) and following through on promises, especially on the part of governments. Now, I’m not exactly sure of the purpose of International Volunteer Day. Does the work of volunteers really need to be celebrated by a marching band risking heat stroke as they wait for the late ministers? When the ministers eventually arrive, do we need speeches that for sound self-congratulatory? One statement made had me thinking all day: “volunteerism is the key to sustainable development”. I hesitate to say that it is complete nonsense. Perhaps the minister was referring to national volunteering, but volunteering is not inherently sustainable. The motivations of volunteers vary greatly and there is no sure way to keep their commitment.

An odd and uncomfortable part of the day for me was lunch. Someone went back to Lusaka to pick up fried chicken (similar to KFC: chicken and fries in a box and a styrofoam cup of coleslaw). Now imagine a group of twenty people sitting on a bus eating takeout and enjoying cold drinks, while everyone outside, mostly locals stand around looking into the bus’ giant windows. Repeat this scene ten or so times for all the larger NGOs. Could it not have been possible to have food prepared in the village? Why hold the event outside of Lusaka when everything and almost everyone will be from Lusaka. At the end of the day, there was a distressing pile of takeout boxes.

Although it was a good chance to network and talk to other organisations, I can’t help but think about the amount of money that must have gone towards the day. Maybe I am being overly sensitive to what I feel are contradictions in development. On a less disgruntled note, the dancing was incredible. Somehow, in the next two years I need to learn how to move my hips and butt as if they are separate from the rest of my body.

Quick update.

I'm slowly getting settled in Lusaka, though my to do list is getting out of control because I am ignorant to how long some things take... I spent five hours trying to open a bank account this morning (note: trying). Once I start going into the office, I'll be posting more regularly; until then, excuse my haphazard and grammatically bad posts. Pictures coming soon... I don't have the patience to wait for them to upload right now.

A few updates:
Moved into my flat (will post soon about how it is way too posh)
Attended International Volunteer Day event held by the UN (many opinions on this)
Had a good first meeting with my employer and the board members. Somewhat unnerving to have someone say that they've been awaiting your arrival for months.
Going to buy a mobile today... apparently texting even internationally is ridiculously cheap... guess I will be jumping on that bandwagon

If anyone is up for letter writing, please send me your mailing address. I've already made friends with the stationary man down the street.

Market.

To avoid another day of “vacationing” in Zambia, B and I hopped on a minibus for an adventure in town. Thanks to the advice and patience of some new Zambian friends, we had a very eventful day doing some shopping and getting to know the main downtown area. A slow Sunday was a great day for us to get some bearings on the city without the hustle and bustle of a working day. B, due to his missing luggage, has only one outfit and I am officially his fashion consultant.

Some things heard at the Lusaka City Market:
“Hey, big man… big white man…”
“Mr. White, come here… if you don’t buy some fish, I will hurt you.”
“Hey white man, how is your wife?”
(if B didn’t notice the comments before, that one got his attention)
“How come you’re not buying your wife anything?” asks the female shopkeeper when B was paying for his shirts.
“Buy from me and I will remember you forever… when I come to your country, I will buy something from you… or maybe you can marry me.”
Man selling jewellery says, “this [necklace] looks very nice on you… it’s from China, your country, you should buy it.”

We had no shortage of material to laugh over on the way home. I was intrigued at how I was rarely addressed directly and if someone spoke to me, they called me white man’s (mzungu) wife. Interesting… (but not surprising).

First impressions.

Arriving in Lusaka, Zambia could not have gone more smoothly. Perfect would be an appropriate word. It was a bright sunny, comfortable 25-30C morning. A programme officer greeted us before going through immigration, making the entire process less confusing. Unfortunately, B’s luggage didn’t make it on the flight, so for the next few days I will be sharing shampoo and sunscreen with him. I would offer to share clothes, but I will probably just have to get used to his bright orange shirt.

After a short drive from the airport is the University of Zambia. We’re staying at a conference centre here for the next few days as we figure out accommodations and meet our employers. Seeing that lounging around what looks to be a botanical garden is not the best way to fight jetlag, we walked in the direction towards town. Not to far away from the university is a mall complex. This very suburban looking mall could be found anywhere in North America. There is even a Famous Players-esque movie theatre complete with teenage groupies. With the high percentage of luxury cars in the parking lot, classy seafood restaurant, and Safeway-looking grocery store, I couldn’t fight the few minutes of confusion. ie. “I’m in Zambia?” To put it blunty, perhaps, I was expecting to see some obvious signs of poverty.

I don’t feel like I stand out that much. Although, walking around with B in his glowing orange shirt elicits a few whistles. Subconsciously, I’m waiting for a “whoa, I’m in Zambia” moment, but everything is falling very comfortably into place. I’m sure this post sounds like we are on vacation, which for the next few days will be just that.

Upcoming events:
Meetings with other staff
Move into flat on Tuesday
“Work” to start on Wednesday
Attend official in-country training near the end of February (strange to be doing that three months in, but will aim to know all the phrases in the Nyanja pocket dictionary).

Notes in transit.

Way to go Air Canada for showing Beat the Drum, a South African movie on the community affect of HIV/AIDS. Its characters have “Crash” like connections, making a point on demonstrating who can use their voice to increase HIV awareness. It is a beautiful movie that deserves mention.
//
To London. Spent three of a seven hour flight discussing riveting boy/girl relationship game theory with travelling buddy, B. It was amusing having him try to deduce my pattern of relationships. I’m not sure if I really want to know how not well I play the game. Everyone needs a good travelling companion: someone who will eat all unwanted food, ask wildly inappropriate questions to generate good conversation, but will stop talking when you want to sleep.
//
Grr… British Airways. Why could you not check my luggage all the way through? (Update: in the end, this turned out in my favour as B’s luggage didn’t arrive).
//
Tate Modern. Fascinating slide exhibit. Good question: why do we not use slides? They really are an effective mode of transportation, along with being wickedly fun and cool. Carsten Höller calls it, “a device for experiencing an emotional state that is a unique condition somewhere between delight and madness.” Sounds good to me.
//
To Lusaka. Made my first Zambia friend, a very fashionable woman. She was returning from vacationing in the US… had someone in Ohio ask her, “Which state is Zambia in?” Hah! Even before the plane took off she had my life story and made plans to get together in Lusaka. I will definitely take her up on shopping.