Recap

I don't really know if there is any continuity in my blogging, so I thought I would do a little recap. I've been in Zambia for about four months or so. I work for an organisation supporting community schools, hence why I obsessively write about community schools. Most of my work currently involves developing school monitoring/evaluation systems, HIV and AIDS workplace policy, and training modules for teachers, school committees, and parents. There's a lot of potential in building the capacity of the organisation, but the catch as I've discovered is it is crucial that my colleagues are also be interested in building their own capacity. I believe in bringing out local solutions to local problems, but sometimes people are more interested in receiving aid or external assistance. In a way, I feel people expect NGOs and donors to hand out the solution. This brings up many questions with development work. I would even go as far as to wonder if development programmes perpetuate poverty by creating a dependency on handouts. Many big questions flow through my head and while I feel dazed thinking about the possible answers, I would be more concerned if I didn't question what I'm doing.

Outside of work, I'm still taking part in the same old stuff: yoga (only once in while because it costs money and I'm cheap), volleyball and football each once a week, and maybe a movie every few weeks. I've fallen into the company of good people. Last week was remarkably social, thanks to power cuts. In fact, I'm still feeling the withdrawal from the excitement of dinners, parties, and concerts. The next big upcoming event for me is a quick five day trip to Malawi. It's not really enough time, but we're headed to the lake and I could use sometime to chill out on a beach. I guess I should have taken more seriously that Zambia is a landlocked country.

I can't say that I love Zambia, but things are okay. I wonder about people who make sweeping statements like, "I love Africa." I almost don't believe them. There have been some great experiences mixed in with some pretty crappy instances. I think it depends on your level of exposure. Working in shanty compounds takes getting used to. I think very little phases me anymore because sometime I see Zambian flipping out at things I don't even notice. I would feel extremely under stimulated if I went back to Canada tomorrow. I recently put up a map of Africa in my bedroom and looking at that makes me marvel at the fact I'm here. A year ago, I would never have guessed that I would be in Zambia.

School grants

Community schools qualify for government school supply grants provided they qualify, register, and follow regulations. The government specifies how and what to spend the money on. For example, an instruction might be the school should use 35% of the sum for math and science books. The school then submits receipts and a report.

I’ve been looking into the specifics of the procedure because some of the community school supported by my organisation have not been receiving the grant. It turns out that the district level officer distributes funds on his/her own discretion. In some districts, if the school did not sufficiently report the use of last year’s funds, they are off the list and no longer get funding. It seems that once off the list, it is impossible to get back on. Yes, sometimes it is the fault of the school for misusing funds. However, sometimes it is a procedural error like not filling the form in correctly or not getting the requested type of receipt. When a school become a registered community school, the district education office is supposed to train the school in using and reporting on the grant. Unfortunately, in some districts, the government has not been holding training sessions.

A perspective I heard today is that by not holding the training, schools make errors and the district office can then take the grant back. Training people gives schools a chance to use the grant correctly and meet some needs of the school. But through training, fewer school will make errors and the office will have less opportunity to capitalise and take back money for their own use. Umm… should I say it… corruption.

Workshop allowances

“When is the teacher training workshop?” asks a teacher.

“It will be in April” I reply. “From the workshops you’ve attended before what have you found most useful and applicable to your classes?”

“They’re all good. Make the allowance more this time.”

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The expectation of allowances bothers me to no end. I’ve gotten used to it, but I dislike how transportation allowances are factored into every gathering. I also don’t know what to do with allowances I receive. Last week I attended an HIV and AIDS sector workshop and received transportation allowance for two days. It helps to have someone cover transportation since I don’t have my own vehicle. Then again, people with vehicles get the same allowance anyway. What I fail to understand is why allowances are always more than is needed. For example, even though transport would cost 15 000 kwacha tops, the allowance would be for 40 000 kwacha. So, workshop allowances become a source of income and for some is the incentive to attend. I don’t want to be a complete pessimist, but I wonder how many people attend workshops with the intention of learning something.

I tried to explain without much success that in some countries, people pay to attend workshops, not the other way around. NGOs and other organisation have fuelled the workshop culture here. Someone is always hosting something. However, my impression is that very few people seem to care about what happens after the workshop. Organisations like the one I work with also have very little follow-up with the participants after the workshop. I’ve started to ask questions like what teaching aids have you been able to use in your classroom? From what you learned about child-headed households, what kind of support have you been able to give the orphans in your class? Unfortunately, asking for feedback usually just brings up the insufficiency of the allowance. Considering that some teachers are not regularly get paid or if they do, they take home between 100-200 000 kwacha (25-50 US$) a month, getting a 40 000 kwacha per day allowance for a multi-day workshop really supplements their income.

As for the allowances I get in the workshops, I’ve decided to set the money I don’t use for transportation aside and next January pay the tuition of some kids to secondary school. It’s not sustainable because I don’t know if I would continue paying for someone’s tuition all the way through high school, but if I don’t set it aside I will probably be used to food, alcohol, or entertainment.

Ba Cissoko

Every year the French Embassy and Alliance Française hold Francophonie, a week of music, literature, films, food, and sports. Thanks to neighbourly connections, I scored some tickets to a concert. The band playing was Ba Cissoko from Conakry, Guinea, West Africa . With their clever instruments, great drumbeats, and cool electric guitar rifts, the mood of the concert was relaxed, but catchy enough to inspire dancing.

In my limited experience with African music, I find that I enjoy Western African music more than what I've heard from Southern Africa, namely Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Mozambique. Although, I can only boast exposure to Western African music from Mali, Senegal , Burkina Faso, and now Guinea. The music seems to have a more distinct character, creativity, and message, political or otherwise. Zambian music is very poppy and repetitive, or at least the stuff played on radio. It can have a fun vibe, but the same droning songs and the latest Beyonce are played over and over again. I can tolerate the music played on minibuses and taxis as it is part of the experience, but I not fond my neighbours or anyone else in the vicinity blaring music on a weekday night when I am trying to sleep.

Even though I and other expatriates are benefiting from these events, I'm just not sure why the French embassy is as active as they are. There is another event in October held mostly for French nationals, where the embassy specifically flies over wine, cheese, bread, and other French goodies. Zambia borders the Democratic Republic of the Congo and because of current conflicts, there are a number of Congolese refugees. Surely, Francophonie week was not really reaching out to refugees and as far as I know there are not that many French speakers in Zambia. Apparently, in efforts to increase the number of French speakers, the embassy is sponsoring Zambians to learn French. Many secondary schools also offer French classes, but I have yet to meet a French speaking Zambian. Nonetheless, it was a fun concert and I'm hoping to catch one of the films. I wonder in the Canadian High Commission ever throws a party. If they do, I'm hoping they do not fly over the items considered quintessentially Canadian. It just seems excessive.

Dinner and a heavy thought

My housemate and I threw a little dinner gathering for a few of our neighbours last night – potato skins, Greek salad, lemon chicken, rice and veggies, chocolate brownies, and very nice South African red wines. It was a relaxed evening with good food and good company, but began with talk of an incident that occurred earlier in the evening.

On the way home, my housemate was stopped by a woman exclaiming that her 20 year old daughter with severe learning difficulties had been raped. The mother needed money for the police. There is a police station a few blocks from our house so my housemate took the woman and her daughter there, because technically you don’t need money to report a rape. The police told the woman and the daughter to go to the hospital for a gynaecological exam, and that is the last we know of them. We can only hope that the rape in the end was reported and the daughter received medical care and support. Last year, Zambia established Special Victims Assistance units in their police forces. It was meant to increase the accessibility of the police, but for many people even the cost of transportation to the police station is out of reach. There are also miscellaneous charges like photocopying forms and examination reports that may seem like small sums of money, but can make someone reluctant to follow through with the process.

Unfortunately, hearing stories of rape is common. There are billboards around Lusaka with the message, having sex with a virgin does NOT cure AIDS. Newspapers write of defilement on a regular basis. i.e. a young girl defiled in compound. I am not entirely sure whether there is a clear distinction between what is considered defilement or rape. From what I have read, defilement is rape of someone under a certain age and rape is everything else. I wonder if people are just avoiding the word ‘rape’. Hiding under terminology does not make talking about the issue any easier.

According to an IRIN article from November 2006, a dozen girls are raped every week in Lusaka. Since rapes are often not reported, the figure may be considerably higher. Similarly, there is not one understanding of what is rape. I have heard of women who believe that when their husbands force them to have sex, is not considered rape. Often domestic abuse is most underreported. Furthermore, since men often provide the source of income, women do not want to report because they fear they may be left homeless and without any means to feed their children.

Furthermore, it is troubling that rape is a weapon of war. Read this article, Living with the threat of rape in Darfur. African Union officers have said that the threat of rape is a potent form of psychological warfare because women who report become outcasts and no one will marry them. Women continue to risk being raped because it is seen as a lesser threat than their husbands and brothers being killed.

The conflict in Darfur feels like just a murmur now. It does not consistently make the news here, soI am curious how much coverage it is getting in Western countries. In a BBC Southern Africa magazine I picked up yesterday, I learned of an interactive game created by MTV - http://www.darfurisdying.com/. It is meant for kids to discover what is genocide and what can be done. Apparently, when one of the characters is about to be killed and/or raped, an opportunity to send a message to George Bush pops up and maybe the killing/rape is averted. My internet connection is too slow to load it, but if someone tries it out, drop me a message on what you think. Playing a game will not stop the genocide in Darfur, but if enough people acknowledge the conflict, increased public pressure might force governments and corporations to take a step.

In the dark

I am currently sitting in the dark. The power went off around 5:30pm, a few minutes after I stepped from work. The rumbling thunder probably had something to do with it. Or as someone informed me, there is a power shortage and various communities are taking turns not having power – load sharing (I think). Anyway, now I’m sitting in the dark with the eerie glow of a laptop screen. It’s 10pm and in my opinion, still too early to go to sleep. Maybe I am in an over contemplative mood, but it’s amazing how light shapes how we live. The only way I can sustain my routine of staying up until midnight is thanks to light and electricity.

When the power went out, my housemate and I thought we were going to resign ourselves to a bread and jam sandwich, and a few peanuts for dinner. This was the first time the power has been off for an extended period of time and I never knew the complex could be this quiet. There was no music, blaring television, not even kids jumping on their trampoline. Since jam was not that appealing, my housemate and I were easily convinced to join some other people in their search for an actually dinner. We stopped at every place that seemed to have power and eventually ended up at a café/diner. Apparently, when there is a power cut in Lusaka, foreigners like us can’t really fend for ourselves and go out for food. The parking lot of this café represented a wide range of development organisations, international aid, and UN agencies. My conclusion is that a power cut during dinnertime is good for local restaurants that cook on gas.

Then again, restaurants cater largely to the mzungu population anyway. I wonder if anyone has calculated how dependent Lusaka businesses are to development workers. In addition to bringing in development aid, the mzungu affinity to partying, drinking, eating, shopping, etc. is good business for a number of establishments. Development really is an industry.

Things I miss

I’m not writing this to say I wish I has these things here, but I sure would enjoy them if I had them.

1. Shower with water pressure
I realise that I am lucky to have a shower, regular water supply, and a hot water heater. Nevertheless, I’ve been thinking how nice a shower with decent water pressure would feel. That is, water pressure that would easily rinse the shampoo out of my hair and I would come out feeling refreshed and squeaky clean. Someone recently suggested that I sneak into the Inter-Continental hotel to swim, shower, and use their high speed wireless internet. Hmm… this could be a possible adventure for next weekend.

2. Clothes dryer
Washing machines and dryers are modern conveniences that I never fully appreciated. I remember my university days of doing three weeks worth of laundry on one Sunday morning. The industrial sized dryers were incredible. Nowadays, I try to do my laundry once a week. It’s not a lot of clothes since my standards of wearable clothes has drop; I now wear my clothes to the point where it looks visible dirty and would be disgusting to wear it again. It makes me think about all the times that I wore a piece of clothing once and then threw it in the wash. I suppose standards of cleanliness increase because people have the means to stay that clean. Doing laundry by hand and drying them on a line saves on electricity; although, I could probably do better on water consumption. What I do miss is what clothes feel like after they come out of the dryer – soft, nice smelling, and usually wrinkle free. What I miss even more are fluffy towels. One visit to the Inter-Continental could probably satisfy the craving for soft, white, fluffy towels.

3. Anonymity
Some days I just want to be invisible. I miss being able to sit alone in a public place. I’m not sure what exactly is enjoyable about sitting in a café to eat, read, or work, but I would like the chance to do it once in a while. I know that I’m noticeable here, but I wish I was not so noticeable. While waiting to pick up a friend at a bus station, I tucked myself beside a pillar passed the time reading a book. To my amazement, even though I thought I was inconspicuous, a group of taxi drivers formed in front me. I guess they thought I would eventually take a taxi. Funny, I could probably sit alone and undisturbed in the Inter-Continental foyer. There are a number of nice restaurants and cafés in Lusaka, but mostly expats go to them. I want there to be a happy medium of where Zambians and non-Zambians can hang out. The flaw is that rarely do Zambians sit alone, eating, reading, or otherwise. I guess I am hanging onto a Western, urban, somewhat Hollywood idea. I blame Sex and the City (watching an entire season at once has a brainwashing effect).

Behind the wall

Yesterday, I met with the teachers at a school on the outskirts of Lusaka. As I walked from the main road to the school, I passed a small brick enclosure with very scary looking barbwire. It looked like a miniature jail. At first glance, I had no idea what in the enclosure would need that much security. Upon peeking through a crack in the metal door gate, I saw two water pumps. So, I gather the wall is to keep people from tampering with the pumps and ensure the water is safe to drink. I am not entirely sure who gets to use the water, but it looks like you would need a key, literally. When passed it on my way out, one teacher said that it was a Japanese funded project (sure enough, there was a tasteful Japanese flag on the gate) and the security is mostly to prevent people from selling the pumps for money in desperate times. Makes sense, I guess. To me, it would be like receiving a box of chocolates, but then only being allowed to have a piece to eat, give away, or whatever, when the donor says the box can be open. This got me thinking about donor control and tied aid. Whoever holds the money has the power.

The Situation

A typical community school has hundreds of students, a few teachers, and never enough resources like desks, chalk, and books. The government cannot financially support community schools. NGOs and faith-based organisation provide support through training teachers, donating teaching materials, running feeding programmes, and improving school infrastructure. But, one thing not addressed is the issue of teacher salaries. My organisation emphasises community ownership and we aim to train and support communities to source their own funds to pay their teachers. A few schools, through the efforts of parent school committees have income generating activities like tuck shops, piggeries, and chicken runs. In the end, there is never enough money to go around.

We have sent some teachers to college, but when the return to their community school, it is up to the community to support their teachers. Or in theory, government should hire them. Training teachers is not sustainable, if we cannot retain them. Some teachers get small monetary, housing, and food allowances, but most do not. The World Food Programme announced a shortage of food in Zambia and a number of feeding programmes at schools have stopped. As a result, a number of teachers has stopped showing up at school. I guess one thing keeping teachers around are feeding programmes, which at least allows the teacher and probably some of his/her family to eat.

How to pay teachers? Part of me is saying, yes we need to throw money at the situation to temporarily “fix” the problem and at least keep teachers to the end of the term. My organisation facilitates workshops to build the capacity of teachers and parent school committees. If basic needs are not being met, how can we expect people to be interested in building their capacity. In reality, people eagerly seek workshops because the transportation allowances given out are a source of income. We temporarily ride the enthusiasm and pride of new volunteer teachers, but that can only last so long. It is uncertain whether community school teachers, even trained ones will ever be put on the government payroll. Is there a long-term solution to enable communities to pay their teachers? Argh.

Youth Day

March 12 is Youth Day in Zambia – a national holiday to recognise the efforts of young people during independence. Students in their school uniforms marched on Independence Avenue and the president addressed them in front of Freedom Statue. I went to meet a friend coming into Lusaka this morning at a bus station just off Independence Avenue. The road was blocked off for the march, so the minibuses were diverted and I had to walk a few extra blocks. Since people had filled the sidewalks, I figured I would just walk in front of them instead of elbowing my way through the crowd. As I walked along the edge of the road, I vaguely heard someone call out/whistle. It didn’t register as anything, so I kept walking. Before I knew it, a white-gloved hand was on my shoulder, and a booming voice said, “What is your problem?” I was stunned. I think I replied, “umm, I don’t have a problem; just going to the bus station.” “You see everyone getting off the road, what is your problem!” he continued. “Sorry, I need to get to the bus station. How should I get there?” I ask, pointing in the direction of the station. “Go! Okay, just go,” he barked back. For a few seconds there, I thought I was actually doing something illegal. There were tons of people running back and forth across the road, so I think it was a police officer on a power trip. Either that or he decided to pick on me for the amusement of the hushed crowd intensely watching the exchange.

Romanticizing

I’m writing this on the drive back to Lusaka from visiting schools in Eastern province. A very wet rainy season has turned the landscape very green. Some of the rocky hills look very temping to climb and sit on top. Small villages with straw thatched roofs look picturesque and everything seems simple. I see women with baskets of mushrooms on their heads, people carrying charcoal and chickens by bicycle to market, kids in matching uniforms walking to school, and before I know it, I catch myself romanticizing village life.

Tall green grass, hills, and endless big blue sky is beautiful. Except, there isn’t anything simple about hard work. It is about 7am and there are plenty of people working in the cornfields. Women are carrying ridiculously large loads of vegetables, water, and firewood to use or sell. The kids are not on a field trip, but probably walking the 5 km to school. Single gear bicycles and hills cannot be easy, especially with a giant cage of chicken on the back. I doubt anyone is walking on the road just for kicks. It is about meeting practical, basic need. Part of me is feeling the honesty and pride of hard work. But maybe, all this is coming through my head because I am feeling the guilt of driving past in an air-conditioned vehicle with no idea if anything I do will help get community schools up and running so every child gets the education they deserve.

The smoke definitely thunders

What a fantastic weekend in Livingstone! I am going to be raving about this trip for sometime to come. I was sceptical whether one and a half days in Livingstone was worth sitting on a bus for 14 hours, but this trip will inspire me to plan more weekend trips out of Lusaka.

We arrived late Friday evening, after out coach bus almost died three times. It is low season so we had an eight-bed dorm at the backpacker’s hostel to ourselves; thank goodness, I’m not sure I would have been able to handle the chalet being cramped with eight people. We spent Friday night spent cooling down in the pool, watching the mist of the falls puff over the treetops, and enjoying Mosi’s – the local beer named after Victoria Falls (Mosi-oa-Tunya, meaning the smoke that thunders). I actually hate Mosi (bad hangover), but I couldn’t bring myself to dismiss the beer named after the fall, at the falls.

Saturday morning, after a wicked French toast breakfast, off we went to the falls. I couldn’t believe how different it looks, three months later. The Zambezi River is going crazy. According to some residents, the level of the river is 6 weeks too early in the rainy season. The mist got me wet the first time, but now the mist is now a downpour. In fact, it is so heavy that you can’t actually see the falls itself at some points. Now, my next plan is to return in September/October to see the falls during dry season; the river reduces enough that you can walk to the edge of the falls.

After shopping/haggling for crafts and eating a nshima dinner (I will need to devote a separate post on my love hate relationship with nshima – a maize paste, think tasteless mashed potatoes), we went back to the falls to catch the lunar rainbow. The park charged an additional admission (10$US!), but as a “resident” it costs all of 5 000 kwacha, or a little over 1$US. It was a cloudy night, but we were determined to sit by the riverbank and wait for the rainbow. And, sure enough, when a cloud-free patch of sky blew across, the rainbow, a full arc appeared at the top of the falls. A friend has an SLR camera and a 15-second exposure resulted in this pic. You had to be there to feel the coolness of the rainbow. I thought once I saw the rainbow, that would be it. Although the clouds blew over and the rainbow would only last a few minutes at a time, we sat on rocks and waited patiently for more clear sky because when the rainbow appeared, it was magic.

The rest of the night consisted of a slew of random activities that included climbing a baobab tree, checking out what $700 a night at the Zambezi Sun/Royal Livingstone Resort looks like, and more Mosi’s.

Early Sunday morning, we went on a safari. There is a small national park, Mosi-oa-Tunya Park along the Zambezi River. Since safari drives are typical, we decided to try a walking safari. There are no lions or other predators in the parks, so not too much could happen to a human. I don’t have much of an opinion on animals, but when we spotted some giraffes, I felt like I saw something that doesn’t actually exist – like dinosaurs or unicorns. Damn, they were cool. The remainder of the walk included sightings of white rhinos (there are only two in Zambia; we saw them and their two armed guards), impalas, zebras, wildebeests, baboons, monkeys, cranes, birds, spiders, and lots of poo.

I’m back in Lusaka now and going to sleep with magical things to dream about.

Weekend sojourn

I’m off to Livingstone for the weekend… to see the lunar rainbow. I didn’t plan to go to Livingstone again so soon, given that I was there in January, but apparently a rainbow created in the mist of the falls by moonlight is something to see. It sounds cool, but I hope it is worth the 7 hour bus journey. Actually, any chance to get out of Lusaka is worthwhile. So far the weekend itinerary includes seeing Victoria Falls, a safari, craft shopping, and hopefully a cloud free night to see the lunar rainbow.

Vulture Fund

“Holy crap… no way,” was my reaction when I learned of this.

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Vulture Fund

Definition: A company that buys the debt of a poor country when it is about to be written off by the donor and then sues the country for the original amount of the debt plus
interest.

While debt relief is being encouraged, there are companies making a lot of money from the debt of poor countries.

One vulture fund case in Zambia:
In 1979, the Romanian government lent Zambia $15 million to buy Romanian tractors. Twenty years later Zambia was broke, so in 1999, Romania agreed to write off the debt for $3 million. Before the agreement was finalised, a company based in the British Virgin Islands swooped in, hence vulture, and took up Romania’s cheap offer and bought the debt for less than $4 million.

This company then sued Zambia for the original debt plus interest – $42 million. The court ruled recently that Zambia must pay a portion of the fund, between $10-20 million.

In a twisted way, the End of Poverty campaign encouraging government to write off third-world debt has allowed companies to buy out debt cheaply only to demand the original amount from the country. These vulture funds have sued and won their case. I wonder, is there such a thing as morals in economics?

For more information on Zambia’s vulture fund case, visit BBC.

For more information on vulture funds, I came across a Democracy Now story.

Some other vulture fund cases highlighted by Democracy Now:

An American billionaire bought some of Peru’s debt for $11 million and then demanded $58 million. Similarly, some of the Congo’s debt was bought for $10 million and $127 million gained from the lawsuit.

Holy crap.