Silly Boys

On a typical Thursday afternoon, I was making my way from my office to
a school in town. It is generally one of the more positive walking
experiences, mostly because I know most of the people I pass. There
are all the gardeners, guards, people who sell stuff, and the man that
fixes my shoes. On this particularly Thursday, a few hundred metres
before reaching the main road to catch the bus, I noticed three young
men carrying 50kg bags of maize on their head. They stood out because
normally you never see young men doing anything, much less
transporting food on their heads.

One boy put down the sack to take a drink of water and in doing so
noticed that I was walking about 10 metres behind them. When he put
the load back on his head, he quickly jogged to catch up to his
friends, my guess to tell them about me. By this point, I had closed
the distance to about 5 metres; one boy snuck a quick glance, but
couldn't really turn his head around because of the weight of the bag.
Of course, the other boy had to look as well. Unfortunately, he turned
too quickly and the bag started to slide from his head. It threw his
balance, so not only did his bag fall to the ground, his foot slipped
off the tarmac road onto the dirt shoulder causing him to stumble. Not
surprisingly, his friends laughed at him. I took this chance to pass
the group and even as he tried to stroke his ego by calling out to me,
he remained the one making the fool of himself. That is one tale of
three silly boys.

This has to be one the funniest incident to happen to me yet. I wonder
what would happen if someone knockout gorgeous walked down the street.
It seems silly Zambian boys would be knocked off their feet,
literally.

//

Hurray! Heading out of Lusaka for long weekend - sun, books, and good
friends. Happy Canada Day!

Top Secret

The wife of a certain American is in Zambia today. I only know this
because I'm well connected ;) (or so I like to think I). She is
visiting a USAID funded project and then touring a market. When her
super secret security people arrived in Lusaka last week they realised
it would be virtually impossible secure the area. So, her security
crew have demanded a fake market be set up. A fake market? They
probably won't tell her, but for today there is an extra market, where
all the stall are the right dimensions and there are no corners that
her super secret security can't control. I've been told that she'll be
wearing flat shoes so gravel is not a problem, but rocks are not
acceptable. Everyone involved in this façade also has to be screened;
that is, go through checks to see if you are who you say you are. I
wonder if the super secret security realise that some people may not
have birth certificates or citizenship cards. Maybe someone forgot to
include in the memo that this project is targeting vulnerable people,
especially women-headed households. Someone also forget to include
that Zambia is a developing country. The markets and everything else
are not what they are for no reason. What is this fake market good
for… perhaps her people have choreographed her buying something.
Goodness me.

Brr...

Brr… all I can think about is that I’m cold. I have to learn not to get cold in the first place because warming up is impossible. Thinking about happy things:

• Started my morning with a cappuccino and chocolate croissant!
• Made hummus for lunch!
• Made a new batch of granola and managed to get satisfying chunks!

Granola will be good for tomorrow with passion fruit yogurt. Is it yogurt or yoghurt? It's both. No need with an English vs. English discussion.

Dinner and a movie

A dinner and a movie like in Lusaka? Yuppers! Oceans 13, and burger and fries! Oh how satisfying!

Lundazi

Sorry I’ve been missing from the blogosphere. But, I’m back! I’ve uploaded a few posts written a few weeks ago and below are some notes from my last week in Eastern Province. I think I will try my hand at stream of consciousness posts – writing an actual post proves to be too draining at the end of the day. Plus, I can no longer sit comfortably on the couch in the evening because I run the risk of hypothermia! Yes – it is cold! I am wearing woolly sock and if I had a toque and mittens, I would wear them too. It is actually cooler in the house than outside (something to do with tile and concrete I think). Anyway, it’s cold and as someone who is not usually cold, I don’t really know what to do about my cold hands and feet. I don’t really like wearing socks, but it is getting to that, even to bed. Socks in Tropical Africa – yes, apparently so when it’s winter.

Notes from Lundazi:

• The road between Chipata and Lundazi is even worse during the dry season because I guess rain makes road muddy, softer and more forgiving. My colleagues and the organisation’s vehicle stayed in Chipata while I made the journey to Lundazi by bus. I think it’s scarier by bus because I have little control over the situation except to not the get on the bus in the first place. The bus spent most of the three hour trip with two tires on the road and two off, alternating on different sides of the road depending on the potholes. I tried to read but could barely finish a sentence before the bus veered to the opposite side almost giving me whiplash. This wasn’t the bus that I took, but one company has as its slogan – Safety First, Arrive Alive. Is that supposed to make me feel safer?
• Read Kapuscinki’s Shadow of the Sun. It is striking how I can look out the window and see the villages and scenes of “Africa” Kapuscinki vividly describes. You wonder how a book written in the late 50s can still describe today.
• First day I arrived in Lundazi someone from the hospital came by the office asking for gauze. A young boy came into the hospital with his face burned off. The hospital did not even have gauze. I handed whatever pieces of gauze I had in my first aid kit. It wasn’t sterile gauze, but I guess it’s something. Something is not enough. Boy oh boy.
• Ran into a few Peace Corps volunteers in the Lundazi area – impressed with their perseverance. However, not sure what the point is of putting a young American in the most rural of villages. Is Peace Corps more about cultural exchange than development? One girl biked all day just to reach Lundazi from her village.
• Peace Corps are very creative… or are bored out of their minds and going crazy. One girl is knitting hats for her village. Another has made all sort of items out of chitenge fabric – wallet, ipod holder, book covers.
• Climbed a boulder in a village to get cell phone reception.
• Visited a school where a number of children had scabies. Apparently, even more of a problem during rainy season. Went to see the nearest health clinic. Not exactly a clinic - no health workers, no supplies. What to do?
• Talked to a med student working at clinic. Some of the things she sees would make it difficult to sleep at night (won’t share any of those stories here). In a lot of the villages, a under-five clinic have been set up. That is, a clinic specifically for mothers to bring in their children to have their development monitored. The med student described a situation where severely malnourished children were coming into hospital with under-five cards that plot the progression of malnutrition. What?! There is monitoring, but no intervention. Women are trained to plot the dots, but are not trained them to read them. So, when the child’s weight drops below a healthy range it does not ring any bells because they are just dots. One four year old child came in weighing 8kg.
• Pumping water from a borehole is exhausting. Taking bucket baths saves water.
• I love Cranium! Should have brought the Cranium – Canadian Edition with me… wonder if it exists in travel size.
• Stars! The company of stars makes me feel alone, but not lonely.

Making wishes

I feel like the tooth fairy, Santa Clause, fairy godmother, or whoever else listens to people make wishes. This past week has been busy with community meetings. Getting parents, teachers, and community members to share some of their wishes, dreams, visions for the school is the one of the first activities we do in a session on community school planning.

It all started like this. I attended a parent/community meeting a few months ago at one of the schools that my organisation has supported with books, furniture, and training for teachers. It started out as a typical meeting discussing tensions between the teachers and parents and church (school is held inside church premises). Then the committee opened the discussion of future plans for the school. The room was silent. Now, I have become accustomed to allowing periods of silence before anyone answers, but looking around the room, it didn’t look like anyone was coming up with anything. So, I decided to take advantage of the fact that people are inherently interested in me because I’m different and use myself as an example.

I start talking about myself and how one person gets a chance to go from once upon a time being born in small town Alberta to Zambia. Sharing any kind of information about myself always seems to gets people’s attention. I blab about making wishes on shooting stars as a kid that I would one day get to travel and visit other countries. Interestingly, wishes cannot directly be translated into the local language. Dreams is lotto (I think of lottery to remember the word). I think the shooting star explanation is cheesy makes me sound like a nutcase, but seems to translate well and get people excited.

Then, we open the floor up and people share their wishes. The first few responses involved fixing current problems: new latrines, fence, more books, teachers’ salaries, etc. Then as the energy kept building, people start talking about having the school go up to grade 12, adult classes in the evening, technical courses like tailoring, computer lessons, a bus to take pupils on field trips. Cool!

I was impressed by the ideas people were coming up with. People need to be given the opportunity to speak and I think hear each other speak. The hierarchies are so ingrained that most people expect to be told what to do and for those in authority to have the answer. There are a few standard wishes of infrastructure improvement, but the bigger dreams vary depending on the community. It’s a fun and energetic exercise to start with. While the bulk of the session is about how to plan and mobilise resources, the initial dream and goal setting stage really sets the tone.

Hired Help

A woman visiting the house yesterday remarked, “Your house is dusty! Don’t you have a maid?!” My housemate noted that it was a good thing it was just Monday and the floor were just swept the day before. If the woman came by on Friday, she might have declared our house a no-go zone. It’s just dust that is really beyond our control because rainy season is over and it, well, hasn’t rained in a while. Being the first flat in the compound also doesn’t help because every vehicle roaring by stirs up the red dust that inevitably coats everything.

I’ve written before about my reasons for not getting a housekeeper. The main one being that I feel I should be responsible for my own mess. I don’t have any plans to hire anyone, but when someone asks how I could possibly do my own cleaning, I start to wonder whether I’m holding onto a principle. After all, I could be providing employment for one person and possibly assisting the person’s family. The woman adds, “This is Africa, everyone has a maid.” My reaction is then never to hire a housekeeper! However, in recent weeks I’ve been thinking about hiring someone just for a few days a week. There would be some clear boundaries. All the mess in my room is mess I am responsible for. My housemate and I would still do our dishes after dinner. So the bulk of the work would be keeping the living room, hallways, and stairs clean and dust free. Now with laundry – I’m undecided. I can say that I normally enjoy doing laundry. I look back fondly to my university days and laundromats with industrial sized machines. Oh the joy of machines that can wash and dry three weeks worth of laundry in two hours. Here, I am finding that my weekend time is becoming increasingly valuable and having to get up early enough so that my clothes will be dry by the end of the day is distressing sometimes (especially when hung over). So, I’ve been thinking someone to help with some laundry might be nice. But then, my clothes are falling apart as they are. The controlling part of me might be upset if something was destroyed.

The point of creating employment for one person is a significant one, especially seeing how dependent people are on any family member that brings in money. (Side note: one of my colleagues describes that as an African burden – if one is successful, one’s extended family will expect to be supported). There is a British guy I hang out with once in while, D. He’s lived in Zambia most of his life and recently told me about how he is helping his houseboy buy land to provide some security to his family in case something should happen to D or the houseboy. When I see them interact they are family. The British guy recognises how his houseboy contributes to his life. Certainly not everyone treats their hired help this way. D’s houseboy has four children and D pays their tuition. I hope this means that those four children will have the opportunity to do something other than service work.

Between the ages of 2 -5, I lived abroad and I’m sure my family became used to having help around the house. I vaguely recall having a nanny, whom I’m sure I forced to play with me. While I’m sure my parents had less to do around the house, I think they felt strongly that this was not how we were going to be raised – in my mom’s mind that we were going to grow up knowing how to do thing. Like clean up after ourselves. Do our own laundry. Cook for ourselves. I think if one grew up with hired help around, it would be very difficult to give that up – one can’t deny it’s a very comfortable luxury.

This woman could not believe that two foreigners do everything in their house themselves. “You must have a lot of time,” she says. “Um no, we both work.” When expats complain they have nothing to do on weekends that is because they don’t have laundry or floors to mop. I promise, it can be very satisfying. There is a fair way to employ workers and acknowledge what they do and the contribution they make to your life. So, I may hire someone, if the right time and person comes along.

The sunglasses wall

You can tell whether someone is truly smiling by seeing if the smile is coming through their eyes. At least, that is how I weed out the fake smilers. Because I don't like limiting eye contact, I've never been a huge fan of wearing sunglasses – expect when driving and trying to look cool. However, I have recently commenced a sunglasses experiment. That is, wear sunglasses while walking around and see how people react. On a day to day basis the comments I get range from Jenny, a Filipino actor on a popular soap here to the Chinese president. Someone always seems to have something to say about my appearance and for the most part I don't mind. It is often a source of entertainment, but it's a good thing I don't know the local language well enough to understand all of what that is said. Recently, there also seems to be increasing fascination with my hair. On a 6 hour bus journey back to Lusaka, I could feel the man sitting behind me touch my hair every once in a while; for all I know, he could have been touching it the entire time! And, while I was walking out of a bus station, a woman fully ran her finger through my hair! I was so stunned that I had to stop walking. Thank goodness for conditioner or that would have hurt. According to a friend, my hair is "to die for here" – fascinating. Anyway, in short, I get a lot of attention (as does the average foreigner who interacts with local people on a regular basis). I am getting tired of the attention, especially the people who are rude and violate my personal space. I wish I still had the tolerance I had when I first arrived, but I am reaching the point of almost saying "fuck off" to those who grab me, practice their karate chops in my face, and basically anything that classifies as inappropriate touching. I don't want to reach the angry profanity line. Hence, the sunglasses experiment.

The experiment
Purpose: To determine whether local people react differently to me when they can see less of my face.

Hypothesis: If people react to me based on my appearance and what they can see, by wearing sunglasses, I am reducing the amount of my face they can see, and thereby reducing what they can comment on.

Procedure:
1. Put on sunglasses – only wearing them when appropriate (i.e. outdoors, during daylight hours, and when it is sufficiently sunny)
2. Go about the day like normal.
3. Observe reactions, comments, and staring behaviour. Make mental notes.
4. At the end of the day and/or undefined time later, summarize mental notes, and make conclusion.

Observations:
- Usual glances and comments from guards by the office
- Exchanged usual greetings with gardeners and fruit seller by office
- People stared as usual on walk to town
- A few people glanced at me out of the corner of their eye, as if avoid fully looking at me
- I felt a strange anonymity I have never felt here before
- Squinted less in the blaring sun and got less dust in my eyes
- I felt reluctant to take them off when the sun was setting
- Got called Angeri Jory… Angelina Jolie?! Ha!... wishful thinking!

Conclusion:
It is too early to tell whether the hypothesis is correct. However, it is notable how I quickly became attached my sunglasses and almost relished in the feeling of being behind the sunglasses wall. I feel a great deal of conflict because I do not want to block out the interactions with the local environment, but at the same time I feel much more relaxed when I am not being hassled. Sunglasses are also practical; eyes are less itchy when there isn't dust in them – duh! However, I am getting the sense that sunglasses are a psychological crutch. Given how they made me feel, I might be tempted to wear them all the time, so I make a point of taking off my sunglasses when speaking to anyone, even if it is just a greeting in passing. I think as long as I abide by the sunglasses etiquette I will continue wearing them. When more observations are collected, I will try to make a conclusion on whether sunglasses have the power to avert violation of personal space.

NB. I will, of course, take the sunglasses off when flashing a genuine smile at someone. :)

//

I am such a geek… it's been forever since I've written an experiment. Sweet! That was fun!