Social activites

I have not been blogging about my social activities because there is not much to say. Lusaka, for a capital city, does not have much in terms of exciting, fun, or interesting activities. The expat community does not mingle much with the local Zambian community – not that I was expecting any different. So far I’ve involved myself in a few sport leagues and spend my weekends alternating between going out dancing, house parties, and quieter dinners at home.

There are a number of sport activities such as football, volleyball, squash, and yoga, which are good ways to spend some weekday evenings. With the exception of yoga, the evening usually ends with beers at a backpacker’s lodge. Recently, I have come across book clubs and drumming circles, if exercise is not your thing. There are also a number of clubs that scare me including the Ambassador’s wives club, which I take to mean the wives of ambassadors and high commissioners in Zambia. As if that social circle needs to be any more exclusive.

On weekends, there are a few clubs that have earned okay reviews. In my experience, the music is unpredictable and sometimes it does not get good until very late. Then there is the issue of what a French friend calls sticky men… i.e. ones that just won’t go away. Nonetheless, it is nice to spend the night dancing away. The house parties thrown by expats with big houses are okay as well. Some are more cliquey and pretentious than others, but there are always hypocritical development workers who claim to shun such parties, but actually welcome the break from “dealing with Zambia”.

Socializing for me has come to finding a balance between mzungu functions and actually spending time to make Zambian friends.

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.

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).