No thanks, friend

Can we be friends? My answer to that question used be, "ahh, sure…
okay." Today, I heard myself say, "no, thank you." The same kind of no
that you would say to something you didn't want, like moldy bread
(sorry, my mind is on the fact I will have to eat cereal tomorrow
because the bread has gone moldy). I have officially given up thinking
I could be friends with Zambian men. I believe it is impossible to
have platonic friendships here with the opposite sex. The few Zambian
women friends I have here support my view, so I don't feel so bad just
saying no. Since I arrived, I think I have been open to friendships
with people that I've crossed paths with. Random meetings on the
street do not get my phone number, but someone I actually have a
conversation with might. However, when it the "friendship" turns into
persistent calling and telling me that you think about me all the
time, that is the end of that. It sounds harsh, but I don't have
enough fingers to count the number of times that has happened. The few
times that have actually bothered me are when the person in question
is someone I've met in a professional situation and my guard is down
because wife and kids are in the picture. I've met a lot of people
here and maybe I'll lose out on potentially meaningful relationships,
but I think for the time being everyone I meet will stay at an
acquaintance level. Something else I heard myself say to the taxi
driver that drove me home, "yes, I'm married; my husband is at home
with the kids." And his response, "That is good. Me, I want to be your
friend."

On expat life

The definition of expatriate I accept is broad to include anyone
living and working outside of their country of citizenship. Whether by
choice or chance, many foreigners in Zambia find themselves falling
into the expat world. In Lusaka, the places that frequently have
mostly foreigners include the two shopping complexes, movie theatre,
established restaurants and cafes… basically any Western type hangout
places. I must admit the strange and somewhat uncomfortable feeling I
used to get when I went to any of those places is dissipating or I may
have just accepted that sometimes I want a cup of coffee or a movie
and I will not feel guilty because I can afford to.

One amusing thing I have noticed in the expat circle is how expats
will size each other up. I must get equally stared at by Zambians and
non-Zambians; at least, Zambians don't bother trying to be discrete.
It's odd, but is I think I have also picked up this strange exercise
of trying to figure someone out when you see them. Why is this person
here? Who do they work for? Where are they from? Coming home from
grocery shopping, I saw a girl with a backpack and bandana walking in
my neighbourhood. From the fact that she had a backpack and was
wearing Chaco sandals, my conclusion was she is either travelling or
with the Peace Corps. I could be wrong, but I have correctly
identified Canadians just from Mountain Equipment Co-op gear and
anyone with a Nalgene bottle is guaranteed from Canada or US. I think
it's strange… foreign people trying to figure out other foreign
people. It is even more amusing when people do a full head turn to
check out people while driving. NGOs usually have their logo on their
vehicles and diplomats, embassies, UN have specialised plates, so I
have driven with people who look at vehicles and say hmm… that person
must work for that organisation. I guess on a human level people are
just curious and looking out for other people that maybe they can
identify with.

While I think I have fallen into the comforts and conveniences of the
expat world, I feel strongly not to give up some of things like
walking/taking local transport and shopping in markets because I feel
it keeps me grounded in what I think I'm doing here.

//

I have an answer. On Sunday, I successfully cleaned my house and
washed all my clothes. My decided firm response to anyone that asks me
why I don't have a maid (I mean, housekeeper) is that I find it
satisfying to do it myself. Yes, I will whine about doing it, but the
sight a shiny floor and a pile of folded clothes is fantastic!

Does it still count?

I'm not sure if I will keep this blog going because I really don't know what I am rambling about these days. Does cyberspace need my almost disillusioned perspective on development? However, I must say a huge thank you – zikomo kwambiri – to everyone for reading. A special thank you to friends who have considered some of the things I've written about and fired questions back at me. Thanks R for these questions. –m

Even if external aid doesn't really work, does it still count? I would never say that external aid and assistance doesn't help at all. Admittedly, I did have a conversation once about what would happen if all development agencies pulled out and the first answer we came up with is that a lot of people (national and international staff) would be unemployed… oops, we were supposed to say all the people who receive assistance would be affected. There are undeniable positive outcomes like children being able to eat and receive medical attention through programmes happening in schools. Donor money has enabled the building of roads, bridges, schools, hospitals, etc. However, is foreign aid and assistance meant to be indefinite? For example, a feeding programme addresses immediate hunger, but when the programme pulls out, people many not necessarily be in the position to help themselves, if they became accustomed to receiving aid. Another example comes from an article I read recently about how second-hand clothes flowing into developing countries actually hinders the development of local textile industries. But then again, someone who didn't have shoes yesterday could have shoes today. Development project are increasingly concerned with sustainability. Many people tout loan and microfinance projects as the sustainable way, but they do not always work if the community has not committed to the idea. There is no perfect development scheme. It really depends on individual communities and individual circumstances. However, at the end of the day, yes, it does still count that an orphan gets a one good meal through a feeding programme.

What are people's attitudes to foreign assistance? I would say that people working in development here question what they are doing – at least those working at grassroots level. People (i.e. me) come here and realise that there might not really be anything they (I) can do. With that said, I still think it is a process that I can perhaps make small contributions. Maybe my colleagues may end up learning a few things from me (or maybe not). I know I am gaining valuable insight into the realities of a local NGOs. As for what local people think… I'm not sure. I don't really know what to say to people who ask, "so did you come here to save Africa?" I don't expect to be appreciated or for anyone to care that I'm here, but it seems no matter what you do – learn the local language, spent time with people – you'll never really be accepted. I'm not the first person to come and I won't be the last, so in people's minds maybe I've come to help, but in the end I will leave.

//

Damn, at the end of each entry I feel like I need to apologise for yet another depressing post. Will try to write take note of more upbeat and fascinating things this weekend. Much laundry and housecleaning to do… the difficulty of going away on weekends… not complaints though, I'm still relishing in the feeling of being on the beach at the Lake Malawi.

Seeing the good

I am getting way too negative. It is really draining when only the
frustrations stand out at the end of the day. I realise my post
yesterday was a view of Malawi through rose-coloured glasses. All the
sun and relaxation probably put me in the frame of mind to see the
good things. Similar hopeful and optimistic things happen in Zambia –
one just needs to look out for them. I've been linking a number of the
schools we support with local peer education groups. Today, I
overheard a group of girls discussing with each other what someone
might offer them in exchange for sex (food, candy, a lift to town, and
the list continues). This made me think that building forums for such
discussions may have an impact on the lives of young people, even
though we do not do anything to directly address the poverty the
increases their vulnerability. However, on an organisational level, I
don't know if my colleagues realise the value of such partnerships and
will be willing to support the continuation of such programmes when I
leave.

Even though I could have shared a positive aspect of my day, the
girls' discussion, I came home ranting about all the kafuffles that I
had to smooth over because of the things that didn't happen, but were
supposed to while I was away. As our conversation grew in negativity,
my housemate and I resolved to take note of one good thing everyday. I
think I will start a list on the fridge and maybe at the end of this
month, I will report what we come up with. Our two points on the list
tonight include seeing a group of men hard at work at a woodworking
shop and two people working together to push a bike laden with giant
bags of charcoal up a hill. I guess for us seeing people hard at work
is a very good thing. For the record, it was not difficult to come up
with positive things; it was a matter of consciously noting them.

I'm going to entertain one big question before I call it a night – if
I no longer believe that sustainable development is possible, would I
be willing to admit it to myself and walk away?

Malawi

I'm back from Malawi. It was a quick five day trip to Lake Malawi (two
days of travel, three on the beach), but I feel like I've been away
for weeks. The lake felt like a sea and almost Mediterranean like with
clear water, nice sand, and white sunlit rock islands jutting out.
Sitting on the beach, reading, and watching the sun cross the sky was
just what I needed. I did not expect Malawi to be much different from
Zambia; they are neighbouring countries, and cultures and languages
cross geo-political boundaries anyway. The Chewa people in Eastern
Province, Zambia may consider themselves to be in the same group as
the Chewa in Malawi. Also, Malawian Chichewa and Zambian Chinyanja are
very similar languages. I don't know enough Chinyanja to notice the
difference, but I ran into no problems bargaining in Chinyanja.
Nonetheless, on the 9-hour journey back I made a list of some notable
differences:

>>Roads! Malawi has amazing roads. I think I am amazed because Zambia
has such terrible roads; the difference is noticeable immediately
after crossing the border. There are shoulders, lane markings, and
very few potholes. Not only are the roads amazing relatively to
Zambian roads, they were so good I almost got the feeling I was
drinking I was in Canada driving through the mountains. The landscape
is different, but I had the feeling of being on an open highway –
fresh air, blue sky, and endless horizon.

>>Zambians will be the first to tell you that Zambia is a friendly
country. Sure, Zambia is generally a friendly country, but my
experience is that it is an in-your-face kind of friendliness. The
local people I ran into in Malawi were more reserved and perhaps, as a
result their friendliness felt more genuine. At the campsite over
cheap beers and under a sky full of stars, I had some great
conversations with people from Lilongwe (capital of Malawi). I realise
that the people we ran into on the lake and in villages where we
stopped to buy crafts probably have regular contact with tourists, but
it still surprised me how little hassle we got. I have gotten used to
being asked for money and other things that I now notice when I am not
approached. No one said more than hello to me while I was on the
beach… all the attention I usually get is not good for my ego, because
now I expect to be noticed. Hah.

>>I think Malawi and Zambia rank closely on the Human Development
Index (I haven't officially checked). It is difficult to justify this
statement from the perspective of a visitor passing through, but
Malawi seems more developed. In addition to the roads, there seemed to
be more planning and organisation in the capital city. We only spent a
few hours in the city to get food and fuel, but I was amazed (again)
at the infrastructure. There are several modern glass buildings set on
tidy roads lined with shady trees. Lilongwe probably has its share of
shanty compounds, but from what we saw, it felt like people took pride
in maintaining the city – the streets were clean, most streets had
street signs, and traffic lights work! Lusaka doesn't really compare
except for the Western style shopping malls.

Another sign I took to mean things in Malawi are improving was the
number of Malawian families at the beach. A wonderful couple I met, a
midwife and a mechanic, brought their kids for an afternoon barbeque
on the beach. Resort places like the beach are usually filled with
tourists, but it felt nice to see a mix of tourists and local people.
Zambia's attractions are plenty – Victoria Falls, Luangwa National
Park, Lake Kariba, etc. However, many people I work with have never
been and I'm not sure will seek the opportunity to go.

I know I'm making broad comparisons without strong evidence, but
Malawians seem hopeful and more committed. The people I had a chance
to speak with seem to have realised their challenges and are finding
ways to improve their own livelihoods – we came across a huge
furniture and woven mat cooperative. I would like to see the same kind
of optimistic energy in Zambia. Seeing development agency signs and
project vehicles (as you see in Zambia, especially Lusaka) does not
mean development is necessarily happening in the country. There is no
doubt that a lot of money is pouring into Zambia, but until the
leaders and citizens take ownership of their future, no amount of
money will result in any real improvement. I hope I don't sound too
disillusioned because I do want to believe that development from
community level, not dictated by aid agencies is possible.

(I am curious what a development worker in Malawi would say about Zambia...)

Poo

It is not until I had my own poo issue that I realised how common it is a topic of discussion. I've been remarkably healthy so far until mid last week. I don't know what I ate, but it did not do my body good. When I was somewhat toppled over on the table at a Saturday night card game, someone asked me if I felt okay. I mentioned my stomach was giving me a bit of trouble. Then the conversation went like this:

"Stomach troubles?... oh, a PC way of saying that you have the shits."
Me: uh huh
"How many days?"
Me: 3
"Bloody? Gas? Cramps?"
Me: No, no, yes.
"Good, you probably don't have dysentery. Probably bacteria or a parasite. We've all been there."

There we were, on a relaxed Saturday night, five people working with various development organisations bonded over stories of diarrhoea. 

//
 
I'm in a lull. A work and life lull. Or maybe it's just the dread of Monday.

Sorry, can't think of anything interesting to write. I feel much less observant these days than when I first arrived.

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.”

--

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.