Updates

The last few weeks...

I think I had a parasite… a few days of not nice diarrhoea. I am done with trying to diagnose myself using my traveller health book. Giardia? Bilharzia? Who knows. 

After one night of fever, sweating, and chill, I thought I had malaria. Thank goodness I don't. Although still not sure about the whole parasite situation.

Africa Freedom Day long weekend - ran away to an island in the Zambezi river. Just me and a few friends in our huts/tents relaxing with books and beers. Contemplated hunting the hippo that kept us awake at night, but getting chomped by a hippo not so appealing.

Back to civilization… and work. Plugging away at my manual to help school communities mobilize past planning. I'm compiling a bunch of already existing material for my organisation and hopefully making a summarized activity based programme for communities. Every time people attend workshops, I see them come away with manuals, which no one actually uses. So, I'm not wasting my time on a manual, but fun diagrams and activities… or so I think. Makes me think of summer camp.

Blah blah blah

Oh, what of Lusaka… in my holy shit, I have malaria state (No worries, I don't!), I let myself indulge in thinking about the gathering of foreigners/expats/whatever we call ourselves.

There's something about inability to classify relationships here. How exactly does someone like me become friends with a middle-aged gem dealer/lion hunter/aspiring surfer. I have a feeling the relationship is unequal because I can only manage one slash tops in my description. I not sure what Western context would allow such an interaction to take place. Sometimes unlikely, but highly entertaining friendships just form. Some of them last a week. Some for a little bit longer unless the person leaves. And, some enter a zone of we're just here together. The people who are here for a while, but not staying forever are the ones that save me from sinking into actual despair because regardless what our jobs are, we all face the same frustrations. Who you are, what you've done in your past life, and even what you do now, do not really matter. On a very basic level, it is about two foreigners being able to relate on Western terms in a place where some days you feel like you haven't communicated with anyone. 

What is it about expats being drawn to other expats. Even though I'm hardly sure if I have any true Zambian friends, I still think that genuine friendship can still form over cultural divides. I have plenty of Zambian acquaintances through work. It is always a pleasure to speak with parents and teachers. The gardeners and fruit sellers around my office are wonderful. They notice everything. It's kind of scary, stalker-like, but thoughtful at the same time. I got an extra banana from the fruit seller who hadn't seen me for a week. I also have the amazing opportunity to work with some rural communities and it is always impressive how much communication can happen with very little words. Greeting by clasping my hands a few times and slightly bowing (actually more just knee bending) earns me uncanny respect and even more underserved authority. Then, there is satisfaction of finally understanding a snippet of Zambian humour. Even with the glimmer of connecting with people, I want more.

What I want are conversations that are meaningful on Western standards. Is that selfish? Outside of discussions for work, I don't think I've managed to get past "how are you?" I often feel my brain humming away trying to come up with things to keep a conversation going. Are there any more ways to ask a question to incite any kind of response? Is there a perspective that may make this discussion easier? I'm not making much effort these days in learning the local language, but even so I think there is a depth of conversation I can never reach. So, at the end of the day anyone who understands me even a little bit is good company. I don't have to edit out humour and sarcasm (and swearing) that may not translate. It seems that when expats get together, especially those working in development, we are using each other to connect with the things that we miss. I know I miss those insanely long conversations where every little point is analysed to no end. Coming home after a long frustrating day of work and being able to have a familiar conversation feels like leaning into a hug. To have someone put their arms around you and make you feel safe, so that for a moment, you can just let everything go. As much as I avoid being a full participant in the Lusaka expat social scene, from time to time I know I need interactions for which I have a frame of reference.

Oh, community schools...

I spent part of last week in the Copperbelt – a province that borders with the Democratic Republic of Congo. We (my colleagues and I) have some communication with the schools that we support in this province from the national office in Lusaka, but it is always challenging to get an accurate picture of what is actually happening on the ground. 

There are two predominant cities/towns in the Copperbelt – Kitwe and Ndola. They are mining towns and the majority of people settled here work for the mines. Not surprisingly, the road between Lusaka and the Copperbelt are the nicest I've seen in Zambia – paved, relatively pothole free, and with lanes and shoulders. A lot of development can come from the mines. The employment that mines provide is an obvious advantage, but they can also play a part in community infrastructure. I was also in awe of the size of the power grips supplying energy from Lake Kariba dam to the mines. Years ago, when the government used to own mines, they also provided housing, health care, education, post-secondary scholarships. Nowadays, Zambia is not benefiting the way it should or could from the mines. The government bends over backwards to attract foreign investors (very few restrictions, free electricity, etc) and copper is exported out, only to have processed copper imported back to Zambia. You don't have to be an economist to scratch your head.

Like Lusaka, Kitwe and Ndola have their share of shanty compounds. The ones we spent visited seemed less dense, but people did not seem anymore well off. There are ten community schools in the Copperbelt that my organisation supports in one way or another – school infrastructure, teacher and community training, and educational materials. I have been trying to implement some kinds of community needs assessment system to help my organisation plan what kind of support the schools actually need. This will also help coordinate what kind of assistance schools can benefit from other organisations. The provision of teaching materials has been very ad hoc. For instance, organisations buy books for whatever subject they feel like from year to year. Another health organisation may give 50 HIV/AIDS workbooks for grade 10 students to a school that only goes up to grade 7. It is understandable that schools want all the support they can get, but the schools and communities need to be part of the process of figuring out what is needed. Moreover, there is little assessment of what happens after the delivery of the materials. How long do the books last? Did an increase in books actually improve the student to book ratio or did the books just sit in the supply room? 

It is also becoming an increasing concern that a few of the schools we work with are not actually schools. That is, the schools exist for the community to get support from NGOs and donors. I would imagine most organisations deal with the issue of people selling resources/materials they have been given for money. What can we do with teachers who sell the textbooks for pocket money? Of the ten schools, my boss and I probably witnessed teaching and learning happening at three schools. Yet, teachers will assure us that their enrolment is normally much higher. One school records enrolment at over 500 pupils, but most days classes are only around 20 students, so 20 times 7 classes only makes 140 tops. There is a belief that the more student you report, the more materials and resources you will be given.

The management and operation of community schools needs constant monitoring. My organisation feels strongly about building up the capacity of communities to effectively manage their schools. It is a long-term commitment that we do not realise how much regular input is required. Each school had a head teacher and each cluster of schools has a zone committee, but even with those structures in place, being on the ground to see and hear things directly is essential. We want the community schools to be self-sustaining. However, I feel more and more these days that our concept is just good in theory. Some of the most successfully operated community schools in Zambia are the ones run by Catholic nuns. Too many factors can compromise a community school. i.e. to meet individual and household needs, teachers, parents and anyone else associated with the school will use school resources or materials. One community school recently sold their donated roofing sheets, so now the latrines have no roofing sheets.

However, community school do exist to fill a gap in the Zambia's education system and when you look for it quality education is happening. UNICEF Zambia recently reported that if Zambia is to achieve the millennium development goal of universal primary education (quite possibly the only MDG that might be attainable), education provided in community schools play a huge role. Is having materials and resources misused just a small by-product in supporting those who do actually benefit from our support. My sense is that people know that donors will always come, so selling a book once in a while for a few extra kwacha will not really ever seriously impact the school. We certainly keep supporting schools that have obviously mismanaged and misappropriated materials. So, what to do?

An HIV Picture

One of my placement objectives is to mainstream HIV and AIDS activities into my organisation’s programmes. So far some approaches include sessions on HIV prevention and ARV treatment in teachers’ training workshops, youth peer education groups, and using school open houses as opportunities to link communities to VCT (voluntary counselling and testing) programmes. I’ve been involved with HIV prevention education for a variety of audiences, so I’m familiar with the usual introduction: What is HIV? What are the modes of transmission? What factors increase risk? In projects I’ve work with in Canada, there seemed to be a sense that the disease didn’t really refer to us and no one was particular worried about contracting HIV. What is starting to occur to me here is how close a connection everyone has to HIV.

We’ve all heard the statistics on HIV rate in sub-Saharan Africa – as high as 1 in 4 adults is infected in some areas. The average life expectancy in Zambia is now around 35 years old. An indicator in the Human Development Index (2004) measures severe health deprivation by calculating the probability of not surviving past the age of 40 – in Zambia, the probability is 60%. What this means in real life is regular funerals. In the little over five months in Zambia, I have been aware of the deaths of four teachers from schools that my organisation supports. I have also been to two funerals. Before coming to Zambia, I had only ever attended two funerals in my whole life. As my relationship develops with colleagues and friends, I am realizing the extent of the toll of HIV. Everyone has a connection to the disease. Someone in the family is infected. Someone is taking care of children whose parents have died. People take time off from work to take care of family members or attend funerals. People come down with pneumonia and no one is sure whether we will see them again. Outside of my work, I hear the stories as well. A few weeks ago, a guard lost his sister and yesterday, I heard that my tailor’s son died. Probably not all these deaths were as a result of HIV, but there is a good chance they were. I find it shocking that people will never say this person died from HIV. It just goes to show how high the stigma is. Yes, technically it is a whole slew of other opportunities infection and illnesses that kill the person, but very, very few people will say the word AIDS. However, everyone assumes. How could you not when the person is in their 20/30s and rail thin.

While I still strongly believe that prevention through comprehensive life skills based education is important, I also believe that testing and treatment programmes must be increased. At the same time of prevention young people from becoming infected, the caregivers of the young people must also be kept alive. Making treatments more accessible and available will also breakdown the stigma of HIV. I wonder if I will ever be able to ask someone straight out whether they have HIV. My worry is that the person probably assumes they’re positive, but has never actually been tested. No matter how many HIV programmes are in place, the pandemic cannot be slowed down without good leadership and coordination. Government and community leaders as well as church leadership can do a lot in passing on the correct information and promoting testing and treatment. Instead, incorrect and superstitious information float around. A Zambian paper published an article last month on how the Americans have a cure for AIDS, but are withholding it. There are so many facets to the HIV pandemic. I am acutely aware of how poverty increases one’s vulnerability to the disease, but I am convinced that sound prevention education can play a role.

//

Stephanie Nolen, my Globe and Mail hero has a new book, 28: Stories of AIDS in Africa. The Globe and Mail website had some excerpts from the book; they seem to have since made them subscription only, but this video should work.

Alive in Zambia

It is yet another typical sunny Sunday afternoon – sitting in my backyard under a giant blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds, eating an orange, with my laundry blowing in the wind. I'm feeling content. While not much has changed in my life since last week, I think I've had a lot of time to think about what I want to do. I now have a plan: stay if certain things happen; don't stay if it doesn't.

For most of the week, I was facilitating a Lusaka zone teachers' workshop consisting of all the teachers from the community schools we support in Lusaka. I am generally disgruntled when it comes to workshops here, but since the focus of this particular workshop was planning what teachers will do in their schools, I am hopeful that something will actually come out of it. It was a significant moment when a teacher stood up and said to fellow teachers that they know what to do and the disconnect is the actually doing. We talked about everything from why teachers do not write lesson plans to why teachers do not follow up on disclosure of child abuse. Countless workshops have iterated the procedures for both, but maybe this time addressing motivations and practicing the steps may make at least a few teachers put things into action.

Some memorable comments for me from the workshop:
-You must eat your cupcakes! (Because four cupcakes were budgeted per person per day (don't ask me why), I accumulated a lot of cupcakes after three days, which I smuggled out and gave to the guards and miscellaneous children in my compound.)
- I can write my lessons, but do not.
- I am motivated to plan my lesson when you are here. You should marry me and I will always write my lesson!
- I will come to your office on Monday and bring the money to marry you.
- I thank God for this workshop and God bless you! (In which case, God owes me money for talk time and photocopying).

I think I've been thinking a lot more about what makes me happy here and while I'm currently feeling the contented lazy kind of happy, I wouldn't mind a few moments of being deliriously happy. This, I think is a sign I need a vacation. So, what is special about living and working in Zambia? After all, it was completely my decision. I had a dream that I went to sleep in Zambia and woke up in suburban Canada, driving an SUV, with a golden retriever in backseat, and buying Costco (wholesale) sized products. I wanted to drive away to the distant mountainous horizon, but I wasn't allowed to change my path and the SUV had a voice that kept asking me why I would want to leave my suburban dream. I think if I could think of a complete opposite to my life now, it would be that. I appreciate what a suburban life in Canada offers – it's conveniences and comforts. For a brief moment this morning, I was secretly wishing for a Shopper's Drug Mart so I could buy new lip gloss. What it comes down to is the chance to experience a certain unpredictability and intensity of everyday life here. 

It is not one of the other for me. For now, I am happy for the opportunity to be in Zambia. Simple experiences like walking down the street can suddenly turn into so much more – good and bad. I found this scrawled in a notebook. I'm can't recall when or where I copied it down, but I am finding it profoundly true here: 

People say that we're searching for the meaning of life. I don't think that is it at all. I think that what we're seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purest physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.

May 1

I realise I’ve been off the blogging radar for a little bit. I’m still working with my organisation, but have now come to full realisation that my placement is not really working. The major epiphany of last week is that my placement objectives are not possible without the involvement of my colleagues. It sounds simple, but admitting that to myself has taken this long. If my colleagues do not actually want to engage with me, anything I may contribute is not sustainable. While I think I have put myself out there to build relationships with my colleagues, I have doubts whether we will ever reach a point where we are actually working together. I’ve even wracked my brain wondering whether I am capable of working with others. As the only non-Zambian member of the organisation, I believe there is an expectation for me to do things – do the trainings, write the manuals, getting proposals funded, organise workshops, etc. However, here’s the catch, building the capacity of the organisation requires not only the involvement, but also the commitment of my colleagues. What good is it for me organising a teacher’s workshop, when I do not have at least one colleague working with me through the entire process. The bigger realisation is that no amount of committed and effort on my part will make my placement work unless the organisation is equally serious about seeing the objectives through.

With all that said, what’s new with me?

-- What is not new is my wardrobe. I am tired of all my clothes. I think I actually have a work clothes rotation so that I don’t even have to think about what I should wear. I need new shoes as well. For the past few months, I’ve been meaning to go to the second hand clothes/shoes market on the weekend. Apparently, with a bit of perseverance, digging through piles of used goods may find you decent new-ish used items. However, when Saturday morning rolls around, the last thing I want to go is get up and jump on a minibus to dig through piles. A lot of used clothing here comes from Canada/US and I have definitely seen little league sport jerseys. I think I passed a guy in a Brampton Cubs t-shirt yesterday… as in Southern Ontario Brampton? The poor guy was probably wonder why I was starting at him.

--It’s getting colder. We have beautiful day time highs of 30C, but it usually drops to 10-15C during the evening. I feel so un-Canadian saying this, but I’ve had to put on long sleeves and my woolly socks in the evening. I’ve also been wearing my fleece vest in the mornings. This morning, I was wishing I had my puffy down vest. When have I ever worn anything fleece or down filled above 0C temperatures? I think describing the Calgary winter chinooks phenomenon – all snow melting in one day and Calgarians bringing out the shorts – would be hard to explain. People are even wearing toques now. Come winter in July/August, I’m wondering whether I’ll see a mittens and snowsuits.

--One of the schools we work with has links with an organisation that gets people in the US to sponsor children. As someone who grew up seeing the Sunday morning commercials for sponsoring children, it was fascinating to hear how sponsorship is presented from the developing world side. The person representing that organisation put it this way, “the whites in America will see how the children are living and will want to help to pay for school and medicine. We put pictures of how the children live on the website so they will want to make the house better too.” For the agencies that arrange sponsorships, it is a numbers game. The school got a request for x number of students to support. Yet, it could not be determined whether the sponsorship would continue up to Grade 12.

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.