The Namumu computer training program is going well, though the kids’ progress is often slow and it’s often very, very frustrating. Sometimes I wonder if we’re just wasting our time teaching these kids a skill they’re never going to be able to use in their rural-dwelling lives. But you know what? The more I think about it, the more I think it might actually pay off. There aren’t a lot of computers around in rural Zambia at the moment, but maybe there will be someday soon. After all, almost everyone has a cell phone out here these days. Even the poorest families usually have at least one person with a cell phone. Maybe someday soon everyone will have a computer and our kids will be ahead of the game and will be able to score a job with their skills, typing or repairing or whatever. You never know. We’ll keep plugging away just in case.
So far, two 14 year old girls, Vivian and Florence, are my superstars. At this point they can type faster than most of the adults working in the Namumu office. It’s impressive. Lately I’ve been giving them copies of People magazine and Entertainment Weekly that my mother sent me and I’m having them re-type the articles they read. The “Sexiest Man Alive” edition of People caused quite a stir for a few girls and led to a number of heated debates over who was better looking than whom. I was and am a staunch supporter of Johnny Depp. The girls love Ryan Reynolds. Love, love, love him. It’s awful. Just awful.
The next time I’m feeling like I’m getting the short end of the stick in life I’m going to think about my new friend Kristin. Kristin is a lady of around 40 who lives nearby and stops by the clinic to chat with Saviour and me every now and then. She’s a real sweetheart and has become a real good friend of mine.
Kristin has HIV. Her husband has TB. They live in a small hut nearby and they are very poor. As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, one of their children is deaf and dumb, I recently found out. Getting an education and even just surviving is hard enough for most completely healthy kids in Zambia. I can’t imagine what it’s like for that kid.
Kristin seems to be taking everything in stride. Fortunately, for many in Siavonga these days, being diagnosed with HIV is not longer a death sentence. She’s getting ARVs from the hospital in town and is taking them daily. She’s doing her best to stay healthy. She’s hanging in there.
If you’re looking for someone to pray for this week, pray for Kristin and her family. Pray that her husband can find a better job. Pray that she stays healthy. And pray that her child can find a way to make something of himself and live a happy life.
We had a pretty good fishing month last month with net profits somewhere around US$1,500, not too shabby for a small fishing company in the midst of a time where all companies on Lake Kariba are experiencing low catches. It’s helped that our selling prices have gone up lately. Last year around this time we were selling a 20kg bag of kapenta for ZMK400,000 (about US$85). Now, each bag is selling at ZMK600,000 (about US$130). One of the reasons the prices are higher is that the supply is low all across the country. Like I said, all companies are catching poorly. Another reason is that Mubita and I have led a collusion charge at the harbor, gathering up the owners of our neighboring companies on a weekly basis and setting the prices as high as we think we can, based on the prices we hear reported from Zambia’s big cities. The local traders we sell to complain a lot more these days, but it doesn’t faze us. They’re making a living. We’re making money to support orphans and vulnerable children, so we run those prices right up and don’t think twice. Mubita and I ain’t messin’ around no mo’. No siree.
Well, that’s about it for now. I’m trying to arrange a goat slaughtering for Christmas, so if that goes down I’ll be sure to describe it in graphic detail for you all very soon. I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas. Enjoy Scrooged without me, Lyles and Crosses. Maybe I’ll catch you next year.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Love Coca-Cola. Hate Cusack.
My apologies for the recent lag between posts. There’s a lot going on at the moment here at Namumu and I’ve been busy with some other things. Allow me to catch you up with a few updates:
Vinod, my roommate/workmate, is the man. There’s no doubt about it. He’s smart, he works hard and he gets along great with the children. Every single night he’s in the Namumu front office, doing computer training with a different group of kids. I work with my groups after his each night, and most days after I finish and walk home I’ll find him reading with one or two of the girls out on our front porch. I’ve been very impressed with the effort he’s put in with it all.
I’m more impressed, though, with his capacity for slamming Coca-Colas. Good lord this guy is ridiculous. I used to think I could put that stuff down, but this guy is going through bottle after bottle after bottle with such ease that even I am amazed. We’ve got plastic bottles and glass bottles piled up in the corner of our kitchen and it is a big, big pile. I recently challenged him to a Coke drinking contest, which he has accepted. I’m not completely sure of what the set up will be, but I’m picturing something like the scene in “Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark” when Indiana’s boo-piece drinks that other guy under the table in a drink off. Will I be the guy under the table, or Indiana’s boo-piece in this scenario? Only time will tell.
As the rain season is upon us once again it’s maize planting time. Maize is the big national crop here, and while Siavonga is not a big farming town (most of it is rocky and hilly) almost all of the families in the villages around Namumu are preparing their plots and planting their seeds. We’ve got a lot of land here at Namumu and we’re putting it to good use these days. We’ve plowed most of it using Jailas’ (the Namumu Administration Manager) cows and a rented plow, and we’ve started planting early. I’ve gotten to join in and, donning my plaid, button-up, cut-off farmer shirt from my Manakintowne days I’ve gotten to plow and plant along with the group. My farmer tan is rocking again, which feels good. I’ll be sure to keep my little Namumu minions working in the field, weeding, hoeing and planting, and I’ll keep you updated on the results.
I’ve been working with Saviour, Namumu’s girls care-giver and nurse, in the clinic almost every day recently and have had some interesting experiences.
The clinic is only open during the day, from 8 am to 5 pm, but we had a late night emergency one night last week and got called in. Royd, a 14 year old boy who lives next door to me, got stung by a scorpion and was brought in screaming and crying from the pain. Apparently all you can do for a scorpion sting out here is give the patient something for the pain. I suggested we whiskey the kid up to help him out and put some hair on his chest. Saviour, in what was probably a wiser course of action, chose to inject an anesthetic near the sting. Good move. Royd’s pain was relieved right away. Man, it looked terrible. I’m going to do my best to never mess with a scorpion. Ever.
We’ve had a good number of people come in with diarrhea lately and we think it likely has something to do with the water people are drinking. We’ve been looking into where all the sick people have been drawing water to see if we can detect any patterns. There are two bore holes nearby that many are drawing from, but a large number are drawing from the lake and drinking that. We’re thinking that the onset of the rain season might have had some effect, that maybe some of the run off going into the lake is causing all the stomach problems. We’ve been advising people to boil their water or use some sort of purifying solution (aid organizations have brought over a good amount of them and have distributed them to the local people at no cost, which is awesome). I hope they all take our advice.
I really love working with Saviour. She’s wonderful. She’s big, gap-toothed and has a great sense of humor. Such women are my kryptonite. We have a great time working together and she’s helped me learn a lot.
Speaking of illnesses, I got rocked by something going around last week and was out of commission for a few days. I’ll spare you the details, but man, I was down and out. And the worst part about getting sick out here is knowing all along that if you get really bad the nearest decent hospital is a long, long ways away and you are more or less screwed. No, I take that back. The worst part is the lack of entertainment while you’re down. I didn’t leave my room for two days, and as I’ve burned through my meager DVD collection already I was forced to go to new lows. Not only did I watch “Must Love Dogs” starring John Cusack and Diane Lane, but I even watched it again with the director’s commentary directly after. A little piece of me died just typing that. I have enough trouble dealing with John Cusack when I’m completely healthy, so you can imagine how bored I must have been to endure such a thing. Man, that guy is the worst.
Well, that’s all I’ve got for you now. I’ll try to get back to you soon. Hope you’re all enjoying the holiday season.
Vinod, my roommate/workmate, is the man. There’s no doubt about it. He’s smart, he works hard and he gets along great with the children. Every single night he’s in the Namumu front office, doing computer training with a different group of kids. I work with my groups after his each night, and most days after I finish and walk home I’ll find him reading with one or two of the girls out on our front porch. I’ve been very impressed with the effort he’s put in with it all.
I’m more impressed, though, with his capacity for slamming Coca-Colas. Good lord this guy is ridiculous. I used to think I could put that stuff down, but this guy is going through bottle after bottle after bottle with such ease that even I am amazed. We’ve got plastic bottles and glass bottles piled up in the corner of our kitchen and it is a big, big pile. I recently challenged him to a Coke drinking contest, which he has accepted. I’m not completely sure of what the set up will be, but I’m picturing something like the scene in “Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark” when Indiana’s boo-piece drinks that other guy under the table in a drink off. Will I be the guy under the table, or Indiana’s boo-piece in this scenario? Only time will tell.
As the rain season is upon us once again it’s maize planting time. Maize is the big national crop here, and while Siavonga is not a big farming town (most of it is rocky and hilly) almost all of the families in the villages around Namumu are preparing their plots and planting their seeds. We’ve got a lot of land here at Namumu and we’re putting it to good use these days. We’ve plowed most of it using Jailas’ (the Namumu Administration Manager) cows and a rented plow, and we’ve started planting early. I’ve gotten to join in and, donning my plaid, button-up, cut-off farmer shirt from my Manakintowne days I’ve gotten to plow and plant along with the group. My farmer tan is rocking again, which feels good. I’ll be sure to keep my little Namumu minions working in the field, weeding, hoeing and planting, and I’ll keep you updated on the results.
I’ve been working with Saviour, Namumu’s girls care-giver and nurse, in the clinic almost every day recently and have had some interesting experiences.
The clinic is only open during the day, from 8 am to 5 pm, but we had a late night emergency one night last week and got called in. Royd, a 14 year old boy who lives next door to me, got stung by a scorpion and was brought in screaming and crying from the pain. Apparently all you can do for a scorpion sting out here is give the patient something for the pain. I suggested we whiskey the kid up to help him out and put some hair on his chest. Saviour, in what was probably a wiser course of action, chose to inject an anesthetic near the sting. Good move. Royd’s pain was relieved right away. Man, it looked terrible. I’m going to do my best to never mess with a scorpion. Ever.
We’ve had a good number of people come in with diarrhea lately and we think it likely has something to do with the water people are drinking. We’ve been looking into where all the sick people have been drawing water to see if we can detect any patterns. There are two bore holes nearby that many are drawing from, but a large number are drawing from the lake and drinking that. We’re thinking that the onset of the rain season might have had some effect, that maybe some of the run off going into the lake is causing all the stomach problems. We’ve been advising people to boil their water or use some sort of purifying solution (aid organizations have brought over a good amount of them and have distributed them to the local people at no cost, which is awesome). I hope they all take our advice.
I really love working with Saviour. She’s wonderful. She’s big, gap-toothed and has a great sense of humor. Such women are my kryptonite. We have a great time working together and she’s helped me learn a lot.
Speaking of illnesses, I got rocked by something going around last week and was out of commission for a few days. I’ll spare you the details, but man, I was down and out. And the worst part about getting sick out here is knowing all along that if you get really bad the nearest decent hospital is a long, long ways away and you are more or less screwed. No, I take that back. The worst part is the lack of entertainment while you’re down. I didn’t leave my room for two days, and as I’ve burned through my meager DVD collection already I was forced to go to new lows. Not only did I watch “Must Love Dogs” starring John Cusack and Diane Lane, but I even watched it again with the director’s commentary directly after. A little piece of me died just typing that. I have enough trouble dealing with John Cusack when I’m completely healthy, so you can imagine how bored I must have been to endure such a thing. Man, that guy is the worst.
Well, that’s all I’ve got for you now. I’ll try to get back to you soon. Hope you’re all enjoying the holiday season.
Monday, November 29, 2010
A Happy Thanksgiving (For Everyone but the Chicken)
(Note: If you are squeamish or dislike hearing animal slaughter described in graphic detail, sections of this blog post may be unsuitable for your little baby eyes. I told this story to a hippy granola-eating aid worker living in Siavonga the other day and she refused to speak to me for about an hour. I was very ok with this because granola-eating hippies annoy me, but I would certainly hate to offend you, dear reader, so, if you need to, please skip over the section marked with asterisks like so: ****. You have been warned.)
A number of people have emailed me recently asking about my Thanksgiving weekend here in Zambia and expressing their condolences over the fact that I have to be over here during the holiday season. Does it suck being so far from home during the holidays? They ask. Yes, to a degree, it does indeed suck to be away from friends, family and Lite 98.1. However, I still managed to have a nice little Thanksgiving feast with my Zambian friends and family…and a good time was had by all (humans).
While nobody here celebrates Thanksgiving and I had to work on Thursday and Friday, I wanted to have some kind of a small celebration. What better way to celebrate, I thought, than by slaughtering a live animal? Nothing gets me ready for the holidays like chopping the heads off of birds, so I went ahead and made what has now become a pretty standard agreement with my neighbors. I pay for the chickens (they cost around US$5 each, outside of he price range of most rural-dwelling Zambian families and thus a rare luxury, perfectly suited for a celebration such as this), they go to the market to buy the chicken (it’s a 15 minute walk to the nearest market and I’m usually too busy during the day to make the trip), I get to kill the chicken and do the major knife-work, they do most of the cooking and we all do the eating. It’s a nice little setup.
****Gruesome Part********Gruesome Part********Gruesome Part****
So, after work on Thursday I skipped home happily in anticipation of my Zambian Thanksgiving feast. I kept my work clothes on (which, as you will discover, was a tactical error) and made my way behind the house, finding the children waiting for me with two large, loud chickens (we ate one this night and one the next). I grabbed my knife and got to work.
I thought I had my act down as far as the slaughtering goes, but I had a little slip up on this one.
Whereas in other parts of the world they may grab the chicken by the neck and give it the old spineroo to break the neck and kill it, or chop the head off with one quick cut, out here in the village the method of execution is by standing on the bird’s wings and feet, grabbing and pulling up on the neck and sawing back and forth with a kitchen knife. It’s rough to watch and rougher to do. I do feel bad doing it. But then I remember that I’m a grown ass man and sometimes out here grown ass men need to kill animals to feed their families and I do what I have to do.
Things went a bit awry on this occasion. Before I had sliced all the way through the neck the chicken spasmed, I lost my grip and the thing started flopping around, with the head still barely attached to the body, spraying blood onto everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. My pants, my shirt, my shoes, everything. A few of the kids from next door and their mother were watching and I think they got sprinkled, too. Yikes. At this point I couldn’t grab the neck and finish the job because it was going all over the place, but fortunately it didn’t take long to bleed out. Man, it was disgusting, even for me.
****End of Gruesome Part********End of Gruesome Part********End of Gruesome Part****
The rest of the process, fortunately, went according to plan. We poured boiling water over the body to make the de-feathering easier and the little kids and I de-feathered. Then, under the close supervision of Cholwe, the 15 year old boy living next door, I sliced that sucker up and removed the insides. As always we had an anatomy lesson, which included a fierce debate over whether two of the oval-shaped objects inside were eggs or testicles, which was fun. And, I had a proud moment when Cholwe took the knife from me to make some cuts, accidentally pulled too hard once and brought the knife back quickly and dangerously close to his waist area. I made a quick but elaborate statement in Tonga about him nearly transforming from a musankwa (boy) into a musimbi (girl) and got a great crowd response. Tonga jokes are the best. My language skills have come a long way.
When the girls finished cooking, we sat out and spread mats over the dirt behind our house, eating and laughing and having a good ol’ time under the stars, crickets chirping and cows mooing in the background. Was it a typical American Thanksgiving dinner? No, it wasn’t. But it certainly didn’t suck.
A number of people have emailed me recently asking about my Thanksgiving weekend here in Zambia and expressing their condolences over the fact that I have to be over here during the holiday season. Does it suck being so far from home during the holidays? They ask. Yes, to a degree, it does indeed suck to be away from friends, family and Lite 98.1. However, I still managed to have a nice little Thanksgiving feast with my Zambian friends and family…and a good time was had by all (humans).
While nobody here celebrates Thanksgiving and I had to work on Thursday and Friday, I wanted to have some kind of a small celebration. What better way to celebrate, I thought, than by slaughtering a live animal? Nothing gets me ready for the holidays like chopping the heads off of birds, so I went ahead and made what has now become a pretty standard agreement with my neighbors. I pay for the chickens (they cost around US$5 each, outside of he price range of most rural-dwelling Zambian families and thus a rare luxury, perfectly suited for a celebration such as this), they go to the market to buy the chicken (it’s a 15 minute walk to the nearest market and I’m usually too busy during the day to make the trip), I get to kill the chicken and do the major knife-work, they do most of the cooking and we all do the eating. It’s a nice little setup.
****Gruesome Part********Gruesome Part********Gruesome Part****
So, after work on Thursday I skipped home happily in anticipation of my Zambian Thanksgiving feast. I kept my work clothes on (which, as you will discover, was a tactical error) and made my way behind the house, finding the children waiting for me with two large, loud chickens (we ate one this night and one the next). I grabbed my knife and got to work.
I thought I had my act down as far as the slaughtering goes, but I had a little slip up on this one.
Whereas in other parts of the world they may grab the chicken by the neck and give it the old spineroo to break the neck and kill it, or chop the head off with one quick cut, out here in the village the method of execution is by standing on the bird’s wings and feet, grabbing and pulling up on the neck and sawing back and forth with a kitchen knife. It’s rough to watch and rougher to do. I do feel bad doing it. But then I remember that I’m a grown ass man and sometimes out here grown ass men need to kill animals to feed their families and I do what I have to do.
Things went a bit awry on this occasion. Before I had sliced all the way through the neck the chicken spasmed, I lost my grip and the thing started flopping around, with the head still barely attached to the body, spraying blood onto everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. My pants, my shirt, my shoes, everything. A few of the kids from next door and their mother were watching and I think they got sprinkled, too. Yikes. At this point I couldn’t grab the neck and finish the job because it was going all over the place, but fortunately it didn’t take long to bleed out. Man, it was disgusting, even for me.
****End of Gruesome Part********End of Gruesome Part********End of Gruesome Part****
The rest of the process, fortunately, went according to plan. We poured boiling water over the body to make the de-feathering easier and the little kids and I de-feathered. Then, under the close supervision of Cholwe, the 15 year old boy living next door, I sliced that sucker up and removed the insides. As always we had an anatomy lesson, which included a fierce debate over whether two of the oval-shaped objects inside were eggs or testicles, which was fun. And, I had a proud moment when Cholwe took the knife from me to make some cuts, accidentally pulled too hard once and brought the knife back quickly and dangerously close to his waist area. I made a quick but elaborate statement in Tonga about him nearly transforming from a musankwa (boy) into a musimbi (girl) and got a great crowd response. Tonga jokes are the best. My language skills have come a long way.
When the girls finished cooking, we sat out and spread mats over the dirt behind our house, eating and laughing and having a good ol’ time under the stars, crickets chirping and cows mooing in the background. Was it a typical American Thanksgiving dinner? No, it wasn’t. But it certainly didn’t suck.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Bobby Fischer-ing in the Motherland
In early elementary school I learned how to play the game of chess. I loved it from the get-go. I’d play every chance I’d get. My nerdy friends and I would even bring little travel chess boards to school and play during free time and during lunch (and I’d like to take a moment to publicly declare that as cool as Steven Lowry may have become years later by growing dread locks, liking rap music before any of the rest of us, etc. etc, he was in fact one of my nerdy chess friends). I can still remember around the 4th grade when I started being able to beat my dad consistently and thus emasculate him on a regular basis. Ahh, those were the days.
I first saw a chess set out at the Namumu boys’ dormitory sometime last year and was immediately intrigued. The boys have a fair amount of free time outside of school, but all I had seen them play before that had been soccer, UNO and crazy eights, so to see them playing chess made me very happy.
I was immediately challenged to a game by Kebby, the boys’ caregiver, and I immediately accepted. After all, while I hadn’t played in years I had been a young chess master, and surely I could hold my own against a young, rural-dwelling Zambian guy. I didn’t think twice. I sat down and went at it.
What followed was a slaughtering of epic proportions. Kebby proceeded to beat me like a red-headed step-child in three straight games, including one in where he pulled one of those BS tricks and managed to checkmate me in about six moves. The worst part was, a big group of boys was watching and shouting, “Ohhhhh!” every time Kebby made a good move or I made a stupid one. It seemed the emasculation had come full circle and I was now the victim. Ouch. Very ouch.
While I haven’t gotten back in the game and tried to restore my good name since this incident, I’ve done my best to encourage the boys to play as much as possible. Playing chess is good for them. It’s a game of strategy and logic and will help with their problem solving skills. And it sure beats what a lot of kids their age in the village are running around and doing (chasing girls, drinking, etc. etc.). I’ve tracked down a few chess boards in town and they now have three out at the dormitory, which is enough to keep them busy for now.
So now, along with a small army of computer hackers, Namumu will soon be producing a small army of chess masters, and I’d be willing to bet there aren’t too many sub-Saharan African orphanages that can say that.
I first saw a chess set out at the Namumu boys’ dormitory sometime last year and was immediately intrigued. The boys have a fair amount of free time outside of school, but all I had seen them play before that had been soccer, UNO and crazy eights, so to see them playing chess made me very happy.
I was immediately challenged to a game by Kebby, the boys’ caregiver, and I immediately accepted. After all, while I hadn’t played in years I had been a young chess master, and surely I could hold my own against a young, rural-dwelling Zambian guy. I didn’t think twice. I sat down and went at it.
What followed was a slaughtering of epic proportions. Kebby proceeded to beat me like a red-headed step-child in three straight games, including one in where he pulled one of those BS tricks and managed to checkmate me in about six moves. The worst part was, a big group of boys was watching and shouting, “Ohhhhh!” every time Kebby made a good move or I made a stupid one. It seemed the emasculation had come full circle and I was now the victim. Ouch. Very ouch.
While I haven’t gotten back in the game and tried to restore my good name since this incident, I’ve done my best to encourage the boys to play as much as possible. Playing chess is good for them. It’s a game of strategy and logic and will help with their problem solving skills. And it sure beats what a lot of kids their age in the village are running around and doing (chasing girls, drinking, etc. etc.). I’ve tracked down a few chess boards in town and they now have three out at the dormitory, which is enough to keep them busy for now.
So now, along with a small army of computer hackers, Namumu will soon be producing a small army of chess masters, and I’d be willing to bet there aren’t too many sub-Saharan African orphanages that can say that.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Computer Time
I’m happy to report that, at long last, the Namumu Children’s Computer Training Program is up and running. Boo ya.
We knew we needed to start it long ago. The Namumu management team has been talking about doing it for months now. The kids have been ready and willing to get started. Zambia National AIDS Network (ZNAN), a Zambian aid organization, donated a desktop computer to us last year and we have a few functional (albeit virus-laden) laptops lying around, so the resources have been in place. I guess the reason I didn’t push to start things sooner was that I found out how badly many of our kids’ reading skills sucked and tried to tackle that problem first. But now, since a lot of the kids are reading better and I have some help, it’s computer time.
Vinod (the Indian [dots not feathers] VSO volunteer), Kebby (Namumu’s charismatic boys caregiver) and I are all getting in on the action and teaching the kids basic computer skills. Kebby has been getting the boys working every night on his laptop in the boys’ dormitory and Vinod and I are working with different pairs of girls most evenings in the Namumu front office. It’s always a long, painfully slow process getting them started, but we’ve had a number of fast learners and many of them are doing much better.
My ultimate goal is to build up a small army of computer hackers capable of penetrating government databases and performing other such stealthy operations. As for now, we’re starting off slowly, focusing on opening, saving and closing Word documents and trying to get them typing at faster than 3 words per minute. We’ll get there. These are bright kids.
Along with computer lessons, I’ve taken it upon myself to drop some culture on the girls I’ve worked with as well. One of the computers we’re working on is my old laptop which has a good amount of music still on it. When the girls are typing we crank it up and have a good ol’ time. So far I’ve hit them with the Beatles, Boyz II Men, Tupac Shakur and Johnny Cash because dangit my girls are going to have well-rounded tastes. They really hate Johnny Cash, but I don’t care, I’m the boss and they are going to listen to what I say they are going to listen to and I will continue to ram it down their throats until they give in and learn to appreciate it.
So, overall it’s all going well. I’ll try to keep you updated on their progress.
We knew we needed to start it long ago. The Namumu management team has been talking about doing it for months now. The kids have been ready and willing to get started. Zambia National AIDS Network (ZNAN), a Zambian aid organization, donated a desktop computer to us last year and we have a few functional (albeit virus-laden) laptops lying around, so the resources have been in place. I guess the reason I didn’t push to start things sooner was that I found out how badly many of our kids’ reading skills sucked and tried to tackle that problem first. But now, since a lot of the kids are reading better and I have some help, it’s computer time.
Vinod (the Indian [dots not feathers] VSO volunteer), Kebby (Namumu’s charismatic boys caregiver) and I are all getting in on the action and teaching the kids basic computer skills. Kebby has been getting the boys working every night on his laptop in the boys’ dormitory and Vinod and I are working with different pairs of girls most evenings in the Namumu front office. It’s always a long, painfully slow process getting them started, but we’ve had a number of fast learners and many of them are doing much better.
My ultimate goal is to build up a small army of computer hackers capable of penetrating government databases and performing other such stealthy operations. As for now, we’re starting off slowly, focusing on opening, saving and closing Word documents and trying to get them typing at faster than 3 words per minute. We’ll get there. These are bright kids.
Along with computer lessons, I’ve taken it upon myself to drop some culture on the girls I’ve worked with as well. One of the computers we’re working on is my old laptop which has a good amount of music still on it. When the girls are typing we crank it up and have a good ol’ time. So far I’ve hit them with the Beatles, Boyz II Men, Tupac Shakur and Johnny Cash because dangit my girls are going to have well-rounded tastes. They really hate Johnny Cash, but I don’t care, I’m the boss and they are going to listen to what I say they are going to listen to and I will continue to ram it down their throats until they give in and learn to appreciate it.
So, overall it’s all going well. I’ll try to keep you updated on their progress.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Sam Cross: Entertainer, Marriage Counselor
A few more random updates from Namumu-land…
-- I made a trip out into the bush to see Vincent Luubi at his home the other day. Vincent, you may recall, is Namumu’s head welder. He’s tall, lanky and very goofy. He’s a good man. He works hard and he takes care of his family.
You also may recall that, for some inexplicable reason, Vincent named one of his children after me. His youngest son is Samuel Steven Luubi. I made it out to their little hut the other day and had a nice little visit.
Samuel was looking good. Samuel was looking fat. He’d significantly plumped up since I’d last seen him, that much was obvious. I guess he’s taken after his namesake in that respect. I teased him relentlessly about it...luckily I think he's too young to understand and won’t have the self-esteem issues I’ve had lately, what with everyone telling me how fat I am.
Anyway, it was good to see him. I got a great photo of the two of us together and will post it if I get a chance.
--I’ve had a lot of fun walking through the local village recently, either on the way to the harbor in the morning or to the market to get food. It’s great to see all of my old friends again.
I found the secret long ago to befriending all the kids out in the village. Juggling. A few of the local kids found out I knew how to juggle and they ask me to do it every time I walk by. Holy crap they go crazy. I mean they lose their minds. Obviously this speaks more to the lack of stimulation they are experiencing out in the village than to my actual juggling skills, but whatever. It’s nice to entertain people. So, now, every time I walk by, the kids say something in Tonga akin to “Dance, monkey, dance!” and I am all too happy to oblige.
--The Grade 7 students at Namumu Community School recently finished up their big Grade 7 Examinations. As you may recall, these examinations are very, very important all across the nation, and can often determine the educational futures of these kids. Last year the Namumu kids did very well. Two of the children boarding at Namumu, Brenda and Christopher, did well enough to qualify to go to two different prestigious boarding schools. We hope to have similar results this year. The results should come out in December or January, so please keep our kids in your thoughts and prayers.
--Finally, I’ll end with an interesting encounter I had yesterday morning on the way to the harbor…
I was walking up the big dirt hill that leads towards town and the harbor and a man of about 30 came onto the road from a side path and started walking beside me. We greeted each other and continued walking. I start off around 5 am each morning, so I’m always a little bleary-eyed. I’ll greet most everybody but I don’t usually make much of an effort to have a conversation at this point in the day unless they do first. This guy did.
“Yes, sir, I’m having a problem at home…”
I’ve heard this conversation-starter probably five thousand times since I’ve been living in Zambia. It’s almost always about not having enough money or food and every single time it ends with them asking me for money. It’s tough. These people have been completely shafted and have little opporunity to un-shaft themselves. Of course I want to help them. Sometimes I can. Most of the time I can’t. I usually try to talk to them and tell them how sorry I am and give them a pat on the back and say it’s going to be alright even though usually I know it might not be. Anyway, with this guy I prepared for the same old spiel.
He continued on. “I’m going to the court later today to ask the judge to be lenient towards my wife.”
Wooooah, I thought. What a conversation stater that was. Here’s one I haven’t heard before. This one sounds interesting.
“What did your wife do?” I asked, curiously.
“She burned me. She burned me very badly,” he said.
No, no, my friends, this was not an emotional burning. This one was physical. This guy’s wife had thrown boiling-hot water at his back when she was angry at him. He told me about the incident, saying that she had heard rumors (false rumors, he insisted) that he had been keeping a girlfriend in a nearby village. She got pissed off one night and gooshed him with the water.
He lifted up his shirt and showed me and my reaction was just like Billy Madison’s when Ernie shows him that he’d wet his pants…”What do you mean your wife burned y……Goooooooo!!!” It looked terrible.
I spent the rest of the walk patting him on the back (metaphorically speaking...a literal patting might have killed him) and telling him that I’m sure he could find a way to work it out. He said he had forgiven her and that he hoped they could make things right. I don’t have much marriage counseling experience, but I tried to do my best.
I felt bad for the guy, but at least it was more entertaining than the usual “I need money” speech…
-- I made a trip out into the bush to see Vincent Luubi at his home the other day. Vincent, you may recall, is Namumu’s head welder. He’s tall, lanky and very goofy. He’s a good man. He works hard and he takes care of his family.
You also may recall that, for some inexplicable reason, Vincent named one of his children after me. His youngest son is Samuel Steven Luubi. I made it out to their little hut the other day and had a nice little visit.
Samuel was looking good. Samuel was looking fat. He’d significantly plumped up since I’d last seen him, that much was obvious. I guess he’s taken after his namesake in that respect. I teased him relentlessly about it...luckily I think he's too young to understand and won’t have the self-esteem issues I’ve had lately, what with everyone telling me how fat I am.
Anyway, it was good to see him. I got a great photo of the two of us together and will post it if I get a chance.
--I’ve had a lot of fun walking through the local village recently, either on the way to the harbor in the morning or to the market to get food. It’s great to see all of my old friends again.
I found the secret long ago to befriending all the kids out in the village. Juggling. A few of the local kids found out I knew how to juggle and they ask me to do it every time I walk by. Holy crap they go crazy. I mean they lose their minds. Obviously this speaks more to the lack of stimulation they are experiencing out in the village than to my actual juggling skills, but whatever. It’s nice to entertain people. So, now, every time I walk by, the kids say something in Tonga akin to “Dance, monkey, dance!” and I am all too happy to oblige.
--The Grade 7 students at Namumu Community School recently finished up their big Grade 7 Examinations. As you may recall, these examinations are very, very important all across the nation, and can often determine the educational futures of these kids. Last year the Namumu kids did very well. Two of the children boarding at Namumu, Brenda and Christopher, did well enough to qualify to go to two different prestigious boarding schools. We hope to have similar results this year. The results should come out in December or January, so please keep our kids in your thoughts and prayers.
--Finally, I’ll end with an interesting encounter I had yesterday morning on the way to the harbor…
I was walking up the big dirt hill that leads towards town and the harbor and a man of about 30 came onto the road from a side path and started walking beside me. We greeted each other and continued walking. I start off around 5 am each morning, so I’m always a little bleary-eyed. I’ll greet most everybody but I don’t usually make much of an effort to have a conversation at this point in the day unless they do first. This guy did.
“Yes, sir, I’m having a problem at home…”
I’ve heard this conversation-starter probably five thousand times since I’ve been living in Zambia. It’s almost always about not having enough money or food and every single time it ends with them asking me for money. It’s tough. These people have been completely shafted and have little opporunity to un-shaft themselves. Of course I want to help them. Sometimes I can. Most of the time I can’t. I usually try to talk to them and tell them how sorry I am and give them a pat on the back and say it’s going to be alright even though usually I know it might not be. Anyway, with this guy I prepared for the same old spiel.
He continued on. “I’m going to the court later today to ask the judge to be lenient towards my wife.”
Wooooah, I thought. What a conversation stater that was. Here’s one I haven’t heard before. This one sounds interesting.
“What did your wife do?” I asked, curiously.
“She burned me. She burned me very badly,” he said.
No, no, my friends, this was not an emotional burning. This one was physical. This guy’s wife had thrown boiling-hot water at his back when she was angry at him. He told me about the incident, saying that she had heard rumors (false rumors, he insisted) that he had been keeping a girlfriend in a nearby village. She got pissed off one night and gooshed him with the water.
He lifted up his shirt and showed me and my reaction was just like Billy Madison’s when Ernie shows him that he’d wet his pants…”What do you mean your wife burned y……Goooooooo!!!” It looked terrible.
I spent the rest of the walk patting him on the back (metaphorically speaking...a literal patting might have killed him) and telling him that I’m sure he could find a way to work it out. He said he had forgiven her and that he hoped they could make things right. I don’t have much marriage counseling experience, but I tried to do my best.
I felt bad for the guy, but at least it was more entertaining than the usual “I need money” speech…
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Fishing and Body Image Issues
Once back in action at Namumu it didn’t take long for disaster to strike one of our income-generating activities. A major storm hit the lake one night last week and jacked one of our boats up quite nicely. The wind pushed the Lucy boat up onto the shore of a nearby island. The pontoons beat up on the rocks repeatedly, puncturing one of them and allowing water to slowly seep in. Awesome. Welcome back to Africa, Sam. Here’s an emergency to deal with on day one in the office. Just awesome.
But you know what? It worked out just fine. Mubita, my right hand man in the fishing department, and I got back into our groove immediately. Between the two of us we got our boat towed back to the harbor quickly, before it sank, tracked down a mechanic from a nearby village to fix damage to the drive unit and arranged to get our welders and their bulky equipment out to the harbor. I spent most of my first day on duty calling and roaming around town, begging our neighboring fishing companies to let us borrow the equipment we need to make the repairs (I’m pretty sure I’m the only white beggar in Siavonga and maybe in all of Zambia and, man, I’ve got the routine down cold. I play the “we’re a struggling orphanage” card early and often). That very day we had the entire team working on the boat, and after two and a half days of repairs both boats were fixed up. They both fished last night. Boo ya.
I can’t stress enough how well Mubita continues to do in his role as fishing coordinator. This guy is still working his arse off. I returned to Siavonga to find that he had things running smoothly in my absence and had kept the records clear, detailed and accurate. I felt like a proud parent. I still haven’t quite gotten over the fact that he didn’t name his recently born son after me, but I still love him.
Otherwise, I’m assimilating well back into Zambian life. Although, I am having self-esteem issues again because everyone keeps telling me how fat I got in the US. I mean everyone. I know, I know, weight is viewed differently here and to them it’s not an insult and they mean I look healthy and blah blah blah blah. They are going to drive me to an eating disorder in the very near future.
Just kidding. I actually made a goal for myself to put on 20 pounds while back in the US and when I set a goal for myself I don’t mess around. A few Tuesdays at Hooters and Wednesdays at Five Guys and I cruised to victory. Unfortunately, my hard work may be for naught as I’m back on my fish/vegetable/bread diet. We’ll see.
Anyway, for me it’s back to the slow, quiet southern African way of life and it feels mighty fine.
But you know what? It worked out just fine. Mubita, my right hand man in the fishing department, and I got back into our groove immediately. Between the two of us we got our boat towed back to the harbor quickly, before it sank, tracked down a mechanic from a nearby village to fix damage to the drive unit and arranged to get our welders and their bulky equipment out to the harbor. I spent most of my first day on duty calling and roaming around town, begging our neighboring fishing companies to let us borrow the equipment we need to make the repairs (I’m pretty sure I’m the only white beggar in Siavonga and maybe in all of Zambia and, man, I’ve got the routine down cold. I play the “we’re a struggling orphanage” card early and often). That very day we had the entire team working on the boat, and after two and a half days of repairs both boats were fixed up. They both fished last night. Boo ya.
I can’t stress enough how well Mubita continues to do in his role as fishing coordinator. This guy is still working his arse off. I returned to Siavonga to find that he had things running smoothly in my absence and had kept the records clear, detailed and accurate. I felt like a proud parent. I still haven’t quite gotten over the fact that he didn’t name his recently born son after me, but I still love him.
Otherwise, I’m assimilating well back into Zambian life. Although, I am having self-esteem issues again because everyone keeps telling me how fat I got in the US. I mean everyone. I know, I know, weight is viewed differently here and to them it’s not an insult and they mean I look healthy and blah blah blah blah. They are going to drive me to an eating disorder in the very near future.
Just kidding. I actually made a goal for myself to put on 20 pounds while back in the US and when I set a goal for myself I don’t mess around. A few Tuesdays at Hooters and Wednesdays at Five Guys and I cruised to victory. Unfortunately, my hard work may be for naught as I’m back on my fish/vegetable/bread diet. We’ll see.
Anyway, for me it’s back to the slow, quiet southern African way of life and it feels mighty fine.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Round 2 Changes
Well, I’m back in the same town at the same orphanage doing the same job…but a few things will be different this time around.
My appearance is the first difference that comes to mind. I’m ashamed to admit that I gave in. I sold out. I got a haircut and shaved off my beard for the first time in a long, long time. It’s been a disaster. I was walking around Lusaka all day on Tuesday and not once did I get shouted at by drunk guys on the street. Long gone are the days when they’d point and yell, “It’s Chuck Norris!” or “Hey, Jesus!”. Now I’m just another clean cut white man in the city. Oh well. There’s no going back now. Maybe I’ll get a new nickname soon.
Aside from my appearance, my job will be slightly different this time around. We have a new worker these days, a volunteer from India named Vinod, sent to the orphanage through an international organization called Volunteer Services Overseas (VSO). Vinod comes complete with an MBA and previous experience working in Africa. He’s here for two years and, like me, will focus on the Namumu income-generating activities, among other things. I’m excited to work with him. For the next few weeks I’ll be hitting him with every bit of fishing, carpentry, welding, poultry and farming information that I’ve got in my head so that he can pick things up and keep them moving in the right direction. I feel good about it all.
Also, my documentation of this stretch in Zambia should be a bit different as well. I’ve got a small video camera and plan on getting a lot of footage, so get ready for a feature-length Namumu documentary when I return.
Finally, while much of my free time last time was dedicated to tracking down local hot sauces in the nearby markets and begging friends and family to ship me bottles in order to feed my addiction, this time I came prepared. I packed around 20 bottles in my checked bag and they all arrived safely in Siavonga. So, don’t worry about me, it looks like I’ll be completely set for a few weeks. Until then, I don’t have to worry about hot sauce no more. And I say, that’s good. One less thing.
My appearance is the first difference that comes to mind. I’m ashamed to admit that I gave in. I sold out. I got a haircut and shaved off my beard for the first time in a long, long time. It’s been a disaster. I was walking around Lusaka all day on Tuesday and not once did I get shouted at by drunk guys on the street. Long gone are the days when they’d point and yell, “It’s Chuck Norris!” or “Hey, Jesus!”. Now I’m just another clean cut white man in the city. Oh well. There’s no going back now. Maybe I’ll get a new nickname soon.
Aside from my appearance, my job will be slightly different this time around. We have a new worker these days, a volunteer from India named Vinod, sent to the orphanage through an international organization called Volunteer Services Overseas (VSO). Vinod comes complete with an MBA and previous experience working in Africa. He’s here for two years and, like me, will focus on the Namumu income-generating activities, among other things. I’m excited to work with him. For the next few weeks I’ll be hitting him with every bit of fishing, carpentry, welding, poultry and farming information that I’ve got in my head so that he can pick things up and keep them moving in the right direction. I feel good about it all.
Also, my documentation of this stretch in Zambia should be a bit different as well. I’ve got a small video camera and plan on getting a lot of footage, so get ready for a feature-length Namumu documentary when I return.
Finally, while much of my free time last time was dedicated to tracking down local hot sauces in the nearby markets and begging friends and family to ship me bottles in order to feed my addiction, this time I came prepared. I packed around 20 bottles in my checked bag and they all arrived safely in Siavonga. So, don’t worry about me, it looks like I’ll be completely set for a few weeks. Until then, I don’t have to worry about hot sauce no more. And I say, that’s good. One less thing.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Back in Mother Zambia
It’s 8 AM on an October morning and I’m already sweating profusely. That could only mean one thing: I’m officially back in Zambia. My plane touched down in Lusaka late last night and after a few months of blog inactivity I’m back and ready to write. I’ll be in the city today running errands and will catch a bus down to Siavonga tomorrow.
I had a good couple of months back in the States. In fact, life couldn’t have been much better. I got to travel around a lot visiting churches and friends. I saw some good friends get married and some get engaged. I honky-tonked in Nashville and whitewater rafted in Charlotte. I was in Cleveland when Lebron broke the city’s heart and in Las Vegas when one of my best friends sacrificed his dignity by piercing his belly-button for the entertainment of our group. I’ll have some good memories.
Now it’s time to get back to work.
For the next few months I’ll be back at the Namumu Orphanage Centre, supervising the income-generating activities and spending my hours in the front office, down at the harbor on Lake Kariba and in the carpentry and welding workshop. I’m excited to get back to work and I’m excited to get back to my kids.
And while I can’t promise I’ll be putting out blog material with Lil Wayne-like intensity as I once so valiantly attempted, I’ll do my best to post as often as possible. I hope it’s interesting and that it helps you learn some more about day-to-day life in southern Africa.
I’ll get back to you soon.
I had a good couple of months back in the States. In fact, life couldn’t have been much better. I got to travel around a lot visiting churches and friends. I saw some good friends get married and some get engaged. I honky-tonked in Nashville and whitewater rafted in Charlotte. I was in Cleveland when Lebron broke the city’s heart and in Las Vegas when one of my best friends sacrificed his dignity by piercing his belly-button for the entertainment of our group. I’ll have some good memories.
Now it’s time to get back to work.
For the next few months I’ll be back at the Namumu Orphanage Centre, supervising the income-generating activities and spending my hours in the front office, down at the harbor on Lake Kariba and in the carpentry and welding workshop. I’m excited to get back to work and I’m excited to get back to my kids.
And while I can’t promise I’ll be putting out blog material with Lil Wayne-like intensity as I once so valiantly attempted, I’ll do my best to post as often as possible. I hope it’s interesting and that it helps you learn some more about day-to-day life in southern Africa.
I’ll get back to you soon.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Final Zambia Blog (For Now)
Life has been a real whirlwind these past two weeks, filled with emotional highs and lows and a few somewhat drastic shifts in my personal worldview and thoughts of the future. I can't manage to get out an in-depth blog at the moment, but here's a brief run-down:
I wrapped up my Namumu work on May 28th, having tried to set things up so that all business activities can run smoothly while I'm away from Siavonga. I said my see-you-laters to co-workers, friends, nieces and nephews, and set off for Lusaka, where I stayed for a few days, relaxing, writing, contemplating the universe and playing un-countable games of Yahtzee with my friend Ndula and her cousins. I then made a brief jaunt into Malawi, mother Zambia's neighbor to the East, where I moved around, explored, ate, drank, played and soaked it all up.
It's been two of the happiest weeks of my life.
When I'm back in the US I'll hit you with some details. And I'll try to take some time to look back on my days spent here in Zambia and wrap up this here blog for the time-being.
Until then, this will be my last blog from Zambia for a while. It looks like I'll have a busy few months stateside but I'd love to see and spend some time with as many of you guys as possible, so please hit me with an email if you are around and want to meet up and catch up.
Well, it's been fun, ladies and gentlemen. Take care.
I wrapped up my Namumu work on May 28th, having tried to set things up so that all business activities can run smoothly while I'm away from Siavonga. I said my see-you-laters to co-workers, friends, nieces and nephews, and set off for Lusaka, where I stayed for a few days, relaxing, writing, contemplating the universe and playing un-countable games of Yahtzee with my friend Ndula and her cousins. I then made a brief jaunt into Malawi, mother Zambia's neighbor to the East, where I moved around, explored, ate, drank, played and soaked it all up.
It's been two of the happiest weeks of my life.
When I'm back in the US I'll hit you with some details. And I'll try to take some time to look back on my days spent here in Zambia and wrap up this here blog for the time-being.
Until then, this will be my last blog from Zambia for a while. It looks like I'll have a busy few months stateside but I'd love to see and spend some time with as many of you guys as possible, so please hit me with an email if you are around and want to meet up and catch up.
Well, it's been fun, ladies and gentlemen. Take care.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Namumu Staff vs. Namumu Boys: Far From an Instant Classic
I’m not sure which staff member was dumb enough to come up with the idea, but a few days ago we had a big soccer match, with the Namumu staff facing off against the older Namumu boys. Tuesday was a holiday, African Freedom Day, and our office was closed. The weather has cooled considerably and the Namumu soccer field and goal posts are set up quite nicely. So, I suppose it actually wasn’t that bad of an idea.
Set back behind the Namumu dining hall directly beneath the nearby rolling, tree-lined hills, the Namumu soccer field is a pretty good one. It’s mostly dirt with a few patches of rocks and a few of grass, but for the most part it’s smooth and level. The goal posts are two large logs with a Y shape on top and the cross bars are old, rusted iron pipes. It’s a pretty big field, and while I have no real basis for comparison it certainly felt like it couldn’t have been too far from regulation size.
Now, I’ve been playing sports for years and at many points I’ve been involved in some version of the young guys vs. old guys game, whether it be players vs. coaches, students vs. teachers or children vs. parents. They’re always fun, and 99% of the time the old guys take a beating, which is always amusing. This match was no exception. Unfortunately, unlike all the other times I was one of the old guys for this one. And yes, we took a real beating.
In our defense, these older Namumu boys play just about every afternoon, and have been playing every afternoon for years. They’ve been running around and training like woah. My team was made up of an over-weight accountant, a couple of chain-smokers, a borderline alcoholic and a 4 foot 10-ish borderline midget, among others. Oh, and then there was me. The slow white guy. Obviously the odds were stacked against us.
I arrived at the field a bit late and the game was almost starting, which meant no stretching (Tony Perkis would not have been pleased) and no warming up, not good considering I hadn’t kicked around a soccer ball more than a handful of times since my Bon Air Elementary playground days. Plus I had just eaten. Plus I was thirsty. Plus the afternoon sun was bearing down hard, and even in the Zambian winter the sun can be oppressive. Is that enough excuses?
And so the game began. The old guys predictably tired right away, but still hung in there for a while. We had a few early shots on goal that nearly made it through.
Kebby, the boys caretaker, was our go-to guy, our super star. At 33 years old I think his game may start declining soon, but at this point he can still move. He claims to have once upon a time played a bit with the Zambian national team. I doubted his claim at first, but it turns out that Kebby is indeed very good. And the Zambian national team is indeed very mediocre, so hey, maybe it really is true.
Debby, a 17 year old Namumu boy was the clear-cut leader of the boys. He and Kebby had some good head-to-head battles. His ball control skills are unbelievable, and while he’s never flashy or show-offy you can tell right away that he’s the most talented of the boys.
So, for what seemed like hours we ran back and forth across the field, sweating and chasing and trying not to throw up. Well, at least I had to try not to throw up. I can’t speak for the other old guys. Like I said, the staff team certainly had its moments (most of them provided by Kebby) and managed to get some decent shots off. But, overall, the boys team was dominant, controlling the ball and the tempo like pros. They ended up scoring three goals to our zero.
It all turned out to be quite an event. As you might have picked up on by now, there ain’t much to do in Siavonga, so a good number of people showed up for the spectacle.
The Namumu girls were out in full force lining the field, cheering and screaming and having a good ol’ time.
And let me tell you something. I’ve tried my hand at a few different sports over the years, but basketball has always been my game. Through the years I’ve played in front of some rough and rowdy crowds and experienced my fair share of heckling. I’ve played in the city and been ridiculed by OG’s. I’ve played in AAU tournaments all over and been blasted by the opposing team’s parents and friends. I’ve played games in Huguenot park where I was the only white guy on the court and an obvious target for ridicule.
But I’ve never experienced heckling like that which our team heard from the 10 to 14 year old Namumu girls. They were merciless. And small slip-up, no matter how minor, was loudly and aggressively mocked by our girls. They were giving it to both sides, but as the staff provided the most slip-ups we received the most ridiculing.
Still, we played our best, and while we came up short I don’t think we embarrassed ourselves too badly. I thought we played respectably.
Well, I thought that until I was reading with my girls that night. I was talking about the game with Wendy, a 16 year old grade 10 student who you may remember from blogs past. I expressed to hear that I was proud of our effort and performance. Wendy, however, completely destroyed any shred of dignity that remained by pointing out that she had watched the boys play each other and teams from other communities dozens of times and that the boys had been completely toying with us, putting in infinitely less effort against us than against the others. She also pointed out that Jimmet, the older boy picked to play the role of referee, had in no uncertain terms told her that he would be bending the rules as much as possible to propel the staff to victory.
And we had still lost badly.
I heard a wave of comments following the match from the staff suggesting we should be practicing and getting in shape to really challenge these boys the next time. I can’t see that happening. I think that the staff have experienced only their first of many beat downs.
Set back behind the Namumu dining hall directly beneath the nearby rolling, tree-lined hills, the Namumu soccer field is a pretty good one. It’s mostly dirt with a few patches of rocks and a few of grass, but for the most part it’s smooth and level. The goal posts are two large logs with a Y shape on top and the cross bars are old, rusted iron pipes. It’s a pretty big field, and while I have no real basis for comparison it certainly felt like it couldn’t have been too far from regulation size.
Now, I’ve been playing sports for years and at many points I’ve been involved in some version of the young guys vs. old guys game, whether it be players vs. coaches, students vs. teachers or children vs. parents. They’re always fun, and 99% of the time the old guys take a beating, which is always amusing. This match was no exception. Unfortunately, unlike all the other times I was one of the old guys for this one. And yes, we took a real beating.
In our defense, these older Namumu boys play just about every afternoon, and have been playing every afternoon for years. They’ve been running around and training like woah. My team was made up of an over-weight accountant, a couple of chain-smokers, a borderline alcoholic and a 4 foot 10-ish borderline midget, among others. Oh, and then there was me. The slow white guy. Obviously the odds were stacked against us.
I arrived at the field a bit late and the game was almost starting, which meant no stretching (Tony Perkis would not have been pleased) and no warming up, not good considering I hadn’t kicked around a soccer ball more than a handful of times since my Bon Air Elementary playground days. Plus I had just eaten. Plus I was thirsty. Plus the afternoon sun was bearing down hard, and even in the Zambian winter the sun can be oppressive. Is that enough excuses?
And so the game began. The old guys predictably tired right away, but still hung in there for a while. We had a few early shots on goal that nearly made it through.
Kebby, the boys caretaker, was our go-to guy, our super star. At 33 years old I think his game may start declining soon, but at this point he can still move. He claims to have once upon a time played a bit with the Zambian national team. I doubted his claim at first, but it turns out that Kebby is indeed very good. And the Zambian national team is indeed very mediocre, so hey, maybe it really is true.
Debby, a 17 year old Namumu boy was the clear-cut leader of the boys. He and Kebby had some good head-to-head battles. His ball control skills are unbelievable, and while he’s never flashy or show-offy you can tell right away that he’s the most talented of the boys.
So, for what seemed like hours we ran back and forth across the field, sweating and chasing and trying not to throw up. Well, at least I had to try not to throw up. I can’t speak for the other old guys. Like I said, the staff team certainly had its moments (most of them provided by Kebby) and managed to get some decent shots off. But, overall, the boys team was dominant, controlling the ball and the tempo like pros. They ended up scoring three goals to our zero.
It all turned out to be quite an event. As you might have picked up on by now, there ain’t much to do in Siavonga, so a good number of people showed up for the spectacle.
The Namumu girls were out in full force lining the field, cheering and screaming and having a good ol’ time.
And let me tell you something. I’ve tried my hand at a few different sports over the years, but basketball has always been my game. Through the years I’ve played in front of some rough and rowdy crowds and experienced my fair share of heckling. I’ve played in the city and been ridiculed by OG’s. I’ve played in AAU tournaments all over and been blasted by the opposing team’s parents and friends. I’ve played games in Huguenot park where I was the only white guy on the court and an obvious target for ridicule.
But I’ve never experienced heckling like that which our team heard from the 10 to 14 year old Namumu girls. They were merciless. And small slip-up, no matter how minor, was loudly and aggressively mocked by our girls. They were giving it to both sides, but as the staff provided the most slip-ups we received the most ridiculing.
Still, we played our best, and while we came up short I don’t think we embarrassed ourselves too badly. I thought we played respectably.
Well, I thought that until I was reading with my girls that night. I was talking about the game with Wendy, a 16 year old grade 10 student who you may remember from blogs past. I expressed to hear that I was proud of our effort and performance. Wendy, however, completely destroyed any shred of dignity that remained by pointing out that she had watched the boys play each other and teams from other communities dozens of times and that the boys had been completely toying with us, putting in infinitely less effort against us than against the others. She also pointed out that Jimmet, the older boy picked to play the role of referee, had in no uncertain terms told her that he would be bending the rules as much as possible to propel the staff to victory.
And we had still lost badly.
I heard a wave of comments following the match from the staff suggesting we should be practicing and getting in shape to really challenge these boys the next time. I can’t see that happening. I think that the staff have experienced only their first of many beat downs.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Plenty of Sams
Well, it’s official. On Friday, May 7th, Samuel Steven Luubi entered this world.
As it turns out, Vincent was serious about naming his child after me, and now there’s another Samuel Steven at Namumu. And when I say it’s official, I mean it is officially official. Vincent actually had me write the name on the Zambian Record of Birth document before he submitted it to the Siavonga District Hospital.
And oddly enough, there was a little twist to the whole ordeal. Remember how the whole issue came up during that heart-to-heart Vincent and I had while walking a few weeks ago? And remember how his little pregnant wife was walking with us and agreed to the deal? Well, Vincent has two wives, and the one who just had Samuel Steven was the other wife, not the one walking with us. They were both pregnant and the other wife had her baby first.
Hmmm…
I wonder if the one walking with us will be sad that she didn’t get to have a Samuel Steven. Or maybe hers can be Samuel Steven, too. Or maybe I can convince Vincent to name that one Steven Samuel.
Ahh, the crazy, mixed-up world of polygamy.
So, even though I’ll be away from Siavonga for a little while the Sams will be well-represented. Now Samuel Steven Luubi is around. Plus, there’s another little Sam who lives in the village just outside of Namumu who is awesome. This Sam is like a little African Dennis the Menace, constantly running around stirring up trouble. He’s always carrying a slingshot and his clothes are always dirty and he always has this smile on his face like he just did something really, really bad. At the same time he is very likeable.
And if any skeezy Christopher Lloyd-ish burglars ever came to our quiet town I’m sure Sam could save the day.
Yep, I can die happy now because my name will live on.
As it turns out, Vincent was serious about naming his child after me, and now there’s another Samuel Steven at Namumu. And when I say it’s official, I mean it is officially official. Vincent actually had me write the name on the Zambian Record of Birth document before he submitted it to the Siavonga District Hospital.
And oddly enough, there was a little twist to the whole ordeal. Remember how the whole issue came up during that heart-to-heart Vincent and I had while walking a few weeks ago? And remember how his little pregnant wife was walking with us and agreed to the deal? Well, Vincent has two wives, and the one who just had Samuel Steven was the other wife, not the one walking with us. They were both pregnant and the other wife had her baby first.
Hmmm…
I wonder if the one walking with us will be sad that she didn’t get to have a Samuel Steven. Or maybe hers can be Samuel Steven, too. Or maybe I can convince Vincent to name that one Steven Samuel.
Ahh, the crazy, mixed-up world of polygamy.
So, even though I’ll be away from Siavonga for a little while the Sams will be well-represented. Now Samuel Steven Luubi is around. Plus, there’s another little Sam who lives in the village just outside of Namumu who is awesome. This Sam is like a little African Dennis the Menace, constantly running around stirring up trouble. He’s always carrying a slingshot and his clothes are always dirty and he always has this smile on his face like he just did something really, really bad. At the same time he is very likeable.
And if any skeezy Christopher Lloyd-ish burglars ever came to our quiet town I’m sure Sam could save the day.
Yep, I can die happy now because my name will live on.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Outreach Visitors
We entertained a group of visitors at Namumu this past week and a good time was had by all.
The Outreach Foundation, Namumu’s main supporting organization, sent over a group of nine representing various churches in the US, a group led by one of my personal heroes, TMTMTL Bill Warlick. Bill has actually made the trip from Orlando to Zambia three times in the past year. I keep telling him to stop coming and bothering us but he keeps on showing up anyway.
Kidding.
Along with my Granddaddy Carl, Bill is one of the wisest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of associating with. While here he sits through meeting after meeting with any and all Namumu departments, reviewing the past year, crunching numbers and evaluating performances. He is intelligent and thoughtful, always guiding and suggesting, never forcing or commanding. He takes the time to talk with everyone and makes everyone feel important. Kind of like Jesus would.
Although he did show some signs of aging. Bill took a nap one afternoon during the group’s stay, something I’ve never seen him do. Don’t get me wrong, on trips like that napping more than understandable. I’ve just never seen him do it. He’s always running around and evaluating everything all day long.
Also, there was the driving incident. Early Tuesday morning we went as a group to see the kapenta boats come in. Bill was driving us all in the large van they had brought down to Siavonga, and as we pulled out onto the town’s main tarmac Bill cruised on over to the right lane and accelerated, coasting right along through the hills of Siavonga, which would have been fine if we drove on the right hand side of the road in Zambia. We don’t. We drive on the left. Fortunately it was early, there was nobody on the road at the time and someone yelled at Bill from the back seat to get over in the left lane, which he immediately did. So we lived to see the kapenta boats, which was nice. I suppose I’m partially responsible as I was navigating from the passenger seat, but oh well, it all worked out in the end.
The group’s visit went about like most other visits do. The group took a tour, met all the staff, sat and chatted with the children and gathered in the chapel for singing and devotions each night.
A number of groups have come through to Namumu since I’ve been here and it’s always the same thing, but you know what? It’s always wonderful. In this environment it’s easy to get bogged down by the day-to-day frustrations, to lose focus and lose sight of the big picture, to forget why we are doing what we are doing. When groups show up to see us for the first time and we have to present the organization to them it reminds us that we are here working for something greater than our own personal comfort and enjoyment. Plus, when you have to explain to someone all the facets of the organization and how it works, it forces you to think about how you can improve things and it gives you a fresh perspective.
The group hung out around Namumu most of the time, but we did get a chance to move around town some. We made it to see the kapenta sales in the morning and took a spin around the lake on the Lucy boat, attended a mini-church service (that is, mini relative to other African church services) at St. Marks Presbyterian Church and rocked out to keyboard-jamming and loud-speaker-enhanced praise songs, visited the Kariba dam with it’s spill-gates open and wandered around the main market in town. It was a lot of fun.
Besides enjoying the company of the group and making a number of new friends I was the privileged recipient of a number of gifts from the group including chocolate, books, hot sauce, letters from the US, and, most importantly, the most recent episodes of LOST’s final season (Holy crap this show is unbelievable. Richard is originally from the Canary Islands? Loophole Guy may be the devil? Jin and Sun are finally together? Ahhh it's getting crazy. I hope Lindelof and Cuse can tie it all together for us here). Thanks to everyone who sent something along from back home, I’m very grateful.
And I’d like to make a special shout out to Cindy Schmidt’s classes in Orlando. Thanks for the messages, you guys. Very uplifting. I appreciate you all taking the time to do it and send them over with Bill. You guys rock and I hope to get to pay you a visit one of these fine days.
Anyway, it was great spending time with such a nice group, one with people passionate for Africa and its inhabitants, people determined to see the good Lord’s work done in Zambia. We miss you guys already. Come back soon.
The Outreach Foundation, Namumu’s main supporting organization, sent over a group of nine representing various churches in the US, a group led by one of my personal heroes, TMTMTL Bill Warlick. Bill has actually made the trip from Orlando to Zambia three times in the past year. I keep telling him to stop coming and bothering us but he keeps on showing up anyway.
Kidding.
Along with my Granddaddy Carl, Bill is one of the wisest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of associating with. While here he sits through meeting after meeting with any and all Namumu departments, reviewing the past year, crunching numbers and evaluating performances. He is intelligent and thoughtful, always guiding and suggesting, never forcing or commanding. He takes the time to talk with everyone and makes everyone feel important. Kind of like Jesus would.
Although he did show some signs of aging. Bill took a nap one afternoon during the group’s stay, something I’ve never seen him do. Don’t get me wrong, on trips like that napping more than understandable. I’ve just never seen him do it. He’s always running around and evaluating everything all day long.
Also, there was the driving incident. Early Tuesday morning we went as a group to see the kapenta boats come in. Bill was driving us all in the large van they had brought down to Siavonga, and as we pulled out onto the town’s main tarmac Bill cruised on over to the right lane and accelerated, coasting right along through the hills of Siavonga, which would have been fine if we drove on the right hand side of the road in Zambia. We don’t. We drive on the left. Fortunately it was early, there was nobody on the road at the time and someone yelled at Bill from the back seat to get over in the left lane, which he immediately did. So we lived to see the kapenta boats, which was nice. I suppose I’m partially responsible as I was navigating from the passenger seat, but oh well, it all worked out in the end.
The group’s visit went about like most other visits do. The group took a tour, met all the staff, sat and chatted with the children and gathered in the chapel for singing and devotions each night.
A number of groups have come through to Namumu since I’ve been here and it’s always the same thing, but you know what? It’s always wonderful. In this environment it’s easy to get bogged down by the day-to-day frustrations, to lose focus and lose sight of the big picture, to forget why we are doing what we are doing. When groups show up to see us for the first time and we have to present the organization to them it reminds us that we are here working for something greater than our own personal comfort and enjoyment. Plus, when you have to explain to someone all the facets of the organization and how it works, it forces you to think about how you can improve things and it gives you a fresh perspective.
The group hung out around Namumu most of the time, but we did get a chance to move around town some. We made it to see the kapenta sales in the morning and took a spin around the lake on the Lucy boat, attended a mini-church service (that is, mini relative to other African church services) at St. Marks Presbyterian Church and rocked out to keyboard-jamming and loud-speaker-enhanced praise songs, visited the Kariba dam with it’s spill-gates open and wandered around the main market in town. It was a lot of fun.
Besides enjoying the company of the group and making a number of new friends I was the privileged recipient of a number of gifts from the group including chocolate, books, hot sauce, letters from the US, and, most importantly, the most recent episodes of LOST’s final season (Holy crap this show is unbelievable. Richard is originally from the Canary Islands? Loophole Guy may be the devil? Jin and Sun are finally together? Ahhh it's getting crazy. I hope Lindelof and Cuse can tie it all together for us here). Thanks to everyone who sent something along from back home, I’m very grateful.
And I’d like to make a special shout out to Cindy Schmidt’s classes in Orlando. Thanks for the messages, you guys. Very uplifting. I appreciate you all taking the time to do it and send them over with Bill. You guys rock and I hope to get to pay you a visit one of these fine days.
Anyway, it was great spending time with such a nice group, one with people passionate for Africa and its inhabitants, people determined to see the good Lord’s work done in Zambia. We miss you guys already. Come back soon.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Here I Come
Well, it looks like I’ll be making a little trip back to the US of A pretty soon here. I’ve been trying to plan things out for a while, but I didn’t want to post anything until I had locked down a flight and made it official. I’ll be flying out from Lusaka on June 12th and will hopefully arrive safe and sound in DC on the morning of June 13th.
It seems nearly all my friends have decided to go ahead and get married around the same time, so that seemed like as good an excuse as any to head on back to the US. I mean, what do I like better, Christmas or wedding season? Uhhh, that would be…wedding season. I can’t wait to grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly.
To be honest, my overall plan is a bit fuzzy. As for now, it looks like I’ll be around the US for a couple of months and then, in all likelihood, I’ll be heading back to Zambia to work for a while longer.
I am still a little concerned about coming home for a bit. I’m coming back to an America that appears to be very different from the one I left, the one where Michael Jackson was still alive and kicking, where Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber were nobodies, and where nobody had heard of Twitter. I’m going to feel so lost when I get back. What else has changed since I left? Are there flying cars there yet? Feel free to post comments on the blog or to email me to help make this transition easier.
So, for the next few weeks I’ll be tying up loose ends and preparing to step away from Namumu for a bit. It makes things easier knowing that I’ll be returning to Siavonga before too long. I’ll be pretty busy for the next few weeks but I’ll do my best to do some solid posting anyway.
No excuses, play like a champion!
It seems nearly all my friends have decided to go ahead and get married around the same time, so that seemed like as good an excuse as any to head on back to the US. I mean, what do I like better, Christmas or wedding season? Uhhh, that would be…wedding season. I can’t wait to grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly.
To be honest, my overall plan is a bit fuzzy. As for now, it looks like I’ll be around the US for a couple of months and then, in all likelihood, I’ll be heading back to Zambia to work for a while longer.
I am still a little concerned about coming home for a bit. I’m coming back to an America that appears to be very different from the one I left, the one where Michael Jackson was still alive and kicking, where Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber were nobodies, and where nobody had heard of Twitter. I’m going to feel so lost when I get back. What else has changed since I left? Are there flying cars there yet? Feel free to post comments on the blog or to email me to help make this transition easier.
So, for the next few weeks I’ll be tying up loose ends and preparing to step away from Namumu for a bit. It makes things easier knowing that I’ll be returning to Siavonga before too long. I’ll be pretty busy for the next few weeks but I’ll do my best to do some solid posting anyway.
No excuses, play like a champion!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Triple Thank You
I believe a few thank yous are in order today.
First, thanks to all of you who took the time to email Zenzo and Clever. You made these guys very happy. Everybody loves getting emails, but it was especially nice for these two since emailing is a new experience for them. So good work, team.
And feel free to keep them coming. If you haven’t emailed either of these guys yet, go ahead and do it. Right now. Go.
Next, I’d like to thank all of you who have sent over young adult and children’s books for the kids. Namumu has a very solid library these days thanks to you. The kids have a nice selection to choose from and they are grateful.
I’m grateful for your help as well. It’s seems that some time before I arrived, some group from Canada either brought over or sent a bunch of books. Before you all started sending over books it seemed like the only thing these kids had to read were books of Canadian origin, either written by a Canadian author or set in Canada. Boy, did they suck.
But now we’ve got some great stuff. I’ve got kids reading “Maniac McGee”, “Wayside School is Falling Down”, “Charlotte’s Web” and “The Hardy Boys”, among other selections. It’s awesome.
So, thanks for sending them over and for contributing to the education of our kids. And for saving me from crappy Canadian literature.
Finally, thanks to all who have supported my stay here, both financially and through prayer, and for making it possible for me to work in this strange in beautiful place.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
First, thanks to all of you who took the time to email Zenzo and Clever. You made these guys very happy. Everybody loves getting emails, but it was especially nice for these two since emailing is a new experience for them. So good work, team.
And feel free to keep them coming. If you haven’t emailed either of these guys yet, go ahead and do it. Right now. Go.
Next, I’d like to thank all of you who have sent over young adult and children’s books for the kids. Namumu has a very solid library these days thanks to you. The kids have a nice selection to choose from and they are grateful.
I’m grateful for your help as well. It’s seems that some time before I arrived, some group from Canada either brought over or sent a bunch of books. Before you all started sending over books it seemed like the only thing these kids had to read were books of Canadian origin, either written by a Canadian author or set in Canada. Boy, did they suck.
But now we’ve got some great stuff. I’ve got kids reading “Maniac McGee”, “Wayside School is Falling Down”, “Charlotte’s Web” and “The Hardy Boys”, among other selections. It’s awesome.
So, thanks for sending them over and for contributing to the education of our kids. And for saving me from crappy Canadian literature.
Finally, thanks to all who have supported my stay here, both financially and through prayer, and for making it possible for me to work in this strange in beautiful place.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Coming Soon to Namumu: A Little Samuel Steven
Wait. It’s not what you think. Read on.
I had a great walk-and-talk the other day with Vincent, Namumu’s Senior Welder, and I thought I’d briefly share some of the highlights.
Still what I would call a young man at 27, Vincent is a goofball. Tall and lanky, he towers over his coworkers at the Namumu workshop, though he is far from intimidating. Because he’s a goofball. Most of the time he’s laughing and flashing a big, toothy grin, joking around as he grinds and cuts door and window frames all the live-long day.
Besides crafting works of art out of iron sheets and Y12 steel bars, Vincent plays guitar in a local band that specializes in traditional African music. I’ve only heard them once but I thought they sounded phenomenal. I think they’re still looking to catch their big break, but until then they are content to just meet to jam out every week or so.
I’ve spent a fair amount of time chatting with Vincent at the Namumu workshop during work days, but last Sunday I got the chance to have a nice long conversation with the guy. Mike, our Assistant Carpenter, had invited us to a special church service at the local branch of the New Apostolic Church in Siavonga to celebrate the recent birth of his daughter, and as Vincent lives close by we decided to meet up and make the 45 minute trek together. His pregnant, non-English-speaking young wife and baby girl joined us.
The trip started out on a high note when Vincent made an announcement. He informed me that he planned to name his next child, the child his wife is currently carrying in her belly, after me. If it’s a boy he said he’ll name it Samuel Steven Luubi, and if it’s a girl he will name it after some female member of my immediate family.
To this day I’m still not 100% sure that he was being 100% serious, but I’m pretty sure he was. Needless to say, I was taken aback. I don’t really know where that decision came from. I’m quite certain I haven’t done anything in my time here to deserve such a tribute. But I felt honored and I told him so again and again. The thought of a little African Samuel Steven terrorizing Namumu for years to come brought joy to my heart.
We continued on our journey, which was far from an easy stroll. This particular branch of the New Apostolic Church was on the other side of town, and to get there required passing over some serious rocks and hills on a small footpath through the brush. It was strenuous, but given the fact that Vincent’s tiny wife was walking effortlessly while carrying one baby on her back and another in her stomach I figured I shouldn’t complain. So, I trudged on with the group.
As we climbed up and down along the narrow path Vincent began opening up a bit more and sharing bits and pieces of his background, some of which I was aware of and much of which I wasn’t.
Like many of our Namumu children, Vincent was orphaned early on in life and was raised by various members of his extended family. He stopped going to school after grade 4, which was especially surprising to me since his conversational English and writing skills are so good. Usually these early dropouts are strictly Tonga speakers (or whatever the local tribal language happens to be) and often they cannot read or write. I can’t tell you how he acquired these skills outside of school, but he did.
Vincent’s past has made him especially sympathetic towards the children of Namumu. He told me that since he’s experienced the life of an orphan and its hardships he wants to do whatever he can to help them out. He wants to continue working for Namumu and training our kids as long as he can.
I gave him a solid pat on the back for that one.
On the way home from the service we talked about the future and what it held for him and his family. He really wants to find a way to go back to school. His Namumu paycheck is not a big one, so saving up the money might be an issue. He’ll need to pay for classes and then for examination fees. But the desire is there. His immediate objective is to prepare for and take his grade 7 examination which, given his reading and writing skills, I’d say he should be able to pass without much of a problem. I told him that in the coming weeks and months I’d do what I can to help him out.
Eventually we reached our respective homes and our conversation came to a close, which was a shame. I wish we could have continued on. But I suppose there will be more conversations to come with Vincent, and, hopefully years from now, with little Samuel Steven as well.
I had a great walk-and-talk the other day with Vincent, Namumu’s Senior Welder, and I thought I’d briefly share some of the highlights.
Still what I would call a young man at 27, Vincent is a goofball. Tall and lanky, he towers over his coworkers at the Namumu workshop, though he is far from intimidating. Because he’s a goofball. Most of the time he’s laughing and flashing a big, toothy grin, joking around as he grinds and cuts door and window frames all the live-long day.
Besides crafting works of art out of iron sheets and Y12 steel bars, Vincent plays guitar in a local band that specializes in traditional African music. I’ve only heard them once but I thought they sounded phenomenal. I think they’re still looking to catch their big break, but until then they are content to just meet to jam out every week or so.
I’ve spent a fair amount of time chatting with Vincent at the Namumu workshop during work days, but last Sunday I got the chance to have a nice long conversation with the guy. Mike, our Assistant Carpenter, had invited us to a special church service at the local branch of the New Apostolic Church in Siavonga to celebrate the recent birth of his daughter, and as Vincent lives close by we decided to meet up and make the 45 minute trek together. His pregnant, non-English-speaking young wife and baby girl joined us.
The trip started out on a high note when Vincent made an announcement. He informed me that he planned to name his next child, the child his wife is currently carrying in her belly, after me. If it’s a boy he said he’ll name it Samuel Steven Luubi, and if it’s a girl he will name it after some female member of my immediate family.
To this day I’m still not 100% sure that he was being 100% serious, but I’m pretty sure he was. Needless to say, I was taken aback. I don’t really know where that decision came from. I’m quite certain I haven’t done anything in my time here to deserve such a tribute. But I felt honored and I told him so again and again. The thought of a little African Samuel Steven terrorizing Namumu for years to come brought joy to my heart.
We continued on our journey, which was far from an easy stroll. This particular branch of the New Apostolic Church was on the other side of town, and to get there required passing over some serious rocks and hills on a small footpath through the brush. It was strenuous, but given the fact that Vincent’s tiny wife was walking effortlessly while carrying one baby on her back and another in her stomach I figured I shouldn’t complain. So, I trudged on with the group.
As we climbed up and down along the narrow path Vincent began opening up a bit more and sharing bits and pieces of his background, some of which I was aware of and much of which I wasn’t.
Like many of our Namumu children, Vincent was orphaned early on in life and was raised by various members of his extended family. He stopped going to school after grade 4, which was especially surprising to me since his conversational English and writing skills are so good. Usually these early dropouts are strictly Tonga speakers (or whatever the local tribal language happens to be) and often they cannot read or write. I can’t tell you how he acquired these skills outside of school, but he did.
Vincent’s past has made him especially sympathetic towards the children of Namumu. He told me that since he’s experienced the life of an orphan and its hardships he wants to do whatever he can to help them out. He wants to continue working for Namumu and training our kids as long as he can.
I gave him a solid pat on the back for that one.
On the way home from the service we talked about the future and what it held for him and his family. He really wants to find a way to go back to school. His Namumu paycheck is not a big one, so saving up the money might be an issue. He’ll need to pay for classes and then for examination fees. But the desire is there. His immediate objective is to prepare for and take his grade 7 examination which, given his reading and writing skills, I’d say he should be able to pass without much of a problem. I told him that in the coming weeks and months I’d do what I can to help him out.
Eventually we reached our respective homes and our conversation came to a close, which was a shame. I wish we could have continued on. But I suppose there will be more conversations to come with Vincent, and, hopefully years from now, with little Samuel Steven as well.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Admitting Defeat
After a few weeks of struggling to write a blog for every single day I am willing to admit defeat. I just can’t do it. How Lil Wayne manages to record at least one song every day I will never know. I tried to keep up with you, Weezy, but I just don’t have it in me. Namumu duty calls and I’ll have to keep my focus there.
Still, some interesting things have been going on around town and I’ll have plenty to write about in the next few days and weeks, so stay tuned.
And no, I haven’t married Mampi.
Yet.
Still, some interesting things have been going on around town and I’ll have plenty to write about in the next few days and weeks, so stay tuned.
And no, I haven’t married Mampi.
Yet.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Internet Masters
Zenzo and Clever, Namumu’s two young accountants, have become masters of the internet.
Just recently we created email accounts for both of them and I think they are pretty excited.
For Easter our friends at Park Lake Presbyterian Church in Orlando organized themselves and wrote letters to each and every Namumu staff member, just greeting them and telling them a little something about themselves and their families. It was nice. Everyone here really appreciated the gesture and enjoyed having something to keep and take home.
I think Zenzo and Clever would appreciate finding a few new emails in their inboxes in the next couple of days and weeks. If any of you out there are in the mood, give one or both of them a shout. Just say hi, introduce yourself and add a quick message. It will take two seconds and these guys would really enjoy reading them.
Do it.
Zenzo: zsidembo@gmail.com
Clever: csimayoba@gmail.com
Just recently we created email accounts for both of them and I think they are pretty excited.
For Easter our friends at Park Lake Presbyterian Church in Orlando organized themselves and wrote letters to each and every Namumu staff member, just greeting them and telling them a little something about themselves and their families. It was nice. Everyone here really appreciated the gesture and enjoyed having something to keep and take home.
I think Zenzo and Clever would appreciate finding a few new emails in their inboxes in the next couple of days and weeks. If any of you out there are in the mood, give one or both of them a shout. Just say hi, introduce yourself and add a quick message. It will take two seconds and these guys would really enjoy reading them.
Do it.
Zenzo: zsidembo@gmail.com
Clever: csimayoba@gmail.com
Monday, April 26, 2010
Zambian Street Fighting
I finally managed to get my hands on a copy of Chinua Achebe’s “Things Fall Apart”, which was surprisingly difficult to find considering it’s said to be the most widely read piece of African literature of all time and I’m living in Africa. Anyway, I finally found it in a small book shop and got to reading.
Let me tell you something, Okonkwo, the main character, is one bad dude, renowned for his wrestling and fighting skills and proud of the fact that he’s killed a number of his tribe’s enemies in battle. He also acts out violently towards his wives (he’s a polygamist) and his children, ruling his family with a firm hand.
I was reading this book all weekend last weekend and, as I rode back on a minibus from Lusaka to Siavonga, I remember thinking about how wonderful it is living in Zambia, a country where people are relatively peaceful, where they don’t often resort to physical violence like Okonkwo.
I was thinking such thoughts literally just minutes before witnessing the following incident…
On the road from Lusaka to Siavonga there are various roadside markets where the bus will stop to let off passengers. At these markets, which all consist of a few small shops lining one side of the street, you’ll see people standing around chatting or vendors sitting in little make-shift stands selling vegetables. There’s almost always a group of women or young children running up to the bus windows holding up tomatoes, okra, rape, maize or bananas for sale, depending on the season. It’s always ho hum, just another day at the market. They’re all pretty much the same.
At one stop, however, the large older woman sitting on the minibus next to me tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a crowd gathering around two sweaty and shirtless young gentlemen at the center of the market, both of whom were clearly unhappy with each other. The crowd soon erupted as one of the guys started swinging at the other one full force. He started really pounding on this other guy who didn’t seem to be putting up much of a defense. At one point the guy getting beaten tried to run away, but his opponent chased him down, tripped him up and started kicking him repeatedly. He even broke off a nearby tree branch and was preparing to whip the guy! This all went on for a few minutes.
Eventually the guy getting walloped was able to scurry into the bush, leaving his sweaty, shirtless, heavily breathing attacker behind.
I was pretty surprised by the crowd’s reaction. Everyone was just laughing and having a good ol’ time. Children, adults, and the elderly all seemed to be genuinely enjoying the spectacle. Actually, the old old women on our bus seemed to get the biggest kick out of it of all, yucking it up and giving a rapid-paced post-fight breakdown all the way to our next stop, which sadly I couldn’t understand because they were speaking Nyanja and I don’t know much Nyanja. All I could make out was “blah blah blah Mike Tyson…ha ha Mike Tyson blah blah blah!” So that was funny.
Then, as our bus was getting ready to drive off, the sweaty now-shirted champion came and hopped on with us, traveling the 15 or so minutes to the next town down the road. As he hopped off someone explained to me that the local police would surely be showing up to that market at some point in the near future looking for that guy, so he was probably going to a friend or relatives’ house to hide out. Apparently we were his getaway vehicle.
So, there you go, I was an accomplice to the escape of a vicious, victorious Zambian street-fighter.
And I thought all Zambians were peaceful. I guess violence is just universal. Sigh…
Let me tell you something, Okonkwo, the main character, is one bad dude, renowned for his wrestling and fighting skills and proud of the fact that he’s killed a number of his tribe’s enemies in battle. He also acts out violently towards his wives (he’s a polygamist) and his children, ruling his family with a firm hand.
I was reading this book all weekend last weekend and, as I rode back on a minibus from Lusaka to Siavonga, I remember thinking about how wonderful it is living in Zambia, a country where people are relatively peaceful, where they don’t often resort to physical violence like Okonkwo.
I was thinking such thoughts literally just minutes before witnessing the following incident…
On the road from Lusaka to Siavonga there are various roadside markets where the bus will stop to let off passengers. At these markets, which all consist of a few small shops lining one side of the street, you’ll see people standing around chatting or vendors sitting in little make-shift stands selling vegetables. There’s almost always a group of women or young children running up to the bus windows holding up tomatoes, okra, rape, maize or bananas for sale, depending on the season. It’s always ho hum, just another day at the market. They’re all pretty much the same.
At one stop, however, the large older woman sitting on the minibus next to me tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a crowd gathering around two sweaty and shirtless young gentlemen at the center of the market, both of whom were clearly unhappy with each other. The crowd soon erupted as one of the guys started swinging at the other one full force. He started really pounding on this other guy who didn’t seem to be putting up much of a defense. At one point the guy getting beaten tried to run away, but his opponent chased him down, tripped him up and started kicking him repeatedly. He even broke off a nearby tree branch and was preparing to whip the guy! This all went on for a few minutes.
Eventually the guy getting walloped was able to scurry into the bush, leaving his sweaty, shirtless, heavily breathing attacker behind.
I was pretty surprised by the crowd’s reaction. Everyone was just laughing and having a good ol’ time. Children, adults, and the elderly all seemed to be genuinely enjoying the spectacle. Actually, the old old women on our bus seemed to get the biggest kick out of it of all, yucking it up and giving a rapid-paced post-fight breakdown all the way to our next stop, which sadly I couldn’t understand because they were speaking Nyanja and I don’t know much Nyanja. All I could make out was “blah blah blah Mike Tyson…ha ha Mike Tyson blah blah blah!” So that was funny.
Then, as our bus was getting ready to drive off, the sweaty now-shirted champion came and hopped on with us, traveling the 15 or so minutes to the next town down the road. As he hopped off someone explained to me that the local police would surely be showing up to that market at some point in the near future looking for that guy, so he was probably going to a friend or relatives’ house to hide out. Apparently we were his getaway vehicle.
So, there you go, I was an accomplice to the escape of a vicious, victorious Zambian street-fighter.
And I thought all Zambians were peaceful. I guess violence is just universal. Sigh…
Time to Plant
The rainy season has finally come to an end here in Siavonga, and that means it’s time to start planting.
For the last few weeks Namumu’s children, under the close supervision of Kebby, the boys’ caregiver, and Savior, the girls’ caregiver, have been busy clearing selected fields and preparing garden beds. The soil is soft and easy to work, so the work isn’t difficult. All that’s needed is to slash away the tall grasses, turn up the soil with hoes and dig out long trenches.
Last planting season I did my best to persuade everybody to at least try a few new farming methods I picked up at Manakintowne and from Pete Markham’s favorite farmer, my man Eliot Coleman, but, as is often the case, most people in rural Zambia are going to continue to do things the way they’ve always been done, so we’re sticking with the usual Zambian techniques. Ah well, I tried.
So far we’ve planted tomatoes, okra, chinese cabbage, eggplant and rape. Already the okra has germinated and is shooting right up.
We’ve got some compost leftover from last season that we made from leaves, grasses and scraps from the kitchen, as well as plenty of cow and chicken poop to go around. So that’s nice.
Let’s hope for a good turnout this season.
For the last few weeks Namumu’s children, under the close supervision of Kebby, the boys’ caregiver, and Savior, the girls’ caregiver, have been busy clearing selected fields and preparing garden beds. The soil is soft and easy to work, so the work isn’t difficult. All that’s needed is to slash away the tall grasses, turn up the soil with hoes and dig out long trenches.
Last planting season I did my best to persuade everybody to at least try a few new farming methods I picked up at Manakintowne and from Pete Markham’s favorite farmer, my man Eliot Coleman, but, as is often the case, most people in rural Zambia are going to continue to do things the way they’ve always been done, so we’re sticking with the usual Zambian techniques. Ah well, I tried.
So far we’ve planted tomatoes, okra, chinese cabbage, eggplant and rape. Already the okra has germinated and is shooting right up.
We’ve got some compost leftover from last season that we made from leaves, grasses and scraps from the kitchen, as well as plenty of cow and chicken poop to go around. So that’s nice.
Let’s hope for a good turnout this season.
Jailas is Sick
I’m always fielding questions about what specifically to pray for at Namumu, and today I’ve got a pretty pressing request.
Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager, has been out sick for a few weeks and it seems as though his condition is getting worse. I couldn’t tell you exactly what he’s suffering from, but I know he hasn’t left his bed in about a week. I’ve been to visit him a few times and he looks and sounds terrible. He’s getting right old, so we’re all pretty worried about him.
Please pray for Jailas, that he can get back on his feet and back to the Namumu office soon.
Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager, has been out sick for a few weeks and it seems as though his condition is getting worse. I couldn’t tell you exactly what he’s suffering from, but I know he hasn’t left his bed in about a week. I’ve been to visit him a few times and he looks and sounds terrible. He’s getting right old, so we’re all pretty worried about him.
Please pray for Jailas, that he can get back on his feet and back to the Namumu office soon.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Unemployment
I haven’t seen any official statistics lately on unemployment in Zambia or Siavonga in particular, but I know it’s high and I’ve been feeling the effects of that.
Every day, and I mean every single day without exception, I have multiple guys, from late teens on up to old old men, coming up to me and asking me for a job. Some tell me they are carpenters. Some tell me they are fishermen. Some tell me that they are willing to do absolutely anything for a small paycheck.
Some of them know me and some of them don’t. The one’s who do know that Namumu is a pretty big organization and they figure there has to be some job for them to do. The ones who don’t know me just figure that a white guy in Siavonga has to have money and has to have a need for low-level workers in some way.
As we have no job openings at Namumu and are in fact trying to reduce the number of employees we have in order to lessen our budgetary burdens, I have to tell every single one of these guys no. It’s not very fun. They all plead with me and look so dejected when I tell them that, while I'll let them know if anything opens up, in all likelihood I won’t be able to help them out.
I sure hope this place starts to develop soon and some more jobs get created, because turning these guys down is not very fun.
Every day, and I mean every single day without exception, I have multiple guys, from late teens on up to old old men, coming up to me and asking me for a job. Some tell me they are carpenters. Some tell me they are fishermen. Some tell me that they are willing to do absolutely anything for a small paycheck.
Some of them know me and some of them don’t. The one’s who do know that Namumu is a pretty big organization and they figure there has to be some job for them to do. The ones who don’t know me just figure that a white guy in Siavonga has to have money and has to have a need for low-level workers in some way.
As we have no job openings at Namumu and are in fact trying to reduce the number of employees we have in order to lessen our budgetary burdens, I have to tell every single one of these guys no. It’s not very fun. They all plead with me and look so dejected when I tell them that, while I'll let them know if anything opens up, in all likelihood I won’t be able to help them out.
I sure hope this place starts to develop soon and some more jobs get created, because turning these guys down is not very fun.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Mampi
Remember Mampi, the buxom Zambian pop singer scorned by Clivert for her “provocative” dancing and manner of dress? Well, I have had the biggest crush on her for some time, and I even got the chance to meet her not too long ago.
I was staying over in Lusaka for the night and my friends and I had seen that Mampi would be performing at a small local night club in the late evening. By now most of my friends are aware of my Mampi infatuation and they, as good friends, agreed to accompany me to the show. That night, with lights flashing, bass pumping and hips shaking, Mampi put on a breathtaking performance into the wee hours of the morning. Most of her songs are in various Zambian languages that I don’t understand, but I didn’t mind one bit. She and her two scantily clad backup dancers rocked it.
After the show, when things had settled down and people had begun to stir again I caught a lucky break. I spotted Mampi hanging around the entrance, mingling with some friends (I guess Zambian pop stars aren’t as untouchable and removed as American ones). It was late and my group was set to leave, so I knew that I didn’t have long to make my move. I pulled myself together and, with the moves of a jungle cat, made my way over to the pop princess, poised and prepared to seduce. As I was walking past her I got her attention and she actually turned to face me.
And I choked under the pressure.
It was very, very late, the lights were flashing and I was chatting with a Zambian superstar. It was too much for me to handle. We made small talk for about 20 seconds before I politely ejected and met up with my friends who were walking out the door.
I blew it, and I’ve regretted not stepping up to the plate nearly every day since.
But don’t worry, folks, I have a plan. I always have a plan. Apparently there are traditional healers nearby in Siavonga who can craft love potions which come in various forms. Some are drinks. Some are powders that you sprinkle on small cuts you make on your body. I haven’t met any of these traditional healers yet, but I know a number of people who visit them regularly, so I think I can network and hook it up.
This way, the next time I won’t even have to come to Mampi. Mampi will come to me.
I’ll be sure to keep you updated.
I was staying over in Lusaka for the night and my friends and I had seen that Mampi would be performing at a small local night club in the late evening. By now most of my friends are aware of my Mampi infatuation and they, as good friends, agreed to accompany me to the show. That night, with lights flashing, bass pumping and hips shaking, Mampi put on a breathtaking performance into the wee hours of the morning. Most of her songs are in various Zambian languages that I don’t understand, but I didn’t mind one bit. She and her two scantily clad backup dancers rocked it.
After the show, when things had settled down and people had begun to stir again I caught a lucky break. I spotted Mampi hanging around the entrance, mingling with some friends (I guess Zambian pop stars aren’t as untouchable and removed as American ones). It was late and my group was set to leave, so I knew that I didn’t have long to make my move. I pulled myself together and, with the moves of a jungle cat, made my way over to the pop princess, poised and prepared to seduce. As I was walking past her I got her attention and she actually turned to face me.
And I choked under the pressure.
It was very, very late, the lights were flashing and I was chatting with a Zambian superstar. It was too much for me to handle. We made small talk for about 20 seconds before I politely ejected and met up with my friends who were walking out the door.
I blew it, and I’ve regretted not stepping up to the plate nearly every day since.
But don’t worry, folks, I have a plan. I always have a plan. Apparently there are traditional healers nearby in Siavonga who can craft love potions which come in various forms. Some are drinks. Some are powders that you sprinkle on small cuts you make on your body. I haven’t met any of these traditional healers yet, but I know a number of people who visit them regularly, so I think I can network and hook it up.
This way, the next time I won’t even have to come to Mampi. Mampi will come to me.
I’ll be sure to keep you updated.
Thole's Shirt
Thole is a middle-aged man who lives with his small family in a small shack on top of a small hill near the harbor where we park our boats and sell our kapenta every morning. We pay him a small rental fee each month, and I’m pretty sure that, along with the little money his wife makes buying kapenta from us and our neighboring fishing companies and selling elsewhere, comprises his only form of income. Most days he just drinks his head off and lays around in the shade all day. I suppose his family is doing alright. He has a few young girls that are always running around playing in the morning or helping their mother cook or wash clothes and plates. They seem to eat pretty well and they’re always relatively happy. Plus, they have a house right by a beautiful lake. Life could be worse.
Anyway, the other day I came to the harbor in the morning and did a double-take. There was Thole, having just woken, dragging out his front door and donning a University of Virginia Lacrosse T-shirt (UVa being the school I attended).
Now, how a T-Shirt from my school thousands of miles away wound up in the hands of a lazy drunk guy living in a small shack on a small hill by a lake in a remote area of southern Africa is beyond me. Perhaps someone from Crestwood (my home church in Richmond, Va.) sent the shirt along with some other clothes to Namumu and it somehow circulated to Thole, but I doubt it. Either way, it was an interesting moment.
A few other similar instances have occurred here in Zambia that have demonstrated how interconnected all points of the globe are these days and they never cease to amaze me.
Anyway, the other day I came to the harbor in the morning and did a double-take. There was Thole, having just woken, dragging out his front door and donning a University of Virginia Lacrosse T-shirt (UVa being the school I attended).
Now, how a T-Shirt from my school thousands of miles away wound up in the hands of a lazy drunk guy living in a small shack on a small hill by a lake in a remote area of southern Africa is beyond me. Perhaps someone from Crestwood (my home church in Richmond, Va.) sent the shirt along with some other clothes to Namumu and it somehow circulated to Thole, but I doubt it. Either way, it was an interesting moment.
A few other similar instances have occurred here in Zambia that have demonstrated how interconnected all points of the globe are these days and they never cease to amaze me.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Lagging
I know, I know, I said I'd be getting out a blog post for every single day and I've lagged behind already. It's not my fault. I was out of Siavonga for a few days and couldn't write or get to a computer for a while. I'll catch back up shortly.
Coming soon to Sam Goes to Africa...
- I am a witness to a crime and somehow find myself on the getaway vehicle fleeing the scene
- I spend two nights basically being spooned by a grown African man
- I may be marrying a Zambian pop singer in the very near future
Stay tuned.
Coming soon to Sam Goes to Africa...
- I am a witness to a crime and somehow find myself on the getaway vehicle fleeing the scene
- I spend two nights basically being spooned by a grown African man
- I may be marrying a Zambian pop singer in the very near future
Stay tuned.
Franco
Franco, one of our older resident boys, came to Namumu just a few months ago, brought here by the Zambian Department of Social Welfare. He’s tall and lanky, and while he’ll smile at you when you talk to him he usually walks around with a bit of a blank stare.
Like many of our children here at Namumu Franco has really gotten the short end of the stick in life. His father passed away some years ago and his elderly mother has had a difficult time supporting the large family. Franco started misbehaving a bit, getting involved with the wrong crowd and drinking, smoking and stealing from time to time. As Namumu is a respected organization here in Siavonga, the Department of Social Welfare thought that if he came to live here for a while Franco could get his life back together.
Franco is not a bad kid. He’s a good kid who sometimes does bad things. He’s nice and polite and you can tell he cares about other people. He’s gotten in some trouble here at Namumu, but nothing outrageous.
As if things weren’t difficult enough for Franco already, last week his mother passed away, leaving him a double orphan. While he has the support of his brothers in the dormitory and the rest of us at Namumu it’s still a tough time for the guy.
Please pray for Franco at some point this week.
Like many of our children here at Namumu Franco has really gotten the short end of the stick in life. His father passed away some years ago and his elderly mother has had a difficult time supporting the large family. Franco started misbehaving a bit, getting involved with the wrong crowd and drinking, smoking and stealing from time to time. As Namumu is a respected organization here in Siavonga, the Department of Social Welfare thought that if he came to live here for a while Franco could get his life back together.
Franco is not a bad kid. He’s a good kid who sometimes does bad things. He’s nice and polite and you can tell he cares about other people. He’s gotten in some trouble here at Namumu, but nothing outrageous.
As if things weren’t difficult enough for Franco already, last week his mother passed away, leaving him a double orphan. While he has the support of his brothers in the dormitory and the rest of us at Namumu it’s still a tough time for the guy.
Please pray for Franco at some point this week.
Monday, April 19, 2010
A Few More Pictures...
I’m posting this blog from an internet café in the heart of Lusaka, and thanks to the high speed of their internet I’ve got a few pictures for you that I thought you’d enjoy…
In case you thought I was just joking about us being in the middle-of-nowhere, here’s a shot of Namumu Orphanage Centre from the top of one of the nearby hills. In the background you can see Lake Kariba and, behind that, the hills of Zimbabwe. Just lovely.
Here we have my man, Clivert, mentally preparing to take a leap into the cool waters of a nearby stream. Don’t let the fact that he’s holding his nose before diving in like a pansy fool you, Clivert is a maniac. He did jumps and flips and twists off of all these rocks. I just jumped. I guess the real pansy is me.
I actually have a picture of myself on this same rock that Clivert is standing here, but my body is so pale that I was worried it might blind some of you out there, so I kept it off.
I’ve been swimming here a number of times and no, Chris and JJ, no amoebas have gotten up in me yet. Phew.
The sunset over on Lake Kariba, as seen from one of Namumu’s two kapenta fishing boats (see the net rim in the lower left corner). Unbelievably beautiful.
After months of preparation and waiting, our chickens finally arrived on March 18th and started laying eggs shortly thereafter. Here some of Namumu’s boys and Mr. Fwanyanga, a teacher at the community school, helping to unload them from the trucks. After the three hour journey that truck smelled like butt.
Here we have Jimmet, one of Namumu’s older boys, helping to place the chickens in the battery cage. We’re trying to get the kids to help out as much as possible so that they develop skills that might enable them to one day run their own poultry operation.
In case you thought I was just joking about us being in the middle-of-nowhere, here’s a shot of Namumu Orphanage Centre from the top of one of the nearby hills. In the background you can see Lake Kariba and, behind that, the hills of Zimbabwe. Just lovely.
Here we have my man, Clivert, mentally preparing to take a leap into the cool waters of a nearby stream. Don’t let the fact that he’s holding his nose before diving in like a pansy fool you, Clivert is a maniac. He did jumps and flips and twists off of all these rocks. I just jumped. I guess the real pansy is me.
I actually have a picture of myself on this same rock that Clivert is standing here, but my body is so pale that I was worried it might blind some of you out there, so I kept it off.
I’ve been swimming here a number of times and no, Chris and JJ, no amoebas have gotten up in me yet. Phew.
The sunset over on Lake Kariba, as seen from one of Namumu’s two kapenta fishing boats (see the net rim in the lower left corner). Unbelievably beautiful.
After months of preparation and waiting, our chickens finally arrived on March 18th and started laying eggs shortly thereafter. Here some of Namumu’s boys and Mr. Fwanyanga, a teacher at the community school, helping to unload them from the trucks. After the three hour journey that truck smelled like butt.
Here we have Jimmet, one of Namumu’s older boys, helping to place the chickens in the battery cage. We’re trying to get the kids to help out as much as possible so that they develop skills that might enable them to one day run their own poultry operation.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
My Crappy Diet
Here's tomorrow's blog posted in advance because like a bunch of dead-beats we haven't paid our internet bill and I'm pretty sure they're going to cut it off this afternoon...
Now, I’ve taken a fair amount of crap from my friends back home concerning my poor eating habits in Zambia, but let me explain my dilemma to you.
There is a small market close to Namumu, but the selection is very limited and the only place to buy most food is at the main market in town, a 45 minute walk or a 10 minute drive away. No, I don’t have my own car or motorcycle.
I’m working all day on weekdays, basically from 5:30 am until around 6:00 pm. On weekend mornings I’m either going to church or doing kapenta fishing work and in the afternoons I’m either cleaning, cooking, sleeping, or enjoying brief moments of laziness. This doesn’t leave a lot of shopping time.
The only real time I have to buy food is in the late morning during the week when the Namumu vehicle goes to town, transporting someone from the accounts department to the bank and other members of staff to complete various tasks, such as purchasing food or cleaning supplies or materials for our income generating activities at the market. I usually go with the vehicle because there’s often something I need to pick up, either for our boats or for the carpentry/welding workshop, and this is the time when I have a few moments to do some quick food shopping as well. The only time.
The problem is this. Nobody has much money in Siavonga. Even though my Namumu co-workers are fortunate enough to have a job at a stable organization, they aren’t making much. Almost all of them are making less than the equivalent of US$100 a month with which most are supporting large families. While living expenses in Siavonga are quite low when compared to those in cities like Lusaka, my co-workers can usually only afford to pay for absolute necessities and the foods they purchase are only the basics. All of them purchase corn meal to make nsima. Besides that, most keep their diets to either kapenta, vegetables like tomatoes, rape and cabbage, and beans. Eggs, chicken and beef are luxuries for most of my friends and are rarely purchased.
So, when I’m out traveling with my big Namumu group, I can’t come back to Namumu packing eggs, chicken and beef all for myself when everyone I’m riding with is struggling to get by while living off the basics. So, these days usually I just follow their trend and keep my diet to bread, eggs, kapenta and vegetables. It’s pretty simple and it never changes. It’s not the healthiest diet, but what can I do?
Sometimes I can’t go with the vehicle for a few days and I’m stuck eating peanut butter sandwiches for every meal of the day. Some meals I’ll eat only eggs. Yes, I understand it’s not good for me, but as you can see I’m a little constrained. Still, I think I’ll survive.
Fortunately, my parents sent me a multivitamin/multimineral supplement that I take every day, and every now and then I’ll buy some fruit, so while my body may deteriorate in other ways, my Dad says that I don’t have to worry about getting scurvy no more. And I say, that’s good. One less thing.
Now, I’ve taken a fair amount of crap from my friends back home concerning my poor eating habits in Zambia, but let me explain my dilemma to you.
There is a small market close to Namumu, but the selection is very limited and the only place to buy most food is at the main market in town, a 45 minute walk or a 10 minute drive away. No, I don’t have my own car or motorcycle.
I’m working all day on weekdays, basically from 5:30 am until around 6:00 pm. On weekend mornings I’m either going to church or doing kapenta fishing work and in the afternoons I’m either cleaning, cooking, sleeping, or enjoying brief moments of laziness. This doesn’t leave a lot of shopping time.
The only real time I have to buy food is in the late morning during the week when the Namumu vehicle goes to town, transporting someone from the accounts department to the bank and other members of staff to complete various tasks, such as purchasing food or cleaning supplies or materials for our income generating activities at the market. I usually go with the vehicle because there’s often something I need to pick up, either for our boats or for the carpentry/welding workshop, and this is the time when I have a few moments to do some quick food shopping as well. The only time.
The problem is this. Nobody has much money in Siavonga. Even though my Namumu co-workers are fortunate enough to have a job at a stable organization, they aren’t making much. Almost all of them are making less than the equivalent of US$100 a month with which most are supporting large families. While living expenses in Siavonga are quite low when compared to those in cities like Lusaka, my co-workers can usually only afford to pay for absolute necessities and the foods they purchase are only the basics. All of them purchase corn meal to make nsima. Besides that, most keep their diets to either kapenta, vegetables like tomatoes, rape and cabbage, and beans. Eggs, chicken and beef are luxuries for most of my friends and are rarely purchased.
So, when I’m out traveling with my big Namumu group, I can’t come back to Namumu packing eggs, chicken and beef all for myself when everyone I’m riding with is struggling to get by while living off the basics. So, these days usually I just follow their trend and keep my diet to bread, eggs, kapenta and vegetables. It’s pretty simple and it never changes. It’s not the healthiest diet, but what can I do?
Sometimes I can’t go with the vehicle for a few days and I’m stuck eating peanut butter sandwiches for every meal of the day. Some meals I’ll eat only eggs. Yes, I understand it’s not good for me, but as you can see I’m a little constrained. Still, I think I’ll survive.
Fortunately, my parents sent me a multivitamin/multimineral supplement that I take every day, and every now and then I’ll buy some fruit, so while my body may deteriorate in other ways, my Dad says that I don’t have to worry about getting scurvy no more. And I say, that’s good. One less thing.
John the Border Jumper
One of the best decisions I’ve made in Africa came when I resolved to befriend at least one person on every minibus or coach bus on which I happened to be traveling. In the beginning I suppose I was a little intimidated by Zambian public transportation and was hesitant to strike up conversations with those surrounding me. Or maybe I was just worried about getting locked into a three hour conversation with some rambler or some lunatic. Either way, I usually kept to myself and zoned out until arriving at my destination.
I don’t remember the exact trip when I made my resolution, but I know it was a few months into my stay here. It’s been great. Yes, I have gotten stuck chatting with ramblers. It’s no big deal, nothing I couldn’t get out of by pretending to fall asleep. Yes, I’ve gotten stuck chatting with lunatics, which, coincidentally, almost always turns out to be a good thing as I arrive at my destination entertained and with a funny story to tell. Overall the policy has worked out very well for me. I’ve made some good friends.
Most recently this initiative led me to John (not his real name), a 40-something Zimbabwean man with a gap in between his front teeth, a black Michael Jackson-esque leather jacket and designer jeans. John had a seat right next to me in the back row of a minibus traveling from Lusaka to Siavonga. He was originally from Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital, but had been living in Zambia for a year or two. Oddly enough, I was the one explaining to him the details of our journey through Zambia’s Southern Province, how long the journey would take, where we’d stop along the way, etc. etc.
John immediately struck me as an intelligent man, and I soon learned that this initial perception was correct. He was a computer programmer who had worked for a number of large local corporations. I don’t think there are a great number of computer nerds running around Zambia. I know that John is the first one I’ve come into contact with. So that was interesting.
And he was cheerful, a clear sign that he had been living in Zambia recently, not Zimbabwe. For the most part, people coming across from Zimbabwe are not cheerful. They might smile or be friendly or joke around to some degree, but there’s always a sense of sadness and pain behind their eyes that you can always pick up on. It’s terrible. That place is in rough shape. John, however, was outgoing and jovial.
Anyway, around one hour into the journey I asked him what was bringing him to Siavonga. Oh, he wasn’t going to Siavonga, he replied. He was going back to Zimbabwe. That’s weird, I thought. Most people I know don’t travel by minibus to Harare. There are large coach buses that travel directly from Lusaka to Harare that are more comfortable really not much more expensive than the minibus we were on that would only get him to the border. I inquired as to why he hadn’t taken that option.
He chuckled and responded that his documentation was not exactly in order. No, he wasn’t planning to cross through a border post. He was going to sneak across the border, and he was incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing. This was in no way a big deal to him.
I attempted to voice my opinion, that this may not be the best idea. Zim Police are out of control. I can’t say I know a whole lot about them, but I do know how they handle things on Lake Kariba, where the Zambia/Zimbabwe border passes through the middle of the lake. If any Zambian fishing boat is found fishing on the Zim side or anywhere close to the Zim side they impound the boat and lock up the crew, no questions asked. A friend of mine’s crew was fishing on the Zim side not too long ago and when the police showed up the crew tried to speed away. The police opened fire, shooting and killing one of the crew members. Those guys don’t mess around.
So, I tried to persuade him against it, but he was pretty set. He was going to make the jump. He didn’t exactly seem prepared for the journey ahead of him. He didn’t even know where exactly to get off the bus, and his MJ jacket and jeans were probably not the best outfit for wandering through the woods and fording the Zambezi River, all while trying to avoid the police. But he was supremely confident that it would all work out and there was no convincing him otherwise.
He said he was going to do whatever he had to do to get back to his family, still living in Harare.
We exchanged emails and I told him to contact me whenever he got there so that I knew he had made it safely. This was last week. I’ve emailed him and I still haven’t heard back from him yet. Hopefully he just hasn’t been able to access his email.
John was a nice guy, so please go ahead and pray that he gets home safely to his family without running into trouble.
I don’t remember the exact trip when I made my resolution, but I know it was a few months into my stay here. It’s been great. Yes, I have gotten stuck chatting with ramblers. It’s no big deal, nothing I couldn’t get out of by pretending to fall asleep. Yes, I’ve gotten stuck chatting with lunatics, which, coincidentally, almost always turns out to be a good thing as I arrive at my destination entertained and with a funny story to tell. Overall the policy has worked out very well for me. I’ve made some good friends.
Most recently this initiative led me to John (not his real name), a 40-something Zimbabwean man with a gap in between his front teeth, a black Michael Jackson-esque leather jacket and designer jeans. John had a seat right next to me in the back row of a minibus traveling from Lusaka to Siavonga. He was originally from Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital, but had been living in Zambia for a year or two. Oddly enough, I was the one explaining to him the details of our journey through Zambia’s Southern Province, how long the journey would take, where we’d stop along the way, etc. etc.
John immediately struck me as an intelligent man, and I soon learned that this initial perception was correct. He was a computer programmer who had worked for a number of large local corporations. I don’t think there are a great number of computer nerds running around Zambia. I know that John is the first one I’ve come into contact with. So that was interesting.
And he was cheerful, a clear sign that he had been living in Zambia recently, not Zimbabwe. For the most part, people coming across from Zimbabwe are not cheerful. They might smile or be friendly or joke around to some degree, but there’s always a sense of sadness and pain behind their eyes that you can always pick up on. It’s terrible. That place is in rough shape. John, however, was outgoing and jovial.
Anyway, around one hour into the journey I asked him what was bringing him to Siavonga. Oh, he wasn’t going to Siavonga, he replied. He was going back to Zimbabwe. That’s weird, I thought. Most people I know don’t travel by minibus to Harare. There are large coach buses that travel directly from Lusaka to Harare that are more comfortable really not much more expensive than the minibus we were on that would only get him to the border. I inquired as to why he hadn’t taken that option.
He chuckled and responded that his documentation was not exactly in order. No, he wasn’t planning to cross through a border post. He was going to sneak across the border, and he was incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing. This was in no way a big deal to him.
I attempted to voice my opinion, that this may not be the best idea. Zim Police are out of control. I can’t say I know a whole lot about them, but I do know how they handle things on Lake Kariba, where the Zambia/Zimbabwe border passes through the middle of the lake. If any Zambian fishing boat is found fishing on the Zim side or anywhere close to the Zim side they impound the boat and lock up the crew, no questions asked. A friend of mine’s crew was fishing on the Zim side not too long ago and when the police showed up the crew tried to speed away. The police opened fire, shooting and killing one of the crew members. Those guys don’t mess around.
So, I tried to persuade him against it, but he was pretty set. He was going to make the jump. He didn’t exactly seem prepared for the journey ahead of him. He didn’t even know where exactly to get off the bus, and his MJ jacket and jeans were probably not the best outfit for wandering through the woods and fording the Zambezi River, all while trying to avoid the police. But he was supremely confident that it would all work out and there was no convincing him otherwise.
He said he was going to do whatever he had to do to get back to his family, still living in Harare.
We exchanged emails and I told him to contact me whenever he got there so that I knew he had made it safely. This was last week. I’ve emailed him and I still haven’t heard back from him yet. Hopefully he just hasn’t been able to access his email.
John was a nice guy, so please go ahead and pray that he gets home safely to his family without running into trouble.
Monday, April 12, 2010
My Kitchen Window
One of the keys to surviving in rural Africa with no television is to find alternative means of amusement.
For me, looking out of my kitchen window to the back yard while I’m washing dishes usually does the trick. As previously noted, there have been anywhere from 12 to 20 people living in the small house next door to me throughout this past year, and that means that at all hours of the day there is something happening out back behind our house.
Little Junior and Rupiah, the pair of two-year-old rascals living next door, usually provide the most entertainment. Just this past week I was fortunate enough to witness the following events:
On Monday, both Junior and Rupiah were almost trampled in a stampede when the family cows came back to the corral one late afternoon. One minute the boys were running around naked (of course) without a care in the world, the next their eyes were filled with terror as they ran for their lives from the quickly approaching cows. I probably should have been worried for their safety, but the transition from a joyful nude romp through the grass to the raw terror-filled escape was so instantaneous it struck me as particularly hilarious and I couldn’t do anything but laugh. Don’t worry, I knew they were never in any real danger, their older cousins were right there to scoop them up and carry them to safety. It’s like I’ve said, you’ve gotta stay on your toes around those cows.
On Wendesday I saw Rupiah beat Junior up, punching him in the shoulder and then pushing him to the ground. Rupiah is a heavyweight (much like the Zambian president he resembles) and can basically manhandle the welterweight Junior whenever he wants to. Junior started wailing and Rupiah started looking around guiltily, wondering if anybody had seen him. I didn’t have my timer on but it couldn’t have been more than two minutes before the two boys were chasing each other and laughing and having a good ol’ time. I was truly amazed at the drama that had just played out before my eyes. Ah, kids, so quick to forgive and forget.
Finally, sometimes I play music on my computer while doing household chores to make them a little less miserable. On Friday I was cleaning my kitchen and blasting Tupac while Junior was out back. He started dancing/bouncing to “I Get Around”, waving his arms and having a good ol’ time. He was a pretty good little dancer. I felt like a proud parent.
Being easily amused by such things really makes life in the middle-of-nowhere a much more pleasant experience.
For me, looking out of my kitchen window to the back yard while I’m washing dishes usually does the trick. As previously noted, there have been anywhere from 12 to 20 people living in the small house next door to me throughout this past year, and that means that at all hours of the day there is something happening out back behind our house.
Little Junior and Rupiah, the pair of two-year-old rascals living next door, usually provide the most entertainment. Just this past week I was fortunate enough to witness the following events:
On Monday, both Junior and Rupiah were almost trampled in a stampede when the family cows came back to the corral one late afternoon. One minute the boys were running around naked (of course) without a care in the world, the next their eyes were filled with terror as they ran for their lives from the quickly approaching cows. I probably should have been worried for their safety, but the transition from a joyful nude romp through the grass to the raw terror-filled escape was so instantaneous it struck me as particularly hilarious and I couldn’t do anything but laugh. Don’t worry, I knew they were never in any real danger, their older cousins were right there to scoop them up and carry them to safety. It’s like I’ve said, you’ve gotta stay on your toes around those cows.
On Wendesday I saw Rupiah beat Junior up, punching him in the shoulder and then pushing him to the ground. Rupiah is a heavyweight (much like the Zambian president he resembles) and can basically manhandle the welterweight Junior whenever he wants to. Junior started wailing and Rupiah started looking around guiltily, wondering if anybody had seen him. I didn’t have my timer on but it couldn’t have been more than two minutes before the two boys were chasing each other and laughing and having a good ol’ time. I was truly amazed at the drama that had just played out before my eyes. Ah, kids, so quick to forgive and forget.
Finally, sometimes I play music on my computer while doing household chores to make them a little less miserable. On Friday I was cleaning my kitchen and blasting Tupac while Junior was out back. He started dancing/bouncing to “I Get Around”, waving his arms and having a good ol’ time. He was a pretty good little dancer. I felt like a proud parent.
Being easily amused by such things really makes life in the middle-of-nowhere a much more pleasant experience.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Brenda's Return
I witnessed a really nice moment the other day.
I was sitting in the Namumu shelter reading with my girls when we heard a car speeding along the small road that approaches Namumu. We don’t get many visitors that late in the evening so we were all curious to see who it might be. We didn’t recognize the car as it pulled up nearby, parking directly beside the girls’ dormitory, and so we peered through the darkness trying to catch a glimpse.
Suddenly someone shouted out, “Breeeeeendaaaaa!”
It was Brenda (obviously), Namumu’s star eighth-grade pupil who had qualified to attend a prestigious boarding school, back home for the end-of-term break.
Suddenly a wave of girls rushed out of the dormitory and out of the shelter. They all hugged her and jumped up and down and laughed and it was so adorable I almost threw up. You would have thought it had been years since they’d seen her (the term had only lasted a couple of months).
It was nice to see how much these girls care about each other. They really are like sisters. And I get the feeling that the reception would have been the same had it been any one of the girls returning to Namumu.
What a nice place to grow up.
I was sitting in the Namumu shelter reading with my girls when we heard a car speeding along the small road that approaches Namumu. We don’t get many visitors that late in the evening so we were all curious to see who it might be. We didn’t recognize the car as it pulled up nearby, parking directly beside the girls’ dormitory, and so we peered through the darkness trying to catch a glimpse.
Suddenly someone shouted out, “Breeeeeendaaaaa!”
It was Brenda (obviously), Namumu’s star eighth-grade pupil who had qualified to attend a prestigious boarding school, back home for the end-of-term break.
Suddenly a wave of girls rushed out of the dormitory and out of the shelter. They all hugged her and jumped up and down and laughed and it was so adorable I almost threw up. You would have thought it had been years since they’d seen her (the term had only lasted a couple of months).
It was nice to see how much these girls care about each other. They really are like sisters. And I get the feeling that the reception would have been the same had it been any one of the girls returning to Namumu.
What a nice place to grow up.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Pop Culture Catch-Up
I got a chance to catch up on the world of pop culture last week, which was nice. I took a few days off to visit some friends in Kitwe, a city a few hours north of Lusaka, where, along with these friends, I watched E! and MTV music videos to my heart’s content. Then, on the way home I stayed over at my good friend Ndula’s place and did the same. It was great getting reconnected to the world of trashy celebrities and brain-dead reality TV “stars”.
I have a few questions and comments concerning what I saw…
1. Is anyone else as terrified of Lady Gaga as I am? I think there’s a distinct possibility that she is the Antichrist. Horrifying. Absolutely horrifying.
2. How awesome is the movie “Taken” starring Liam Neeson? That right there is two hours of Liam Jack Bauer-ing his way around France and single-handedly bringing down an entire sex-trafficking ring. Unbelievable. I watched it for the first time in Kitwe with a couple of friends, two girls who are big on movie interaction (they like to have conversations with the characters and repeatedly said things like “Oooooooooh snap!” and “Daaaaaamn Liam!”). What a great time. I couldn’t believe it when he shot that French guy’s wife in the arm at the dinner table! Incredible! Just like when Jack Bauer threatened to throw Stephen Saunders’ daughter inside a building where an infectious disease had spread in 24’s Season 3, Liam wasn’t afraid to go after bad guys’ family members to get the job done. What a BAMF.
3. After hearing rave reviews for months and months from family and friends alike, I was fortunate enough to catch half an episode of “The Jersey Shore”. It was everything I thought it would be and more. It’s great to know that all of Dcat’s stories were true and people like that really do exist. Dcat, I think you should try to get casted for the next season. While not a Guido yourself, I don’t think anyone in this world appreciates them more than you, and I think you’d get along well with all of them. And your moustache could be the next season’s “situation”. Think about it.
4. How did “The Renegade” Lorenzo Lamas get his own reality show? Does E! just hand those things out to any has-been quasi-celebrity that shows up at their offices and asks for one? Do people actually watch that show?
5. Miley Cyrus’ current boyfriend is much better looking than I am. Dammit.
6. My estimation of the number of times I watched and thoroughly enjoyed Rihanna’s “Rude Boy” music video during the week: 79. Wow. All I can say is wow.
If you’re too embarrassed to respond or comment here on this blog (perhaps you don’t want the world to know that you actually watch The Jersey Shore or Lamas’ reality show) feel free to respond via email at ssc2x@virginia.edu.
I have a few questions and comments concerning what I saw…
1. Is anyone else as terrified of Lady Gaga as I am? I think there’s a distinct possibility that she is the Antichrist. Horrifying. Absolutely horrifying.
2. How awesome is the movie “Taken” starring Liam Neeson? That right there is two hours of Liam Jack Bauer-ing his way around France and single-handedly bringing down an entire sex-trafficking ring. Unbelievable. I watched it for the first time in Kitwe with a couple of friends, two girls who are big on movie interaction (they like to have conversations with the characters and repeatedly said things like “Oooooooooh snap!” and “Daaaaaamn Liam!”). What a great time. I couldn’t believe it when he shot that French guy’s wife in the arm at the dinner table! Incredible! Just like when Jack Bauer threatened to throw Stephen Saunders’ daughter inside a building where an infectious disease had spread in 24’s Season 3, Liam wasn’t afraid to go after bad guys’ family members to get the job done. What a BAMF.
3. After hearing rave reviews for months and months from family and friends alike, I was fortunate enough to catch half an episode of “The Jersey Shore”. It was everything I thought it would be and more. It’s great to know that all of Dcat’s stories were true and people like that really do exist. Dcat, I think you should try to get casted for the next season. While not a Guido yourself, I don’t think anyone in this world appreciates them more than you, and I think you’d get along well with all of them. And your moustache could be the next season’s “situation”. Think about it.
4. How did “The Renegade” Lorenzo Lamas get his own reality show? Does E! just hand those things out to any has-been quasi-celebrity that shows up at their offices and asks for one? Do people actually watch that show?
5. Miley Cyrus’ current boyfriend is much better looking than I am. Dammit.
6. My estimation of the number of times I watched and thoroughly enjoyed Rihanna’s “Rude Boy” music video during the week: 79. Wow. All I can say is wow.
If you’re too embarrassed to respond or comment here on this blog (perhaps you don’t want the world to know that you actually watch The Jersey Shore or Lamas’ reality show) feel free to respond via email at ssc2x@virginia.edu.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Family First
“I think Government is making a terrible mistake in making it so easy for people like that to have so-called university education. Education for what? To get as much as they can for themselves and their family. Not the least bit interested in the millions of their countrymen who die every day from hunger and disease.”
-Mr. Green – “No Longer at Ease” by Chinua Achebe
I know, I know, I just recently made fun of people who try to sound cool and intellectual by recommending obscure books, and here I am not only recommending books but quoting from them as well. Whatever. It fits.
People in Zambia look out for their families. It’s great. If an uncle is sick they’ll jump on a bus and travel across the country to visit and take care of them. If an aunt is critically ill but can’t pay her hospital bills they won’t hesitate to take out a large salary advance and wire them money. If a niece or a nephew needs money for school fees they’ll have no problem doing the same. It’s nice to see people loving and taking care of each other.
The problem comes when people help their families at the expense of others, putting the needs of their families above everyone else, completely disregarding and showing a total lack of concern for those outside of their inner circle.
I’ve seen it over and over and over in my time here. I could list hundreds of specific examples. For brevity’s sake I’ll just give you a few that come to mind…
Theft is a big issue in the local kapenta fishing industry. Fishermen, if unsupervised out on the lake, will often sell the fish themselves to black market traders in the middle of the night and pocket the money, benefiting at the expense of their respective companies. Every company deals with this problem, and while it can be limited it will never be completely stopped.
Back in my days of African infancy I foolishly believed that Namumu’s fishermen would never do such a thing. After all, they were raising money to feed orphans and vulnerable children. Surely, no one would steal from orphans and vulnerable children!
Ah, what a naïve young man I was. I’ve since realized that it doesn’t matter where the money comes from, fishermen are going to try to get theirs. They are struggling to make ends meet, and feeding their own kids is always going to take precedence over feeding Namumu kids, even if it means stealing. The fact that they’re stealing from orphans doesn’t matter because these orphans are not in their family or inner circle.
It’s not just within our fishing operation that we’ve experienced theft at Namumu. I’ve seen it to some degree in every Namumu income generating activity.
Recently, a customer came to our carpentry and welding workshop for a small repair job that took only a couple hours. For most repair jobs we don’t have set prices, we simply negotiate depending on the time spent and materials used. Since the workshop is a ways a way from the front office and I can’t always be our there, we’d given our carpenters and welders a fair amount of freedom in negotiating and collecting the money. We trusted them. For this one repair job, our employee (who shall remain nameless) came to the office in the afternoon and submitted 10,000 kwacha (about $2), reporting that that had been the negotiated price. I thought that sounded a bit low, and something about this employee’s behavior suggested that he might not be telling the truth. I had the customer’s phone number and so I called him up. It turns out he had actually paid our worker 20,000 kwacha. Our worker had pocketed half and submitted half.
Now, obviously, we’re not talking about a lot of money. Our guy had only stolen a little over $2. But we had been running things like that for a while and it soon became clear that this was not the first time this had happened. Because we had trusted our guys it’s likely they had been skimming off the top again and again. It didn’t matter that he was stealing from an orphanage. It didn’t matter that he was hurting a department already struggling and losing money for this organization. This guy wanted to get his for his family and he did.
It’s not just stealing, either. People put their families’ wellbeing above that of others in additional ways too.
There are a number of kapenta traders in the Siavonga area who make a living by buying kapenta from us and reselling it elsewhere. That’s how they survive and feed their families. At certain times of the year I’ll have five or six traders calling me a day looking for large amounts of kapenta. There are a good number of traders out there.
We try to take care of everybody. We don’t make actual lists or queues at this point but we try to cycle through and give everyone a chance to buy from us.
On numerous occasions I have had supervisors of mine (who shall remain nameless) lay claim to large amounts of kapenta for them or their family members to resell. They don’t ask. They demand. It doesn’t matter how many traders wanted or needed to buy that kapenta. It doesn’t matter who we had kept waiting for weeks. These guys, my supervisors, have family members in need and take the opportunity to use their positions to get theirs at the expense of traders who have been waiting, and at the expense of Mubita and myself who look like jerks for being forced to stiff these other customers. They know exactly what they’re doing and they still do it without hesitating. It really bothers me.
To give one final example, I recently visited a small organization in Kitwe, Zambia, run by the Catholic Church, that houses 30 orphans of all ages. The Sister-in-Charge, an old Italian woman (who bore a striking resemblance to Tomie dePaola's “Strega Nona”) took me on a tour of the place, showing me the dormitories, the kitchen, the play areas and all the rest, explaining things as we walked. She told me that the local community had been very supportive and that local shop owners would regularly donate money, food or drinks to help support the children.
As she was telling me this she stopped, leaned in and said quietly, “But you know what? They will never give the items to anyone else here [pointing to her Zambian co-workers, all nuns]. They’ll only give them to me. They think that if they give them to these ladies they will just take them home to feed their families.” She suggested to me that this was probably, in fact, the case. Which is crazy, if you think about it. This is a bunch of nuns, we’re talking about. Nuns looking after orphans. Even so, the focus is placed on family above all else.
It’s all been a tough lesson to learn.
You do start to view this all in a new light once you’ve been around here for a while, though. Abject poverty abounds and many times those working in these charitable organizations are worse off than those the organization is catering to. Our fishermen, carpenters and welders make very, very little, and many have big families. It’s very possible that those nuns’ children were malnourished and in desperate need of additional food. It makes sense that people here will do what they can to ensure the survival of their families. I get it, even if Mr. Green of “No Longer at Ease” didn’t.
Still, it’s all been a tough lesson to learn.
-Mr. Green – “No Longer at Ease” by Chinua Achebe
I know, I know, I just recently made fun of people who try to sound cool and intellectual by recommending obscure books, and here I am not only recommending books but quoting from them as well. Whatever. It fits.
People in Zambia look out for their families. It’s great. If an uncle is sick they’ll jump on a bus and travel across the country to visit and take care of them. If an aunt is critically ill but can’t pay her hospital bills they won’t hesitate to take out a large salary advance and wire them money. If a niece or a nephew needs money for school fees they’ll have no problem doing the same. It’s nice to see people loving and taking care of each other.
The problem comes when people help their families at the expense of others, putting the needs of their families above everyone else, completely disregarding and showing a total lack of concern for those outside of their inner circle.
I’ve seen it over and over and over in my time here. I could list hundreds of specific examples. For brevity’s sake I’ll just give you a few that come to mind…
Theft is a big issue in the local kapenta fishing industry. Fishermen, if unsupervised out on the lake, will often sell the fish themselves to black market traders in the middle of the night and pocket the money, benefiting at the expense of their respective companies. Every company deals with this problem, and while it can be limited it will never be completely stopped.
Back in my days of African infancy I foolishly believed that Namumu’s fishermen would never do such a thing. After all, they were raising money to feed orphans and vulnerable children. Surely, no one would steal from orphans and vulnerable children!
Ah, what a naïve young man I was. I’ve since realized that it doesn’t matter where the money comes from, fishermen are going to try to get theirs. They are struggling to make ends meet, and feeding their own kids is always going to take precedence over feeding Namumu kids, even if it means stealing. The fact that they’re stealing from orphans doesn’t matter because these orphans are not in their family or inner circle.
It’s not just within our fishing operation that we’ve experienced theft at Namumu. I’ve seen it to some degree in every Namumu income generating activity.
Recently, a customer came to our carpentry and welding workshop for a small repair job that took only a couple hours. For most repair jobs we don’t have set prices, we simply negotiate depending on the time spent and materials used. Since the workshop is a ways a way from the front office and I can’t always be our there, we’d given our carpenters and welders a fair amount of freedom in negotiating and collecting the money. We trusted them. For this one repair job, our employee (who shall remain nameless) came to the office in the afternoon and submitted 10,000 kwacha (about $2), reporting that that had been the negotiated price. I thought that sounded a bit low, and something about this employee’s behavior suggested that he might not be telling the truth. I had the customer’s phone number and so I called him up. It turns out he had actually paid our worker 20,000 kwacha. Our worker had pocketed half and submitted half.
Now, obviously, we’re not talking about a lot of money. Our guy had only stolen a little over $2. But we had been running things like that for a while and it soon became clear that this was not the first time this had happened. Because we had trusted our guys it’s likely they had been skimming off the top again and again. It didn’t matter that he was stealing from an orphanage. It didn’t matter that he was hurting a department already struggling and losing money for this organization. This guy wanted to get his for his family and he did.
It’s not just stealing, either. People put their families’ wellbeing above that of others in additional ways too.
There are a number of kapenta traders in the Siavonga area who make a living by buying kapenta from us and reselling it elsewhere. That’s how they survive and feed their families. At certain times of the year I’ll have five or six traders calling me a day looking for large amounts of kapenta. There are a good number of traders out there.
We try to take care of everybody. We don’t make actual lists or queues at this point but we try to cycle through and give everyone a chance to buy from us.
On numerous occasions I have had supervisors of mine (who shall remain nameless) lay claim to large amounts of kapenta for them or their family members to resell. They don’t ask. They demand. It doesn’t matter how many traders wanted or needed to buy that kapenta. It doesn’t matter who we had kept waiting for weeks. These guys, my supervisors, have family members in need and take the opportunity to use their positions to get theirs at the expense of traders who have been waiting, and at the expense of Mubita and myself who look like jerks for being forced to stiff these other customers. They know exactly what they’re doing and they still do it without hesitating. It really bothers me.
To give one final example, I recently visited a small organization in Kitwe, Zambia, run by the Catholic Church, that houses 30 orphans of all ages. The Sister-in-Charge, an old Italian woman (who bore a striking resemblance to Tomie dePaola's “Strega Nona”) took me on a tour of the place, showing me the dormitories, the kitchen, the play areas and all the rest, explaining things as we walked. She told me that the local community had been very supportive and that local shop owners would regularly donate money, food or drinks to help support the children.
As she was telling me this she stopped, leaned in and said quietly, “But you know what? They will never give the items to anyone else here [pointing to her Zambian co-workers, all nuns]. They’ll only give them to me. They think that if they give them to these ladies they will just take them home to feed their families.” She suggested to me that this was probably, in fact, the case. Which is crazy, if you think about it. This is a bunch of nuns, we’re talking about. Nuns looking after orphans. Even so, the focus is placed on family above all else.
It’s all been a tough lesson to learn.
You do start to view this all in a new light once you’ve been around here for a while, though. Abject poverty abounds and many times those working in these charitable organizations are worse off than those the organization is catering to. Our fishermen, carpenters and welders make very, very little, and many have big families. It’s very possible that those nuns’ children were malnourished and in desperate need of additional food. It makes sense that people here will do what they can to ensure the survival of their families. I get it, even if Mr. Green of “No Longer at Ease” didn’t.
Still, it’s all been a tough lesson to learn.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
City Market
The City Market Bus Station sits in downtown Lusaka. It’s crowded and dirty, jam-packed with people coming from and going to numerous locations within Zambia. While there are a number of bus stations in the city, any time you get on a minibus from Siavonga to Lusaka City Market is where you end up. I’ve been through the station dozens of times and it’s always an adventure. Allow me to walk you through a typical arrival into the capital city…
I’m always the only white guy for miles. That’s a given. Like I said, I’ve passed through dozens of times, and I can’t recall a single time I ever saw another white person. You might run into a few elsewhere in the city, but most of them don’t use public transport, it seems. Except me. What can I say, I’m a man of the people.
There are always numerous market vendors around the station, most of which fall into one of two categories.
There are the older women, gathered under umbrellas or makeshift tents, or just sitting out in the sun, selling anything from vegetables to kapenta to books to small trinkets. These ladies mostly just sit back and wait for the action to come to them. It’s nice. No sales pressure.
Then there’s the other, infinitely more obnoxious group, the young drunk guys who stay mobile, walking around and shoving their wares, CDs and DVDs (always bootlegs), clothes (always second hand), and jewelry (always total crap), into your face and pestering you mercilessly in hopes that you’ll buy something from them. Ok, they aren’t always drunk. But usually they are.
So, while there are always exceptions, most vendors fit one of these two profiles.
Upon arriving at the station I always mentally prepare myself for the onslaught of the young drunk salesmen. It’s never too bad coming into the city. Mostly they harass people sitting on buses waiting to leave the station. But I always mentally prepare when coming just in case.
Next, after exiting the bus and beginning to weave my way through the crowd I always brace myself for possible pickpocket attempts. As you might imagine, being the only white guy for miles makes me a walking bearded target. These guys can see me coming from a mile away and assume right off the bat that I’m loaded, because all whites are loaded in their minds.
Surprisingly, there have only been two all out attempts to pick my pocket, both unsuccessful thanks to my Chuck Norris-like reflexes. I don’t have the nickname for nothin’, folks.
I always shift my wallet to the front pocket and keep my hands by my sides, so there’s no chance of getting picked there, but sometimes I keep some small change in my front shirt pocket to have handy. I had one guy go after that recently. He was pretending to try to sell my plastic bags and was shoving hem in my face. I saw his hand sneak down towards my shirt pocket and slapped it away briskly. I said some very unkind words to him and he cowered in fear before walking away. Nobody messes with Uncle Chuck Norris’ shirt pocket and gets away with it.
As for the second attempt, a guy walking behind me once tried to quickly unzip my backpack without me noticing and slip something out. I felt a slight tug and turned around immediately. He scampered off in the other direction empty-handed. He didn’t see me staring him down, but I’m confident he felt my eyes burning into the back of his head. I’m an intense stare-er these days.
Finally, before making it out of the station I always face one final obstacle, the most dangerous obstacle of all. The buses themselves.
Let me tell you something, the bus drivers in the city are maniacs. Maybe some are intoxicated. Maybe some are just reckless. Regardless, they shoot in and out of small spaces and in between people and other buses with no apparent regard for human life. It’s crazy. You really have to stay on your toes.
It’s kind of like you’re in a real life version of Mario Kart battle mode. Only you don’t have a car yourself. And if you get hit you don’t lose a balloon. You lose your life.
Oh, and to add to that, while in Zambia they drive on the left-hand side of the street, my brain is still wired to expect them to be coming on the right-hand side. When I cross a street my instinct is to look left and then, if it’s clear, to start to cross. You can see how this might cause a problem. I’ve trained myself to stop and think before crossing, but sometimes I’m in a hurry and my mind is elsewhere and I get into trouble. I’ve had some close calls. I think Namumu should assign someone to hold my hand as I cross all streets in the city.
Honestly, I think the fact that I haven’t been hit by a bus yet proves that God loves me and wants to keep me around for one reason or another.
A wave of joy and relief usually washes over me as I exit from the City Market gate. Sure, there are still crazy, drunken salesmen, schiesty pickpockets and maniac bus drivers on the outside, but it’s all spread out and easier to handle. Lusaka is really a nice city.
I’m always the only white guy for miles. That’s a given. Like I said, I’ve passed through dozens of times, and I can’t recall a single time I ever saw another white person. You might run into a few elsewhere in the city, but most of them don’t use public transport, it seems. Except me. What can I say, I’m a man of the people.
There are always numerous market vendors around the station, most of which fall into one of two categories.
There are the older women, gathered under umbrellas or makeshift tents, or just sitting out in the sun, selling anything from vegetables to kapenta to books to small trinkets. These ladies mostly just sit back and wait for the action to come to them. It’s nice. No sales pressure.
Then there’s the other, infinitely more obnoxious group, the young drunk guys who stay mobile, walking around and shoving their wares, CDs and DVDs (always bootlegs), clothes (always second hand), and jewelry (always total crap), into your face and pestering you mercilessly in hopes that you’ll buy something from them. Ok, they aren’t always drunk. But usually they are.
So, while there are always exceptions, most vendors fit one of these two profiles.
Upon arriving at the station I always mentally prepare myself for the onslaught of the young drunk salesmen. It’s never too bad coming into the city. Mostly they harass people sitting on buses waiting to leave the station. But I always mentally prepare when coming just in case.
Next, after exiting the bus and beginning to weave my way through the crowd I always brace myself for possible pickpocket attempts. As you might imagine, being the only white guy for miles makes me a walking bearded target. These guys can see me coming from a mile away and assume right off the bat that I’m loaded, because all whites are loaded in their minds.
Surprisingly, there have only been two all out attempts to pick my pocket, both unsuccessful thanks to my Chuck Norris-like reflexes. I don’t have the nickname for nothin’, folks.
I always shift my wallet to the front pocket and keep my hands by my sides, so there’s no chance of getting picked there, but sometimes I keep some small change in my front shirt pocket to have handy. I had one guy go after that recently. He was pretending to try to sell my plastic bags and was shoving hem in my face. I saw his hand sneak down towards my shirt pocket and slapped it away briskly. I said some very unkind words to him and he cowered in fear before walking away. Nobody messes with Uncle Chuck Norris’ shirt pocket and gets away with it.
As for the second attempt, a guy walking behind me once tried to quickly unzip my backpack without me noticing and slip something out. I felt a slight tug and turned around immediately. He scampered off in the other direction empty-handed. He didn’t see me staring him down, but I’m confident he felt my eyes burning into the back of his head. I’m an intense stare-er these days.
Finally, before making it out of the station I always face one final obstacle, the most dangerous obstacle of all. The buses themselves.
Let me tell you something, the bus drivers in the city are maniacs. Maybe some are intoxicated. Maybe some are just reckless. Regardless, they shoot in and out of small spaces and in between people and other buses with no apparent regard for human life. It’s crazy. You really have to stay on your toes.
It’s kind of like you’re in a real life version of Mario Kart battle mode. Only you don’t have a car yourself. And if you get hit you don’t lose a balloon. You lose your life.
Oh, and to add to that, while in Zambia they drive on the left-hand side of the street, my brain is still wired to expect them to be coming on the right-hand side. When I cross a street my instinct is to look left and then, if it’s clear, to start to cross. You can see how this might cause a problem. I’ve trained myself to stop and think before crossing, but sometimes I’m in a hurry and my mind is elsewhere and I get into trouble. I’ve had some close calls. I think Namumu should assign someone to hold my hand as I cross all streets in the city.
Honestly, I think the fact that I haven’t been hit by a bus yet proves that God loves me and wants to keep me around for one reason or another.
A wave of joy and relief usually washes over me as I exit from the City Market gate. Sure, there are still crazy, drunken salesmen, schiesty pickpockets and maniac bus drivers on the outside, but it’s all spread out and easier to handle. Lusaka is really a nice city.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
In Weezy's Footsteps
I’m about to give this blog a serious jumpstart and you all have Lil’ Wayne to thank (or blame) for it.
I suppose I should begin by apologizing. I have no been the best blogger I can be. I’ve gone days and even weeks without writing or posting. I’ve withheld stories and other material from you simply because I felt as though I didn’t have the time to write it all down and/or type it all up. I’m telling you, I experience five to ten ridiculous, bloggable moments on a daily basis here, and the fact that I’ve only been posting weekly or biweekly is downright shameful.
I decided to make a change when I was struck with a moment of clarity while watching VH1’s Behind the Music on Lil’ Wayne aka Lil’ Weezy the other day.
For those of you unfamiliar with Lil’ Wayne, he is a hip hop artist in his mid-twenties. He’s been writing since he was 8 and had his first album out when he was 12. He is covered in tattoos from head to toe and has long dreadlocks and diamonds in his teeth. He is very energetic and very arrogant, proclaiming himself to be the best rapper alive. Needless to say, he is a super duper star and a personal hero of mine.
Anyway, besides inspiring me to cover myself in tattoos and fill my own grill up with diamonds, Weezy’s work ethic blew my mind. This guy records a song or two every night. Every single night. He has a recording studio built into his tour bus and even on days when he’s been traveling and performing all day he’ll stay up into the wee hours of the morning making music.
Because of this he has put out unheard of amounts of music in the past few years. I don’t know if it’s still the case, but I remember that, during the year before I left to come to Zambia, if you flipped to one of Richmond’s two hip hop stations, 75% of the time the song playing would either be Lil’ Wayne’s or would have him featured. And I think that may be a conservative estimate.
So, Weezy has inspired me to step up my game and start putting out more material. If he can put in the work after a long day of traveling and performing surely I can do it after a long day of cleaning up chicken poop and reading with my girls. For the next few weeks I will be writing a blog for every single day. Some days the Namumu internet acts up, so I may not be able to post every day, but if I miss a day I’ll post two the following day. If I miss two days I’ll post three the following day. And so on. Some posts may be brief and some may be boring, but I’ll get one out for every day.
Oh, and following in Weezy’s footsteps I will henceforth be referring to myself as the best blogger alive.
That is all. I hope you enjoy…
I suppose I should begin by apologizing. I have no been the best blogger I can be. I’ve gone days and even weeks without writing or posting. I’ve withheld stories and other material from you simply because I felt as though I didn’t have the time to write it all down and/or type it all up. I’m telling you, I experience five to ten ridiculous, bloggable moments on a daily basis here, and the fact that I’ve only been posting weekly or biweekly is downright shameful.
I decided to make a change when I was struck with a moment of clarity while watching VH1’s Behind the Music on Lil’ Wayne aka Lil’ Weezy the other day.
For those of you unfamiliar with Lil’ Wayne, he is a hip hop artist in his mid-twenties. He’s been writing since he was 8 and had his first album out when he was 12. He is covered in tattoos from head to toe and has long dreadlocks and diamonds in his teeth. He is very energetic and very arrogant, proclaiming himself to be the best rapper alive. Needless to say, he is a super duper star and a personal hero of mine.
Anyway, besides inspiring me to cover myself in tattoos and fill my own grill up with diamonds, Weezy’s work ethic blew my mind. This guy records a song or two every night. Every single night. He has a recording studio built into his tour bus and even on days when he’s been traveling and performing all day he’ll stay up into the wee hours of the morning making music.
Because of this he has put out unheard of amounts of music in the past few years. I don’t know if it’s still the case, but I remember that, during the year before I left to come to Zambia, if you flipped to one of Richmond’s two hip hop stations, 75% of the time the song playing would either be Lil’ Wayne’s or would have him featured. And I think that may be a conservative estimate.
So, Weezy has inspired me to step up my game and start putting out more material. If he can put in the work after a long day of traveling and performing surely I can do it after a long day of cleaning up chicken poop and reading with my girls. For the next few weeks I will be writing a blog for every single day. Some days the Namumu internet acts up, so I may not be able to post every day, but if I miss a day I’ll post two the following day. If I miss two days I’ll post three the following day. And so on. Some posts may be brief and some may be boring, but I’ll get one out for every day.
Oh, and following in Weezy’s footsteps I will henceforth be referring to myself as the best blogger alive.
That is all. I hope you enjoy…
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