At long last the chickens have arrived and our poultry operation is a go.
After months of restoring the poultry house, putting together the battery cages to keep the chickens contained and then waiting for our order with the poultry company to be filled, Namumu now has 100 layers, already pumping out eggs and pooping up a storm. None of us know anything at all about chicken rearing, but we’re learning from our mistakes and getting the hang of it.
Kanyama is running the show, mostly, feeding them, getting them water and sweeping out the ever-present piles of poop from under the cages. I’m trying to help out here and there, too. I’ve even swept out poop once or twice. It’s terrible. But Jesus washed his disciples feet and told me to humble myself and do the same so I figure cleaning up chicken poop at Namumu is the rough equivalent.
Other than that there’s not too much new around Namumu. The Siavonga weekends have been slow. I realized I’d reached a new low when the social highlight of my most recent weekend was watching “The Hannah Montana Movie” with a group of 12 to 14 year old Namumu girls in their dormitory. Just writing that sent a wave of sadness through my body. I really need to get out more.
It’s funny, though. A few months back, I started telling various Namumu children that not only did I know Miley Cyrus but that we were, in fact, engaged to be married the next time I’m back in the States and that she’d come soon to visit Namumu. I’ve made up really elaborate, detailed stories supporting this lie. Most of the girls know I’m messing around, but now I actually think some believe me, and I’m going to feel like a jerk telling them it’s not true. So, if any of you know Miley Cyrus and could get her to come to Namumu and/or marry me I would appreciate it.
The reading is still going well. We have a big group these days. I have to brag about my girl, Charity. Charity’s reading skills were pretty abysmal as of a few months ago as she struggled through children’s books, but she’s been working hard and has really improved. In fact, these days she’s nearly finished with Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Treasure Island”! Ok, so it’s only an abridged version for young adults, but for her level it’s still impressive. She has a really tough time reading the words “apple barrel” (as in the place where Jim hides and overhears Long John Silver’s sinister plan). She can’t even say it anywhere close to correctly after I say it and tell her to just repeat what I'm saying. So that’s weird. But, other than that, she’s doing great. Let me know if you have any words of encouragement for Charity and I’ll past them along.
Finally, let me say that I tend to avoid recommending books to people, mostly because when people recommend books to me it usually feels like they couldn’t care less about me reading a good book and really just want to sound cool and intellectual, especially if it’s an obscure book or one by a foreign author, and I don’t want to be like that. But I’m going to recommend one here anyway. If you want to get a good feel for life in Africa go read something by Chinua Achebe. He’s the famous Nigerian author who wrote “Things Fall Apart”, among many others. I would say they are relatively easy reads and lay out a number of interesting problems of life in Africa in a way that’s easy to understand. Do yourself a favor and go check him out.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
The Ox Cart Part II
So, after a few minor distractions we had finally arrived in the Middle-of-Nowhere, Zambia, all of us ready to take care of business.
And, to clarify, the pressure was on to take care of said business. While Marvious always gives us a much lower price for his services than any other truck driver in town, it was still costing us a pretty penny to get to Lusitu and back. Making another trip out in the future would be costly and certainly would not be optimal. It was imperative that we unload the ox cart and get the cows back to Siavonga then and there.
Kanyama led us to the first of the two potential buyers. We pulled up to a small house with walls of burned bricks and a grass roof, typical of the area. The guy’s wife and children were around, washing plates and clothes in front of the house. He was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he had gone out on some other business and wouldn’t be back for a few days. Awesome, I thought. 0 for 1. Plus, we now only had one potential buyer in the area and no leverage going into the negotiation. Just awesome.
I know, I know, we should have made sure the buyers would be at home before going out there. But this is easier said than done. We had tried to call him, but while the vast majority of families in Zambia, even rural Zambia, have at least one person with a cell phone, the reception in such areas is usually very spotty. We had to come out and take a chance.
We jumped back in the truck and continued on along the dirt road deeper into the village, at last coming to the home of buyer number two, another burned brick, grass-roofed number, again finding a wife and children outside. The good news was that this guy was around town and very interested in buying the ox cart. The bad news was that nobody knew exactly where he was and we had to go find him. So, Kanyama, Marvious and I set out to track the man down. The hour-long search was not without its interesting moments…
Every single woman we encountered, and I mean 100 percent without exception, was breastfeeding a small child. It was unbelievable. I don’t know how they do it. Well, I know how they do it, I just don’t know how they do it so much.
I almost lost my life in a cow stampede. Those things came out of nowhere. I felt like Simba but with no Mufasa to rescue me. While I may not be as spry as I once was, I somehow managed to scurry away and survive. You gotta stay on your toes in the village.
Oh, and I saw a young boy that had been walking in front of us squat down right beside the path and drop a deuce right before our eyes. Yikes. Welcome to the village.
At long last we tracked down the buyer, an old man with gray hair and only a few teeth, hunched over and slow-moving. His English was mediocre at best. The first thing I noticed was that he was wearing a button-up shirt with pictures of Saddam Hussein all over it. Obviously amused by such an absurdity, I kicked off the conversation after greeting him by commenting, “Hey, Saddam Hussein…great guy,” to which he responded, “Oh, thank you, thank you,” apparently not picking up on the sarcasm dripping thickly from my voice. What a sarcastic jerk I am.
Shortly after introductions I became aware of the fact that Kanyama and this guy were actually related in some way. Kanyama hadn’t mentioned this before. Now I had to deal with a clear conflict of interest because, in my experience, even when you have people committed to the Namumu organization, as Kanyama clearly is, helping out one’s family always seems to take precedence over helping Namumu. I’ve seen it time and time again. So, even though, as you might have guessed, I don’t have much experience in cattle negotiations, I’d have to take over and make Kanyama assume the role of spectator.
The old man, with the assistance of some 20 or so boys/young men who had come to gather round as we arrived (I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they were all this guys’ sons), checked out the ox cart from top to bottom. After a lengthy inspection, he led us to his cattle, some 30 or so heads, and then brought us to a small nearby hut, beneath which we sat on stools to chat and negotiate.
So, there I am, a single, bearded white guy, sitting under a small hut surrounded by a large and rapidly increasing number of young men, women and children, all gathered around to see what was happening, few of whom spoke much English. At our feet beneath the hut were chickens, ducks, a couple of pigs and a dog, roaming around in one large, bizarre group. I was wearing open-toed sandals at the time and, as if there wasn’t enough to distract me from our talks, the ducks started nipping at my toes. Resisting the urge to Jackie Chan the nuisances I sat still and focused on the negotiations.
Now, as I mentioned, Kanyama had come out with Vincent to this place some days before to set up the deal. He was supposed to have shown the guy pictures of the ox cart, which he did. He was also supposed to have checked out the exact cattle that the guy was offering so that we knew the guy was offering cows big enough for us to get a good price at the butchery before going all the way out there, which he did not do. He had previously told me that he had done so, but it was now becoming clear that he hadn’t. We had to work out the specifics then and there. Or rather, I had to, because of Kanyama’s conflict of interest.
The thing is, I am not a great businessman. I am not a great negotiator. I’m pretty confident at this point that it is not my life’s calling. However, after participating in numerous kapenta, carpentry and welding negotiations over the past months I have gotten the hang of the basics to some degree.
One thing I’ve picked up on is that, all too often, people have played on my conscience, attempting to exploit the fact that I’m a white American and that they are impoverished Zambians, pleading for me to cut them a good deal because they are really struggling. Oh, help us out, they say, give us this price, we are really suffering and you can afford it, etc. etc. Back in early 2009, when I was young and foolish, I used to fall into this trap from time to time, letting my empathy take over and giving good deals to help these people out. Oh no, not anymore. Now I am ruthless.
The fact of the matter is that I am working for an orphanage. The kapenta profits don’t go into my pocket. The carpentry and welding sales don’t go to my personal bank account. It all goes to feeding and supporting orphans and vulnerable children. My orphans and vulnerable children. While I’d love to help out all my brothers and sisters in Siavonga, our Namumu kids are my priority.
So, when the old man and the old ladies around started begging to be helped out, for me to cut them a break, to accept two very small cows in return for the ox cart, I never even hesitated. No can do, I said.
For a little over an hour we stood by his cattle pen attempting to reach an agreement, trying to pick out two cows that would be suitable. I’m certainly no cattle expert, but I knew the size we should be getting and this guy wasn’t giving them to us. He knew exactly what the ox car was worth and he was trying to work us over.
The guy wouldn’t budge. We packed up the ox cart and left.
Our lack of preparation really came back to bite us. Because we hadn’t worked out the specifics before bringing out the ox cart we were now stuck with a big transport bill and no ox cart buyers. We looked around for another one, but the sun was sinking down fast and we couldn’t find anyone interested.
Luckily, we were able to avoid complete disaster as Kanyama knew a guy who, having a house in the middle of town where people pass through quite frequently, had previously offered to let us leave the ox cart tied up on his land with a For Sale sign in case any interested buyers passed by. With no other option we took him up on his offer, dropping off the ox cart and riding off into the sunset, disappointed and cow-less.
Back in the day I would have been absolutely miserable. I would have felt like a failure. Things weren’t supposed to this way. We had had a plan. Everything had gone wrong.
But you know what? I’ve learned that if you let it upset you every time things don’t work out or go according to plan in southern Africa you are destined to lead a gloomy, miserable life, because things rarely, if ever, work out completely or go according to plan. If you let that stress build up you simply will not survive. You have to do what you can and, if things don’t work out, let it go and just try to do better the next time.
On the way back my man Marvious bought us all some sugar cane on the road side. With traditional African music on the stereo we headed for home eating away. The air was still warm and the breeze felt just swell as we sped south along the road. Yes, we had failed that day. But life was still pretty good.
And, to clarify, the pressure was on to take care of said business. While Marvious always gives us a much lower price for his services than any other truck driver in town, it was still costing us a pretty penny to get to Lusitu and back. Making another trip out in the future would be costly and certainly would not be optimal. It was imperative that we unload the ox cart and get the cows back to Siavonga then and there.
Kanyama led us to the first of the two potential buyers. We pulled up to a small house with walls of burned bricks and a grass roof, typical of the area. The guy’s wife and children were around, washing plates and clothes in front of the house. He was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he had gone out on some other business and wouldn’t be back for a few days. Awesome, I thought. 0 for 1. Plus, we now only had one potential buyer in the area and no leverage going into the negotiation. Just awesome.
I know, I know, we should have made sure the buyers would be at home before going out there. But this is easier said than done. We had tried to call him, but while the vast majority of families in Zambia, even rural Zambia, have at least one person with a cell phone, the reception in such areas is usually very spotty. We had to come out and take a chance.
We jumped back in the truck and continued on along the dirt road deeper into the village, at last coming to the home of buyer number two, another burned brick, grass-roofed number, again finding a wife and children outside. The good news was that this guy was around town and very interested in buying the ox cart. The bad news was that nobody knew exactly where he was and we had to go find him. So, Kanyama, Marvious and I set out to track the man down. The hour-long search was not without its interesting moments…
Every single woman we encountered, and I mean 100 percent without exception, was breastfeeding a small child. It was unbelievable. I don’t know how they do it. Well, I know how they do it, I just don’t know how they do it so much.
I almost lost my life in a cow stampede. Those things came out of nowhere. I felt like Simba but with no Mufasa to rescue me. While I may not be as spry as I once was, I somehow managed to scurry away and survive. You gotta stay on your toes in the village.
Oh, and I saw a young boy that had been walking in front of us squat down right beside the path and drop a deuce right before our eyes. Yikes. Welcome to the village.
At long last we tracked down the buyer, an old man with gray hair and only a few teeth, hunched over and slow-moving. His English was mediocre at best. The first thing I noticed was that he was wearing a button-up shirt with pictures of Saddam Hussein all over it. Obviously amused by such an absurdity, I kicked off the conversation after greeting him by commenting, “Hey, Saddam Hussein…great guy,” to which he responded, “Oh, thank you, thank you,” apparently not picking up on the sarcasm dripping thickly from my voice. What a sarcastic jerk I am.
Shortly after introductions I became aware of the fact that Kanyama and this guy were actually related in some way. Kanyama hadn’t mentioned this before. Now I had to deal with a clear conflict of interest because, in my experience, even when you have people committed to the Namumu organization, as Kanyama clearly is, helping out one’s family always seems to take precedence over helping Namumu. I’ve seen it time and time again. So, even though, as you might have guessed, I don’t have much experience in cattle negotiations, I’d have to take over and make Kanyama assume the role of spectator.
The old man, with the assistance of some 20 or so boys/young men who had come to gather round as we arrived (I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they were all this guys’ sons), checked out the ox cart from top to bottom. After a lengthy inspection, he led us to his cattle, some 30 or so heads, and then brought us to a small nearby hut, beneath which we sat on stools to chat and negotiate.
So, there I am, a single, bearded white guy, sitting under a small hut surrounded by a large and rapidly increasing number of young men, women and children, all gathered around to see what was happening, few of whom spoke much English. At our feet beneath the hut were chickens, ducks, a couple of pigs and a dog, roaming around in one large, bizarre group. I was wearing open-toed sandals at the time and, as if there wasn’t enough to distract me from our talks, the ducks started nipping at my toes. Resisting the urge to Jackie Chan the nuisances I sat still and focused on the negotiations.
Now, as I mentioned, Kanyama had come out with Vincent to this place some days before to set up the deal. He was supposed to have shown the guy pictures of the ox cart, which he did. He was also supposed to have checked out the exact cattle that the guy was offering so that we knew the guy was offering cows big enough for us to get a good price at the butchery before going all the way out there, which he did not do. He had previously told me that he had done so, but it was now becoming clear that he hadn’t. We had to work out the specifics then and there. Or rather, I had to, because of Kanyama’s conflict of interest.
The thing is, I am not a great businessman. I am not a great negotiator. I’m pretty confident at this point that it is not my life’s calling. However, after participating in numerous kapenta, carpentry and welding negotiations over the past months I have gotten the hang of the basics to some degree.
One thing I’ve picked up on is that, all too often, people have played on my conscience, attempting to exploit the fact that I’m a white American and that they are impoverished Zambians, pleading for me to cut them a good deal because they are really struggling. Oh, help us out, they say, give us this price, we are really suffering and you can afford it, etc. etc. Back in early 2009, when I was young and foolish, I used to fall into this trap from time to time, letting my empathy take over and giving good deals to help these people out. Oh no, not anymore. Now I am ruthless.
The fact of the matter is that I am working for an orphanage. The kapenta profits don’t go into my pocket. The carpentry and welding sales don’t go to my personal bank account. It all goes to feeding and supporting orphans and vulnerable children. My orphans and vulnerable children. While I’d love to help out all my brothers and sisters in Siavonga, our Namumu kids are my priority.
So, when the old man and the old ladies around started begging to be helped out, for me to cut them a break, to accept two very small cows in return for the ox cart, I never even hesitated. No can do, I said.
For a little over an hour we stood by his cattle pen attempting to reach an agreement, trying to pick out two cows that would be suitable. I’m certainly no cattle expert, but I knew the size we should be getting and this guy wasn’t giving them to us. He knew exactly what the ox car was worth and he was trying to work us over.
The guy wouldn’t budge. We packed up the ox cart and left.
Our lack of preparation really came back to bite us. Because we hadn’t worked out the specifics before bringing out the ox cart we were now stuck with a big transport bill and no ox cart buyers. We looked around for another one, but the sun was sinking down fast and we couldn’t find anyone interested.
Luckily, we were able to avoid complete disaster as Kanyama knew a guy who, having a house in the middle of town where people pass through quite frequently, had previously offered to let us leave the ox cart tied up on his land with a For Sale sign in case any interested buyers passed by. With no other option we took him up on his offer, dropping off the ox cart and riding off into the sunset, disappointed and cow-less.
Back in the day I would have been absolutely miserable. I would have felt like a failure. Things weren’t supposed to this way. We had had a plan. Everything had gone wrong.
But you know what? I’ve learned that if you let it upset you every time things don’t work out or go according to plan in southern Africa you are destined to lead a gloomy, miserable life, because things rarely, if ever, work out completely or go according to plan. If you let that stress build up you simply will not survive. You have to do what you can and, if things don’t work out, let it go and just try to do better the next time.
On the way back my man Marvious bought us all some sugar cane on the road side. With traditional African music on the stereo we headed for home eating away. The air was still warm and the breeze felt just swell as we sped south along the road. Yes, we had failed that day. But life was still pretty good.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The Ox Cart Part I
Around eight months ago our welders put together an ox cart. It’s a nice ox cart, sturdy and good looking with a solid frame and a pair of durable, second hand tires, capable of carrying a large amount of farm produce from point A to point B. There are a good number of serious farmers here in Zambia’s Southern Province, and while our welders usually stick to crafting door frames and window frames, we figured we could put this ox cart together, sell it off at a high price and make some good money without much of a problem.
We were wrong. We were very, very wrong.
After an eight month long, aggressive flier and word-of-mouth advertising campaign around the Siavonga area we were unable to locate a single serious buyer.
Finally, a few weeks ago, we decided to send Vincent, Namumu’s Senior Welder, and Kanyama, Namumu’s former Kapenta Fishing Rig Foreman and current Poultry Attendant, into the farming areas just outside Siavonga in an effort to, at long last, find a buyer for the burdensome ox cart. For three days they traveled by bicycle and moved all around, chatting with farmers and giving them their sales pitch.
Fortunately, they were able to locate two serious potential buyers in a nearby village. Most of these small scale Zambian farmers don’t do much dealing in cash, so the plan was to exchange the ox cart for two large cows, which would then be transported back to Siavonga and sold to the local butchery.
I went out to the village to lock down the deal, and, just as I suspected, the trip turned out to be an interesting experience, fraught with the typical African absurdities that I’ve come to expect on a daily basis.
I can’t say I was happy with the outcome. But, on the bright side, I learned a thing or two about Zambia and about business in the process, and I realized that in some ways I’ve definitely evolved during my time here.
On Tuesday morning I set off with Kanyama and Marvious, a local Siavonga driver with a big truck, to take care of the deal once and for all. Kanyama is originally from the area where we were heading, so he was to be the navigator. We loaded the ox cart into the truck bed and set off for the Lusitu area, a good 45 minute drive away.
Oh, what a team it was.
Kanyama is a goof ball. He’s in his early forties. He has a few wives. He has more than a few children (let me put it this way, if you gathered all his children up and put them on a soccer field you could form two full teams, both with coaches, and have enough left over for a referee and two lines judges…seriously). I’ve really grown to love Kanyama. Obviously, I can’t say I agree with or support all of the choices he’s made in his life, but he is not a bad man. He’s almost always happy and I think he treats other people pretty well. I’d call him a scallywag. A very likeable scallywag.
And Marvious is one of my favorite Zambian guys I’ve met, without a doubt. As close friends and family will tell you, I find an unreasonable amount of satisfaction in ranking things in numerical order, and of the hundreds of people I’ve met here in Africa I’d have to say that Marvious is in my top three. He’s a young guy, 25, and is still a bachelor. He loves driving a truck for a living and is always smiling, a very positive person.
He’s our usual go-to guy when it comes to transporting big items. He’s done every single supply run for our carpentry and welding workshop in the last year, charging us significantly less than all the other truck drivers in town. He knows we’re taking care of orphans and vulnerable children and it’s his way of helping out.
Best of all, he’s always buying me food and drinks on our excursions. As a white man in Africa, surrounded by people in the grips of poverty, I’m very often asked for money and food by friends and strangers alike, both in the big cities and in Siavonga. People ain’t shy about asking for things. So, it’s nice to receive small gifts for a change. Now, Marvious is not a wealthy guy. Far from it, actually. But he’s always sharing peanuts, fritters and drinks just because he’s a kind man who likes to share and make other people happy. And let’s face it, I’m pretty easy to win over. Get me an ice cold Coca-Cola and you’re my best friend for life.
So, back to the trip…the three of us set off from Namumu around 10 am, ready to take care of business. The aforementioned typical African absurdities started almost right away.
It was all pretty cut and dry. We’d drive out for 45 minutes to Lusitu, find the buyer, unload the ox cart, load up the cattle, and head back home. I had a few things I still wanted to do in the office that day and figured we could easily get back to Nammu by early afternoon.
I immediately stopped myself. Have you learned nothing in the past year, Sam? I berated myself. There are too many variables for something not to go wrong. Obviously something is going to come up. Things rarely, if ever, run like clockwork here. I readjusted my mental timetable and began planning under the assumption that we wouldn’t be back until much later.
So, I’m sitting there thinking these very thoughts. As I’m thinking them, and I mean right in the middle of this thought process, Marvious’ phone rings. His uncle had just passed away and he needed to get to the hospital to meet up with other family members. We hadn’t even made it 100 meters away from Namumu and already our plans had to be changed.
Marvious tells us that it’s ok, we shouldn’t cancel the trip. He just wanted to go to the hospital, visit with the family for a short while, and then we could start off. So, we headed into town and went to the hospital. About two hours later we set off for Lusitu. Again.
About twenty minutes outside of Siavonga we see a guy we know whose truck had broken down on the side of the road. So, while we needed to get out to do this deal, we couldn’t just leave him stranded. We pulled off and helped him fix the engine. Around an hour later the problem was solved and we set off again.
Now, back in the day, before becoming thoroughly Africanized I might have been frustrated at this point. After all, I had things to do back at Namumu that wouldn’t get done, because things kept popping up unexpectedly. But, you know what? When you are used to the absurdities and expect to run into them at all times it totally lightens the blow when they actually come. I couldn’t have been happier or more calm.
I just sat back and enjoyed the wind whipping through my hair and the light-hearted conversation with my guys. I had a lengthy chat with Kanyama, during which he explained, in detail, how he sweet talked his first wife into accepting the fact that he wanted to get another wife. I’m friends with a few polygamists, but I’ve never felt comfortable asking questions about their lifestyle. But, the mood was jovial and we had plenty of time on our hands, so I fired off a few questions and Kanyama was more than happy to answer them. I could probably write about ten blogs based on this one conversation, but I suppose I’ll just save those for later.
Finally, after turning off of the main road and driving some twenty minutes into the bush on a bumpy dirt path we arrived at the buyers’ village. And that’s where things got interesting…
We were wrong. We were very, very wrong.
After an eight month long, aggressive flier and word-of-mouth advertising campaign around the Siavonga area we were unable to locate a single serious buyer.
Finally, a few weeks ago, we decided to send Vincent, Namumu’s Senior Welder, and Kanyama, Namumu’s former Kapenta Fishing Rig Foreman and current Poultry Attendant, into the farming areas just outside Siavonga in an effort to, at long last, find a buyer for the burdensome ox cart. For three days they traveled by bicycle and moved all around, chatting with farmers and giving them their sales pitch.
Fortunately, they were able to locate two serious potential buyers in a nearby village. Most of these small scale Zambian farmers don’t do much dealing in cash, so the plan was to exchange the ox cart for two large cows, which would then be transported back to Siavonga and sold to the local butchery.
I went out to the village to lock down the deal, and, just as I suspected, the trip turned out to be an interesting experience, fraught with the typical African absurdities that I’ve come to expect on a daily basis.
I can’t say I was happy with the outcome. But, on the bright side, I learned a thing or two about Zambia and about business in the process, and I realized that in some ways I’ve definitely evolved during my time here.
On Tuesday morning I set off with Kanyama and Marvious, a local Siavonga driver with a big truck, to take care of the deal once and for all. Kanyama is originally from the area where we were heading, so he was to be the navigator. We loaded the ox cart into the truck bed and set off for the Lusitu area, a good 45 minute drive away.
Oh, what a team it was.
Kanyama is a goof ball. He’s in his early forties. He has a few wives. He has more than a few children (let me put it this way, if you gathered all his children up and put them on a soccer field you could form two full teams, both with coaches, and have enough left over for a referee and two lines judges…seriously). I’ve really grown to love Kanyama. Obviously, I can’t say I agree with or support all of the choices he’s made in his life, but he is not a bad man. He’s almost always happy and I think he treats other people pretty well. I’d call him a scallywag. A very likeable scallywag.
And Marvious is one of my favorite Zambian guys I’ve met, without a doubt. As close friends and family will tell you, I find an unreasonable amount of satisfaction in ranking things in numerical order, and of the hundreds of people I’ve met here in Africa I’d have to say that Marvious is in my top three. He’s a young guy, 25, and is still a bachelor. He loves driving a truck for a living and is always smiling, a very positive person.
He’s our usual go-to guy when it comes to transporting big items. He’s done every single supply run for our carpentry and welding workshop in the last year, charging us significantly less than all the other truck drivers in town. He knows we’re taking care of orphans and vulnerable children and it’s his way of helping out.
Best of all, he’s always buying me food and drinks on our excursions. As a white man in Africa, surrounded by people in the grips of poverty, I’m very often asked for money and food by friends and strangers alike, both in the big cities and in Siavonga. People ain’t shy about asking for things. So, it’s nice to receive small gifts for a change. Now, Marvious is not a wealthy guy. Far from it, actually. But he’s always sharing peanuts, fritters and drinks just because he’s a kind man who likes to share and make other people happy. And let’s face it, I’m pretty easy to win over. Get me an ice cold Coca-Cola and you’re my best friend for life.
So, back to the trip…the three of us set off from Namumu around 10 am, ready to take care of business. The aforementioned typical African absurdities started almost right away.
It was all pretty cut and dry. We’d drive out for 45 minutes to Lusitu, find the buyer, unload the ox cart, load up the cattle, and head back home. I had a few things I still wanted to do in the office that day and figured we could easily get back to Nammu by early afternoon.
I immediately stopped myself. Have you learned nothing in the past year, Sam? I berated myself. There are too many variables for something not to go wrong. Obviously something is going to come up. Things rarely, if ever, run like clockwork here. I readjusted my mental timetable and began planning under the assumption that we wouldn’t be back until much later.
So, I’m sitting there thinking these very thoughts. As I’m thinking them, and I mean right in the middle of this thought process, Marvious’ phone rings. His uncle had just passed away and he needed to get to the hospital to meet up with other family members. We hadn’t even made it 100 meters away from Namumu and already our plans had to be changed.
Marvious tells us that it’s ok, we shouldn’t cancel the trip. He just wanted to go to the hospital, visit with the family for a short while, and then we could start off. So, we headed into town and went to the hospital. About two hours later we set off for Lusitu. Again.
About twenty minutes outside of Siavonga we see a guy we know whose truck had broken down on the side of the road. So, while we needed to get out to do this deal, we couldn’t just leave him stranded. We pulled off and helped him fix the engine. Around an hour later the problem was solved and we set off again.
Now, back in the day, before becoming thoroughly Africanized I might have been frustrated at this point. After all, I had things to do back at Namumu that wouldn’t get done, because things kept popping up unexpectedly. But, you know what? When you are used to the absurdities and expect to run into them at all times it totally lightens the blow when they actually come. I couldn’t have been happier or more calm.
I just sat back and enjoyed the wind whipping through my hair and the light-hearted conversation with my guys. I had a lengthy chat with Kanyama, during which he explained, in detail, how he sweet talked his first wife into accepting the fact that he wanted to get another wife. I’m friends with a few polygamists, but I’ve never felt comfortable asking questions about their lifestyle. But, the mood was jovial and we had plenty of time on our hands, so I fired off a few questions and Kanyama was more than happy to answer them. I could probably write about ten blogs based on this one conversation, but I suppose I’ll just save those for later.
Finally, after turning off of the main road and driving some twenty minutes into the bush on a bumpy dirt path we arrived at the buyers’ village. And that’s where things got interesting…
Sunday, March 7, 2010
We're Google-ing and the President is Living Next Door
A number of Namumu staff members are becoming technologically savvy these days. It took me a little while to convince some of these guys to get serious about their computer skills, but the computer trend has caught on and now the movement is gaining steam. Mrs. Mutelo, Namumu’s Office Assistant/Secretary is pounding out memos and other Word Documents on a daily basis. Zenzo and Clever, Namumu’s Accounts Assistants, are getting pretty good at typing up spreadsheets and other accounting documents. Mr. Simamba, the Executive Director, is learning his way around Microsoft Office and Namumu’s email program. Even Mubita, my right hand fishing man, has been practicing data entry on Excel.
Zenzo and Clever are my guys, my star pupils. We recently had a few internet browsing lessons where they learned the finer points of google-ing. It’s been fun to see two guys, guys who come from an area and a culture where access to information is often very limited, start using a program that can give them access to just about any information they could want in a matter of seconds.
Although, I’m concerned that I may have created a monster. Now they want to get online all the time and I’m worried that their work-day productivity will take a hit. So far it hasn’t been too much of a problem. But I’m definitely NOT going to introduce them to Facebook. Lord. Namumu productivity would grind to a halt. We’ll keep it to google-ing, for now…
In other news, I celebrated my one-year anniversary of life in Mother Zambia last Tuesday. My celebration? I had my usual supper of bread and eggs, read with my girls for a while and went to bed at 9 pm. Ah, the wild and crazy life of a Siavonga bachelor...
Speaking of reading, the number of Namumu readers is shooting through the roof. In addition to my nightly girl readers, a good number of boys are reading consistently these days as well. I’ve been keeping most of the books in the sitting room at my house and there has been a steady stream of children checking out books on a daily basis.
And also, now that my hair is getting longer, while reading, every night, I get my hair braided by anywhere from one to five of the Namumu girls at once. Emasculating? Yes. Painful? Sometimes. But they seem to enjoy doing it and it makes everyone laugh, so I go with it. And you know what? Every now and then I think it looks pretty good. I’ve taken a number of pictures and will consider revealing them one day.
For your Junior update, my neighbors have a few new family members staying next door these days and I’m happy to report that Junior has a new little friend to play with, a fat little two-year-old boy cousin.
Besides being amusingly obese, this kid bears a striking resemblance to the President of the Republic of Zambia, Rupiah Banda. Go ahead and google image search this man, and then imagine that exact face on a two-year-old boy’s body. Yep. That’s what I see every morning when I look out my kitchen window.
To tell you the truth, I don’t even know what this kid’s name is. I only call him Rupiah. The name has really caught on, too. Everyone in his family even calls him Rupiah now. While I can’t take credit for first noticing the resemblance (it was pointed out to me by another Namumu child), I will take full credit for perpetuating the nickname. At first I thought his mom was pissed at me for comparing her baby boy to our overweight president, but now she always laughs at it. And she loves me, so it’s cool.
So, life is still good here at Namumu. It’s raining nearly every day now, but the rains should be ending soon. As soon as they do we’ll be doing some major winter planting around here. I’m sure there will be plenty of water-pump malfunctions and cow battles to blog about in the near future.
Until next time…
Zenzo and Clever are my guys, my star pupils. We recently had a few internet browsing lessons where they learned the finer points of google-ing. It’s been fun to see two guys, guys who come from an area and a culture where access to information is often very limited, start using a program that can give them access to just about any information they could want in a matter of seconds.
Although, I’m concerned that I may have created a monster. Now they want to get online all the time and I’m worried that their work-day productivity will take a hit. So far it hasn’t been too much of a problem. But I’m definitely NOT going to introduce them to Facebook. Lord. Namumu productivity would grind to a halt. We’ll keep it to google-ing, for now…
In other news, I celebrated my one-year anniversary of life in Mother Zambia last Tuesday. My celebration? I had my usual supper of bread and eggs, read with my girls for a while and went to bed at 9 pm. Ah, the wild and crazy life of a Siavonga bachelor...
Speaking of reading, the number of Namumu readers is shooting through the roof. In addition to my nightly girl readers, a good number of boys are reading consistently these days as well. I’ve been keeping most of the books in the sitting room at my house and there has been a steady stream of children checking out books on a daily basis.
And also, now that my hair is getting longer, while reading, every night, I get my hair braided by anywhere from one to five of the Namumu girls at once. Emasculating? Yes. Painful? Sometimes. But they seem to enjoy doing it and it makes everyone laugh, so I go with it. And you know what? Every now and then I think it looks pretty good. I’ve taken a number of pictures and will consider revealing them one day.
For your Junior update, my neighbors have a few new family members staying next door these days and I’m happy to report that Junior has a new little friend to play with, a fat little two-year-old boy cousin.
Besides being amusingly obese, this kid bears a striking resemblance to the President of the Republic of Zambia, Rupiah Banda. Go ahead and google image search this man, and then imagine that exact face on a two-year-old boy’s body. Yep. That’s what I see every morning when I look out my kitchen window.
To tell you the truth, I don’t even know what this kid’s name is. I only call him Rupiah. The name has really caught on, too. Everyone in his family even calls him Rupiah now. While I can’t take credit for first noticing the resemblance (it was pointed out to me by another Namumu child), I will take full credit for perpetuating the nickname. At first I thought his mom was pissed at me for comparing her baby boy to our overweight president, but now she always laughs at it. And she loves me, so it’s cool.
So, life is still good here at Namumu. It’s raining nearly every day now, but the rains should be ending soon. As soon as they do we’ll be doing some major winter planting around here. I’m sure there will be plenty of water-pump malfunctions and cow battles to blog about in the near future.
Until next time…
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