Sam Goes to Africa

And I'm Out...

2011-01-13T03:32:00.003-05:00

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I find myself once again packing up and departing from Namumu for the States. As always, it’s bittersweet. I’m excited to head back and to see and spend time with my family and friends in the US. I’m sad to leave behind my family and friends in Mother Zambia. It’s always a strange time.

In fact, as of now I have already finished up and left Siavonga. I’m currently in Lusaka, tying up loose ends, typing this from a small internet café downtown. Tomorrow I’ll fly out, flying first to Johannesburg, South Africa and then on to DC.

Due to various circumstances I haven’t been able to blog nearly as much as I would have liked to lately. My sincere apologies. I’ve got a little time here, so I’ll try to catch you up to speed…

As always, I’d love to hear your comments and questions. If you’re so inclined, please don’t hesitate to post a comment or hit me with an email at ssc2x@virginia.edu.

The Kids:

Ahh, going away from my little Namumuans is always tough. Flying away to a land of plenty and leaving behind a gang of orphans and vulnerable children always makes me feel like a big jerk. But, it is comforting to know that they’ll continue to be taken care of.

As always, our kids in residence are getting three solid meals a day, more than can be said for a great many kids in the area. It’s not at all uncommon to talk to local kids who’ll tell you they’re eating two meals a day, or even just one. Some go the whole day with nothing. Some dine on porridge and nshima only (both slightly different versions of corn meal and water). So, while “budget issues” have led to our kids eating a simplified diet of rice, nshima, beans, cabbage and kapenta, they are certainly better off than they would be elsewhere.

School has started this week. They love school. The first week is a time where students clean the classroom and surrounding areas. They won’t start learning again until next week. Still, they’re excited to be back. Namumu Community School is going to take a bit more work than usual to straighten out, however. A storm blew the roof off (much like the latest Lil Wayne single) and we’re still waiting on a group from the local government to come and repair it. A local fishing company owner has been kind enough to assist with organizing repairs, though, and it should be finished soon. Just another nice example of local people helping us out…

And, while we’ve faced failure upon failure in other areas, the children’s computer training programs has been a complete success thus far. Around 25 kids have been equipped with some basic computer skills and can maneuver around Microsoft Windows and Word. Vinod has assured me he’ll keep rocking and rolling after I leave. He’s a good guy. I know he’ll keep working. Maybe one day each and every one of our kids will be computer savvy.

IGAs:

Fishing - I was also sad to leave our fishing operation behind. I’ve spent a great deal of time during the last two years of my life at the local harbor, monitoring sales, strategizing with other company owners and flirting relentlessly with the old lady fish traders (I’ve never claimed to possess a great deal of game, but, for whatever reason, what game I do have appears to be tailor-made for 40 to 60 year old Zambian women). I’m going to miss it all.

Our guys are catching well, consistently better than our neighbors. Kapenta prices remain high, and our boats continue to bring in profits for Namumu’s general operations. Mubita, my right-hand man, continues to work hard and well, though he has been out for a few days, sidelined by arthritis problems, so please, go ahead and pray for that. Personally, I think he just needs to man up, but I suppose we should pray anyways. Perhaps we should just pray that he mans-up.

Carpentry/Welding - This section has been a disappointment, to say the least. In fact, a decision has been made to close down the workshop indefinitely. Will we open back up in the future? Only time will tell.

Poultry - This section has also been a disappointment, I’d say, making small losses consistently ever month. While I won’t air out Namumu dirty laundry here and now, I will say that the management of the poultry section has been less than stellar. A poultry business is not rocket science. There are simple tasks requiring minimal effort and they simply aren’t getting done. I sure hope things can be straightened out in the future.

Gardening - Gardening continues to go well. We’ve cleared and plowed much of the open land and have planted long stretches of maize for this, the rainy season. We’ve planted watermelon and pumpkin, too. If the decent rains continue, it should be a good harvest.

I:

For now, while I may be done working at Namumu, I won’t stop working for Namumu or with Namumu. I’ll keep in touch with them and do my best to keep the IGAs on track (as much as one can from across the Atlantic). I’ll continue to work on project proposals from the States, working along with Vinod and a few other staff members, continuing to search for more funding. If all goes well (and they’ll still have me), I’m hoping to be able to once again visit friends at the churches supporting and partnering with Namumu, to discuss all things Namumu-related (thanks to all of you for bearing with me during a time when my life is in a constant state of flux).

Along with all that, I’ll be moving in a new direction here in the near future. Having decided to pursue a career in medicine, I’ll be starting school in June to knock out my pre-med courses in a year and then, if all goes well, I’ll be giving medical school a shot. It’s a long road, and who knows what might happen, but that’s the plan. If you’re so inclined, please pray for me, that organic chemistry won’t cause me too much physical, emotional or spiritual harm.

And, in the meantime, it looks as though I’ll be joining an up-and-coming group focused on delivering quality health care to the poor, both in the States and abroad, so if you’re interested and want to hear more or help out, please get in touch.

Well, gang, it’s been real. I thank God every day for the opportunities I’ve had over the past two years. What a ride. To all who have supported me financially and through prayer, thank you, thank you, thank you.

And I’m out…

A Very Merry Christmas (For Everyone But The Goat)

2011-01-05T15:24:00.003-05:00

As you may recall, around Christmas time last year I high-tailed it out of Siavonga and had a little road trip with some friends of mine to Livingstone, Zambia’s tourist capital, where I partied, played and ate my face off for a week. I saw Victoria Falls, survived an intense baboon encounter and single-handedly prevented a Zambian tribal war (no big deal). This year, I opted for a calmer Christmas experience and decided to stay in Siavonga. It turned out to be a great decision. I had a nice little Christmas weekend with my good friends here in Siavonga.

The neighbors and I kicked things off on Christmas Eve with our usual celebratory practice of slaughtering a live animal. More chickens? No sir, not this Christmas Eve. This time we decided to step it up and go with a goat. Have you ever tasted goat meat before? It’s delicious. Boy, was I excited. A live goat costs around ZMK80,000 (US$17), a bit more than a chicken, but it’s more meat and I would say it tastes much better.

In what I would consider a tactical error, my neighbors purchased the goat a few days ahead of time, and to keep it from running away they tied it to a tree in our back yard. For days we had to listen to it whining and watched it occasionally try to make a getaway. Did it make me sad? Yes, yes it did. Did it stop me from killing and eating it? No, no it didn’t. After all, I’m a grown ass man and I had a family to feed.

Sadly, I did not have the opportunity to slaughter this particular goat, a skill I’ve been looking to acquire for some time. I was working on the computers with a couple of the Namumu girls and the boys next door went ahead and killed it without me (which I of course scolded them for because they know the rules…I do the killing, they do the cooking, we all do the eating…and how dare they violate said rules?) However, I did make it home in time to do a significant amount of slicing, chopping, skinning and disemboweling. I got some great action photos, as well as some nice before and afters of the goat for your viewing pleasure when I’m back Stateside. So be looking forward to that.

Anyway, I took a big hunk back home to my kitchen, cooked it up myself, soaked it in chipotle-flavored Tabasco sauce, and went to town. Mmm Mmm Mmm. No, Debra, it was no Cornish game hen, but man oh man it hit the spot.

The good times and good food continued on into Christmas Day as I awoke and kicked off Jesus’ birthday with a big bowl of Cocoa Puffs. I never get to have cereal out here, but a few days before I had tracked down a box in one of the stores in town and on Christmas morning I hammered it and hammered it hard. Delightful. Just delightful.

Like much of the Siavonga population I made it out to a Christmas morning church service. I joined my usual Siavonga church family out at St. Marks Presbyterian, including the big man, Munjongo Namuyamba. It was a small crowd but the singing was beautiful and the pastor’s words were lovely (the ones I could understand were lovely, anyway…the whole thing was in Tonga.) As is befitting a celebration of Jesus’ birthday, everyone was very happy.

Next, I made a trip out to the Pieterse’s place on Lake Kariba. The Pieterses own a local fishing company and have done a lot for Namumu over the years, doing repairs for our boats for free, dropping food by the orphanage for the kids every now and then, and I’m sure even more that I’m not even aware of. They’re great. They were nice enough to invite me over on Christmas Day, and I spent the day eating my face off and swimming in their pool. Not bad.

Finally, I made it back home to Namumu in the late afternoon to find all the kids packed into the dining hall and engaged in a wild, sweaty, high-energy dance party. Someone had hooked up a TV and speakers and they were pumping Zambian music videos at full blast. It was ridiculous. Let me tell you something, I’ve been a part of dance parties all across the US and all over southern Africa, and this was about as wild a dance party as I’ve ever seen. Everyone was so happy. I got some great video footage, too. I enjoyed myself about as much as I possibly could listening to music that’s not Lil Wayne. It was a great way to cap off the night.

So, while it would have been nice to celebrate Jesus’ birthday back home at Crestwood, I can’t complain too much at all.

Grade Seven Exam Results - 2010

2011-01-02T15:03:00.003-05:00

The results are in. The Namumu Community School received its official Grade 7 Exam scores the other day and there was reason to celebrate. Out of the 42 Grade 7 students taking the exam, 29 passed to move on to Grade 8 at Siavonga Basic School next year. Out of the 13 who didn’t pass, it’s likely that 7 or 8, all of which barely missed the cutoff, will qualify for a remedial Grade 8 program that will allow them to work through to Grade 9 next year.

Relative to other Primary Schools throughout Zambia, especially ones in very rural areas, like Namumu, these results are very, very good. I was talking about it all with Moses Fwanyanga, the Namumu Community School’s Assistant Teacher-In-Charge, and he was very pleased. We were chatting with a former Namumu teacher who now works at another Primary School outside of Siavonga, and it turns out his group passed only around 10 out of 70, far behind the performance of Namumu.

I asked Moses why he thought Namumu did so well year after year. He suggested the smaller class sizes may have something to do with it. Namumu has around 30 kids per class, whereas some local schools sometimes have anywhere from 40 to 50 or more. He also attributed the success to Namumu’s teachers, who he thought were more hard-working and focused than other teachers around town. He was bursting with pride as he told me this. It was nice to see.

Passing the Grade 7 Exam is a big deal. Those who do get to move on to Grade 8 in the Basic School in town. They get to wear new, different colored uniforms and go to school with older kids. There’s a status attached. For those who don’t pass, they’re allowed to repeat Grade 7 next year and take the exam again, but still, failing is pretty discouraging, especially when all of your friends have passed. And those who fail again often drop out of school, never to return.

Of the children boarding at Namumu who took the exam, all but two passed on to Grade 8. It was really sad, actually. I was around when the kids found out the results and everyone started cheering and jumping and screaming because they had passed and passing is a big deal. Everyone except for the two girls who failed. I didn’t get a chance to talk to them, but I’d imagine it’s been a tough week for them.

So, let’s pray that Namumu Community School can keep up the good work, and that our two non-passing girls can pick things up next year.

Ryan Reynolds Mania, a New Friend and Collusion

2010-12-23T03:47:00.000-05:00

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.

Love Coca-Cola. Hate Cusack.

2010-12-13T09:34:00.002-05:00

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.

A Happy Thanksgiving (For Everyone but the Chicken)

2010-11-29T09:24:00.005-05:00

(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.

Bobby Fischer-ing in the Motherland

2010-11-23T10:27:00.002-05:00

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.

Computer Time

2010-11-18T07:50:00.001-05:00

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.

Sam Cross: Entertainer, Marriage Counselor

2010-11-14T10:08:00.003-05:00

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…

Fishing and Body Image Issues

2010-11-04T05:54:00.000-04:00

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.

Round 2 Changes

2010-10-28T15:59:00.001-04:00

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.

Back in Mother Zambia

2010-10-26T06:25:00.001-04:00

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.

Final Zambia Blog (For Now)

2010-06-09T04:10:00.002-04:00

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.

Namumu Staff vs. Namumu Boys: Far From an Instant Classic

2010-05-31T07:20:00.001-04:00

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.

Plenty of Sams

2010-05-18T02:07:00.000-04:00

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.

Outreach Visitors

2010-05-15T07:37:00.004-04:00

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.

Here I Come

2010-05-12T10:06:00.004-04:00

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!

Triple Thank You

2010-05-05T04:49:00.000-04:00

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.

Coming Soon to Namumu: A Little Samuel Steven

2010-05-01T03:53:00.002-04:00

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.

Admitting Defeat

2010-04-30T12:11:00.001-04:00

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.

Internet Masters

2010-04-28T02:03:00.000-04:00

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

Zambian Street Fighting

2010-04-26T06:49:00.001-04:00

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…

Time to Plant

2010-04-26T06:44:00.001-04:00

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.

Jailas is Sick

2010-04-26T06:43:00.001-04:00

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.

Unemployment

2010-04-24T07:17:00.002-04:00

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.

Mampi

2010-04-23T03:20:00.000-04:00

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.

Thole's Shirt

2010-04-23T03:13:00.001-04:00

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.

Lagging

2010-04-20T15:28:00.003-04:00

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.

Franco

2010-04-20T15:24:00.002-04:00

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.

A Few More Pictures...

2010-04-19T03:48:00.007-04:00

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.

My Crappy Diet

2010-04-13T08:12:00.004-04:00

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.

John the Border Jumper

2010-04-13T08:10:00.004-04:00

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.

My Kitchen Window

2010-04-12T15:52:00.003-04:00

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.

Brenda's Return

2010-04-11T06:59:00.000-04:00

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.

Pop Culture Catch-Up

2010-04-10T11:00:00.004-04:00

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.

Family First

2010-04-09T09:04:00.002-04:00

“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.

City Market

2010-04-08T05:28:00.003-04:00

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.

In Weezy's Footsteps

2010-04-07T10:01:00.001-04:00

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…

The Chickens Are Here And Hopefully Miley Cyrus Will Be Soon

2010-03-31T05:17:00.002-04:00

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.

The Ox Cart Part II

2010-03-21T08:05:00.004-04:00

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.

The Ox Cart Part I

2010-03-16T11:28:00.000-04:00

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're Google-ing and the President is Living Next Door

2010-03-07T02:08:00.000-05:00

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…

Clever

2010-02-26T10:33:00.000-05:00

Back in my early days at Namumu I spent the majority of my time working and interacting with old men. Munjongo, Namumu’s former Executive Director, Edwin, Namumu’s Finance Manager, and Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager are all up there in age. Mubita, our fishing Rig Foreman is up there as well. Nearly all day every day these were my only workmates and friends around the office.

They’re all great. It’s been wonderful getting to know these guys. But sometimes you just need to be around people your own age.

Fortunately, these days I’ve got Clever.

Clever, 25, is Namumu’s young Accounts Assistant (not to be confused with Zenzo, Namumu’s other Accounts Assistant), and while he’s only worked at Namumu for a few months he’s been connected to Namumu for some time. Clever was never a Namumu resident, but as he was a bright student with limited funds, Namumu supported him financially and helped him to graduate from college with an Accounting Degree. So, in a sense, Clever is a product of Namumu.

With Clever’s grades and skill set he could have easily found a more prestigious, better paying job elsewhere in Zambia. But out of gratitude to Namumu for its assistance to him Clever has chosen to come back to Siavonga to work. It’s nice to see that kind of commitment and sacrifice. I’ve had a few conversations with Clever about his future plans and not once has he hesitated in his commitment to give back to Namumu by staying and working here. I believe the eventual plan is for him to take over the Finance Manager position when Mr. Luneta retires.

Clever’s commitment has had an impact on me, and I’m proud to say that I have had an impact on him as well. He’s started growing a beard as of late, and while he’s never come out and said it I know that I was his inspiration. That’s just what my beard does, folks. It inspires people.

So, today give a prayer of thanks that Clever is around and working hard for Namumu, and that he is committed to doing so in the future.

Tonga Insults

2010-02-20T06:35:00.000-05:00

I had a breakthrough moment in terms of Tonga language acquisition the other day.

I was sitting in the Namumu office, crunching kapenta numbers, when Zenzo, Namumu’s Assistant Accountant, my good friend and co-worker, entered through the front door. As he was stepping through he shouted something to someone outside.

“Zenzo, you’re too loud, I’m trying to work here!” I yelled at him in Tonga, jokingly.

Just to be clear, Zenzo and I verbally abuse each other in both Tonga and English on a daily basis. So it was cool. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He quickly shot back in Tonga, “Shut your mouth! You are a dirty white man. Look at you! You are dirty like a dog. Get out of my office!”

And guess what? I understood every word of it! Every single word! I was so proud of myself. Usually I can just pick up bits and pieces, but in this case, for maybe the first time ever, I got the whole thing.

The moment has inspired me to step up my Tonga game, especially to learn more Tonga insults. Zenzo is in big, big trouble now.

I Only Caught Five

2010-02-20T06:33:00.000-05:00

Remember how back in September I posted a blog about how well fishing was going, about how we’d had a record-breaking month and made a truckload of loot for Namumu? Well, I totally jinxed us again. During the following months we saw a slow, steady decline in catches and a slow, steady incline in repair and maintenance costs. It was a disaster.

A combination of issues came into play.

We went through a period where the kapenta seemed to be hiding from us. Actually, all local fishing camps experienced extremely poor catches. A good friend of mine who runs one of the bigger companies in town and has been fishing for 29 years told me that January was very close to the worst month she’d seen in all her years in the business, and that October, November and December had not been much better. So, we were not the only ones catching poorly. The kapenta apparently decided to hide from everyone.

Around the end of October, Pierson, the captain of one of the boats and the outspoken leader of the group, resigned for unstated reasons. Pierson was my rock. He was the most experienced of the group and, more importantly, was always a happy, talkative, positive person who worked hard and whose attitude always seemed to rub off on everyone else around him. It hurt us when Pierson left. It hurt us badly.

Then, to top it all off, the generator on one of the boats kicked it in early January. It had fallen in the water some months ago and, despite a number of semi-successful efforts by a few local mechanics to bring it back to life it finally bit the big one, forcing us to buy a new one. And those things ain’t cheap around here.

To make it all worse, Mubita, the guys and I received quite a bit of criticism from certain members of the Namumu management team for the overall poor performance. I’ve made many mistakes here and am always willing to admit when I do, but in this case I felt then as I do now that we were being criticized for circumstances beyond our control, that we had worked as hard as we could work and had done as well as could be expected under the circumstances. Apparently others didn’t. It was tough to deal with.

Words cannot express the anger and frustration I experienced at numerous points during this period. All I really needed was someone to hug me and tell me everything was going to be alright. Unfortunately, Zambians aren’t particularly big on hugging, so I was out of luck. Oh, how I longed for the days of Nolan Doyle’s free hugs. I was really down. I tried expressing my inner anguish through the majesty of song, singing “Afternoon Delight” and making fart noises with my mouth, but even that didn’t help.

Fortunately, things have been looking up lately. Both boats have, despite experiencing a few intermittent problems, been up and running all February. Catches are good and we’re making some dough again. The overall mood of the group seems to be shifting towards the positive.
Let’s hope this continues. I’ll keep you posted.

The White Man's Coming to Eat You!

2010-02-07T10:03:00.001-05:00

(Today’s blog is children-based...enjoy)

Walking around Siavonga, especially when passing through out-of-the-way villages, I’ll often come across children who have obviously seen few whites before in their young lives. Some, more than likely, have never seen a single white man before. By now, most of the local kids know me and come to wave and say hello. Some are still a bit wary when I come around. And some are downright terrified.

They’re always the smallest ones. They start by staring and looking perplexed for just a moment. They begin to back-peddle and run towards the nearest friend or family member, holding on for protection. I’ve seen it a thousand times. I’d say a good 50 percent of them start crying. A lot.

And, keep in mind, in these cases all I’m doing is walking by.

It used to upset me, almost hurting my feelings. I didn’t like it at all. Sometime a few months ago, however, I turned a corner and started having a little fun.

Now, whenever I see a child in the initial perplexed stage, preparing to back-peddle and cry, I stop, turn towards them and start walking, faster and faster. I show my teeth and start growling, putting my hands up and showing my claws. Sometimes I yell out, in Tonga, “Here comes the white man!” or “I’m going to eat you!” or both. Man, do they freak.

It’s awesome and strangely satisfying. It always gets great reactions from the nearby parents, too. They think it’s hilarious. They’ve seen white people before and most of them know me by now, so it’s all cool. They always stand there chuckling while their children are screaming and crying in utter terror at their feet. It’s great.

I know, I know, I’m a terrible person. But, the way I see it, I’m working all day every day to support orphans and vulnerable children in southern Africa and I’ve earned the right to strike a little fear into certain children’s hearts every now and again.

That’s my rationalization and I’m sticking to it.

Speaking of children, my little man next door, Junior, continues to grow up right before my eyes. When I arrived in Siavonga last year all he did was crawl and cry and poop on everything. But my little man is really coming along. Now he’s running around and stirring up trouble on a daily basis. He talks all the time, speaking what appears to be a mixture of Tonga, English and Chinese, though none of us are exactly sure. He can say about ten actual words, and I’m happy to say that Sam is one of them. I’m happy not only because it feels good that he knows and likes me now, but also because he stopped calling me “Tata”, or father, before any rumors got started. Phew.

Finally, the other day I came about as close to using corporal punishment as I have in all my time here at Namumu.

I was walking back from church with three of my little Namumu minions, Clivert, Bickel and Shankister. We had gone out to St. Mark’s Presbyterian Church in Mitcho, about an hour’s walk from Namumu, so we had plenty of time to chat on the way home. It’s always a nice walk, providing me with plenty of time to shoot the breeze and catch up with my kids.

So, there I was, chatting it up with said minions. We drifted into a conversation about music. These kids know a good number of American artists, but for the most part they’re all into crappy Zambian pop music.

I asked Clivert if he was into this one youngish female singer who goes by the name “Mampi”. No, he said, he wasn’t. Why not? I inquired. Well, first off, it’s the way she dances...she’s too provocative (his exact words). And her clothes. She’s always showing too much skin. She should cover up more, he said.

I was really proud of ol’ Clivert. Here’s one boy with a good head on his shoulders, I thought, one who won’t be pulled in by temptations of the flesh. I gave him a pat on the back and told him that those were good reasons (though, ironically, her dancing and skimpy outfits are the primary reasons I am completely in love with Mampi, but whetever...).

That’s when things took a turn for the worse.

You know who else I don’t like? Clivert said out of nowhere. Michael Jackson.

Wait. What?

Yeah. Michael Jackson is not that great. I don’t know why everybody loves him so much.

Then, as my anger began to rise, he threw in the kicker.

You know who is much better? T-Pain!

I nearly lost it. Immediately I had visions of pulling Clivert off to the roadside and George Lyle-ing his behind with my leather belt for speaking such nonsense. I didn’t . I held myself together.

But I was close.

Babies Everywhere!

2010-02-01T06:06:00.001-05:00

Babies seem to be popping out everywhere around Namumu these days. In fact, two Namumu employees saw their wives give birth late Tuesday night around the same time.

First, my right hand kapenta man, Mubita, saw his wife give birth to a bouncing baby boy, their fourth child and fourth boy.

I felt bad because I had no idea that she was pregnant, even though I’d seen her a few times in the past few months. Whoops. I figured it was nsima weight. Apparently it was baby weight.

Mubita came into work as usual on Wednesday morning and was planning on working because, as I’ve said, that’s just what kind of guy he is, a hard-worker. I yelled at him and told him to go take care of his wife, which he did right away.

Then there’s Kanyama, Namumu’s poultry attendant, whose wife’s delivery was a bit more of an adventure.

Apparently she went into labor around midnight on Tuesday night. There are no ambulances in Siavonga, so Kanyama called Alfred, Namumu’s driver, and told him to bring the Namumu SUV (Namumu’s only functioning vehicle at the moment), the Toyota Surf. So, Alfred rushed to pick them up to drive them into town, usually a rocky, bumpy, 10 minute venture.

Well, the Surf must have rocked a bit too much, because before they had made it very far away from the Namumu complex that baby popped right out, right in the back seat, as they were driving. It’s by no means a big vehicle, so still I’m struggling to grasp the play-by-play of the incident. Fortunately, Mrs. Kanyama and the baby were both a-ok. Alfred brought them back to the Namumu clinic and Saviour, the Namumu girls’ caretaker and nursing assistant, took care of Mrs. Kanyama and baby Kanyama.

But you know what the most interesting thing about the whole thing was? I was talking with Alfred and Kanyama the next day about it and they were both so incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing. I kept asking them questions and saying how crazy the situation sounded and they just looked at me like I was a total idiot. It was just so not that big a deal for them. I guess it’s pretty common for babies in rural Zambia to just come out where they come out.

The next day the same Surf carried a number of Namumu employees to the bank as usual. Nobody seemed to mind sitting in a seat where a baby had been brought into the world just hours earlier. And you know what? I said to myself “When in Rome...” and hopped right on in too.

A Week in Zimbabwe

2010-02-01T05:46:00.001-05:00

Well, the travel bug done got me again. I’m finding it harder and harder to stay in one place these days.

The Man, the Myth, the Legend, Bill Warlick of Park Lake Presbyterian Church in Orlando came to Namumu two weeks ago to check up on things, one of a number of stops he was to make around southern Africa. He had told me some time before that he’d be coming to Siavonga for a night and that he would then be flying down to Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital city, to meet up with his wife, my homegirl, Nancy. He told me that if I could work out my own transportation I could join them in checking up on some of the Outreach Foundation’s projects there. So I did, and I did.

It was difficult to leave Namumu behind again so soon, on the heels of my most recent foray into Livingstone. Fortunately, these days the Namumu businesses are at the point where they can run on autopilot for a few days without close supervision. And my loyal readers assured me that they would continue reading by themselves in my absence. So, I once again packed my bags and headed out of Siavonga.

I was only in Zimbabwe for a few days, but I learned a good deal about the country. Nancy and Bill had lived in Harare for years, so they taught me a lot. We met up with a number of their friends who have lived there for years. They taught me a lot. And we visited a number of schools and organizations, chatting with social workers, teachers, students and street children. The taught me a lot too.

Let me tell you something. That country is in bad shape, and most anybody you talk to there will readily admit it. There’s massive unemployment, HIV rates through the roof, high crime rates and a great deal of hunger. It was difficult to witness. And keep in mind, this is coming from a guy who has spent the last eleven months living in one of the world’s poorest countries.

I know that God has a plan for Zimbabwe. Looking around Harare, though, it was at times difficult to know what that plan might be. Fortunately, there are still some good, good people there doing good, good things.

One of our first stops was at the Lovemore Home, an organization supported by the Outreach Foundation in which young boys are taken in off the streets, given a place to live and put through school. At the moment, Lovemore houses twelve boys and employees a number of Zimbabweans to support them, including a social worker, a caretaker for the boys and a general administrator, among others.

Bill and Nancy’s role with the Outreach Foundation is to consult with these various organizations, opening up communication and smoothing out problems that arise. During our visit, I was allowed to sit in on a meeting with Bill, Nancy and the Lovemore employees. I won’t go into the details, but it was helpful to find that many of Namumu’s problems are not Namumu’s problems alone, that Lovemore faced many of the same obstacles and issues. Still, while it had its obstacles, Lovemore sure seemed like a great operation.

Besides sitting in the meeting, I spent the majority of my time playing soccer with the boys and hitting on Helen, Lovemore’s social worker, and Loveness, Lovemore’s Administrator, two sweet middle aged African women. I love sweet middle aged African women.

And much to my surprise, Bill had informed me earlier that Loveness was, in fact, his second wife. Never would have pegged ol’ Bill as a polygamist, but there you go. I hit on Loveness anyway, and Bill didn’t seem to mind. Come to think of it, I hit on Nancy a lot, too. He doesn’t seem to mind that either. What a generous man.

Later on in the week we made it out to another Outreach Foundation-supported ministry called Home of Hope. Home of Hope, run by Joan Trevelyan and her son, Craig, provides meals and pays school fees for young boys living on the streets of Harare. And when I say living on the streets, I mean they are living on the streets, sleeping in parks and alleyways, no homes to go to. It’s terrible. Due to what Joan described as “Red Tape Issues” the boys can’t legally sleep at Home of Hope, but they come and get a good meal and a shower in the mornings, and a good meal in the early evenings as well. In addition, Home of Hope feeds a number of young adults living on the streets on certain afternoons.

You’d think that feeding poor street children would earn Home of Hope widespread praise within Zimbabwe. Actually, Joan told me that she had been harassed by the Zimbabwe police on numerous occasions. I never totally understood why. She seemed to think that those guys like to exert power in any way they can. Whatever the reason, I think it’s a pretty clear indicator of how things are run within the country. It’s a real shame.

We spent the rest of the week dropping in on a few other organizations and meeting up with a few of Bill and Nancy’s old friends from when they were living there.

There wasn’t too much going on at night in Harare. Not for me, at least. It’s a city full of desperate people and I was informed by everyone that roaming the streets at night would almost guarantee me a mugging. While I’m confident that no one in their right mind would try to mug a man bearing a striking resemblance to Chuck Norris, I played it safe and sat in my hotel room every night. It got a little boring. I actually sat and watched “Not Another Teen Movie” in its entirety on one of the few TV channels they provided and was very, very ashamed of myself afterwards. But what could I do?

So, after being in a beautiful but troubled country for a week, it was nice getting back to mother Zambia once again where the economy is pushing forward, the streets are safe (relatively speaking) and people are very, very friendly.

Although, I did experience one alarming incident while back in Lusaka, Zambia’s capital. As usual, my friend, Ndandula, let me crash on her couch for the night when I made it into town. And, as usual, I sat on my bum and watched music videos and movies all afternoon and evening.

“My Best Friend’s Wedding” came on and she said she’d never seen it. Well, that’s ridiculous, I said, it’s only the best romantic comedy ever made. Really? No way. she said. Oh yea, what would you say is the best romantic comedy you’ve ever seen? I inquired.

Her response?

“White Chicks” starring the Wayans brothers. And no, she wasn’t joking.

Man oh man, maybe there’s no hope for Zambia either...

On a serious note, go ahead and pray this week for those in Zimbabwe that are suffering, and pray that organizations such as the Lovemore Home and Home of Hope can keep on keepin’ on.

Grade Seven Exams

2010-01-12T10:32:00.000-05:00

In Zambian schools, in order for children to pass grade seven and move on to grade eight they are required to pass a standardized government examination. Being the first (and in some unfortunate cases, the last) big test these kids ever have to take, it’s a big deal.

For the children attending the Namumu Community School, passing means they get to attend grade eight at Siavonga Basic School, located in the main township, a 40-or-so minute walk away. They get to wear sharp new uniforms, different from the ones the children in grades one through seven wear. There’s clearly a certain status attached to moving on up to the Basic School in town.

Those who don’t pass must remain in grade seven for another year and then take the exam again.

Namumu had 19 of its resident children take the exam. Overall they did very, very well. Two, in fact, Christopher and Brenda, did so well that they were accepted into local boarding schools, a significant achievement.

Unfortunately, one of our girls didn’t pass and will be forced to repeat grade seven. Victoria (not her real name...I don’t think this girl would be happy about me throwing her name around and telling everyone she failed), a very sweet, slightly goofy 13 year old, just missed the cut off.

As you can imagine, it’s been a rough week for Victoria. It’s been obvious that she’s embarrassed, and to make matters worse all of her friends passed and are moving on. She’s bounced back over the past few days, but I have a feeling it will take her a while to fully get over her disappointment. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers.

Still, while it’s unfortunate that Namumu’s children did not all make it through, 18 out of 19 ain’t too shabby. The others scored remarkably high. I would argue that this is further evidence of the advantages our kids have by staying here. They have stable adult influences in their lives that guide them and encourage them to work hard, and the test scores reflect that.

Just another reason why Namumu is so awesome...

Livingstone Shenanigans PART III

2010-01-08T10:21:00.000-05:00

Towards the end of the week a wave of lethargy overtook us all simultaneously and we contented ourselves with lying around the lodge’s pool and doing a whole lotta nothing. It was wonderful. We didn’t make it over to Namibia or Zimbabwe, but I knew I’d make it over to them both eventually so I didn’t sweat it. Besides, it felt too good being lazy.

We did make it out on a boat cruise (of the Dunder Mifflin variety) on the Zambezi river on our last night in Livingstone, which was nice. Being the fisherman that I am and having been out on Lake Kariba with my crew for many-a-night it wasn’t so new and exciting, but it sure was pretty. And it was nice to be out on the water without a diesel-guzzling generator pumping noisily in the background for once.

Other than the members of our group there were mostly tourists on board, around 30 in all, I’d say. I spent the majority of my time chatting with a chain-smoking fat guy from Poland. He was very jolly and very cool and I couldn’t imagine anyone I’d rather be cruising on the Zambezi alongside. To be honest, I probably only understood around 35% of the words coming out of his mouth, but that 35% was hilarious. Good times.

We got back and docked just after the sun had gone down. The vacation was almost over and I was looking forward to it ending it with a nice, relaxing night with my good friends, Ndandula, Mwenya and Mucho.

Little did I know that I would soon find myself in the middle of a heated tribal dispute, or that I would be forced to play the role of mediator.

Ndandula had to run off to meet a friend in town, so, in the meantime, while we waited for her to return, Mwenya, Mucho and I decided to stick around at the outdoor bar of the hotel that provided the boat cruise. The Zambezi was well within view and the early evening weather was warm but comfortable. We planned to get some food and drinks and hang around for a bit.

By sheer coincidence, Mucho’s boss happened to be staying at that very same hotel and was sitting by the bar. He was staying with his family, but they were all off somewhere and he was at the bar alone. He was a nice older gentleman, outgoing and easy to talk to. He was, shall we say, a bit tipsy.

So, we sat around at the bar, Mwenya, Mucho, Mucho’s boss and I, chatting about this and that, enjoying the scenery, the weather and the frosty refreshments.

As we talked, I noticed that just down at the other end of the bar sat a group of Zambian women of all ages. They were all there together, talking and laughing and enjoying themselves as much as we were. They looked like fun. I, being a fan of fun women, started up a casual conversation with the few closest to us. It turned out my assessment had been correct. They were very fun.

So, at this point, it was basically like we were one big group. One big happy group. And I was right in the middle, one single white face in the middle of it all. I remember looking around and thinking, yeeeeah, I am so happy that my life has led me here. This is excellent.

At one point we settled into a pretty standard conversation. Where are you coming from? They’d asked. Siavonga. Oh, that’s nice, for how long have you stayed there? About 10 months. Have you learned any of the languages? Yeah, you know, I’m in a Tonga area so I’ve learned some of that. I dropped some Tonga on them and they just about lost their minds.

Then, in the midst of all our jovial laughter, one of these ladies, the Queen Bee of the group, in fact, decided it was a good moment to go on a tirade against Tonga men. I mean she went off. Tonga men are the scum of the earth, she said. They treat women poorly, they drink too much, etc. etc., she spouted. Clearly she had had a bit to drink as well. Suddenly the mood of the group began to turn.

And what tribe do Mucho and Mucho’s boss belong to, you might ask? You guessed it. Tonga.

So they start raising their voices a bit and defending their honor, so to speak. Who is this women to say such things? How can she look down on them like that? What tribe is she from? How are they any better? Blah blah blah.

She raised her voice and gave it right back to them, venom shooting from her mouth and fire from her eyes. I thought she was going to reach across me and scratch out their eyeballs.

So, there I am, stuck in the middle of a full-on Zambian tribal war of words. Right in the middle. What was I to do?

At first, I sat enjoyed the show. It was pretty funny. Then, as things got more and more heated, I knew I had to get out of there. I excused myself and walked over to the men’s room.

Something had to be done, I decided. I took a deep breath, pumped myself up, and headed back to the group. Things had calmed down a bit, but there was still tension in the air. I regained my place in the middle of the groups and prepared myself for the speech of a lifetime.

Listen up, everyone, I said loudly. I had their attention. You’re a Tonga, you’re a Bemba, you’re a Losi, so what? You’re a Zambian, you’re a Zambian, I’m a Zambian (for the purposes of my speech I didn’t go into the details by explaining that I am technically an American citizen in Zambia on a Business Visa). We’re all here tonight. We’re together now. So why don’t we forget all this crap and just have a good time?

I raised my glass in the air, looking around for affirmation.

I got it.

I heard shouts of approval from both sides as everyone raised their glasses. We all drank and continued with our merrymaking, the tension, for the most part, dissolved. While we never got back to our original state of glee, we all had a good time.

I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking there’s no way that this actually happened, that it was just a delusional daydream. I’m telling you, it happened exactly like that. Exactly.

I’ve failed many times and in many ways here in Zambia, but when it’s all said and done I’ll always have this moment, one that I will cherish forever. The day I stopped a Zambian tribal war.

The next day we packed it up, said goodbye to our lodge friends and headed out of Livingstone, none of us quite ready for the vacation to end.

I arrived back in Siavonga the next day, tired from the travel but glad to be back amongst my friends and Namumu family. That night I ate dinner, nsima and kapenta, on the ground and under the stars with my neighbors. The dogs howled in the background and the crickets chirped. Oh, and then one of my neighbor’s roaming cows peed on the ground right beside where I had placed my backpack, sprinkling it thoroughly.

Welcome back to the bush, Sam. Welcome back.

Livingstone Shenanigans PART II

2010-01-02T11:44:00.000-05:00

In beginning Part II, I should probably throw in a few words about my travelling companions/partners in crime, Ndandula, Mwenya and Mucho, all of whom are around my age.

I’ve known Ndandula, Munjongo and Esther’s youngest daughter, for some time now, and she’s always been my main connection in Lusaka. Ndandula has a job with the UN in Zambia, working primarily with refugees coming to Zambia from surrounding countries such as Zimbabwe, Angola and the Democratic Republic of Congo. Ndandula is awesome. She’s fun and often outspoken and doesn’t take crap off of anybody, a far cry from the quiet, submissive women that I’ve been around for months in rural Zambia.

Mwenya, Ndandula’s best friend, works for the UN as well. She was without a doubt the spark plug of the group, always energetic and willing to go anywhere or do anything. Mwenya wears her hair in dread-locks, a style that is pretty uncommon for Zambian women. Having lived with Steven Lowry for three years of my life I of course know more than my fair share about the science of dread-locks and was thus able to connect with her right away. Man, I love this girl. She is very cool.

Mucho had somehow gotten hooked up with the two others a while back and had hit it off with them. He is, shall we say, a stout fellow who, like Mwenya, was basically down for whatever. I never really understood what Mucho does for a living. I guess I didn’t press it because hey, who wants to talk about work during a vacation, right? Mucho was a bad influence right from the start and was responsible for my involvement in a number of non-blog-postable shenanigans. For this I will always be grateful.

These three are from the city. They are very African but, in a way, have been westernized, I would say. They all have good office jobs. They like to eat pizza. They go to see movies at a movie theater. They’ve casually dated other people. They listen to Beyonce Knowles.

I’ll be honest, I don’t have many people in super-rural Siavonga that I would consider great friends. Don’t get me wrong. The people are kind and welcoming and very cool to be around. But there’s a cultural barrier there that, for the most part, seems to prevent me from reaching a deep understanding with anyone. It’s sad, but that’s the way it is. I’ve tried, and I’ve made a number of friends, but nobody that I would say that I can really connect with. Luckily, I connected with my three travelling companions right off the bat.

So, again, while I’ve got love for my homies in Siavonga, it was nice to be able to talk to and really relate to other people for a least a few days.

And now, back to the trip highlights...

Having survived the Victoria Falls monkey trap, the group carried on in high spirits. The next day we set off early on a trek across the border into Botswana. We exchanged some kwacha (Zambia’s currency) for pula (Botswana’s currency), hopped in a cab and rushed off on the 45 minute or so trip to the border. The border crossing was a breeze and we got on a bus to the nearby town of Kasene. We didn’t have any plans and, to be honest, there wasn’t much to do there, but it was cool to see a new country and there were still a few highlights.

As if it hasn’t been difficult enough trying to get around in a country with nine or so major languages, now I was hearing another completely different one in Kasene. I didn’t have much room in my brain for Swana, the local language, although I did learn how to say “That girl has a big butt”, a phrase that I now know how to say in four different southern African languages. I get really great responses whenever I drop that one on people who aren’t expecting it. I’m fully aware that one day I’m going to catch a beat down for it, but at this point it’s still a risk I’m willing to take.

We walked around the town for a good part of the day. For the most part it was similar to other towns I’ve been around in Zambia, although it was interesting to notice a few of the subtle differences. The roads were much better, for one. And so were most of the houses. Even in the areas of town that were clearly where the lower classes live, the houses were well built and better organized than many that I’ve seen in Zambia. Also, instead of cows and goats roaming around, I saw a number of what looked to be boars. That was weird.

And speaking of animals, I had my first African elephant sighting. We were traveling on a minibus going back to the border and spotted two very large elephants just hanging out by the road. Nobody else seemed too amazed. Ho hum, just another day in Botswana, I suppose. But it gave me a great sense of satisfaction knowing that people are coming into Zambia and paying exorbitant rates to take safaris and see elephants and that I got to see two close up for the price of a bus ticket.

So, that was about it for Botswana. We walked around and ate lunch and headed back for mother Zambia in the early evening.

We piddled around Livingstone for a few days and, before we knew it, Christmas Eve was upon us.

My Christmas Eve/Christmas routine has been unflinchingly rigid over the past few years in Richmond. I like it that way. This year, obviously, being thousands of miles away from friends and family forced me to deviate from this routine, but everything ended up working out just fine.

For Christmas Eve supper we got dressed up and went out to a nice little Livingstone restaurant where I slammed Coca Colas like it was my J-O-B. I treated myself to very large steak which, given the fact that I’ve been forced into a life of quasi-vegetarianism by circumstance in my new home of Siavonga, was just about the best thing I’d ever eaten in my life. They had a guy serenading everyone with a guitar who sang some Bob Marley songs, which of course my dread-locked friend, Mwenya, and I enjoyed a great deal.

During my typical Christmas Eve routine, the late evening is a time for worship at Crestwood’s 11 o’clock service. I really love worshipping at the service. The music is beautiful and you always get to see friends who have come back to Richmond for the holidays.

My Zambian Christmas Eve routine was a bit different, as the late evening was a time for bumping in a night club in downtown Livingstone. Hey, it’s where my group led me, and who was I to argue? Throughout the night I was surrounded by beautiful, scantily clad young Zambian women dancing and having a good ol’ time. It felt like I was right in the middle of a 50 Cent video. Merry Christmas to me. I danced/sweated quite a bit and had a good ol’ time myself. I feel pretty good about my dancing performance, and truly believe that if I can hold my own on a Zambian dance floor I can hold my own on any dance floor in the world. My goodness these people can move.

After such a fun, action-packed Christmas Eve the rest of the trip was pretty tame by comparison. Although, I did have another one of my life’s proudest moments when I was thrown into the middle of a Zambian tribal dispute. But I suppose I’ll save that one for the conclusion in Part III...

Livingstone Shenanigans PART I

2009-12-29T11:53:00.000-05:00

I got a call from Ndandula, my good friend in Lusaka, earlier this month, during which she hit me with a proposition. She and two of her friends were making a road trip down to Livingstone, Zambia, over the week of Christmas, where they planned to bounce around to Botswana, Namibia and Zimbabwe (all three countries border Zambia near Livingstone). She wanted to know if I wanted to join them, thus posing somewhat of a dilemma for me.

You see, I am the biggest fan that road trips ever had. It’s great to move around, see new places and experience new things. I hadn’t been able to travel around as much as I would have liked to since arriving, so the opportunity to jump a few borders was appealing. And the day to day grind of running multiple businesses in sub-Saharan Africa had led me to the brink of insanity, so getting out of Siavonga would surely be beneficial to my mental health. Finally, as it’s been all work and very little play for me for some time I felt the strong need to engage in shenanigans of some type.

On the downside, if I went on the trip I wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas with my Namumu family, and something about ditching orphans on Christmas made me feel pretty terrible. I’d miss the Namumu Christmas Feast and the worship services.

I tossed and turned over this one for a few nights, believe me, but in the end I decided to hit the road. I packed my bags, told all my Namumu nieces and nephews that I loved them very much and that I’d miss them, and hopped a bus to meet the group in Lusaka. And, despite the occasional pangs of guilt I’ve felt during the week, I haven’t looked back. It was a very, very good week.

Shenanigans did indeed ensue. Some occurrences were funny, some were scary, and some are certainly not suitable for public consumption. Here are some of the highlights:

In order to get down to Livingstone from Siavonga, you have to take a minibus up to Lusaka, Zambia’s capital, first. Lusaka is where Ndandula (girl), Mwenya (girl) and Mucho (boy), my fellow road-trippers, live and work, so I headed up on a Saturday morning to spend the day and night there with them before setting off on Sunday for Livingstone. The vacation kicked off quite well as that night we hit up a Zambian karaoke bar in the city. I wish I had more time to delve into this mind-blowing experience, but I will say that performing Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” in front of a packed house in a dingy Lusaka bar and receiving an incredible crowd response may have been one of the proudest moments of my life.

The next day we hopped on a big chartered bus to get to Livingstone, which, luckily, unlike the minibuses, don’t require you to ride in the fetal position for hours on end while listening to crappy bootlegged African pop music that the drivers like to blast full volume. It was a pleasant seven hour journey. Plus, they played “Blood Diamond”, starring Leo Dicaprio, on the overhead TVs, a good (albeit violent) movie that I would recommend checking out. You know, I’ve spent a lot of time with some of these white fishing camp owners around Siavonga, some of whom were pushed out of Zimbabwe (like Leo in the movie) or have come up from South Africa. Let me tell you something, they got Leo’s character down perfectly. From the accent to the brash demeanor to the chain smoking, most of these guys are exactly like that. Way to go on that one, Leo. So anyway, again, it’s pretty violent, but it poses some interesting questions about Africa and what we in the US can or can’t do to help, so check it out.

Once in Livingstone, we set up shop at a small, relatively inexpensive lodge in the city that primarily caters to back-packer types moving about in southern Africa. The rooms were tiny and there was a central courtyard with a large grassy area, trees and a pool, so it was easy to make friends as everybody usually just hung out in the courtyard. I sure met some characters at this place. There was Dennis, a middle-aged man from the UK who has bicycled all over Africa, competes in triathalons on a regular basis and did yoga in the lodge’s courtyard daily. There was Carolla, a German woman living in Canada who is looking into setting up an orphanage in Zambia somewhere. There were a few Peace Corp volunteers and your average vacationers.

But, I’d have to say that the coolest people I met were Josh and Nicole, a young married couple from the US of A. Nicole was in the Peace Corp in Ethiopia and Josh, a carpenter, lived there with her for a year. They met on the Appalachian Trail, as Josh was hiking the entire thing and Nicole was hiking a short stretch with some friends. Now, though, they’ve bicycled down from Ethiopia and are on their way to Cape Town, South Africa. What a couple of maniacs. They were kind and friendly and fun to be around. I got to chat with them about life, love and Africa. Josh inspired me to hike the AT when I get back to the US and to grow a longer beard like his was (saw a picture, it was large and in-charge, and Nicole still fell in love with him anyways...it brings joy to my heart to know that such women are indeed out there). They both inspired me to travel around Africa a bit more.

So, we ended up spending all of our nights at this lodge and just moved around during the day.

I’ll end Part I with an animal encounter I experienced at the beautiful Victoria Falls on day one.

Livingstone is home to Victoria Falls, a very large, very powerful, very beautiful group of waterfalls. The Falls are a very popular tourist destination, one of the biggest draws to Livingstone, Zambia’s tourism capital. Rightfully so. The size of the Falls is unbelievable. I’d had the opportunity to see them the last time I was in Zambia, but they are without a doubt worth seeing again and again.

Our group went to see the Falls on our first morning in Livingstone. It was a warm, sunny day and the mist from the Falls felt wonderful. We walked along the narrow path to all the small viewing areas. We sat and stared, took pictures and engaged in other such touristy activities. Down beneath the Falls there’s an area known as the Boiling Point, where the water rushes down and churns as though it’s boiling, before it flows away down the river. I had heard it was nice and convinced our group to head down the long path to check it out.

So, we meandered down the narrow, steep path, surrounded by trees and bushes on either side. The path is set a ways away from the other viewing areas and I’m not sure everyone who comes to the Falls knows about it, so we were the only ones there. We made it to the bottom, sat and watched the water for a while, and then headed back up the hill.

As we continued trudging up the path we began to spot a number of baboons of all shapes and sizes, roaming around nearby, no less than 10 or 12, I’d say. Hmm, I thought. That’s interesting. I didn’t see any baboons around the last time I was here. They were running around and making very, very loud monkey noises. Maybe they’re fighting, maybe they’re having sex, maybe we’re in their territory and they’re pissed off, who knows? I thought.

As we got a little higher we noticed a baboon of medium build laying down and staring off into space, smack dab in the middle of the path. Ok, I thought. Let’s not annoy this guy. Let’s just wait for a hot second until he moves, I told my group. So we waited.

Shortly thereafter, a group of around 5 large baboons started convening around 20 meters down the hill, right around the path below us, thus cutting off our only means of escape (at this point on the path there were rock faces to either side of us). It felt like we had been led into their clever little monkey trap and that they were going to pounce on and eat us.

Now, Victoria Falls is a touristy area. Part of me said, you know what, this is ridiculous. These animals have to be tame and peaceful. There’s no way that the people running this place would let wild and crazy animals run around near tourists. We should just walk right up to it and go around it or shoo it away, this part said. After all, I’ve gone out for long periods of time into the bush around Namumu. I’ve been pretty close to baboons out there. I can handle myself.

But you know what? I’d seen/heard of so many ridiculous things happening in southern Africa that the other part of me realized that a brutal monkey attack would not be outside the realm of possibility.

So we stood there and waited. And waited. And waited.

Around 30 minutes later a group of young girls came bouncing around the corner, down the path. The baboon in the path hopped up and immediately ran away. We looked back and the monkeys at the bottom of the hill had gone too. Just like that. No noise. No animosity. Nothing. Our fears were thus proven completely and totally baseless. By young girls.

In order to live with myself I’ve convinced myself that the girls never saw any of the baboons, that if they had they would have done exactly what we had been doing, that they were in fact no braver than we were.

Please don’t try to convince me otherwise.

Siavonga Christmas

2009-12-18T08:34:00.000-05:00

The Christmas Season is upon us, but not much has changed here in Siavonga. There aren’t too many preparations going on that I can see.

But I did watch “Love Actually” the other day to get myself into a Christmas mood, and now I’m happy to say that I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes.

Though I did have to watch it alone...and cried to myself when Colin Firth proposed to Just-In-Cases girl...and in no way is that depressing. Ah, I really need to get out more.

Schools have been on break for the past few weeks and won’t be opening again until January. During these breaks, a number of Namumu’s resident children go off to stay with other relatives in the surrounding villages for a while. A few stick around. Right now, there are around 20 boys and 10 girls staying at Namumu over the break. With the numbers down it’s a lot quieter than usual around here.

I’ve been asking around, trying to get an idea of how people typically celebrate Christmas here and have gotten some interesting responses.

There’s a significant Seventh Day Adventist population here, and as they choose not to celebrate Jesus’ birthday on the 25th that whole group does absolutely nothing. What a bummer that must be.

As for the rest, there isn’t a great deal of gift-giving on Christmas day, as most are living in abject poverty and are struggling to get by. Also a bummer.

Most people do upgrade their meals at least, splurging on chicken or beef to go along with the ever-popular nsima, feasting together as families. So that’s nice.

Besides feasting, most non-SDA church goers spend much of the season worshipping in their respective churches. They sing and dance and eat and have a good ol’ time. Many congregations stay up all night Christmas Eve and worship all the way through Christmas day. So that’s nice, too.

As for my little Namumu nieces and nephews remaining here for the holiday, they’ll be getting a nice little Christmas feast, as is their usual custom. They’ll eat some beef, chicken, nice bread and lots and lots of cookies.

And a local fishing company owner contacted me the other day and informed me that the Siavonga Rotary Club, of which he is a member, would like to make a contribution to Namumu by buying small gifts for the children. It’s nice to know that even in Siavonga there are people looking after these children.

So there’s your Christmas update from Siavonga. I hope it finds you well and in the holiday spirit and that you all have a wonderful Christmas.

The King of Kapenta

2009-12-10T09:53:00.001-05:00

I’ve given my right-hand kapenta fishing man, Mubita, a shout out here and there, but I certainly haven’t given enough credit where credit is due. This guy is indispensible.

Jobs in the kapenta fishing industry are rarely 5 day/40 hour a week jobs. Mubita’s is no exception. When we are fishing locally and parking our boats at the nearby harbor, Mubita is there every single afternoon to see the boats off, making sure they are ready to go, and he’s there every single morning when the boats come in, weighing and selling the catches, recording the sales and inspecting both boats.

When our guys are camped out at Chirundundike Island, Mubita is there, supervising it all and keeping our fishermen in line.

During the full moon breaks, while our fishermen are all off duty, Mubita is working with me nearly every day, planning for the coming month, arranging maintenance work and making reports.

It’s not uncommon for us to work together every day of the month without a single day off.

And you know what’s interesting? He has never complained. He loves to work. I’ve even tried to force him to take a few days off recently and he’s flat out refused, because there’s work to be done.

And still, for all his efforts, Mubita’s salary remains well below the average industry wage for his position. And, on top of that, he doesn’t get the respect he deserves from the Namumu Management Team. He’s more or less treated like a second class citizen. It’s a real shame.

But don’t worry, I tell him how awesome he is from time to time to keep his spirits afloat. If you want to tell him how awesome he is just drop a comment and I’ll deliver the message.

Mubita lives in a small, one-room home with burned brick walls and a grass roof. He’s got a cute little wife who cooks for him every night. He has an “I Love Jesus” baseball cap that he wears nearly every day. Obviously, Mubita doesn’t live a lavish lifestyle, but I still think he’s doing alright.

In his spare time Mubita really likes to read. I’m proud to say that, in addition to his daily Bible reading he is a member of the Namumu Book Club. He’s getting really into the Hardy Boys series. Thanks to my friend, Sylvia, the Namumu library contains around a bazillion Hardy Boys books (was that guy Dixon writing all day every day of his life?), so Mubita should be busy with that for a while. The other day, while we were working on the boats, he gave me a full on play by play of “The Hardy Boys: Camp Death” or something like that, which took over an hour. Can’t say it sounded like my cup of tea, but I’m glad he’s enjoying it.

I’ve fielded a number of requests for prayer requests. Today, pray that God will give Mubita the strength to carry on under the present conditions, because Namumu got more than they bargained for with him. Let’s hope he sticks around.

Chicken Slayer

2009-12-02T14:46:00.002-05:00

Remember way back in July, when Tom from Texas guest-posted about his stay here and the curse of Pedro the Chicken?

Well, meet Pedro, my first African kill and the cause of a number of subsequent misfortunes for the crew from Texas.

Man, I love this picture. A number of people from church and elsewhere have asked me to send back a picture of me in Africa. Even though this was taken a while back and I look much more skuzzy/Chuck Norrisy/different now, this is how I’d like to be thought of and remembered back home in the US. Sam the Chicken Slayer.

Kapenta Camp

2009-12-02T14:28:00.000-05:00

Here is a scene from the Namumu Kapenta Fishing Team’s home away from home, the camp at Chirundundike Island.

This was taken in the early morning as the boats were just arriving. Here the kapenta catches are being weighed before they are taken to the drying racks.

Each blue crate you see can hold around 50 kgs of fresh kapenta. Back in September, Namumu’s record-breaking month of fishing, these guys would come back with as many as 10 or 11 crates filled to the brim on each rig. During a bad month, there are times when both boats combined might come back with less than one crate between them. It’s a business with a good deal of variation and there ain’t much you can do about it. Every single fishing company on Lake Kariba is at the mercy of the weather and kapenta breeding habits.

Still, even during the worst months Namumu’s Fishing Team has squeezed out a comfortable profit.

Kapenta fishing is Namumu’s big money-maker, so pray that the work can continue to operate successfully and support the institution as a whole.

Oh, and Chuck, do you see that net in the background? That’s my boat.

Hurray, Pictures! Part II

2009-12-02T05:14:00.002-05:00

Meet Owen, one of the boys currently enrolled in our Carpentry Training Program.

Owen got off to a rough start at the beginning of his training. At first it took a bit of prodding to get him out to the workshop every day. He received his fair share of George Lyle ear-flicks. On what was supposed to be the first day of his training I found him in the boys’ dormitory laying out on his bed in the early afternoon spread out, face down, out cold, asleep. What a lazy bum. This was a common theme for his first week of training.

Fortunately, the George Lyle Tough Love School of Discipline paid off and Owen’s attendance has improved. In fact, in November, it was near perfect. I think he only missed one afternoon for some school activity. He’s doing well and seems to be genuinely enjoying his work. He even seemed upset when I recently explained to him that this phase of his training would be ending at the end of the month of December.

Here he is at the beginning of his training working on a small bench, one of his initial, simple projects. Since this time he has made major contributions to the production of bed frames, tables and chairs.

We’ll be sure to keep on Owen so that he doesn’t relapse into his lazy ways...

Hurray, Pictures! Part I

2009-11-29T08:04:00.009-05:00

Well folks, I figured it was time to mix things up a bit this week, but after battling it out with my camera, my computer and the Namumu Internet connection I only have two photos to share. I’d post more but my goodness these took a long time to load. I’ll try to get you some more soon. Enjoy:

I faced a real dilemma in getting you a picture of my little next-door neighbor, Junior. Now, I can’t very well go around posting pictures of naked children on the internet. However, in order to capture one of the rare moments when he’s actually wearing pants I’d probably have to stake out his house for weeks.

My solution? This tasteful little number here. Here’s Junior, on the right, next to Royd, his older cousin who also lives next door, sitting on my front porch, a place where I’ve spent hours upon hours sitting, eating, sleeping, reading and day-dreaming. I think I had just finished reading the ever-popular “Berenstein Bears” with Royd, though here he’s holding some other children’s book. Here you see Junior trying to get a handle on Ernest Hemingway’s “Snows of Kilimanjaro”. He had a tough time with it, so I think we’ll wait a few years and then get him started with the “Berenstein Bears”, too.

Speaking of Junior, I had an interesting realization the other day.

His mother and other relatives often call him “Tata”, the literal Tonga translation of which is “Father”. It’s actually a pretty common nickname for little guys like him. So, naturally, I started calling him “Tata” as well from time to time.

These days, Junior is doing his fair share of talking, and one of the first things he’s learned to say is “Tata”. Whenever I’d say “Tata” to him he’d say it back to me. Then, not long thereafter, he’d start yelling “Tata” at me all the time to get my attention.

For a while I just figured he was yelling that out at me because he didn’t know any other words to yell, but then I started to really think about it...

I think it’s quite possible that Junior thinks I’m his actual father. Yikes.

It actually make sense. His real father, the brother to Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager that lives next door, is enrolled in some schooling program in another part of the country and hasn’t been around much for the first months of Junior’s life. I’ve spent a fair amount of time with the family next door and therefore with Junior as well. I’ve helped feed him and put him to bed. When I come home from work one of the first things I do is throw down my bag and play around with him. He may very well be calling my “Father” on purpose.

Man, oh man, I don’t know how I’ll handle this one. I suppose I should take care of it soon before it becomes a major point of confusion in his life. I wouldn’t want his mother to eventually have to deal with his inevitable question of, “You mean I’m gonna stay this color?”

In the meantime, let me clear up any rumors before they get out. Even though he may say that I am the one, the kid is not my son.

Taken way back in April, this photo documents one of our first bean harvests at Namumu (the handfuls of beans here are just a sample).

From left to right you see Chuck Norris, Clivert aka the Sweater, Kabuba aka Mabboli aka Eye Booger, Lucky (yes, that’s his real name) aka Mabisi aka Sour Milk, Nancy aka Mrs. Jealousy and Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager, who appears to be taking a nap.

Yes, I’m proud to say that I contributed to the nick-naming of every child just mentioned.

Ahhh, these were the good ol’ days, before cows and water pipe failures destroyed our beautiful gardens. Hopefully soon we’ll get them back soon...

Incoherent Rainy Season Ramblings

2009-11-16T10:39:00.003-05:00

The rainy season has officially begun here in Zambia, which has led to a few interesting changes in my life.

Most importantly, it has cooled things down quite a bit, which has made me considerably less miserable throughout each and every day.

Unfortunately, however, the onset of rains has forced me to change my sleeping arrangements.

For a while there, like many of my local Zambians I was sleeping outside on my porch every night (yes, mom, under a mosquito net). Inside it was feeling a bit too much like a sauna for me, which, though lovely after a good hard workout is not so lovely when one is trying to get a good night's sleep. So, every night I would set up my little area, putting out a mattress and sheets under the net, and every morning I would move it all back inside. It was a pain at first, but after daily practice I got so I could do it with NASCAR pit-crew like precision and speed.

It was very, very nice being able to lay back and stare at the stars, thinking about life before drifting off to sleep, and to feel the breeze throughout the night.

Now, however, it rains at night from time to time, so in an effort to stay dry I’ve had to pack up and move inside.

Although, the rain isn’t the only reason I’ve moved my bed inside. Much to my chagrin, the rainy season has brought with it a new slew of insects, most notably scorpions. As a matter of fact, I just killed a small one with my shoe a few short minutes ago. Wow, those things are ugly and terrifying, and as much as I’d like to wake up in a bed full of them like that chick from Charlie Sheen’s “The Arrival” (awesome movie by the way, if you’re into unintentional comedy) I figured I’d better pack things up and sleep inside from now on.

Speaking of insects, I was surprised the other day to see many of my little Namumuans chasing, catching and stockpiling a certain type of winged insect. I saw them doing it in the late afternoon the other day and assumed that these insects did something cool, perhaps lighting up at night like fireflies.

No, no, they were catching them so that they could fry them and eat them. Yikes. They keep trying to get me to try them too. Double yikes.

Otherwise, things are just swell here at Namumu.

Junior has been out of town with his mother for a few days, so I haven’t been pooped on lately, which is nice.

Wendy is on book number five with me. I’ve gotten her going on Orson Scott Card’s “Ender’s Game”, one of my all-time favorites. It’s science fiction, so I had my doubts as to how she’d handle it, but luckily Wendy is nerdy enough to enjoy it.

Mubita, my trusty kapenta fishing rig foreman has been in rough shape lately. His hands and feet have swollen up so badly that he hasn’t been able to walk or even hold a pen in his hand. He’s tried to convince me that somebody must have dropped a Black Magic spell on him or something of the sort (I’ve heard a number of people blame their illnesses on something similar). I told him that regardless of the cause, I’d ask people to pray for him. So, if you could, go ahead and pray for Mubita to heal up soon, for my sake as well, because it’s tough doing my job without him.

Speaking of fishing, I was out on the lake fishing with our guys the other night and on the way out we spotted a big ol’ hippopotamus. A very big ol’ hippopotamus, actually. It was out roaming around and eating on a small island out on the lake. It was a hungry hungry hippo indeed.

Oh, and back to the rain, that same night fishing we got absolutely pounded by a storm, and while there is a small tin roof covering the deck of the boat we still got gooshed.

There was a little bit of stinging rain, big ol’ fat rain, rain that flew in sideways, and sometimes the rain even seemed to come up from underneath.

So, not a very fun night, but an interesting experience nonetheless.

Well, that’s about all I got for now. Thanks to all that have posted comments and sent me emails recently, I’ve enjoyed them all. Holler at me any time...

Training our little Namumu-ans (Namumu-ites? Namum-ans?)

2009-11-08T03:50:00.004-05:00

The Official Namumu Carpentry and Welding Training Program is up and running smoothly these days. Finally.

Here’s the thing. These kids won’t be staying at Namumu forever. When they turn 18 and finish school they will be expected to move out of the Orphanage. They’ll be out, living with other relatives or perhaps on their own. Obviously, it’s important for Namumu to help them gain the knowledge and skills necessary to prepare them for post-Namumu life.

And that’s why we have started programs like this carpentry and welding training for some selected children. Carpenters and Welders don’t make too much money around here. Most just eek out a living. But, in a developing country plagued by unemployment, both are still jobs that pay the bills. While we’d like all our Namumu children to grow up to be doctors or lawyers or scientists or journalists, it probably won’t happen. Hence, we have this program.

In our carpentry and welding operations we have a senior carpenter and a senior welder, both with assistants. In the past we’ve encouraged certain children to stop by the workshop whenever they are free to learn a thing or two. Some actually got pretty good. But we never really had a formal training system in place. Not one that lasted, anyway. Things were never really organized well and therefore the training wasn’t as effective as it could be.

Now, I know that putting together a simple training program for a few children sounds incredibly simple. Many of you may even be wondering why it has taken so long to get things like this going. In fact, if I was reading this from back home, I know I’d be wondering that myself.

Well, there were a number of obstacles for starting this program in particular, most of which are difficult to foresee if you’ve never lived in southern Africa. I think that by looking at this program in particular it gives you a good idea about what general obstacles we face here and what will and won’t work.

So here’s why it took so long...

First of all, we’re dealing with kids here. The ones we are training are in the 12 to 16 age range. Like many early teens all over the world, these children can be very difficult to keep in line, with short attention spans and wavering interests. Maybe they felt like doing carpentry yesterday but have changed their mind today. Maybe today they want to be something else. Or maybe they don’t feel like doing anything at all. Even though they are growing up and maturing (most of them, anyway), they are still children and it can be difficult to keep them on track.

And, given the fact that they are all living at an Orphanage, it’s not like I can call up their parents and ask them to get their children in line. Both the boys and girls have a caretaker, but that’s not quite the same.

Secondly, there’s the issue of time. Time is treated differently here in Africa. It’s one of the first things you notice when you get here. Nobody is on a tight schedule. Church services that are scheduled to begin around 10 am usually start around 10:30 or even 11. Sometimes they might start around 10, but who knows. It’s totally unpredictable. Nobody knows and nobody seems to care much. It’s just the way it is.

So, setting up a system where children come at 2 pm after school and work until 5 pm is doomed to failure. It will never happen. Schedules just don’t exist.

Third, there’s the fact that their school schedules are ridiculous here. Because the Namumu Community School caters to grades 1 through 7, and because there are only 4 classrooms, they have a staggered schedule. And not only that, sometimes their schedules shift throughout the year. And not only that, sometimes the teachers set things up in the afternoons where the children have to come back to the school to clean it up.

Needless to say, setting up a training program around the school system is not easy.

Finally, there are limitations to what can and can’t be done at our carpentry and welding workshop. It is not a big workshop. In fact, it’s really not much of a workshop at all. There are a few tables and benches set up underneath two small tin-roof shelters. There are a limited number of tools. Namumu is always financially strapped and this is probably the way the workshop will stay. This puts a limit on how many children can be taught and how effective that teaching can be.

So, there you go, that’s what we’re dealing with.

Now, instead of going into all the wrong ways we’ve tried to set up a program, I’ll just go ahead and tell you the way we’ve got things now. The right way.

At the moment we’ve got 2 boys training in carpentry and 1 training in welding. At first, Namumu Management pushed for more children to be taught at once, but this way has been much more effective. With small numbers they get the individual attention that they wouldn’t get if they were part of a big group.

This small group will only be training for 3 months, at which point their skills will be evaluated. After that, we will start with another small group. Three months is enough time for them to pick up the basic skills that they need but is short enough of a time period that the guys can remain focused and motivated throughout. There’s an end in sight and gives them something to work towards.

There is no set schedule. They are simply expected to come over to the workshop in the afternoons whenever they aren’t at the school. If they can only make it for 30 minutes or an hour, that’s fine, as long as they make it over. They are expected to be there every week day unless they have a good excuse.

As for enforcement, I’ve happily taken on that roll. I do a little patrol every afternoon, walking around to the boys’ dormitory to make sure they aren’t just lazing around and giving them a George Lyle Ear Flick if they are. Kebby, the boys’ caretaker, is on patrol as well. We had some problems at first, but now they’ve caught on and usually get over without my prodding.

So, there it is, the program is up and running. Our carpentry and welding guys are doing a great job with the children. They’ve already learned a lot. While it may be just a small accomplishment, it’s still a step in the right direction.

Muleya's Birthday Party

2009-10-30T11:40:00.000-04:00

I got to attend a nice little birthday party last weekend. Well, I guess you could call it a birthday party. Whatever it was, it was fun.

Muleya, my little next door neighbor and sister of the infamous (infamous means MORE than famous) Junior the Pooper, was turning five. Birthdays aren’t that big of a deal ‘round these parts, but people do take note of them and sometimes celebrate.

So, I figured, what better way to celebrate than by slaughtering a live animal? I dropped some money on Chealo, Muleya’s 18 year old cousin, and got her to pick up a big ol’ chicken at the local market for supper. Chickens aren’t that expensive. We got a big one for K20,000, about US $4. Still, you have to keep in mind that Zambia is one of the world’s poorest countries and many can’t afford to eat chicken on a regular basis, so it’s a nice treat.

As usual, I insisted that I be the one to do the slaughtering. Having financed the purchasing of the bird I didn’t feel out of line in doing so. So, I sliced it up and gave it over to Chealo to cook up.

Oh boy, what a party. We sat out on mats on the ground in the back yard and ate chicken and nsima and cabbage. We talked and laughed and threw food at each other. It was a clear, breezy night and the stars were out and in full effect. The cows were mooing and serenading us in the background.

The party suffered a minor setback when the birthday girl, walking around with her chicken in her hand, tripped and dropped her chicken in the sand. Man, she started bawling. I told her that it was ok, that it was her party and she could cry if she wanted to.

So, all in all it wasn’t that different from most other nights here. They usually eat outside like that and I often join them. But we did get to eat a big ol’ chicken, and that was nice. In a way I felt like I was back home at Two-For Tuesday.

So that was the “party”.

Later on we were sitting around and chatting, and we started talking about Christmas. They asked me what we did at Christmas time in the US. So I told them. I asked them what they did for Christmas here. One of the girls looked at me and said quite matter-of-factly, “Well, Sam, pretty much exactly what we’re doing right now,” ie. sitting around and not doing much of anything. She didn’t say it in a negative way. Just stating the facts.

I’ve come to find out that most churches have a lot going on around Christmas time, but, for the most part, it sounds like there won’t be a whole lot going on different from the usual.

That’s how it goes out here in Siavonga. There ain’t much changing from day to day.

And you know what? That’s a-ok with me. Give me a little chicken here and there and I’ll do just fine.

Chuck Norris No More

2009-10-26T11:29:00.000-04:00

An interesting shift occurred recently without my realizing it.

It all became apparent as I was strolling through the streets of Lusaka last week. Edwin Luneta, the Namumu Finance Manager, Zenzo, Namumu’s Assistant Accountant, and I were there to take care of a few items of business. They were submitting a quarterly report to a big Namumu donor organization and I was renewing Namumu’s fishing license.

As we walked here and there throughout the city something very strange happened. My hair is a bit longer now and my beard a bit bushier and this time, for the first time, not one person called my Chuck Norris. No, no, they all called me something else. This time I heard, “Hey! It’s Jesus!” no fewer than 10 times. No joke.

The strange thing is that it wasn’t a slow shift from one name to the other. I mean, I would have anticipated that maybe the number of people shouting that I look like Chuck Norris would slowly decline and the number of people shouting that I look like Jesus would slowly increase. No, it was a sudden shift from one to the other.

So, as I see it, somewhere along the line I instantaneously transformed from looking like Chuck Norris to looking like Jesus (or, at least, what people in Zambia think that Jesus looked like).

Go figure.

I’ve got to say, one thing I’m very much enjoying about my life in Zambia is the opportunity it has afforded me to, for the most part, show a blatant disregard for my outward appearance.

Namumu is in a very rural area. Needless to say, most of the people in the surrounding villages don’t put too much effort into getting dolled up every morning. Most everyone’s wardrobe options are pretty limited. It’s common to see people wearing the same shirt every day, or to rotate between two outfits every other day. This isn’t true for everyone, there are definitely some sharp dressers, but it’s true for a good number.

So, all this goes to say that I can get away with looking like crap some of the time and that makes me happy.

But don’t worry, folks, I keep myself put together for the most part. Esther Namuyamba (Munjongo’s wife) makes sure of that. She gives me a hard time if my hair isn’t combed or if my pants are dirty. Some days when I know I’m looking skuzzy and I see her coming I have to duck around the corner so she won’t see me. But don’t tell her I said that.

So, there you have it, apparently my appearance has changed quite a bit since I’ve been here. I can only imagine what they’ll be calling me in Lusaka if I’m still here walking around a few months from now…

A Zack Morris Wannabe and a Science Nerd

2009-10-16T11:20:00.000-04:00

Zambia is a beautiful country and a wonderful place to live. Let me start with that.

Still, it is a developing country and, as a result, life within it can be filled with frustration after frustration. Corrupt government leaders, underperforming schools, lack of infrastructure, it all adds up to one big headache.

But every now and then I see something that makes me hopeful for the future. Just recently two particular cases have stood out in my mind.

First, there’s Eric. Eric is a bright young chap who lives just down the road from Namumu. He is around 10 and is a student at the Namumu Community School. In fact, his father is the hippo-slaying Zambia Wildlife Official I mentioned in a blog way back.

A few weeks ago, while on a supply run to Lusaka for Namumu’s carpentry workshop, I ran into Eric’s father in the city. He was carrying two giant bags packed with candy and Jiggies, flavored corn chips that are very popular among the children of the region.

I laughed and asked him if he was trying to fatten up his family. No, he told me, the bags were not for the family. They were for Eric.

Apparently, a few months ago Eric did some work for a neighbor, clearing away a large area for planting, and was paid K10,000 (around US$2.00). Instead of immediately blowing that money on toys/candy/some other useless junk, Eric took the K10,000 and decided to start his own little business venture. Keep in mind, this is a 10 year old.

He started small, buying just one bag of candy. Then, like a little African Zack Morris, Eric sold the candy amongst his friends from school, turning a small profit. He then took his earnings and reinvested it all, buying even more candy and a few packs of Jiggies, again selling them to his friends.

The cycle continued and now, a few months later, as his father travels to Lusaka to pick up his monthly paycheck he buys candy in bulk and transports it back for Eric to sell.

It’s oh so common in this world, and especially in Zambia, for people to live beyond their means, living off credit and on the verge of financial disaster. It’s nice to know that kids like Eric are around and are thinking ahead and showing an entrepreneurial flair. I think that boy has a bright future.

Then there’s Saliya, age 12, who lives in the house just next door to me (with Junior the Pooper). Saliya is also very bright and just the other day demonstrated to me that the schools around here are actually teaching a thing or two.

Most days, when I finish work at a reasonable hour, I wander over to my home and sit around on the front porch or in the back yard, reading or chatting or watching the sunset behind the nearby Baobab tree. Recently, Saliya, who also happens to be one of my loyal readers, has taken to firing question after question at me on topics ranging from US History to World Geography to Science to Medicine. She has a very active mind.

Actually, I’m not really sure if she doesn’t know the answers and wants to hear them from me or if she does know the answers and wants to test me. Either way, she keeps them coming.

The other day we had a chat about the positions of the planets, rotation vs. revolution and the history of the universe (you know, the light and casual conversations that everyone has in the late afternoons after work).

Much to my surprise, Saliya had a pretty good grasp on all of it. She then proceeded to tell me all about energy, and about the differences between, gravitational, potential and kinetic energy (which I already knew about because I was a physics teacher…no big deal).

It made me happy to see that there are some sharp kids around here, even if Saliya is beginning to border on becoming a geeky science nerd. Actually, Zambia could use more geeky science nerds, so that would be ok.

If you have any messages of encouragement for Eric or Saliya, let me know and I’ll send them along.

Pooped on Again, a Spear Fishing Re-do and Hijacking Plans

2009-10-08T11:09:00.002-04:00

Wow. It is insanely hot here. Insanely hot. From about 7 am to 4 pm it is completely miserable. At all other hours it is only slightly less miserable. I don’t know if I will survive.

Although, the heat has afforded me the opportunity to stagger around with a carton of milk in my hand, drinking occasionally and proclaiming aloud, “It’s so hot out here…Milk was a baaaad choice.” Nobody’s gotten that one yet but I’m going to keep it up anyways because you know what? It’s funny to me.

Ahhhh, nobody gets me.

But enough with the complaining, here’s what’s been going on around Namumu lately…

Junior, the young boy next door (Innocent’s replacement) is growing up right before my eyes. I’ve seen him take his first steps and speak his first words. He gets cuter and fatter every day. His aversion to pants is still as strong as ever.

I really love that little guy, even though he pooped on me. Again. I picked him up the other day and boom, it happened. I should’ve seen it coming, though. I couldn’t even get mad at him. It’s like I always say, “Poop on me once, shame on you. Poop on me twice, shame on me.”

My army of girl readers is going strong and has even been growing as of late. Wendy is knocking out chapters of “Mercy’s Birds” like it’s her job. Vivian is stuttering less. So, if I don’t go insane from reading one crappy young adult novel after another things should keep on just fine.

I was visiting the Peters, two kapenta fishing camp owners I mentioned some time back, and they informed me that their son was returning from South Africa next week and is an expert spear fisherman. They told me to come over to fish with him sometime. Man, I’m excited. After my aforementioned fishing failures with Clivet aka the Sweater I am looking to step up my spear fishing game. I’ll keep you updated.

Our water system hasn’t broken down in a few weeks, so that’s nice.

Finally, I had an awesome follow up conversation with Zenzo, one of Namumu’s accountants, concerning local traditional marriage issues.

We were riding back from town in the Namumu vehicle. Wendy, my number one reader, was in the car, coming home from school. I had given her a newspaper to read through and she was asking me questions. She started reading an article about terrorism and plane hijacking.

“What does ‘hijacking’ mean?” she asked.

I started to explain to her when Zenzo cut in, saying, “You know, Sam, traditionally it is acceptable for a Tonga man, when he identifies a Tonga woman that he wants to marry, to get three or four large friends to “hijack” that woman, perhaps when she’s out drawing water, and to take her back to his home where he can negotiate with her family over the issue of marriage."

So, as it turns out, I might not even be needing the support money to buy a Tonga wife, I’ll only need three or four strong friends. And saving money is always good, right?

Good Times and a Whole Lotta Nudity at Chirundundike

2009-09-30T07:05:00.001-04:00

I made my second trip out to the Namumu kapenta fishing camp at Chirundundike Island this weekend. The fishing month was coming to a close and I wanted to check up on our guys one last time. My days there were slow and simple and very, very enjoyable. I’d even go so far as to say it was one of the best weekends of my life.

I’ve commented before on how the general opinion around these parts is that most fishermen are lying, stealing, drunken buffoons. Sadly, these thoughts have permeated the minds of many on Namumu’s staff and management team. Our guys are mistrusted and have been put down from time to time. I know that in some cases it’s true, there are quite a few buffoons out there on the lake. I’ve met them. And I know that stealing is occurring for many of these camps and may be occurring in ours to some degree. Still, the attitude really bothers me.

I arrived at the camp around 11:30 am on a slow moving banana boat (hot sun + slow moving banana boat + pasty white sam = red sam). I wanted my arrival to be a surprise to our guys because, even though I trust them, it’s good to keep them on their toes and aware that they might be under supervision at any time.

When I showed up, I found four of our team sitting on the shore. They came up and gave me a warm greeting. Four were just off the shore on the hill where our camp is set, sleeping in the shade. Two were around a fire, cooking nsima and kapenta, and two were sitting on a rock reading a book together about the gospel of John. Again, not exactly the raging party that those adhering to the “general opinion” might expect.

Spirits were high. Very high. Despite my jinxing of the operation with the blog post you see below, it has been a record breaking month for the Namumu team in terms of catches and sales. The program has existed since 2006 and never has a crew brought in this much kapenta. The guys were happy because they get paid according to their catches and will receive a nice little paycheck this month. But, more than that, I think they just take pride in being good at their jobs.

The sense of camaraderie with our team is unbelievable, and it’s not hard to see why. During the fishing month, when camped out at Chirundundike, our guys spend almost every minute of the day and night together, fishing at night, eating and relaxing during the day. It’s really like a family (which I think makes me the bearded white uncle).

It was a nice scene to walk in on.

To kick things up another notch, Mubita, our rig foreman, and I threw down a challenge right off the bat, saying that whichever boat caught more fish that night would receive a goat to kill and eat, paid for by Mubita and myself. As goat meat is the bomb dot com I was pretty excited about the bet myself and hoping that the boat I was on was the winner.

My first night was wonderful. Just before setting off I once again, with the hot sun bearing down on me, bathed in the cool waters of Lake Kariba and strolled around on the rocks as naked as the day I was born (obviously a great way to kick off any night…if you have the means I highly recommend it). Like the last time, I hopped on one boat (after re-clothing myself) and Mubita hopped on the other. We drove out super duper far (it’s a big lake) and, since we’d left pretty early in the afternoon, there was time to sit around and relax before the fishing started. We cooked nsima, kapenta and cabbage over a small fire and ate with the setting sun in the background. Although the weather in Siavonga has been brutally hot, out on the lake it was cool and breezy. The sun was setting over the hills on the Zambian side and I just about died it was so pretty. We sat around and talked for a while until it was time to fish. It was calm and quiet and very, very nice.

Soon it was time to get to work. We flipped on the lights, dropped the net and prepared the boat for the night (for kapenta fishing procedures see “Uncle Chuck Norris Goes to Sea” below).

Catches were good the first night and my boat won the contest and the goat. Boo ya! Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to get the goat before leaving Chirundundike so it will have to wait until next month, but Boo ya! anyways, right? I spent the night working with the guys a bit, sleeping every now and then, and staring at the stars and thinking about life. Not bad. Not bad at all.

For a short time the next day I got organized with Mubita and made plans for the following month. After that I did absolutely nothing all day but sit on the rocks and read, jumping in the lake every now and then to cool off (I wore pants this time…thinking back I’m not really sure why). My goodness it was wonderful.

I hopped on the other boat to fish the second night. As one of the crew members had gone home to Siavonga early to receive some medical attention (Pierson, the aforementioned jolly-ol’ captain of the Lucy boat, had gotten burned by the engine on his backside, an incident that allowed me to show off the fact that I know how to say, “He/She has a big butt” in Tonga, a phrase I’ve been using way more than I should be and that will probably get me into trouble in the future) I basically had to be a crew member this night and do the fishing work. As I stood there helping to bring up the net, turning the crank handle with the three others on board at 2 in the morning, I thought to myself, “I’ll bet there aren’t too many white guys that are getting to do what I’m doing right now (ie. working an African fishing boat in the middle of the night on Lake Kariba, not turning a crank handle…I’ll bet a lot of white guys get to do that). This is awesome.”

The next morning we packed up our camp and struck out early for Siavonga with the wind blowing through our hair and the sun shining on our faces, filled with the knowlege that our group had just pulled in almost 9,000 kgs of kapenta for the month.

I was right proud of our boys.

The Next Executive Director

2009-09-25T06:55:00.001-04:00

For some time now, Namumu has been searching for someone to replace The Man, The Myth, The Legend, Munjongo Namuyamba, our fearless leader and one of Namumu’s founders, as the Namumu Executive Director. At long last that search has come to an end. Namumu has officially named its next Executive Director.

His name is Mr. Phanuel Simamba. While I am not yet well acquainted with Mr. Simamba I can say that he appears to be a very nice, well spoken, intelligent man. I know that he has lived in the Siavonga area for his entire life, and that everyone who knows him believes him to be bright and hard working.

Beginning next week Mr. Simamba will begin dropping by Namumu to work with Munjongo. This will continue until the beginning of January, when Mr. Simamba will officially take over the Executive Director role.

Again, I haven’t spent much time with Mr. Simamba yet, but I was fortunate enough to be invited to a get-to-know-you type dinner with Mr. Simamba, his wife, and some of the Namumu management and staff. While there I was able to make an observation that I would argue bodes quite well for Mr. Simamba’s tenure…

The dinner took place at Eagle’s Rest Lodge, a beautiful lodge set on the shore of Lake Kariba. Ten were present and we were all seated at one long table. There were a few mini-speeches (although I’ve found mini-speeches in Africa are basically equivalent to full-length speeches anywhere else in the world) addressing the future of Namumu before we were able to enjoy dinner.

Fortunately, drinks were served and refilled throughout the series of speeches. As is usually the case here, the three soft drink choices were Fanta, Sprite, and of course the best drink in the history of mankind, Coca Cola. Out of the ten people present, eight went with Fanta. The two Coca Cola drinkers? Myself (obviously), and Namumu’s future Executive Director himself, Mr. Phanuel Simamba.

So, I’ve found out that Namumu’s future leader is a Coca Cola fan. So far the man checks out with me…

Thanks for the Support

2009-09-24T05:51:00.003-04:00

It's been a while since I've thrown out a big ol' thank you to all of you that have helped support my stay here...

So thank you, thank you, thank you, for both the financial and prayer support.

Obviously the frustrations and setbacks are many, but good, good things are happening at this place and I'm grateful that you've helped me to be a part of it.

Mr. Kabwe

2009-09-24T05:36:00.000-04:00

Tragedy struck Siavonga last Friday in the late afternoon. There was a big, big accident at the Kariba North Bank Power Station located just outside of Siavonga. Even now I’m having trouble separating fact from rumor, but I believe there was some sort of explosion and a number of fires broke out. Many workers were injured and some were killed.

One of the workers that was killed was a former Namumu employee, Mr. Briston Kabwe. Mr. Kabwe was Namumu’s head welder up until only some months ago when he took a job at Kariba North Bank. He had been at Namumu for a few years.

Even though we had not worked together I knew Mr. Kabwe pretty well. He lived close by to Namumu and from time to time he would drop in to check on Vincent, Namumu’s current head welder, his former student. He just wanted to make sure his protege was faring well. He was a nice man.

Coincidentally, I was one of the last people around here to get to see Mr. Kabwe. On Saturday morning, the day after the power station incident, I made a trip to the Siavonga District Hospital with Alfred, Namumu’s driver. The hospital was packed with dozens of men injured in the accident. Family and friends were pouring in to make sure that their loved ones were alright.

Most of the men were in a large general holding area, but Mr. Kabwe was in a separate room. He had bandages all over his body, having been badly burned. He was clearly in pain. Still, he was conscious and talking and appeared to be fine. Two days later we received word that he had been transferred to a large hospital in Lusaka. The next day we received word that he had passed away.

I attended part of Mr. Kabwe’s funeral yesterday. It was just a small gathering of family and friends as his burial won’t be until later this week. It was my second African funeral and it was mostly the same. The men split off from the women and both groups sat around and talked quietly. Or just sat. Or cried. It was terrible.

The worst part was watching Mr. Kabwe’s small children. I believe he had three in total, although I only saw his two small girls, probably only two or three years old. Both were walking around and smiling, clearly oblivious to the whole situation. I don’t think they had any idea what had happened.

It made me wonder when they would know, how long it would take for them to realize the gravity of the situation and how different their lives are going to be from now on. In a relatively impoverished area they were some of the fortunate ones, having had a man with a good job to provide for them. Now that’s all gone. I don’t know, maybe the power company will provide some type of benefits for them. Maybe not. It’s tough to think about.

Siavonga is not a big place, so almost everyone had a friend or family member working at that place. At some point today, please take a moment to pray for those in Siavonga affected by this accident.

The Jinx

2009-09-22T02:23:00.000-04:00

So I totally jinxed the Namumu kapenta fishing program with that last blog post. The very next day we had a breakdown. Whoops.

We jumped on things quickly, though. Mubita, our rig foreman, or supervisor, got the boat towed to a nearby camp and got it fixed up quickly. Now it’s back on the water and performing well again. What in years past may have kept the boat out for days or weeks Mubita managed to take care of in two days.

Still, from now on I think I’ll refrain from posting any such messages until the end of the month.

Stupid jinxes.

Reading Frenzy

2009-09-22T02:20:00.001-04:00

The reading frenzy hasn’t quite caught on as much as I would have liked, but I do have a few loyal readers nonetheless. Kebby, the boys’ caretaker, is still getting on some of the boys to keep reading at night, and I’m doing the same for the girls.

Wendy aka Mrs. MVP (did you google image search that one?) is still rocking and rolling. She finished the Ben Carson autobiography, as well as some other super crappy young adult novel about a boy in the Depression-era Southeast. Booooring. Luckily, she has now moved on to a very decent young adult novel called “Mercy’s Birds” about an outcast teenager who wears all black and dyes her hair black and mopes around all the time, etc. etc. As you might imagine, it’s a little difficult for a young girl that has never been out of her small village in southern Africa to relate to some of the things we’re reading, but I’m trying to explain things as best I can and I think she’s learning a lot.

Vivian is another one of my loyal readers these days. She’s 13 and in grade seven at the Namumu Community School. Vivian has a big stuttering problem. It shows up from time to time when she’s speaking but is most prevalent when she’s reading. Since Noah in “The Notebook” fixed his stammering problem by reading Walt Whitman out loud I’m hoping we can take care of Vivian’s problem in the same way (that’s right, I’ve seen the Notebook, wanna fight about it?).

Right now, Vivian is reading a young adult book about three bratty teenage girls who go on some camping trip and talk incessantly about boys and other such things. Not really my cup of tea, but Vivian seems to like it. Again, relating to the material is a bit of a problem for Vivian, but she’s still enjoying things.

People have asked me in the past if there’s anything that is needed at Namumu that they could send through the mail. Some have suggested books. I’ve always said that I thought the cost of sending heavy books might be a bit too high, but I’m going to go ahead and take that back. I think Namumu could use a few more children’s books and young adult books. We have some of both here, but the selection is pretty limited.

I think we’d all agree that it’s important to keep these kids reading. Many of them are motivated and want to read, but there just aren’t enough books to go around.

If you’d like to talk about ways to help out, shoot me an email at ssc2x@virginia.edu.

Fishing up a Storm

2009-09-15T03:13:00.001-04:00

The past two months demonstrate quite well the up-and-down nature of the kapenta fishing business.

Things were bad last month. Real bad. The generator on one boat fell into the water and needed to be replaced, and generators ain’t cheap. The pontoons on the same boat were badly, badly damaged. The boat only fished a few days out of the month, a month where typically, because of the warm weather, catches are very high.

We experienced a number of other problems, too. One day the other boat’s net got stuck under water. The next day that same boat’s engine broke down. One of our fisherman resigned. Things were so bad that we had to make our guys leave the camp at the far away Chirundundike Island, the place where the fishing is the best, to come operate around Siavonga, since the traveling back and forth to make repairs was becoming too expensive.

The catches of the one boat in operation, the Lucy boat, were pretty good and saved the month from being a total disaster. Still, it was a bad month.

These days Namumu fishing is back in a big way. We repaired everything that needed repairing and got our crew back out to Chirundundike Island. Holy crap, our guys are cleaning up.

In their first three days of fishing in September, our guys pulled in 2,148 kgs of kapenta.

Let me try to put that in perspective for you. In April, the total catches for the ENTIRE MONTH were 1,936 kgs. Our guys topped that in three days.

Our guys caught so much fish that we couldn’t even hire out our usual transport boat. It couldn’t carry all the kapenta we’d caught. We had to bring all of the kapenta back with one of our rigs. After four days of fishing we transported back 43 bags (a bag is 20 kgs of dry kapenta). For two boats, that’s decent work for an entire month.

Why the success? Part of it is the weather. Conditions are good. It’s heating up and there’s not much wind. Part of it is the location. We’ve set up our guys in a good area. Part of it is that we have a good crew. They’re experienced and hard-working.

Mostly, I think God knew we just needed a break.

Let’s hope this run continues.

A Change of Scenery

2009-09-15T02:33:00.002-04:00

Wow. What a ridiculous weekend. Despite beginning with a potential disaster it quickly turned out to be one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long time. It went a little something like this…

My phone rang at 4:30 am on Friday morning. It was Edwin Luneta, Namumu’s Finance Manager, telling me to come over to the office because there was an emergency. Awesome, I thought. Another emergency. What a great way to start the day.

Actually, you know what? Even though that sounds bad it really didn’t bother me too much. For one, I had been planning to wake up around 4:45 am to hop on our hired truck that would be leaving at 5:00 and heading to Lusaka to pick up supplies for the welding workshop. So, other than being slightly annoyed at being woken up a few minutes before my alarm (don’t you hate that?) I was fine.

Plus, given the way things go here at Namumu and in southern Africa in general I pretty much go to sleep every night expecting to be woken up by such a call alerting me to some emergency, so whatever.

It turns out it was another water emergency. Some dummy out in the bush started a fire that spread over the hill and burned up a portion of the piping that carries water from our bore hole to the Namumu complex. These fires are actually pretty common. People burn out wide areas so that the small game must come out of hiding, then they go a-hunting. Still, this hunter wasn’t thinking, and his or her carelessness totally screwed Namumu. Again.

However, as we are pretty savvy at handling water emergencies these days (thanks to lots of practice) we made a quick plan. We grabbed a local plumber who hopped on the hired truck with our group to go buy the necessary piping and pipe connections from Lusaka. He knew exactly what he needed and it wouldn’t be too expensive. Thus, the “emergency” turned out to be not that much of an emergency at all.

Things only got better from there.

For the most part it was ho-hum just another supply trip. Vincent and I now know exactly where to go in the city to get the lowest prices, so after bing-bang-booming around Lusaka for a few hours in our hired truck we had everything we needed. Usually such trips to Lusaka are pretty stressful, as you have to move quickly through a dirty, crowded city to pick a number of different things and finish in time to make the three hour drive back to Siavonga. But this one was smooth sailing.

Oh yea, and even though I’m sure you all think I’m making this up, some random guy on a street corner called me Chuck Norris again, so I’m three for three in Lusaka on that one. Boo ya!

Since we’d finished everything we needed to do, I figured I’d call a couple of my friends in Lusaka to see if they wanted to meet up.

I ended up chatting with Ndandula, Munjongo and Esther’s youngest daughter, and as she was just getting off work and didn’t have much going on she invited me to stick around Lusaka for the weekend and crash at her place. My work for the week was finished, and I hadn’t had a chance to get away from Siavonga and relax in a while, so I jumped right on the opportunity.

So, I was back in civilization for a few days. Mostly I was just relaxing and enjoying the change of scenery, but there were a few particularly memorable highlights.

There’s a really nice movie theater in Lusaka and I got to go see a movie, eat popcorn and drink Coca Cola. My head almost exploded from sheer excitement, which obviously speaks more to the lack of stimulation I have experienced in Siavonga lately than to the actual excitement of the experience.

I went with Ndandula and her cousin, Sonny, to see “The Hangover”. In classic African style they were looking forward to seeing some super crappy action movie, “GI Joe: The Rise of the Cobra”. However, using all the wit and charm I could muster as well referencing a strong endorsement from Chris Noack (which, given the fact that “Underworld II: The Rise of the Lycans” is one of Chris’s favorite movies was a pretty risky move) we went with “The Hangover”.

Wow, what a great choice. Very crude and very hilarious. And “The Champ” made one of the best cameos I’ve ever seen (trying to keep this blog spoiler-free).

It was an all-time great movie going experience for me, and the best part may have even been after the movie was over. I had a great urinal conversation with some 40-ish year old Zambian guy who started out the conversation chuckling and saying “Hah…boys will be boys, huh?” (you’ll understand if you see the movie…and yes, he began the conversation, not me…I think the rules of urinal etiquette are different here in Zambia).

Later on we went to an ice cream parlor, again nearly causing my head to explode. I know I shouldn’t have put down as much as I did, especially since I’ve been told I’m getting fat no fewer than ten times in the past week, but there ain’t much ice cream in Siavonga, so I had to get my fill.

I spent a number of hours over the weekend sprawled out on Ndandula’s rug watching tv. I still don’t have a tv here in Siavonga so, while my head didn’t almost explode it was still nice.

Actually, I did watch Beyonce’s “Ego” music video a few times and my head almost did explode.

And last but not least I got to make it out to a Lusaka night club where I tore up the dance floor for hours upon hours. It was fun, but the best part of the experience didn’t come until later in the night when some random guy came up to me and said, “Hey, nice beard, man, you look like John Lennon”. Can’t top that.

What a great weekend.

Another Run-in with the Enemy

2009-09-09T03:28:00.001-04:00

The cows have struck another devastating blow to the Namumu gardens. A number of devastating blows, actually. It’s very dry and very hot here. There ain’t much green around anymore. As a result, the cows are going after and eating everything, and I mean everything, that they can find. They’ve wiped out a number of our beds containing Chinese cabbage, rape, tomatoes and hot peppers. I’m pretty sure if I were in the garden when they came by and standing real still they’d try to eat me, too.

What’s that you say? We should build fences? Well, as a matter of fact we have. We’ve built a number of fences and even hired a guy from around here to build a big strong one around the main gardens in the center of Namumu.

However, much like the raptors of Jurassic Park these cows have probed the fences for weaknesses and managed to get through. They’ve managed to outwit us in nearly every one of our beds. I’ve personally seen them go under, over and around our fences.

Please pray for me, that I won’t slaughter one of these hungry animals and get in trouble with somebody from the community and get kicked out of here.

Because I’m really on the line.

Welsh Accents Rule

2009-09-09T03:25:00.000-04:00

Namumu said goodbye to two more visitors this week, probably the last two we’ll be seeing for a little while.

Debbie Price and her mother, Cynthia, came to visit us from Wales and stayed in Siavonga for a few weeks. Both put in time working in the surrounding communities as well as at Namumu. At Namumu they organized a number of sporting events for the kids and even stuck things out in the hot afternoon sun to play along with them.

It was nice to have somebody to relate to with the whole sunburn thing. These Zambians just don’t understand.

I didn’t get to spend as much time as I would have liked to with Debbie and Cynthia, but I was around them long enough to know that they are both very kind and very willing to serve, not to mention that they have some of the best accents I’ve ever heard. And they brought me hot sauce, so now we’re friends for life.

I’ve asked them to shoot me an email whenever they get a chance with something that I can post on the blog. So, be on the lookout for another guest posting. It seemed like everyone enjoyed Tom’s a while back, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy the Price’s as well. Especially if you imagine it being said with a Welsh accent…

It’s been fun, Debbie and Cynthia. Have a safe trip back.

The Tonga Bride Price

2009-09-01T13:41:00.007-04:00

I have an important issue I need to discuss.

I'm not quite sure how it started, but I was talking the other day with some of my co-workers and the issue of marriage came up.

Actually, I do know how it came up. Esther (Munjongo's wife) was giving me a hard time about how dirty my pants always are and Zenzo, one of Namumu's accountants, offered to help find me a wife that will cook and clean for me.

He started out the conversation saying, "You know, Sam, there are some very cheap Tonga women around these parts...I can make that happen."

Apparently I can have my pick. Awesome.

However, there is one catch. Getting a wife ain't cheap. 'Round these parts, traditionally the husband is supposed to pay a hefty sum to the bride's family in order to marry her.

Zenzo told me the going rate out here is around 10 heads of cattle. Since 1 head of cattle is costing around K1,500,000 (about US $300), I'm going to need around US $3,000 to make this happen.

The life of a bachelor is taking its toll on me. I don't know how much more cooking and cleaning I can take.

Anybody with $3,000 back home want to help me out?

Too many BTs

2009-08-30T12:44:00.000-04:00

Good things and bad things seem to come in waves here at Namumu. In an effort to avoid depressing all blog readers and to keep myself from posting various strings of expletives, I’ve actually been putting off writing for a few days due to a number of bad thing waves.

Just to get it out of the way, here’s a brief summary of the last two weeks:

The electric water pump on our bore hole broke down. Again. So, it was back to fetching water from the far away boreholes. Again. Our gardens took a big hit. Again. And for me, it was back to conserving water and cutting down on water usage in any way I could. Let’s just say I can count the number of times I bathed in the last two weeks on one hand…

The Toyota Surf, Namumu’s only working vehicle, broke down. Again. There were major engine problems. As we rely exclusively on the Surf to get to and from the bank daily and to transport our kapenta fishing materials this way and that we were really stuck. We had to keep hiring taxis and trucks to move us around, and man, it got expensive.

The problem generator on one of our kapenta rigs broke down. Again. We’ve had one rig fishing for the entire month, a month where, due to the weather, catches are always very, very high. So we’ve been missing out, danggit.

Things have really turned around in the last couple of days, though.

We installed a new electric water pump and our bore hole is back in action. Our gardens took a hit but will survive. And I’m bathing every day now! Hurray!

The Surf got repaired, so we’re saving on transport costs again. Hurray!

Our generator has been repaired and we’ll be fishing with two boats for the few remaining days in the fishing month. And, despite fishing with only one boat all month and incurring a number of repair and maintenance costs, it looks like we’re still going to turn a small profit this month. Hurray!

So, all that was nice.

In addition, the two younger girls that live next door that are always asking me if they can sweep my house are now always asking if they can wash my clothes. Boo ya!

Yes sir, things are looking up.

A Tonga Anatomy Lesson and Eye Boogers

2009-08-19T05:51:00.001-04:00

I was walking along the dirt road the other day and I ran into this older woman who lives in the village near Namumu. I don’t really know her well because she speaks zero English, but we at least greet each other and have basic Tonga conversations. My Tonga is getting better and so I struck up a little chat. Keep in mind this woman is probably around 60 or 70 years old.

I asked how she was. She said she was fine, but feeling a little sick. I told her that I was sorry and asked what exactly was wrong. I asked if it was her head or her stomach, pointing to each as I said them (most of my conversations like this include a fair amount of sign language).

No, neither one of those, she said. She then proceeded to say a word I’ve never heard and reach down, grabbing her you-know-what right in front of me, telling me how much it’s paining. Wow. TMI. I was nauseated for a good 20 minutes, but hey, at least I learned a new Tonga word.

On a less disgusting note, you know that part in Mark Twain’s “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” where Tom is whitewashing a fence and he dupes a bunch of kids from the neighborhood into doing it for him by pretending that whitewashing is really great and fun and something that he probably shouldn’t let them do? Well, I’ve pretty much done exactly that and have the two younger girls next door sweeping off my front and back porch every day or so. It’s awesome. It’s like I’m doing them a favor by letting them take the job from me. So, thank you for that insight into human nature, Mart Twain, thank you very much indeed.

Finally, I’m happy to report that the nicknames at Namumu are getting out of control. I’m proud to say I’ve contributed to the nicknames of no fewer than 15 Namumu children. As of right now, my two favorite nicknames for kids are “Mabisi” and “Mabboli”. Both are Tonga. “Mabisi” means spoiled milk. “Mabboli” means eye boogers. Yes, they have a word for eye boogers in Tonga. For those who have been to Namumu and have met some of the children, Lucky is “Mabisi” and Kabuba is “Mabboli”. Needless to say, Lucky and Kabuba are no longer speaking to me.

Farewell, Ted and Sue

2009-08-17T12:38:00.002-04:00

This week Namumu said goodbye to Ted and Sue Wright, two big Namumu supporters, who will soon be flying back home (well, to their other home) in the US. Ted and Sue have been working in Zambia for some time now as Regional Liaisons for the Outreach Foundation. As many reading this blog already know, the Outreach Foundation, based in the US, is one of Namumu’s main supporters.

While it seems like Ted and Sue did about a bajillion things here in Zambia and much of southern Africa, I think their job could be summarized by saying that they facilitated partnerships between organizations and churches in the US and southern Africa.

Among other things, they were a big help in facilitating my stay out here. I don’t think I’d be able to be here doing what I’m doing had it not been for their help.

Ted and Sue, we love you and we’ll miss you.

Please pray that they will have a safe trip back to the US.

Future Me

2009-08-17T12:18:00.002-04:00

Our damaged kapenta boat isn’t back on the water yet, but it will be soon, thanks largely to the help of one man, who I think deserves a blog shout out.

Andy is a nice older gentleman who runs a nearby kapenta fishing company, and nothing I could write in this blog could do justice to how cool this guy really is.

Andy is an old white guy who lives up the lake and has a lot going on. His company has eight kapenta rigs in operation. Like Namumu, he runs a small carpentry operation, too. He has farm land around Siavonga, where he grows maize and sorghum. He raises cows, pigs, goats, chickens, rabbits and pigeons (yes, apparently people buy and eat rabbits and pigeons here). I’m pretty sure that he has other businesses going on that he just hasn’t told me about yet.

Andy has lived in Zambia for most of his life, he says, though I think his family was from the UK. You can tell from his accent, which remains strong. He’s tall, tan and lanky, with a bushy white beard. He always wears really short shorts and a button down shirt with the top four or so buttons undone. Most of the time he’s just hanging around his dock on the lake, fiddling around with something or directing his workers. Basically, he’s what I aspire to be in about 30 or 40 years.

This guy has done unbelievable amounts of work for Namumu for free, including the current repair of our generator. His mechanics have helped us with major repairs no less than five times since I’ve been here. He’s loaned us equipment. He’s given me loads and loads of advice on how the kapenta business works. He’s really bent over backward for Namumu. And he never lets us pay him.

He’s just a nice old man who wants to help our Orphanage. Actually, I think he does this for other fishing camps besides us, too. I think he just likes helping people.

And that’s not all he does. Unemployment is a big problem in Zambia, and I’m pretty sure he’s employing way more people than he really needs just to get some of these local Zambians working.

After encountering more than a few people engaging in shady business practices here in Zambia, I’m glad I met Andy, a guy who, to some degree, has restored my faith in humanity.

If you’re praying today, ask that God will raise up more people like Andy in Siavonga.

Fishing Woes x 2

2009-08-10T05:20:00.002-04:00

We’ve had a rough go of it with our kapenta boats as of late.

It’s a real shame, too, because things were really looking up. We had a great month of July. Our guys pulled in more than 5,000 kgs of fresh kapenta, more than any of the other crews camped out at Chirundundike. We had total sales of more than K 21,000,000 (around $4,200) and a net profit of more than K 11,000,000 (around $2,200), very good numbers for a small company with only two rigs. Things were going quite well.

Then the winds came.

Over the full moon break, violent winds beat down upon our rig parked at the island, snapping the ropes and hurling the generator into the water. Then, the rig continued to rock. The pontoon smashed the generator, which was lying in the shallow water under the rig, to pieces, puncturing the pontoon in the process. What a bummer.

We jumped on things quickly, retrieving the generator and getting it to a friend of ours in a neighboring fishing camp to repair all he could. We purchased a few new generator parts and are hoping to get it fixed up in the next few days. We shipped Vincent, our welder, off to the island to repair the pontoon. Hopefully we’ll get the boat back in the water and fishing soon.

When I first arrived in Siavonga I was chatting with Gladice Peters, a kind woman who has run a nearby kapenta fishing company with her husband for around 40 years. One of the first pieces of advice she gave me about the kapenta business was to, “buy a lot of headache medicine”.

Now I can see why.

On a lighter note, I spent my entire Sunday afternoon out in the bush with Clivet and another Namumu boy, Stanley, wandering around and exploring the hills, trying to get my mind off our kapenta woes, if only temporarily.

It totally worked.

We managed to find a small stream down in between two giant rock faces, the perfect place to sit around and cool off after a long, hot trek over the hills. We sat around on the rocks beneath a miniature waterfall for some time. The water was about a meter deep in some places and, despite my misgivings, I dove right in. Let me tell you, Chris and JJ, it felt so good that even if amoebas found their way into my body I think it might have been worth it.

We even tried a little spear fishing in the stream. We were unsuccessful, but we made a few improvements to our spears upon returning to Namumu and I feel confident that our next outing will bring success.

Any spear fishing experts out there with any advice for us?

In summary, it was a rough week. Let’s hope we can get our act together here.

Wendy AKA Mrs. MVP

2009-07-29T08:44:00.000-04:00

Lately we’ve been trying to get the Namumu children into the habit of reading more books. There are a number of donated books lying around in the Namumu store room, children’s books and young adult books, mostly. We’ve been distributing them and encouraging the kids to read some every day. Some of the staff members have even been reading with the children during their free time.

Since I don’t have much to do in the evenings I’ve been wandering over to the small, lighted chalet near the girls’ dormitory and reading with some of the girls from time to time. Most of the girls only attend sporadically, but my homegirl Wendy is there almost every night.

Wendy is 14 years old and is in the 9th grade at Siavonga High School. Sadly, the reading skills of many of these girls are pretty terrible. A few of them in the 7th grade struggle to get through children’s books, for example. Wendy is rocking and rolling, though.

I always ask these kids what they want to do when they leave Namumu. Wendy says she wants to be a journalist. I’m trying to encourage her to work towards that goal. I told her that she needs to be reading or writing something every night, and so far I think she’s done it.

While some of the other Namumu girls around her age are struggling with reading, Wendy and I have almost made it all the way through “Gifted Hands”, the autobiography of Ben Carson, the world famous neurosurgeon. It’s not an easy read. He uses some big words and a good deal of medical terminology. Wendy has a tough time with “hemispherectomy”, a word Ben uses excessively, but she’s almost got it down. She keeps plugging away and has almost finished the book. I’m very proud of her.

Wendy is a nice girl who’s happy almost all of the time. In addition to reading she likes working in the garden and, like all other Namumu-ans, she loves professional wrestling. I’ve learned to not even bother showing up to read before 8 pm on Wednesday evenings because that’s when WWE Smackdown is on and lord knows she can’t miss that. She really likes this one wrestler named MVP and thinks that he is very handsome, but let me tell you, this guy is a total goober and I make fun of her for it constantly. Google image search for him and you’ll see what I mean.

If you have any message for Wendy or any advice on finding a way into the journalism profession give me a holler and I’ll be sure to pass it along…

Country Boys Head Out to the Big City

2009-07-27T09:52:00.001-04:00

I got the chance to skidaddle out of Siavonga the other day. We needed to get some supplies from Lusaka, Zambia’s capital, for construction on the Namumu poultry house (formerly the piggery) and for our welding guys. We hired a large truck and I joined Vincent, our head welder, and Kelly, our maintenance officer that is helping with the poultry construction, on the trip. It wasn’t too exciting, but there were a few highlights that I thought I’d share from our journey:

As you might imagine, you don’t pass many fast food restaurants on the three hour-ish drive from Siavonga up to Lusaka. So, whenever the driver felt like it was time for a pit stop we’d pull onto the shoulder and everybody did their business right on the roadside. Nobody seemed to make too much of an effort to move away from the road and into the tall grasses, either, just taking a few steps to the side. During college, I often made the claim that one of my favorite things about being in college, if not my favorite thing, was the fact that it was more or less socially acceptable for guys to pee just about anywhere. Needless to say, these impromptu pit stops don’t bother me much.

Once in Lusaka, a random guy shouted, “Hey, Chuck Norris!” at me again. True story. Oddly enough, it was at almost exactly the same time of day in the exact same area of town as the last time. Major déjà vu. I’m pretty sure it was a different guy this time, though. He immediately proceeded to run me down and ask me for money, which, for me, lessened the impact of the compliment, since I’m pretty sure he was just buttering me up before making his request. Then again, maybe he thought I actually was Chuck Norris and therefore had a lot of money to throw around. I guess we’ll never know.

Later on, I experienced my first Zambian theft on the streets of Lusaka. I was sitting up in the front seat of the truck and Vincent was sitting in the back with all the supplies. It’s a big, 3-ton truck (looks like a big pick-up) and we had a lot of our supplies scattered in the back. We had bought some big supplies, like lumber, chicken wire and metal sheets, and some small ones in bags, like nails, paint and thinner. As we were rolling up to a stop light this skeezy looking guy casually walked up beside the truck, snatched a few of the bags and started walking away.

Vincent must have been day-dreaming because he didn’t see it. The driver did, though, in one of his side mirrors. I jumped out and ran after the guy and so did Vincent. The guy was a total pansy. He dropped the bags and ran behind a building. I had time to yell out a few things about what I’d like to do to him, things that God was probably not happy about, before collecting the items and jumping back in the car. Learned my lesson on that one. You have to watch out in the big city.

Uncle Chuck Norris Goes to Sea (actually to the lake, but whatever) - PART II

2009-07-21T12:54:00.003-04:00

...And the kapenta did come.

After around an hour or two of waiting, during which the fishermen chatted above the roar of the generator and played a checkers-like game called “drafts” with bottle caps on the deck, the guys hopped into action. Silof, the “Namumu” boat captain, turned off the lights. All four crew members gathered at the side of the boat and, together, turned the crank handles that brought up the net. After heave-ho-ing for a few minutes, the iron rim holding the net rose slowly out of the water.

To envision the rim and net, picture a basketball hoop. The net is attached to the large (5 feet in diameter), circular metal rim in just the same way. The net extends down for around 10 meters, where it is tied off at the bottom and weighted with a rock. When the rim is low in the water, the fish, like a bunch of stupid morons, swim down through the top of the rim towards the water light, which is lowered down the center of the net to the bottom by a long cable.

The guys pulled up the bottom of the net, untied the rope, and emptied the fish out into plastic crates that are kept on the boat. Each of the five pulls a night, during a good month like July, will bring in around 30 kgs of kapenta. After the pull, they tied and weighted the bottom of the net, lowered the rim and net back into the water, turned the lights back on and cleaned off the deck. Three of the crew members promptly and with little chit chat went to the corner, curled up and fell asleep, while one curled up and kept watch. Because the generator is thumping throughout the night, if all crew members slept it would be easy for someone to sneak on board and swipe some of the kapenta. Or something could go wrong with the boat, or the lights, etc. This is why one man keeps watch.

This cycle carries on throughout the night. The fishermen get up, pull up the net, bring in the fish, and go back to sleep. Again. And again. And again. I wanted to tell ghost stories or play truth or dare, but given the loud pounding of the generator and the fact that not one of the guys on the “Namumu” boat spoke much English at all, I decided it would be best if they just follow the usual routine and go to sleep.

Around 7 am they made their last pull, turned off the generator and we headed for home.

Now, most people had led me to believe that all fishermen are, more or less, drunken buffoons who cannot be trusted and must be watched carefully. I had always imagined that, during the daytime, most fishermen sat around drinking, smoking and stirring up trouble. That picture couldn’t have been further from the truth.

First, our guys finished their work, spreading out the night’s catches on the drying racks. A few of them mended the nets, using string to tie up the holes. A few helped with the weighing of the catches. After that, they sat around, cooking and eating nsima and kapenta. After that they sat around and talked or slept. Some of them went to play soccer at a nearby field with some of the guys from other fishing camps. As you can see, it wasn’t exactly the raging party I had been led to expect.

And I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking that they were only behaving themselves because Uncle Chuck Norris, the Supervisor, was around. However, Mubita, a man who has my trust completely, informed me that what I saw was the usual routine.

Other than that, not a whole lot happened. I went out with the “Lucy” boat the next night, switching boats with Mubita. It was the exact same routine. Pierson, the captain for the Lucy boat and the outspoken ringleader of the entire group, was fun to watch. Always smiling, always laughing and always speaking very very quickly in Tonga, Pierson’s energy is contagious. His crew worked happily the entire night. He made me proud.

The second day in the camp was just as low-key as the first.

I did experience one of my favorite moments in Africa so far when, after putting off bathing for a few days (something that is becoming all too common for me as of late) I was able to find a secluded area along the lake and bath in the cool, crisp, clean (well, probably not that clean) water of Lake Kariba with the warm midday sun shining down upon my face. It was magical.

Shortly thereafter I hopped on a small boat we had hired and rode back to Siavonga, more than a little bit wiser about Namumu’s kapenta operation.

Uncle Chuck Norris Goes to Sea (actually to the lake, but whatever) - PART I

2009-07-15T12:20:00.002-04:00

In Ernest Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea”, the Old Man reminisces constantly, looking back on his life as a young man. At one point he thinks back to a time when he was working on a ship that sailed off the coast of Africa. He remembers the warm breeze blowing and seeing lions walking on the shore.

Well, technically I wasn’t sailing off the coast of Africa, I was on Lake Kariba, the large lake separating Zambia from Zimbabwe. And I didn’t actually see any lions. Still, when I set out for our island camp with the Namumu fishing crew this past weekend, I probably came as close to being in an Ernest Hemingway novel as I’ll ever be. Oh, what an adventure it was.

We set out early on Friday, packing all of our gear onto the “Lucy” boat and pulling out of the nearby harbor. Joining me were Mubita, our rig foreman (or supervisor), Jere, our fish weigher/drier, and Namumu’s eight fishermen.

Our camp is set up on a large island to the south west called Chirundundike. I’m not sure of the distance. In a smaller, faster boat the trip might take around one or two hours. Ol’ Lucy made it in about seven, puttering away, slow and steady. Still, it was an enjoyable trip. Even the deafening roar of our 20 horsepower diesel engine could only take away from the beauty of the lake but so much. Anyone that has seen an African sunrise can feel me on that one. More than once I stood over the front railing and, with arms spread, shouted, “I’m the King of the World!”. Sadly, nobody laughed. No Leo fans onboard, I suppose.

So, we made it to the camp in the early afternoon and set up shop, just off the lake shore where our guys had cleared away an area within the bush. The camp? There ain’t much to it. All it consists of are six long racks of plastic mesh for drying the night’s catches and two small grass huts, one where Jere sleeps and one where Mubita sleeps when he isn’t out on the boats monitoring the guys at night. Our camp is just one of a number of camps on Chirundudike. Similar camps for other companies surrounded us, though they were a ways off. We were pretty isolated. Like the area surrounding Namumu, this is very much bush-land. Luckily I’d proven to myself that I could survive out in the bush before. Plus, I have a beard, so, you know, it was no big deal…

After unloading the gear, it wasn’t long before it was time to head out and fish for the first night of the month. Around 4 pm, Mubita hopped on the “Lucy” boat and I hopped on the “Namumu” boat to head out. With the threat of kapenta theft ever-looming over the fishing companies in Siavonga, Mubita and I needed wanted to monitor the activities.

Theft is a big problem in the kapenta fishing industries and, as you may recall, used to be a particularly big problem for Namumu, leading to the termination of the contracts of nearly everyone in the fishing department last year.

What usually happens is that small boats will sneak around the lake at night and approach any number of the kapenta rigs out on the water. Certain fishermen will sell these guys kapenta at a discounted price and pocket the money without reporting to their supervisors that they’d caught the fish in the first place.

Short of putting a supervisor on the rig every night there’s not a whole lot that can be done, and even that becomes tricky as some supervisors get in on the action. Police boats patrol the lake at times, but, as you might have assumed, police in Africa aren’t always the most reliable fellows. It wouldn’t surprise me if they do some of the stealing themselves. Most other companies hire a supervisor to cruise around in a small boat from rig to rig to check on their fishermen. Even here, if you have a small boat to do this, which Namumu doesn’t at the moment, whenever the supervisor leaves it’s still possible to steal.

So, as of now Mubita is randomly spending the night on one of the boats from time to time, and I’ve made it explicitly clear to our guys that if we have any indication that any amount of theft is involved, no matter how minor, every one of their contracts will be terminated and we will find a completely new crew.

However, after getting to know our crew over the last four months and after REALLY getting to know after eating, sleeping and fishing with them this past weekend, I can say that I think they are operating honestly and that they are working hard. And I have total trust in Mubita as well. I hope this doesn’t change, but we’ll see.

We parked our rig a few kilometers off shore and the guys prepared all of the equipment (to get an idea of what the rig looks like you might want to look back to a picture I posted very early on in the blog). Around 6 pm the guys lowered the large, round net into the water, kicked on the large generator onboard, and switched on the lights, two up out of the water and one that was lowered deep in the water. Then we waited for the kapenta to come…

Farewell to WCPC (and to Pedro the Chicken)

2009-07-08T13:11:00.003-04:00

It’s been a while since I’ve posted, so let me try to get you up to speed on what’s new at Namumu with a few quick notes…

My homies from the Woodlands have come and gone. The group, made up of four guys, left Namumu on Sunday. And, despite a number of unfortunate events, including power outages, bankrupt airlines, minibus accidents, broken toes and unexpected dips in the lake (all of which are described in detail in Tom’s blog contribution below), I think we had a great time together. The Woodlands Community Presbyterian Church has had a strong relationship with Namumu for 10 years now. While it’s not uncommon these days for churches in the US to partner up with churches or organizations in the developing world for a project or two and then to split, to “love ‘em and leave ‘em”, WCPC and Namumu have kept their relationship strong over the years. What a great example to follow.

And no, technically I did not kill the chicken. Tom did. However, I did chop off the head and the feet, remove the feathers and the intestines, and contribute to the cooking. I look at it as a warm-up for the many chickens I am going to kill and eat while I’m here. After all, I am a man...a man who invented the wheel and built the Eiffel Tower out of metal...and brawn. I’ll be sure to keep a kill count for all of you back home.

Some of the boys and I have been hiking quite a bit through the hills around Namumu lately. There are a number of hills surrounding us and all of them make for good hiking. It is very much bush-land, but, other than snakes, I’m told there shouldn’t be any dangerous animals out there. Not this time of year, anyway. There are monkeys, though, I’m told. Clivet and I will be going out strapped with slingshots from now on, so hopefully one of us will bag a monkey soon. I’m sure my chicken preparing and cooking skills will carry over to monkey preparing and cooking as well.

Lest you think the only thing I’m doing with my time is killing and eating wild animals, I want you to know that I’m still working very hard to improve the Namumu businesses. I have a good team with me and things are going well. Our fishing crew is still rocking and rolling, as are our carpentry and welding guys. I’m actually going to camp out with the fishing crew way out in the islands when they leave this month, just to monitor that side of the operation. I’m sure this will lead to plenty of blog-worthy material, so stay tuned…

Pedro's Revenge...According to Tom

2009-07-08T12:35:00.000-04:00

My apologies for the delay in posting here. The phone line has been down and I haven’t been able to get on for a while. TIA, after all.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes. Birthdays aren’t a big deal here, so it was pretty low key around Namumu, but I definitely enjoyed reading the posts/emails from everyone.

A number of interesting events have occurred recently. I’ll get to them soon enough. As for now, though, I’ve got a little something new for everyone.

The group of visitors from The Woodlands Community Presbyterian Church in Houston, Texas, spent the week with us last week. Tom Swaffield, the youngest of the group at 16, wrote up a little something at my request. Tom is a bright kid and I think you’ll enjoy what he has to say.

So, here you go. I’ll try to expound on some of his thoughts in the future, but as for now I’ll leave it to Tom…

And yes, animals were harmed in the making of this blog…

Tom’s Blog

This is my first time to add to this blog as I am not Sam, but a visitor from Houston, Texas named Tom. We arrived here at Namumu as a part of a longer trip which included multiple stops beginning in Lusaka at Justo Mwale Theological College, moving along to Siavonga at the United Church of Zambia, and then now here to Namumu. The stay here has been, in my opinion, the most enjoyable part of our trip. Something about the lake, hills, and the kids here just puts a very positive spin on the area that makes you feel good no matter what issues arise during your stay.

We began our time here with a nice welcome by the kids and staff, including the regular author of this blog, Sam. This, though, was followed by a series of long and in-depth meetings between our church, The Woodlands Community Presbyterian Church, and the Namumu faculty to discuss our partnership. I won’t go into detail, but on the whole, being the only youth on this trip (at 16), I found it quite boring. Fortunately I was able to skip the rest to interact with the kids. Most of the time I have spent with the kids has been through the playing of either soccer, the biggest sport in Zambia, or various card games, because both are not hindered too much by the cultural barrier between me and the kids. Not that the barrier really isolates me from them, it just makes things a little harder (you would surprised how often someone is speaking to you in English and yet you have no idea what they are trying to say).

Mostly this trip has been full of new experiences for me, such as having to travel almost everywhere in the backs of flat bed trucks, or having an event scheduled for a certain time and being lucky if it happens within an hour of the planned start. Not to say these are bad things, just something to get used to. With these new experiences has come some fun as well. Eating nsima with your hands, as is the custom here, as well as finishing every day with some time around the fire have been great.

On the third day here our group went with Sam down to see the kapenta boats come in and meets the crew when Sam and I had the idea to prepare one of our own meals the way many of the Zambians do around here, specifically buying a live chicken and turning it into what you would normally find in your grocery stores over in the USA. The first step in this process was acquiring a chicken, which is surprisingly easy as they roam around almost all the towns and are sold in every market. We selected a handsome, fat bird for 25,000 kwacha, or a little less then five dollars. Once we had the bird though we were a little lost as what to do next, as neither of us had killed, plucked and prepared a chicken before, so we had to ask a few of the welders and cooks at Namumu what we should do. After a brief tutorial we had a neighbor help us carry out the deed behind Sam’s house.

The act of killing the chicken fell to me, so doing as we had been told I stood on the wings and legs of our chicken, which at this point was being referred to as Pedro, and stretched out the neck before taking a knife and slicing it at the top of the throat. It turns out though that this doesn’t quite do it. You have to hack away quite a bit before it begins to bleed out and during this time the chicken is struggling quite a bit. This may sound a little barbaric to some but you have to remember this is how many chicken are killed by people all over the world, and at least to me is a little more humane and respectful then the ways they kill them by the hundreds of thousands in the USA.

After the chicken had fully bled out and was unarguably dead the next step could begin, the plucking of the feathers. You cannot just have at it and pull them out as they are still firmly attached to the chicken and are very hard to remove, so what we were told to do is dunk the chicken in boiling water to break down what ever it is that holds the feathers in. After doing this they come right out with little trouble. The rest of the preparation fell to Sam and I’m sure he will cover it in his blog, so now I’ll move onto what we are calling Pedro’s Revenge.

You see, after killing and preparing Pedro, our group began experiencing a bit of bad luck. It began the day of the killing when the power and water went out for most of the day, making flushing toilets an interesting task. But this wasn’t too drastic; it happens a lot over here so I thought nothing of it. Later that day, however, we were scheduled for a boat tour of Lake Kariba, but when we got there we were told the boats could not go out due to their fuel pumps not being able to fill the boat tanks because of the power outage. Still, these things happen with or with out a vengeful chicken’s influence. So we awaited another boat or for the power to return.

During this time we sat down by the lake discussing the day and, in particular, Pedro’s death. While this was happening I was holding onto a rope that kept one of the boats tied up when the knot slipped, sending me and the rope into the lake, soaking me from head to toe in nasty harbor water. After all this we still didn’t end up with a boat tour and as my cloths were wet I had to spend the rest of the time in a chitenge, or a dress skirt the local women wear, which greatly amused our driver as well as the kids who saw me after getting back before I had a chance to change.

This may sound like enough to satisfy Pedro and avenge his death, but that night things kept getting worse.

While watching the evening news (the power had come back by then) our group leader noticed that the airline we had booked to take us to the Copper Belt in Central Zambia the next day had gone bankrupt and was no longer in existence. This was made worse by the phones going out, making it impossible to contact the company HQ to see if another airline had picked up the flights. This being the case our leader had to wake up the next morning at 4am to drive to Lusaka and solve this transportation issue. While on the way though Pedro struck again as the minibus our leader was on smashed into a truck that was reversing down the main highway to Lusaka for God knows what crazy reason. Like I keep being told, T.I.A., or this is Africa. The crash resulted in a few bruises and a hairline fracture in our leader’s big toe, and after all that, we found our flights to be canceled with no hope of a refund. So far this has been the end of the Pedro’s Revenge, or at least we hope.

For the most part this trip though has been more than the sum total of the experiences I have had here. I know this may sound cliché but it has been an eye-opener to see how, in truth, probably most of the world lives. As an American I tend to think about the world as a much smaller place than it is. I can go to sleep in New York and awake in Johannesburg. A single meal can have parts from the US, Canada, Mexico, India, China, Japan, and many other countries all on and including one plate. My jeans are from a textile mill in Korea, my shirt Singapore, my shoes Africa and all of them shipped to me without delay.

Here, on the other hand, areas are much more local. You eat what you or your community can grow. You sleep in a house constructed from bricks made by a friend from the dirt that was the hill in the middle of the rape fields down the street that provides you with something to go with the tasteless nsima you eat for most of your daily calories.

What has gotten me the most is how happy everyone is here. When we stayed at UCZ a guy showed me to his house in a squatters area outside of town where he and his wife and four children slept in a brick room smaller then my bedroom in the US, only a few feet from the public “toilet” where human waste ran in the street. Still, I did not see one sad face among them, as long as there was nsima at every meal they where happy. This shocked me as an upper class American living in the suburbs, where every family has a decent house and money to spare, because amongst all of our excesses many are unhappy. Maybe unhappy is not the right word to describe it, but we definitely lack the joy I saw in the kids at that compound playing with a toy made of old bottles and wire and with the adults sitting at their shop stalls shooting the breeze with anyone who would pass by. Even the day laborers making around $2 a day had something to be happy about, whether it was the birth of a child, or a small bonus received for a hard days’ work, or even just having chicken for dinner that night. To me what it seems is that the more you have, the less you have to be truly thankful for, oddly enough. When all you have is three square meals and a few kids then you are really damn grateful for that food and those kids because without them you would have nothing, where as if you have three square meals, two cars, a few kids, and a house full of luxuries (and yes even a fridge, washing machine, carpet, or hot water are being considered luxuries here as a lot of people would consider them so around the world), losing one or two of these does not do a whole lot and so each one has lost value to you.

It is not our fault that we think this way, it is simply a by-product of our success and lifestyles. It is not a crime to be fortunate. It is only a crime when we stop counting our blessings and begin to ignore the problems of others only to focus on our own much more meaningless ones, sometimes even going so far as to blame the misfortune of others on themselves, which to me is a very ignorant view. Even trying to get a basic education here is blocked by huge obstacles. Many of the kids at Namumu have to wake up at 4-5am so they can walk to the high school every morning, and this is a short walk in comparison to some of the more rural communities which still are living in the bush without power, running water, or plumbing of any kind.

But, stepping off the soap box so commonly occupied by those in the area of mission work, I think it is necessary to look at what it is feasible to do about this issue. I myself have no answer as to what to do, and in a week I will return to the USA, changed…maybe. Able to do anything about what I have experienced? Maybe not, but at least I am aware and I think that is the first step many need to take. Remove the blind fold and see the world through new eyes, explore what you find uncomfortable and remember that we are all in this together. As $6,000 boots leave footprints on the moon and single people make more money than some countries, much of the human race still live in dirt homes on a few dollars a day. Whether you believe in a higher power or powers, science, money, or nothing at all, we can all agree that the survival and comfort of the human race is an issue we can all see as important.

I do not know how I came to be here living on this rock hurtling through the possibly endless void with another 6.5billion people like me, but one thing I do know is that we need to stick together and to help one another unconditionally.

Who's Ready for an African Cookout?

2009-06-27T12:06:00.000-04:00

The other day I was walking through the nearby community with Kebby, going out into the bush and trying to find good thorn branches to use to build up the fences around our garden (the defensive strategy in our battle against the cows, as opposed to the offensive strategy, which would be the creation of several large knives at the welding stand and the strategic planning sessions to trap and kill any cow that enters our garden), and we stumbled upon an odd sight.

Actually, it didn’t seem as odd to everyone else involved as it was to me.

Walking by the home of one family right outside of the Namumu complex, we saw a few men huddled around looking at something on the ground. Walking closer, we found a man with a large knife kneeling down and cutting up a cow, I mean really slicing it up and ripping the meat apart. I thought it was interesting that this was happening right in his front yard, with the meat sitting on a tarp that was spread out on the dirt. Apparently it was ho-hum just another day for these guys. I guess cutting up large animals isn’t as new and fascinating for these guys around here as it is for me.

Then, after standing around and chatting for a few minutes, I finally noticed that it wasn’t a cow being cut up at all. It was the head of a hippopotamus.

That’s right. A hippo. Man oh man, this thing was big. Really big. And it was just the head, too. It took me a few minutes to tell what it was because the guy had hacked it up pretty good and, since they were speaking in Tonga, I hadn’t caught what was going on. The teeth eventually gave it away. One was about as big as my fist.

Apparently, the guy living in the house is a Zambian Game Ranger, a wild-life specialist (which doesn’t seem like a taxing job seeing as how 95% of the time I go by his house he’s sitting in a chair in front of his house doing nothing in particular…then again, if he’s out battling hippos I guess I can’t make too much fun of him). He said that the hippo had attacked some people and that his group had gotten the call to take action and kill it. I didn’t get the whole story because everyone except Kebby was a super-rural Tonga speaker, but judging by the guy’s mannerisms it sounded like quite the ordeal to kill the thing.

Hope you enjoyed that little glimpse into my life in Siavonga. I just wanted to let you know that while your neighbors are cutting up and cooking hamburgers on the grill this summer, mine are cutting up and cooking hippos.

Clivet aka The Sweater

2009-06-23T12:41:00.001-04:00

Looking back over past blogs, it has become clear to me that I haven’t been focusing nearly enough on the children of Namumu. Shame on me.

So, let me tell you about Clivet.

Clivet is one of my favorite Namumu-ans, without a doubt.

He is 12 years-old and in Grade 7 at the Namumu Community School. His nickname is “The Sweater”, as in someone who sweats a lot, not the article of clothing. I’m not sure who gave it to him but I’m pretty sure it was one of the Namumu girls. He’s the kind of kid that would never be upset about a nickname, though. He just laughs it off.

Clivet is my main farming protégé. I’ve been trying to ask the children periodically what they’d like to be when they grow up. For the boys, the only answers I usually hear are pilot, mechanic and doctor. Clivet told me he wants to be a farmer…my man.

In addition to working every day in the boys’ main garden by the Namumu front office, Clivet has even begun his own garden out by the boys’ dormitory. He is growing okra, rape, peppers and cabbage.

Just as upset as I was about the recent cow invasion, Clivet will be one of the leaders in my anti-cow army. I will be training him in basic anti-cow combat skills and strategies, and he will be in turn training some of the other boys. He’s athletic and a good soccer player, so I know that he will be a capable soldier.

As you may or may not know, not all of the children at Namumu are “orphans”. Some have one or two living parents that, for whatever reason, cannot afford to support them. Clivet, however, is an orphan. Neither of his parents are living. During the breaks from school most of the children leave Namumu and go to stay with some of their relatives for a few weeks. Some, like Clivet, that have nowhere else to go, just stay at Namumu.

Even though I’m sure he’s had a tough life, he’s always very happy and has a good home here at Namumu.

If you have any messages that you’d like to send Clivet, hit me up and I’ll be sure to deliver them.

Thanks

2009-06-23T12:38:00.000-04:00

It’s been a while since I posted a message of thanks to everyone supporting my work at Namumu either financially or through prayer. So…

To everyone that has supported my work financially, thank you. I’ll put up a post in the near future that will give you an idea of where the money is going, specifically.

To everyone that has been busy praying for me and for Namumu, thank you. I hope you don’t stop. God is listening and answering.

To everyone from Orlando that sent items for the Namumu Community School, thank you. The teaching staff was very excited.

And, finally, to everyone that has sent me letters, emails and food, thank you (especially you, Sue Wright, who made me some of the best cookies I’ve ever had in my life).

Another Tragedy

2009-06-19T02:43:00.001-04:00

Timothy, one of our fishermen, lost his 1 year-old baby girl this week. The cause of her death remains unclear.

I wasn’t exaggerating when I wrote that nearly every few weeks someone on the Namumu staff loses a close friend or family member. It’s terrible.

Our fishing guys are camped out on the Islands, so we had Timothy ride back with Mubita, our fishing supervisor, as he was transporting back our catches from the week.

People take funerals very seriously around here and, even with our current financial troubles, the Namumu Management jumped on things very quickly. Timothy was given a crate of dry kapenta, a certain amount of cash for funeral expenses, and we had our carpenter make a coffin for his baby girl. Having to oversee the construction of a tiny casket for a 1 year old girl was probably one of the saddest things I’ve ever done. It was not a good afternoon.

I made a trip out to Timothy’s house with a few other Namumu employees and seeing Timothy so sad made me feel even worse. I sat around with the men, about 15 of Timothy’s friends and neighbors, for a while in the early evening. We sat outside on small chairs under a big tree and everyone either talked quietly or just sat. Man, it was depressing.

Please take a moment today to pray for Timothy and his family, and for the health of the children in the Siavonga area.

Visitors from the US

2009-06-19T02:35:00.000-04:00

It’s been a fun couple of weeks here at Namumu as visitors from the US have been coming and going.

First to arrive were Nathalie Rodriguez and her father, Dr. Rodriguez, coming to us from New Jersey. The Doctor stayed for around a week and mostly worked with Saviour, the girls’ caretaker and assistant nurse, in the clinic. Nathalie, who will be staying with us for a few more weeks, will be mostly working and teaching at the Namumu Community School.

The gang from Park Lake Presbyterian Church in Orlando, Florida has come and gone. We had a great time together. It was nice watching Alex, Ros and The Man, The Myth, The Legend, Bill Warlick, the three PLPC members, dive into all things Namumu related. They were excited and energetic and were clearly making an effort to form relationships with the Namumu children and staff. It was nice to see and be reminded that the relationships formed through Namumu’s partnerships are just as important as the projects that we undertake.

So, I got to catch up with the whole Park Lake Gang. And I got to soak up some wisdom from Bill, who might just be one of the wisest men I’ve ever met (everyone who has ever spent time with Bill just nodded in agreement).

Shout out to all my Park Lake homies back in Orlando, I hope all is well.

Coming next will be John Hathaway and the team from the Woodlands Community Presbyterian Church in Texas. I can’t wait to see you guys.

Shout out to all my WCPC homies back in Texas also.

So, Dr. Rodriguez, Bill, Ros and Alex, it was fun.

For all those coming soon, we’ll be looking forward to seeing you. Travel well.

Cows Trample on my Garden and my Heart

2009-06-17T10:41:00.001-04:00

As much as I enjoy posting happy and positive thoughts on this blog, I feel obligated to tell you about a truly, truly crappy morning I had last week.

First, I awoke to some disturbing news. My little friend, Innocent, is gone and he ain’t comin’ back. Apparently he, his mother and his four year-old sister, Florence, were only staying next door temporarily. It was never their real home. They’ve returned to their village near Lusaka. What a bummer. I was finally learning Tonga and getting along so well with them. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

Oh well, I thought. At least the other little guy, Junior, about 1 year-old, is still around with his mother. I’ll get to hang out with him now. So, in the morning before I went to work, I picked him up in my arms and spun him around a bit, something I do pretty often. I must have done too much spinning, because Junior pooped on my shirt.

I quickly re-showered, changed and headed on to work, saddened at being left behind in Siavonga and disgusted at being pooped on by Innocent’s replacement, but nonetheless ready to start my day.

Then I started to get sick. The weather is getting cooler now and a bunch of the staff members are getting colds. My throat started to hurt. A lot.

Oh well, I thought. Time to get to work and put it all behind me. At least work had been going well. Our fishermen had been rocking and rolling out at the Islands, the distant area where our team has been camping out for the last month and where the catches are higher than they are around here. I soon after got a call from Mubita, our fishing supervisor, that the weather was bad the night before and thus the catches were bad. And the metal rim around the net was broken, which, given our current financial struggles at Namumu, might be difficult to fix. Awesome.

Not long after I hung up the phone I heard some children screaming in the gardens right outside the office. “What’s all this ruckus?” I thought to myself. I ran outside to find out.

I stepped outside to find a group of cows absolutely ravishing our gardens. One of the men in the neighboring village either let his cows roam around unwatched or they had escaped from their pen. They had gotten through our fence and, in a few short minutes, had managed to wipe out an entire crop of okra and of rape, as well as to trample a number of nursery beds. Not a happy moment for Sam, not happy at all. For the second time during my stay I was filled with an almost uncontrollable rage directed at some of God’s creatures that may have been created by God but that I’m convinced were possessed by Satan himself (the first being the barking dogs).

It was funny in a way, until I thought back to the hours and hours and hours the boys and I had spent clearing the land, digging the beds and tending to the plants. Then it wasn’t funny anymore. It was just sad.

In an effort to defend what is ours I am having a few large knives crafted at the welding stand this week. Next time the cows try to make a move toward our crops we’ll be ready. No, I’m not joking.

Well, it feels good to get that all off my chest. It might not seem like that big of a deal, but if you think about the summary of that story and the fact that I got abandoned by my neighbors, pooped on, hit with a sore throat, suffered a major fishing setback and had my garden torn up in the span of about two hours I think you can begin to understand my despair. Ahhhhh. Deep breath, Sam.

Runaways, Stacks of Butter and a Frightening Statistic

2009-06-08T14:30:00.000-04:00

It’s been a busy few weeks here recently so I haven’t been able to sit down to write. My apologies for the delay. Here’s what’s new at Namumu:

We had our first runaway Namumu-an last week, which was an interesting experience. Gift, an eight year old boy (and Kailyn Jones’ BFF), ran away from the boys’ dormitory and was nowhere to be found for an entire night. Apparently he had gotten caught by one of the older boys stealing money off of Kebby’s table in his bedroom (Kebby, being the boys’ caretaker, has an open room in the middle of the dormitory). Fearing punishment from Kebby, Gift skidaddled out of there, fleeing the scene of the crime.

So, I joined in the search party and we went around the entire Namumu Complex, looking high and low, trying to find where Gift might be (it felt a little like in the Dennis the Menace movie when Dennis ran away and teamed up with a skeezy Christopher Lloyd and the entire neighborhood went out to find him). It’s winter time now and it’s actually pretty chilly at night, so we were worried about the little guy.

He wasn’t found until the next morning, but at least we found him. I’m not sure where he slept but he was found around one of the villages close by to Namumu. I haven’t heard about his punishment, but I’m told that he got straightened out and that everything is ok now.

What a rascal.

My diet has been interesting recently. After spending an entire evening huddled in the fetal position clutching my stomach and moaning, all because I ate some expired nsima, I’ve lost my taste for the Zambian staple food completely (for blog new-comers, nsima is like grits, just corn meal and water). So, for now I’ve switched my staple food to bread and butter. The amount of butter I’ve consumed during my stay so far is absolutely disgusting. I’m really ashamed of myself. I’ve already gone through 7 kgs of butter by myself, and I have the leftover tubs stacked up in my kitchen to prove it.

Speaking of food, we’ve been harvesting beans, peas, Chinese cabbage and rape pretty much every day lately. There isn’t too much in this world that’s more satisfying than picking beans and peas that you’ve planted and tended and immediately taking them home, cooking and eating them. Everything out of our gardens will either go to the Namumu kitchen or will be sold. So far we’ve sold to a number of customers, mostly Namumu staff and to members of the surrounding community. Cha-Ching! (Actually we haven’t made much money and probably won’t make much in the future but the kids are learning a lot and enjoying the gardening).

Innocent cried when I left him to go to work again the other day…my man.

Rafyc, our carpenter, had a very productive month of May. He’s a hard worker and produces some amazing stuff. I wish I could find a way to post a picture of some of his creations. He just finished a set of lounge chairs that were so good we had a number of orders for similar ones placed by people that happened to pass by his stand and see them, which is pretty remarkable because not many people pass by his stand at all. If you’d like to order a set, shoot me an email. We’re only charging K 500,000, which is around US$100. A steal of a deal, if you ask me. Unfortunately, we don’t deliver, so you’ll have to swing by Siavonga to pick it up.

I’ve avoided writing about this for some time now but I just can’t hold out any longer. Holy crap, Zambian women breast feed ALL THE TIME and they are not so shy about it. It is ridiculous. I’ve tried averting my eyes, but it doesn’t work very well because whenever I avert my eyes there’s always another Zambian woman breast feeding wherever I avert them. I even did a little experiment yesterday…throughout the day I decided to look out of my kitchen window 10 times and count how many times my neighbors were breastfeeding. 6 out of 10. No joke. So, if we assume that they’re breastfeeding for 60% of their waking hours and that they sleep for 8 hours a night, that means they’re breastfeeding for approximately 9 hours and 36 minutes every day. Yikes.

Requests

2009-06-01T11:17:00.001-04:00

I apologize for the delay in posting this request, but I’ve tried to ask around this week to find out what materials from the US might be needed around Namumu and I finally got a few solid requests. If anyone coming to Namumu in June or July is looking for items to bring along, any of these will work. Again, I’m sorry I haven’t gotten these out sooner, and if it’s too late to put things together or if there’s not enough room to transport them I understand.

Mr. Malambo, the head teacher at the Namumu Community School, got me a list of small items that the school could use:

Calculators
Chalk (white and colored)
English Dictionaries
English Bibles
Crayons
Pencils
Staplers and Staples
Ink Pads and Ink
Glue Sticks
File Folders
Rulers
Envelopes
Index Cards
Chalk Board Erasers
Soccer Balls
Volley Balls
Whistles
Pens
Plain Computer Paper
Markers
Jump Ropes

Any help with these would be greatly appreciated.

Also, if anyone felt compelled to donate a working laptop computer and power cord it would be terrific. We only have one computer at the moment that can print documents and connect to the internet, so an additional one would make life much easier. I know that this is a big request, but I figured I’d get it out there just in case anyone has an old laptop lying around collecting dust. Old? Slow? It doesn’t matter, we’d take it.

If you think you can help with any of these items, please email me at ssc2x@virginia.edu as soon as you can to let me know. Thanks a bunch.

My Name is Uncle Chuck Norris

2009-05-28T04:47:00.000-04:00

If I were back home sitting around in the Crestwood High School Sunday School Circle my GT and BT (Good Thing and Bad Thing for all you non-Crestwoodians…or Crestwoodites…or Crestwoodans…whatever) would be pretty easy to pin down this week.

My BT would undoubtedly be that I spent an entire evening this week battling with food poisoning. Not fun. But, don’t worry, after spending an entire night rolling on the floor of my bathroom moaning (sadly not a joke) I am alive and well.

So that sucked.

However, my GT, I think you will agree, more than makes up for my BT.

There are certain members of the staff at Namumu whom the children see and speak with on a daily basis. The children refer to these men and women as “Uncle So-and-So” or “Auntie So-and-So”. Now that I’ve been around long enough, I’ve been upgraded to “Uncle” status, which is awesome. And as if that wasn’t cool enough, not only am I referred to as “Uncle” now, but most of the girls are even calling me “Uncle Chuck Norris” on a regular basis. I know, it sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? I assure you, it is indeed true.

So, there you have my GT and my BT. I think every other experience of the week would fall somewhere in between those two extremes.

My relationship with my next-door neighbors has progressed quite a bit as of late. It’s been a bit difficult getting to know them for a number of reasons. First and foremost, the two adult women and some of the others speak very little English. English is the official national language in Zambia and they teach it in the schools, but since we are in a very rural area (the few white people I’ve met here are impressed that I can survive out here in “The Bush”…hah) a good number of people haven’t had much schooling and therefore haven’t learned much English and therefore speak mostly Tonga. Like these two women, Mrs. Syanjoka and Sister Syanjoka.

Another problem has been that there is a constantly shifting cast of characters next door. Family members seem to shift around a lot in Africa, sometimes living here with parents, sometimes living there with Aunts and Uncles, etc. It’s tough to get to know people when they are coming and going so often.

But, since I’m rocking and rolling with my Tonga I can joke around a bit with the two older women and everyone else now. I’ve got a long way to go, but at least I’ve moved beyond the basic greetings. I think they appreciate it. So I chat with the adults in Tonga, chat with the teenagers in English, and basically just toss the little ones up in the air whenever I see them.

Innocent is still ridiculous. At least three times a day I see his mother, Sister Syanjoka, try to put pants on him and him proceed to drop them and run away from them mere moments later. That’s my boy. He actually cried the other morning because I left him to go to work, so that made me feel good.

Junior, the son of Mrs. Syanjoka, is the other pants-less rascal. He’s about 1 year old. Junior was the last hold-out against being my friend. He’s the little guy who would start crying and crawl to his mother whenever he saw me. After three months we’re finally cool. No crying. He even laughs at me sometime now. So, now he likes me. Still hates his pants, though.

My main communicator next door is Cholwe, a 13 year-old boy whose English is pretty good. He’s a nice kid and he teaches me Tonga.

I get to interact with everybody quite a bit because almost all of their waking hours are spent right out behind our house, in the open area between our home and our gardens. The women just kind of hang around and sit all day, sometimes washing clothes and sometimes cooking, and the kids, when they aren’t at school, do the same (like I said, we’re in The Bush…not always a lot going on).

So they talk and play games and mess around in the garden and basically just hang out all day. And you know what? I think everybody’s pretty satisfied with life. The children play and the adults watch the children play. And now that I’m speaking Tonga I can sit and join the party.

So, there’s my week. I hope all is well back in the States. Keep the comments coming.

Sincerely,

Uncle Chuck Norris

Namumu's Awesomeness

2009-05-20T10:01:00.000-04:00

Let me tell you why the Namumu Orphanage Centre is so great and why I’m happy to be a part of it.

Most people are familiar with the basics by now. Namumu currently houses 73 children that are orphaned or considered vulnerable, providing them with three meals a day, a place to sleep, clothing, education and health care.

But it doesn’t stop there.

What most people don’t realize is that Namumu has an effect on this community far beyond helping the 73 children in residence.

At the Namumu Community School more than 200 children from the surrounding villages in grades 1-7 receive free education. It’s a good school that has been commended time and again by the Zambian government for its high testing rates.

But it doesn’t stop there.

Our clinic provides health care for hundreds of people from the surrounding villages, people who would otherwise be relying on other “traditional” local medicines that would, without a doubt, be less effective.

But it doesn’t stop there.

In a country plagued by unemployment, Namumu provides jobs to a number of Zambians in a number of areas. In the office there are five of us on the management staff. We employ an accountant. The Namumu Community School employs seven teachers. Our clinic has a nurse. We have two caretakers, one for the boys and one for the girls. We have two security guards. We have a driver. We have a carpenter and a welder, both with assistants. We have eight fishermen and we have two on the fishing day staff.

Without Namumu, many of these people would very likely struggle to find jobs. Because of Namumu they can work and help to support their families.

But it doesn’t stop there.

A number of middle-aged women are able to support their families by buying in bulk the kapenta fish caught by Namumu’s rigs and reselling it in the markets.

After I wrote about having to devise a lottery system for selling kapenta because the demand was so high some weeks back, a good friend of mine wrote me an email asking, “Why didn’t you just raise the prices?” It was a valid question. I’m sure many of you were thinking the same thing. To respond, we did raise the prices a bit, but still not by as much as we probably could have. Yes, Namumu’s profits could have been slightly higher. But our customers depend on selling our fish to survive, and drastically raising prices would have been detrimental to their business operations and their lives.

So, in essence, Namumu is supporting these women too.

But it doesn’t stop there.

Two churches hold services at the Namumu Chapel ever weekend, the Seventh Day Adventist Church on Saturdays and the Presbyterian Church on Sundays. Thanks to Namumu they have a nice facility in which they can worship.

But it doesn’t stop there.

A number of churches and other organizations from the US and abroad have formed relationships with Namumu over the years, including my own church, Crestwood Presbyterian in Richmond. I think everyone in these churches and organizations will agree that having this relationship with Namumu and getting to know these loving, caring people half way around the world has made quite an impact.

I haven’t seen much of the world. I know that there are many, many organizations worthy of support. Still, I think it’s clear that Namumu is as good as any.

Prayer Request

2009-05-11T02:36:00.000-04:00

Vincent, our 28 year old welder, had a daughter pass away last week. I’m not too sure about the specifics, but I do know that she was only 9 years old.

It’s crazy, just about every week somebody at Namumu has a close friend or relative pass away. I’m not exaggerating. It’s difficult to handle, especially when, as in this case, it’s a young child.

Please pray for Vincent and his family as they mourn their loss.

Running Water, Cross-Dressing Babies and a Choice of Nicknames

2009-05-11T02:28:00.002-04:00

A few more random updates...

After a little more than a week of traveling to the nearby bore holes for water our water pump was fixed. At last we have running water again. I somehow managed to get on the team of around 8 men assigned to fix the problem. We had to pull up around 60 meters of vertical piping to get to the electric pump at the bottom, which was then repaired, and then connect and lower the pump and piping into the ground again. It was tough work and the piping was very heavy. However, since we were a group of large, burly men it wasn’t much a problem (afterwards we grunted, high-fived and bumped chests…then I made the proclamation, “I am a man! A man who invented the wheel and built the Eiffel Tower out of metal and brawn!”…sadly, nobody caught the reference).

I got to make another trip into Lusaka this week, which was nice because I’d been getting a little stir-crazy in Siavonga (most days I spend the entire day in the same 100 square foot area which includes my home, our gardens and the front office…like I said, stir-crazy). Harvest Helpers, an NGO that specializes in agricultural development in the area, was taking a group of local farmers to the city to see a few irrigation system demonstrated and I got to tag along. We’ll be looking into the possibility of purchasing a drip irrigation system for Namumu in the future. Eliot Coleman would be proud.

I’m worried about Innocent. Between his mother and aunts and sisters and female cousins he’s almost exclusively surrounded by women. The other morning I looked out of my window and saw him running around in a dress. When he gets a little older I think we’ll need to have some man time where I’ll teach him how to chop wood, spit and scratch himself.

The Namumu girls are always giving each other nicknames. A group of them decided I should have one too. They came up with a few options for me: Chuck Norris (I swear to you this happened and no, I didn’t even tell them about my Chuck Norris experience in Lusaka), Samson (my second favorite after Chuck Norris) and Robocop (I am as confused about this one as you probably are...I’ll have to investigate and get back to you).

Another Business Update

2009-05-11T02:26:00.000-04:00

Kapenta Fishing

We wrapped up April’s fishing last Sunday with the coming of the full moon, docking our rigs in the harbor where they will remain until we resume on Tuesday.

Looking back, even though our catches were somewhat low this past month, there are a number of reasons to be pleased with how things went. We finally have systems in place to keep track of our catches, the payments for the catches and our expenses. This past month, every Kg of kapenta was accounted for, as was every kwacha that came in and went out. While this may not strike you as impressive, I assure you that, in the context of African business and the Siavonga kapenta industry, it is something to be proud of. We’ll try to make a habit of it.

Also, our team of fishermen are working well together and are putting forth a solid effort. As you may remember, only a few months ago we had an entirely different crew with which Namumu had a number of problems. With our new crew we have made some changes and have been trying to keep everybody happy and establish a good working atmosphere. It seems to be working.

This month, we’re preparing to send our rigs to a group of islands that are quite far away. Instead of coming to the nearby harbor to dock every morning they will remain out on the islands for the entire month. So, we’re having to stock up big time on fuel, spare parts and food for the fishermen before we send them on their way. The costs for the month will be a bit higher but we should be catching much, much more. We’ll be hiring a speed boat to bring back the catches every week or so and we’ll sell them here.

Carpentry and Welding

We changed the salary system up a bit for our carpentry and welding guys for this month. They’d always had a fixed monthly salary. Now they will have a basic salary and will be working on partial commissions. They’re good workers and were doing ok before, but I know that the incentives of the new system will boost production quite a bit.

Farming

Our gardens have come a long, long way.

My little Namumu minions have been working hard. They’ve been on break from school so they’ve had the time to work. We’ve been busy transplanting eggplant, peppers, tomatoes, cabbage, Chinese cabbage and rape all week. We’re already harvesting the first beans that we planted.

I’ve been told that whenever someone in the area has a solid garden growing people will come from the villages and buy vegetables directly from them, so I imagine we’ll be seeing customers coming very soon. I’m sure we’ll find some way to sell in the market in town as well.

Q & A

2009-05-04T11:46:00.006-04:00

“What can Ros and I bring to Namumu in June? We would love to help out in any way.” - Alex

"As you know two folks from Park Lake are going to Namumu in June…what do you want them to bring for the students? Do they need school supplies for example? - All the best "

-Cindy

I’ve heard this question from a few people, Alex and Cindy.

To be honest, the children and staff are doing fine with what they have. Life is simple here and, for the most part, everyone’s basic needs are met. The school and the office here both seem well equipped.

Still, there are a few things that might be a good idea to bring.

If you are traveling to Namumu I would recommend bringing a lot of pictures to share and leave with the children and staff. They’re easy to pack and the children love them. Bring pictures of yourself, your family and anything else that will show them what your life is like back home.

Or, if you wanted to bring some small gifts for any of the staff here, like Munjongo and Esther, they would certainly appreciate it. I’ve seen them receive gifts like nice coffee, tea, stationery and pens, so anything along those lines would work.

Or, you could also bring any small games for the children. I know that they like playing UNO and I’m sure they would like playing with any other games you would bring. I have to warn you, though, that I’ve learned to never under-estimate the speed with which a Zambian child can destroy a piece of equipment, so keep that in mind.

In response to those who have asked about sending books for the school or other items to help out at Namumu, I’d have to say that, while it wonderful that you are thinking of ways to help out the organization, I think the transport costs are a bit too high to justify sending them. Still, if you have something specific in mind, shoot me an email and maybe we can work something out.

As for what to bring me, I’m doing just fine with everything I’ve got here. I’m really looking forward to you, Ros and Bill coming out here, Alex, so just bring yourselves and that will be good enough for me.

(Although I would graciously accept any and all Tabasco products)

"Can the students at Boone High begin the process of being penpals with the students at Namumu?"
-Cindy

I’ve fielded a few requests to be pen-pals with some of the Namumu children. I can coordinate this with any groups that would like to start. Just email me at ssc2x@virginia.edu and let me know how many children you’d like to write to and I’ll send you back a list of names and other details.

“I was at Namumu in 2005 with The Woodlands Community Presbyterian Church (WCPC). When we arrived, each our our names was being held by a particular child. Christopher had my name. One of his legs suffered from a medical condition that caused it to be disfigured. I heard that he had surgery on it a little while back. Is he still living at Namumu? If so, I'd love to know how he's doing. Thanks!”. –Ruth

Christopher is here and is doing well. He had surgery on his leg this past July and it was a success. He’s a good kid.

One of his favorite things to do is to throw sticks up at the Baobab tree in an effort to knock down the fruit. Even before, with his leg condition, he could hurl sticks with the best of ‘em. Now that he’s healthy I think he’s even better. I’ve tried a few throws and he’s put me to shame.

I’ll tell him that you said hello.

“How do you feel without your creature comforts? Are you finding your needs are fewer now or different now so you don't miss the things that you thought you would?”

-Cindy

Well, it was a tough transition into my new life here at first, but I’m happy to say that I’m now acclimated and am doing fine without many of the comforts of my life back home.

I’ve made it until now without a TV and I’m pretty happy about that. Most people here think it’s strange that I don’t have one and some of the staff have been trying to force one on me but I’ve been able to resist.

There’s no hot water in my shower which will probably suck when it gets cold at night in the upcoming months but is not really a problem now since it’s so hot.
I miss the food from back home the most, I’d say. Nsima and rice lose their appeal after eating them for every single meal every single day, as you might imagine. It’s cool, though. I’ve got hot sauce and Coca-Cola so I’ll survive.

So, life is a lot simpler now and I’m a-ok with that.

“hmmm, which is dirtier, your floor after it was pooped on or your underwear currently?”
-Bryce

Well, Bryce, I am happy to inform you that both my floor and my underwear are now squeaky clean.

Last week, while working in the garden, I sent a couple Namumu girls into my house to fetch a shovel. Apparently they weren’t too happy with the state of things in my home, so on Saturday I was bum-rushed by a group of about 15 Namumu girls who forced themselves into my house and cleaned every square inch of it. They scrubbed the floors, washed my clothes, did my dishes and even cooked me lunch. I really love those girls.

Just to be clear for all of you that may be worried about my overall hygiene, I’ve been cooking all of my own meals, doing my own laundry and cleaning my house consistently.

But, the girls insisted, and who was I to argue?

Let’s hope this treatment continues.