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.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Plenty of Sams
Well, it’s official. On Friday, May 7th, Samuel Steven Luubi entered this world.
As it turns out, Vincent was serious about naming his child after me, and now there’s another Samuel Steven at Namumu. And when I say it’s official, I mean it is officially official. Vincent actually had me write the name on the Zambian Record of Birth document before he submitted it to the Siavonga District Hospital.
And oddly enough, there was a little twist to the whole ordeal. Remember how the whole issue came up during that heart-to-heart Vincent and I had while walking a few weeks ago? And remember how his little pregnant wife was walking with us and agreed to the deal? Well, Vincent has two wives, and the one who just had Samuel Steven was the other wife, not the one walking with us. They were both pregnant and the other wife had her baby first.
Hmmm…
I wonder if the one walking with us will be sad that she didn’t get to have a Samuel Steven. Or maybe hers can be Samuel Steven, too. Or maybe I can convince Vincent to name that one Steven Samuel.
Ahh, the crazy, mixed-up world of polygamy.
So, even though I’ll be away from Siavonga for a little while the Sams will be well-represented. Now Samuel Steven Luubi is around. Plus, there’s another little Sam who lives in the village just outside of Namumu who is awesome. This Sam is like a little African Dennis the Menace, constantly running around stirring up trouble. He’s always carrying a slingshot and his clothes are always dirty and he always has this smile on his face like he just did something really, really bad. At the same time he is very likeable.
And if any skeezy Christopher Lloyd-ish burglars ever came to our quiet town I’m sure Sam could save the day.
Yep, I can die happy now because my name will live on.
As it turns out, Vincent was serious about naming his child after me, and now there’s another Samuel Steven at Namumu. And when I say it’s official, I mean it is officially official. Vincent actually had me write the name on the Zambian Record of Birth document before he submitted it to the Siavonga District Hospital.
And oddly enough, there was a little twist to the whole ordeal. Remember how the whole issue came up during that heart-to-heart Vincent and I had while walking a few weeks ago? And remember how his little pregnant wife was walking with us and agreed to the deal? Well, Vincent has two wives, and the one who just had Samuel Steven was the other wife, not the one walking with us. They were both pregnant and the other wife had her baby first.
Hmmm…
I wonder if the one walking with us will be sad that she didn’t get to have a Samuel Steven. Or maybe hers can be Samuel Steven, too. Or maybe I can convince Vincent to name that one Steven Samuel.
Ahh, the crazy, mixed-up world of polygamy.
So, even though I’ll be away from Siavonga for a little while the Sams will be well-represented. Now Samuel Steven Luubi is around. Plus, there’s another little Sam who lives in the village just outside of Namumu who is awesome. This Sam is like a little African Dennis the Menace, constantly running around stirring up trouble. He’s always carrying a slingshot and his clothes are always dirty and he always has this smile on his face like he just did something really, really bad. At the same time he is very likeable.
And if any skeezy Christopher Lloyd-ish burglars ever came to our quiet town I’m sure Sam could save the day.
Yep, I can die happy now because my name will live on.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Outreach Visitors
We entertained a group of visitors at Namumu this past week and a good time was had by all.
The Outreach Foundation, Namumu’s main supporting organization, sent over a group of nine representing various churches in the US, a group led by one of my personal heroes, TMTMTL Bill Warlick. Bill has actually made the trip from Orlando to Zambia three times in the past year. I keep telling him to stop coming and bothering us but he keeps on showing up anyway.
Kidding.
Along with my Granddaddy Carl, Bill is one of the wisest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of associating with. While here he sits through meeting after meeting with any and all Namumu departments, reviewing the past year, crunching numbers and evaluating performances. He is intelligent and thoughtful, always guiding and suggesting, never forcing or commanding. He takes the time to talk with everyone and makes everyone feel important. Kind of like Jesus would.
Although he did show some signs of aging. Bill took a nap one afternoon during the group’s stay, something I’ve never seen him do. Don’t get me wrong, on trips like that napping more than understandable. I’ve just never seen him do it. He’s always running around and evaluating everything all day long.
Also, there was the driving incident. Early Tuesday morning we went as a group to see the kapenta boats come in. Bill was driving us all in the large van they had brought down to Siavonga, and as we pulled out onto the town’s main tarmac Bill cruised on over to the right lane and accelerated, coasting right along through the hills of Siavonga, which would have been fine if we drove on the right hand side of the road in Zambia. We don’t. We drive on the left. Fortunately it was early, there was nobody on the road at the time and someone yelled at Bill from the back seat to get over in the left lane, which he immediately did. So we lived to see the kapenta boats, which was nice. I suppose I’m partially responsible as I was navigating from the passenger seat, but oh well, it all worked out in the end.
The group’s visit went about like most other visits do. The group took a tour, met all the staff, sat and chatted with the children and gathered in the chapel for singing and devotions each night.
A number of groups have come through to Namumu since I’ve been here and it’s always the same thing, but you know what? It’s always wonderful. In this environment it’s easy to get bogged down by the day-to-day frustrations, to lose focus and lose sight of the big picture, to forget why we are doing what we are doing. When groups show up to see us for the first time and we have to present the organization to them it reminds us that we are here working for something greater than our own personal comfort and enjoyment. Plus, when you have to explain to someone all the facets of the organization and how it works, it forces you to think about how you can improve things and it gives you a fresh perspective.
The group hung out around Namumu most of the time, but we did get a chance to move around town some. We made it to see the kapenta sales in the morning and took a spin around the lake on the Lucy boat, attended a mini-church service (that is, mini relative to other African church services) at St. Marks Presbyterian Church and rocked out to keyboard-jamming and loud-speaker-enhanced praise songs, visited the Kariba dam with it’s spill-gates open and wandered around the main market in town. It was a lot of fun.
Besides enjoying the company of the group and making a number of new friends I was the privileged recipient of a number of gifts from the group including chocolate, books, hot sauce, letters from the US, and, most importantly, the most recent episodes of LOST’s final season (Holy crap this show is unbelievable. Richard is originally from the Canary Islands? Loophole Guy may be the devil? Jin and Sun are finally together? Ahhh it's getting crazy. I hope Lindelof and Cuse can tie it all together for us here). Thanks to everyone who sent something along from back home, I’m very grateful.
And I’d like to make a special shout out to Cindy Schmidt’s classes in Orlando. Thanks for the messages, you guys. Very uplifting. I appreciate you all taking the time to do it and send them over with Bill. You guys rock and I hope to get to pay you a visit one of these fine days.
Anyway, it was great spending time with such a nice group, one with people passionate for Africa and its inhabitants, people determined to see the good Lord’s work done in Zambia. We miss you guys already. Come back soon.
The Outreach Foundation, Namumu’s main supporting organization, sent over a group of nine representing various churches in the US, a group led by one of my personal heroes, TMTMTL Bill Warlick. Bill has actually made the trip from Orlando to Zambia three times in the past year. I keep telling him to stop coming and bothering us but he keeps on showing up anyway.
Kidding.
Along with my Granddaddy Carl, Bill is one of the wisest men I’ve ever had the pleasure of associating with. While here he sits through meeting after meeting with any and all Namumu departments, reviewing the past year, crunching numbers and evaluating performances. He is intelligent and thoughtful, always guiding and suggesting, never forcing or commanding. He takes the time to talk with everyone and makes everyone feel important. Kind of like Jesus would.
Although he did show some signs of aging. Bill took a nap one afternoon during the group’s stay, something I’ve never seen him do. Don’t get me wrong, on trips like that napping more than understandable. I’ve just never seen him do it. He’s always running around and evaluating everything all day long.
Also, there was the driving incident. Early Tuesday morning we went as a group to see the kapenta boats come in. Bill was driving us all in the large van they had brought down to Siavonga, and as we pulled out onto the town’s main tarmac Bill cruised on over to the right lane and accelerated, coasting right along through the hills of Siavonga, which would have been fine if we drove on the right hand side of the road in Zambia. We don’t. We drive on the left. Fortunately it was early, there was nobody on the road at the time and someone yelled at Bill from the back seat to get over in the left lane, which he immediately did. So we lived to see the kapenta boats, which was nice. I suppose I’m partially responsible as I was navigating from the passenger seat, but oh well, it all worked out in the end.
The group’s visit went about like most other visits do. The group took a tour, met all the staff, sat and chatted with the children and gathered in the chapel for singing and devotions each night.
A number of groups have come through to Namumu since I’ve been here and it’s always the same thing, but you know what? It’s always wonderful. In this environment it’s easy to get bogged down by the day-to-day frustrations, to lose focus and lose sight of the big picture, to forget why we are doing what we are doing. When groups show up to see us for the first time and we have to present the organization to them it reminds us that we are here working for something greater than our own personal comfort and enjoyment. Plus, when you have to explain to someone all the facets of the organization and how it works, it forces you to think about how you can improve things and it gives you a fresh perspective.
The group hung out around Namumu most of the time, but we did get a chance to move around town some. We made it to see the kapenta sales in the morning and took a spin around the lake on the Lucy boat, attended a mini-church service (that is, mini relative to other African church services) at St. Marks Presbyterian Church and rocked out to keyboard-jamming and loud-speaker-enhanced praise songs, visited the Kariba dam with it’s spill-gates open and wandered around the main market in town. It was a lot of fun.
Besides enjoying the company of the group and making a number of new friends I was the privileged recipient of a number of gifts from the group including chocolate, books, hot sauce, letters from the US, and, most importantly, the most recent episodes of LOST’s final season (Holy crap this show is unbelievable. Richard is originally from the Canary Islands? Loophole Guy may be the devil? Jin and Sun are finally together? Ahhh it's getting crazy. I hope Lindelof and Cuse can tie it all together for us here). Thanks to everyone who sent something along from back home, I’m very grateful.
And I’d like to make a special shout out to Cindy Schmidt’s classes in Orlando. Thanks for the messages, you guys. Very uplifting. I appreciate you all taking the time to do it and send them over with Bill. You guys rock and I hope to get to pay you a visit one of these fine days.
Anyway, it was great spending time with such a nice group, one with people passionate for Africa and its inhabitants, people determined to see the good Lord’s work done in Zambia. We miss you guys already. Come back soon.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Here I Come
Well, it looks like I’ll be making a little trip back to the US of A pretty soon here. I’ve been trying to plan things out for a while, but I didn’t want to post anything until I had locked down a flight and made it official. I’ll be flying out from Lusaka on June 12th and will hopefully arrive safe and sound in DC on the morning of June 13th.
It seems nearly all my friends have decided to go ahead and get married around the same time, so that seemed like as good an excuse as any to head on back to the US. I mean, what do I like better, Christmas or wedding season? Uhhh, that would be…wedding season. I can’t wait to grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly.
To be honest, my overall plan is a bit fuzzy. As for now, it looks like I’ll be around the US for a couple of months and then, in all likelihood, I’ll be heading back to Zambia to work for a while longer.
I am still a little concerned about coming home for a bit. I’m coming back to an America that appears to be very different from the one I left, the one where Michael Jackson was still alive and kicking, where Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber were nobodies, and where nobody had heard of Twitter. I’m going to feel so lost when I get back. What else has changed since I left? Are there flying cars there yet? Feel free to post comments on the blog or to email me to help make this transition easier.
So, for the next few weeks I’ll be tying up loose ends and preparing to step away from Namumu for a bit. It makes things easier knowing that I’ll be returning to Siavonga before too long. I’ll be pretty busy for the next few weeks but I’ll do my best to do some solid posting anyway.
No excuses, play like a champion!
It seems nearly all my friends have decided to go ahead and get married around the same time, so that seemed like as good an excuse as any to head on back to the US. I mean, what do I like better, Christmas or wedding season? Uhhh, that would be…wedding season. I can’t wait to grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly.
To be honest, my overall plan is a bit fuzzy. As for now, it looks like I’ll be around the US for a couple of months and then, in all likelihood, I’ll be heading back to Zambia to work for a while longer.
I am still a little concerned about coming home for a bit. I’m coming back to an America that appears to be very different from the one I left, the one where Michael Jackson was still alive and kicking, where Lady Gaga and Justin Bieber were nobodies, and where nobody had heard of Twitter. I’m going to feel so lost when I get back. What else has changed since I left? Are there flying cars there yet? Feel free to post comments on the blog or to email me to help make this transition easier.
So, for the next few weeks I’ll be tying up loose ends and preparing to step away from Namumu for a bit. It makes things easier knowing that I’ll be returning to Siavonga before too long. I’ll be pretty busy for the next few weeks but I’ll do my best to do some solid posting anyway.
No excuses, play like a champion!
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Triple Thank You
I believe a few thank yous are in order today.
First, thanks to all of you who took the time to email Zenzo and Clever. You made these guys very happy. Everybody loves getting emails, but it was especially nice for these two since emailing is a new experience for them. So good work, team.
And feel free to keep them coming. If you haven’t emailed either of these guys yet, go ahead and do it. Right now. Go.
Next, I’d like to thank all of you who have sent over young adult and children’s books for the kids. Namumu has a very solid library these days thanks to you. The kids have a nice selection to choose from and they are grateful.
I’m grateful for your help as well. It’s seems that some time before I arrived, some group from Canada either brought over or sent a bunch of books. Before you all started sending over books it seemed like the only thing these kids had to read were books of Canadian origin, either written by a Canadian author or set in Canada. Boy, did they suck.
But now we’ve got some great stuff. I’ve got kids reading “Maniac McGee”, “Wayside School is Falling Down”, “Charlotte’s Web” and “The Hardy Boys”, among other selections. It’s awesome.
So, thanks for sending them over and for contributing to the education of our kids. And for saving me from crappy Canadian literature.
Finally, thanks to all who have supported my stay here, both financially and through prayer, and for making it possible for me to work in this strange in beautiful place.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
First, thanks to all of you who took the time to email Zenzo and Clever. You made these guys very happy. Everybody loves getting emails, but it was especially nice for these two since emailing is a new experience for them. So good work, team.
And feel free to keep them coming. If you haven’t emailed either of these guys yet, go ahead and do it. Right now. Go.
Next, I’d like to thank all of you who have sent over young adult and children’s books for the kids. Namumu has a very solid library these days thanks to you. The kids have a nice selection to choose from and they are grateful.
I’m grateful for your help as well. It’s seems that some time before I arrived, some group from Canada either brought over or sent a bunch of books. Before you all started sending over books it seemed like the only thing these kids had to read were books of Canadian origin, either written by a Canadian author or set in Canada. Boy, did they suck.
But now we’ve got some great stuff. I’ve got kids reading “Maniac McGee”, “Wayside School is Falling Down”, “Charlotte’s Web” and “The Hardy Boys”, among other selections. It’s awesome.
So, thanks for sending them over and for contributing to the education of our kids. And for saving me from crappy Canadian literature.
Finally, thanks to all who have supported my stay here, both financially and through prayer, and for making it possible for me to work in this strange in beautiful place.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Coming Soon to Namumu: A Little Samuel Steven
Wait. It’s not what you think. Read on.
I had a great walk-and-talk the other day with Vincent, Namumu’s Senior Welder, and I thought I’d briefly share some of the highlights.
Still what I would call a young man at 27, Vincent is a goofball. Tall and lanky, he towers over his coworkers at the Namumu workshop, though he is far from intimidating. Because he’s a goofball. Most of the time he’s laughing and flashing a big, toothy grin, joking around as he grinds and cuts door and window frames all the live-long day.
Besides crafting works of art out of iron sheets and Y12 steel bars, Vincent plays guitar in a local band that specializes in traditional African music. I’ve only heard them once but I thought they sounded phenomenal. I think they’re still looking to catch their big break, but until then they are content to just meet to jam out every week or so.
I’ve spent a fair amount of time chatting with Vincent at the Namumu workshop during work days, but last Sunday I got the chance to have a nice long conversation with the guy. Mike, our Assistant Carpenter, had invited us to a special church service at the local branch of the New Apostolic Church in Siavonga to celebrate the recent birth of his daughter, and as Vincent lives close by we decided to meet up and make the 45 minute trek together. His pregnant, non-English-speaking young wife and baby girl joined us.
The trip started out on a high note when Vincent made an announcement. He informed me that he planned to name his next child, the child his wife is currently carrying in her belly, after me. If it’s a boy he said he’ll name it Samuel Steven Luubi, and if it’s a girl he will name it after some female member of my immediate family.
To this day I’m still not 100% sure that he was being 100% serious, but I’m pretty sure he was. Needless to say, I was taken aback. I don’t really know where that decision came from. I’m quite certain I haven’t done anything in my time here to deserve such a tribute. But I felt honored and I told him so again and again. The thought of a little African Samuel Steven terrorizing Namumu for years to come brought joy to my heart.
We continued on our journey, which was far from an easy stroll. This particular branch of the New Apostolic Church was on the other side of town, and to get there required passing over some serious rocks and hills on a small footpath through the brush. It was strenuous, but given the fact that Vincent’s tiny wife was walking effortlessly while carrying one baby on her back and another in her stomach I figured I shouldn’t complain. So, I trudged on with the group.
As we climbed up and down along the narrow path Vincent began opening up a bit more and sharing bits and pieces of his background, some of which I was aware of and much of which I wasn’t.
Like many of our Namumu children, Vincent was orphaned early on in life and was raised by various members of his extended family. He stopped going to school after grade 4, which was especially surprising to me since his conversational English and writing skills are so good. Usually these early dropouts are strictly Tonga speakers (or whatever the local tribal language happens to be) and often they cannot read or write. I can’t tell you how he acquired these skills outside of school, but he did.
Vincent’s past has made him especially sympathetic towards the children of Namumu. He told me that since he’s experienced the life of an orphan and its hardships he wants to do whatever he can to help them out. He wants to continue working for Namumu and training our kids as long as he can.
I gave him a solid pat on the back for that one.
On the way home from the service we talked about the future and what it held for him and his family. He really wants to find a way to go back to school. His Namumu paycheck is not a big one, so saving up the money might be an issue. He’ll need to pay for classes and then for examination fees. But the desire is there. His immediate objective is to prepare for and take his grade 7 examination which, given his reading and writing skills, I’d say he should be able to pass without much of a problem. I told him that in the coming weeks and months I’d do what I can to help him out.
Eventually we reached our respective homes and our conversation came to a close, which was a shame. I wish we could have continued on. But I suppose there will be more conversations to come with Vincent, and, hopefully years from now, with little Samuel Steven as well.
I had a great walk-and-talk the other day with Vincent, Namumu’s Senior Welder, and I thought I’d briefly share some of the highlights.
Still what I would call a young man at 27, Vincent is a goofball. Tall and lanky, he towers over his coworkers at the Namumu workshop, though he is far from intimidating. Because he’s a goofball. Most of the time he’s laughing and flashing a big, toothy grin, joking around as he grinds and cuts door and window frames all the live-long day.
Besides crafting works of art out of iron sheets and Y12 steel bars, Vincent plays guitar in a local band that specializes in traditional African music. I’ve only heard them once but I thought they sounded phenomenal. I think they’re still looking to catch their big break, but until then they are content to just meet to jam out every week or so.
I’ve spent a fair amount of time chatting with Vincent at the Namumu workshop during work days, but last Sunday I got the chance to have a nice long conversation with the guy. Mike, our Assistant Carpenter, had invited us to a special church service at the local branch of the New Apostolic Church in Siavonga to celebrate the recent birth of his daughter, and as Vincent lives close by we decided to meet up and make the 45 minute trek together. His pregnant, non-English-speaking young wife and baby girl joined us.
The trip started out on a high note when Vincent made an announcement. He informed me that he planned to name his next child, the child his wife is currently carrying in her belly, after me. If it’s a boy he said he’ll name it Samuel Steven Luubi, and if it’s a girl he will name it after some female member of my immediate family.
To this day I’m still not 100% sure that he was being 100% serious, but I’m pretty sure he was. Needless to say, I was taken aback. I don’t really know where that decision came from. I’m quite certain I haven’t done anything in my time here to deserve such a tribute. But I felt honored and I told him so again and again. The thought of a little African Samuel Steven terrorizing Namumu for years to come brought joy to my heart.
We continued on our journey, which was far from an easy stroll. This particular branch of the New Apostolic Church was on the other side of town, and to get there required passing over some serious rocks and hills on a small footpath through the brush. It was strenuous, but given the fact that Vincent’s tiny wife was walking effortlessly while carrying one baby on her back and another in her stomach I figured I shouldn’t complain. So, I trudged on with the group.
As we climbed up and down along the narrow path Vincent began opening up a bit more and sharing bits and pieces of his background, some of which I was aware of and much of which I wasn’t.
Like many of our Namumu children, Vincent was orphaned early on in life and was raised by various members of his extended family. He stopped going to school after grade 4, which was especially surprising to me since his conversational English and writing skills are so good. Usually these early dropouts are strictly Tonga speakers (or whatever the local tribal language happens to be) and often they cannot read or write. I can’t tell you how he acquired these skills outside of school, but he did.
Vincent’s past has made him especially sympathetic towards the children of Namumu. He told me that since he’s experienced the life of an orphan and its hardships he wants to do whatever he can to help them out. He wants to continue working for Namumu and training our kids as long as he can.
I gave him a solid pat on the back for that one.
On the way home from the service we talked about the future and what it held for him and his family. He really wants to find a way to go back to school. His Namumu paycheck is not a big one, so saving up the money might be an issue. He’ll need to pay for classes and then for examination fees. But the desire is there. His immediate objective is to prepare for and take his grade 7 examination which, given his reading and writing skills, I’d say he should be able to pass without much of a problem. I told him that in the coming weeks and months I’d do what I can to help him out.
Eventually we reached our respective homes and our conversation came to a close, which was a shame. I wish we could have continued on. But I suppose there will be more conversations to come with Vincent, and, hopefully years from now, with little Samuel Steven as well.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Admitting Defeat
After a few weeks of struggling to write a blog for every single day I am willing to admit defeat. I just can’t do it. How Lil Wayne manages to record at least one song every day I will never know. I tried to keep up with you, Weezy, but I just don’t have it in me. Namumu duty calls and I’ll have to keep my focus there.
Still, some interesting things have been going on around town and I’ll have plenty to write about in the next few days and weeks, so stay tuned.
And no, I haven’t married Mampi.
Yet.
Still, some interesting things have been going on around town and I’ll have plenty to write about in the next few days and weeks, so stay tuned.
And no, I haven’t married Mampi.
Yet.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Internet Masters
Zenzo and Clever, Namumu’s two young accountants, have become masters of the internet.
Just recently we created email accounts for both of them and I think they are pretty excited.
For Easter our friends at Park Lake Presbyterian Church in Orlando organized themselves and wrote letters to each and every Namumu staff member, just greeting them and telling them a little something about themselves and their families. It was nice. Everyone here really appreciated the gesture and enjoyed having something to keep and take home.
I think Zenzo and Clever would appreciate finding a few new emails in their inboxes in the next couple of days and weeks. If any of you out there are in the mood, give one or both of them a shout. Just say hi, introduce yourself and add a quick message. It will take two seconds and these guys would really enjoy reading them.
Do it.
Zenzo: zsidembo@gmail.com
Clever: csimayoba@gmail.com
Just recently we created email accounts for both of them and I think they are pretty excited.
For Easter our friends at Park Lake Presbyterian Church in Orlando organized themselves and wrote letters to each and every Namumu staff member, just greeting them and telling them a little something about themselves and their families. It was nice. Everyone here really appreciated the gesture and enjoyed having something to keep and take home.
I think Zenzo and Clever would appreciate finding a few new emails in their inboxes in the next couple of days and weeks. If any of you out there are in the mood, give one or both of them a shout. Just say hi, introduce yourself and add a quick message. It will take two seconds and these guys would really enjoy reading them.
Do it.
Zenzo: zsidembo@gmail.com
Clever: csimayoba@gmail.com
Monday, April 26, 2010
Zambian Street Fighting
I finally managed to get my hands on a copy of Chinua Achebe’s “Things Fall Apart”, which was surprisingly difficult to find considering it’s said to be the most widely read piece of African literature of all time and I’m living in Africa. Anyway, I finally found it in a small book shop and got to reading.
Let me tell you something, Okonkwo, the main character, is one bad dude, renowned for his wrestling and fighting skills and proud of the fact that he’s killed a number of his tribe’s enemies in battle. He also acts out violently towards his wives (he’s a polygamist) and his children, ruling his family with a firm hand.
I was reading this book all weekend last weekend and, as I rode back on a minibus from Lusaka to Siavonga, I remember thinking about how wonderful it is living in Zambia, a country where people are relatively peaceful, where they don’t often resort to physical violence like Okonkwo.
I was thinking such thoughts literally just minutes before witnessing the following incident…
On the road from Lusaka to Siavonga there are various roadside markets where the bus will stop to let off passengers. At these markets, which all consist of a few small shops lining one side of the street, you’ll see people standing around chatting or vendors sitting in little make-shift stands selling vegetables. There’s almost always a group of women or young children running up to the bus windows holding up tomatoes, okra, rape, maize or bananas for sale, depending on the season. It’s always ho hum, just another day at the market. They’re all pretty much the same.
At one stop, however, the large older woman sitting on the minibus next to me tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a crowd gathering around two sweaty and shirtless young gentlemen at the center of the market, both of whom were clearly unhappy with each other. The crowd soon erupted as one of the guys started swinging at the other one full force. He started really pounding on this other guy who didn’t seem to be putting up much of a defense. At one point the guy getting beaten tried to run away, but his opponent chased him down, tripped him up and started kicking him repeatedly. He even broke off a nearby tree branch and was preparing to whip the guy! This all went on for a few minutes.
Eventually the guy getting walloped was able to scurry into the bush, leaving his sweaty, shirtless, heavily breathing attacker behind.
I was pretty surprised by the crowd’s reaction. Everyone was just laughing and having a good ol’ time. Children, adults, and the elderly all seemed to be genuinely enjoying the spectacle. Actually, the old old women on our bus seemed to get the biggest kick out of it of all, yucking it up and giving a rapid-paced post-fight breakdown all the way to our next stop, which sadly I couldn’t understand because they were speaking Nyanja and I don’t know much Nyanja. All I could make out was “blah blah blah Mike Tyson…ha ha Mike Tyson blah blah blah!” So that was funny.
Then, as our bus was getting ready to drive off, the sweaty now-shirted champion came and hopped on with us, traveling the 15 or so minutes to the next town down the road. As he hopped off someone explained to me that the local police would surely be showing up to that market at some point in the near future looking for that guy, so he was probably going to a friend or relatives’ house to hide out. Apparently we were his getaway vehicle.
So, there you go, I was an accomplice to the escape of a vicious, victorious Zambian street-fighter.
And I thought all Zambians were peaceful. I guess violence is just universal. Sigh…
Let me tell you something, Okonkwo, the main character, is one bad dude, renowned for his wrestling and fighting skills and proud of the fact that he’s killed a number of his tribe’s enemies in battle. He also acts out violently towards his wives (he’s a polygamist) and his children, ruling his family with a firm hand.
I was reading this book all weekend last weekend and, as I rode back on a minibus from Lusaka to Siavonga, I remember thinking about how wonderful it is living in Zambia, a country where people are relatively peaceful, where they don’t often resort to physical violence like Okonkwo.
I was thinking such thoughts literally just minutes before witnessing the following incident…
On the road from Lusaka to Siavonga there are various roadside markets where the bus will stop to let off passengers. At these markets, which all consist of a few small shops lining one side of the street, you’ll see people standing around chatting or vendors sitting in little make-shift stands selling vegetables. There’s almost always a group of women or young children running up to the bus windows holding up tomatoes, okra, rape, maize or bananas for sale, depending on the season. It’s always ho hum, just another day at the market. They’re all pretty much the same.
At one stop, however, the large older woman sitting on the minibus next to me tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a crowd gathering around two sweaty and shirtless young gentlemen at the center of the market, both of whom were clearly unhappy with each other. The crowd soon erupted as one of the guys started swinging at the other one full force. He started really pounding on this other guy who didn’t seem to be putting up much of a defense. At one point the guy getting beaten tried to run away, but his opponent chased him down, tripped him up and started kicking him repeatedly. He even broke off a nearby tree branch and was preparing to whip the guy! This all went on for a few minutes.
Eventually the guy getting walloped was able to scurry into the bush, leaving his sweaty, shirtless, heavily breathing attacker behind.
I was pretty surprised by the crowd’s reaction. Everyone was just laughing and having a good ol’ time. Children, adults, and the elderly all seemed to be genuinely enjoying the spectacle. Actually, the old old women on our bus seemed to get the biggest kick out of it of all, yucking it up and giving a rapid-paced post-fight breakdown all the way to our next stop, which sadly I couldn’t understand because they were speaking Nyanja and I don’t know much Nyanja. All I could make out was “blah blah blah Mike Tyson…ha ha Mike Tyson blah blah blah!” So that was funny.
Then, as our bus was getting ready to drive off, the sweaty now-shirted champion came and hopped on with us, traveling the 15 or so minutes to the next town down the road. As he hopped off someone explained to me that the local police would surely be showing up to that market at some point in the near future looking for that guy, so he was probably going to a friend or relatives’ house to hide out. Apparently we were his getaway vehicle.
So, there you go, I was an accomplice to the escape of a vicious, victorious Zambian street-fighter.
And I thought all Zambians were peaceful. I guess violence is just universal. Sigh…
Time to Plant
The rainy season has finally come to an end here in Siavonga, and that means it’s time to start planting.
For the last few weeks Namumu’s children, under the close supervision of Kebby, the boys’ caregiver, and Savior, the girls’ caregiver, have been busy clearing selected fields and preparing garden beds. The soil is soft and easy to work, so the work isn’t difficult. All that’s needed is to slash away the tall grasses, turn up the soil with hoes and dig out long trenches.
Last planting season I did my best to persuade everybody to at least try a few new farming methods I picked up at Manakintowne and from Pete Markham’s favorite farmer, my man Eliot Coleman, but, as is often the case, most people in rural Zambia are going to continue to do things the way they’ve always been done, so we’re sticking with the usual Zambian techniques. Ah well, I tried.
So far we’ve planted tomatoes, okra, chinese cabbage, eggplant and rape. Already the okra has germinated and is shooting right up.
We’ve got some compost leftover from last season that we made from leaves, grasses and scraps from the kitchen, as well as plenty of cow and chicken poop to go around. So that’s nice.
Let’s hope for a good turnout this season.
For the last few weeks Namumu’s children, under the close supervision of Kebby, the boys’ caregiver, and Savior, the girls’ caregiver, have been busy clearing selected fields and preparing garden beds. The soil is soft and easy to work, so the work isn’t difficult. All that’s needed is to slash away the tall grasses, turn up the soil with hoes and dig out long trenches.
Last planting season I did my best to persuade everybody to at least try a few new farming methods I picked up at Manakintowne and from Pete Markham’s favorite farmer, my man Eliot Coleman, but, as is often the case, most people in rural Zambia are going to continue to do things the way they’ve always been done, so we’re sticking with the usual Zambian techniques. Ah well, I tried.
So far we’ve planted tomatoes, okra, chinese cabbage, eggplant and rape. Already the okra has germinated and is shooting right up.
We’ve got some compost leftover from last season that we made from leaves, grasses and scraps from the kitchen, as well as plenty of cow and chicken poop to go around. So that’s nice.
Let’s hope for a good turnout this season.
Jailas is Sick
I’m always fielding questions about what specifically to pray for at Namumu, and today I’ve got a pretty pressing request.
Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager, has been out sick for a few weeks and it seems as though his condition is getting worse. I couldn’t tell you exactly what he’s suffering from, but I know he hasn’t left his bed in about a week. I’ve been to visit him a few times and he looks and sounds terrible. He’s getting right old, so we’re all pretty worried about him.
Please pray for Jailas, that he can get back on his feet and back to the Namumu office soon.
Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager, has been out sick for a few weeks and it seems as though his condition is getting worse. I couldn’t tell you exactly what he’s suffering from, but I know he hasn’t left his bed in about a week. I’ve been to visit him a few times and he looks and sounds terrible. He’s getting right old, so we’re all pretty worried about him.
Please pray for Jailas, that he can get back on his feet and back to the Namumu office soon.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Unemployment
I haven’t seen any official statistics lately on unemployment in Zambia or Siavonga in particular, but I know it’s high and I’ve been feeling the effects of that.
Every day, and I mean every single day without exception, I have multiple guys, from late teens on up to old old men, coming up to me and asking me for a job. Some tell me they are carpenters. Some tell me they are fishermen. Some tell me that they are willing to do absolutely anything for a small paycheck.
Some of them know me and some of them don’t. The one’s who do know that Namumu is a pretty big organization and they figure there has to be some job for them to do. The ones who don’t know me just figure that a white guy in Siavonga has to have money and has to have a need for low-level workers in some way.
As we have no job openings at Namumu and are in fact trying to reduce the number of employees we have in order to lessen our budgetary burdens, I have to tell every single one of these guys no. It’s not very fun. They all plead with me and look so dejected when I tell them that, while I'll let them know if anything opens up, in all likelihood I won’t be able to help them out.
I sure hope this place starts to develop soon and some more jobs get created, because turning these guys down is not very fun.
Every day, and I mean every single day without exception, I have multiple guys, from late teens on up to old old men, coming up to me and asking me for a job. Some tell me they are carpenters. Some tell me they are fishermen. Some tell me that they are willing to do absolutely anything for a small paycheck.
Some of them know me and some of them don’t. The one’s who do know that Namumu is a pretty big organization and they figure there has to be some job for them to do. The ones who don’t know me just figure that a white guy in Siavonga has to have money and has to have a need for low-level workers in some way.
As we have no job openings at Namumu and are in fact trying to reduce the number of employees we have in order to lessen our budgetary burdens, I have to tell every single one of these guys no. It’s not very fun. They all plead with me and look so dejected when I tell them that, while I'll let them know if anything opens up, in all likelihood I won’t be able to help them out.
I sure hope this place starts to develop soon and some more jobs get created, because turning these guys down is not very fun.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Mampi
Remember Mampi, the buxom Zambian pop singer scorned by Clivert for her “provocative” dancing and manner of dress? Well, I have had the biggest crush on her for some time, and I even got the chance to meet her not too long ago.
I was staying over in Lusaka for the night and my friends and I had seen that Mampi would be performing at a small local night club in the late evening. By now most of my friends are aware of my Mampi infatuation and they, as good friends, agreed to accompany me to the show. That night, with lights flashing, bass pumping and hips shaking, Mampi put on a breathtaking performance into the wee hours of the morning. Most of her songs are in various Zambian languages that I don’t understand, but I didn’t mind one bit. She and her two scantily clad backup dancers rocked it.
After the show, when things had settled down and people had begun to stir again I caught a lucky break. I spotted Mampi hanging around the entrance, mingling with some friends (I guess Zambian pop stars aren’t as untouchable and removed as American ones). It was late and my group was set to leave, so I knew that I didn’t have long to make my move. I pulled myself together and, with the moves of a jungle cat, made my way over to the pop princess, poised and prepared to seduce. As I was walking past her I got her attention and she actually turned to face me.
And I choked under the pressure.
It was very, very late, the lights were flashing and I was chatting with a Zambian superstar. It was too much for me to handle. We made small talk for about 20 seconds before I politely ejected and met up with my friends who were walking out the door.
I blew it, and I’ve regretted not stepping up to the plate nearly every day since.
But don’t worry, folks, I have a plan. I always have a plan. Apparently there are traditional healers nearby in Siavonga who can craft love potions which come in various forms. Some are drinks. Some are powders that you sprinkle on small cuts you make on your body. I haven’t met any of these traditional healers yet, but I know a number of people who visit them regularly, so I think I can network and hook it up.
This way, the next time I won’t even have to come to Mampi. Mampi will come to me.
I’ll be sure to keep you updated.
I was staying over in Lusaka for the night and my friends and I had seen that Mampi would be performing at a small local night club in the late evening. By now most of my friends are aware of my Mampi infatuation and they, as good friends, agreed to accompany me to the show. That night, with lights flashing, bass pumping and hips shaking, Mampi put on a breathtaking performance into the wee hours of the morning. Most of her songs are in various Zambian languages that I don’t understand, but I didn’t mind one bit. She and her two scantily clad backup dancers rocked it.
After the show, when things had settled down and people had begun to stir again I caught a lucky break. I spotted Mampi hanging around the entrance, mingling with some friends (I guess Zambian pop stars aren’t as untouchable and removed as American ones). It was late and my group was set to leave, so I knew that I didn’t have long to make my move. I pulled myself together and, with the moves of a jungle cat, made my way over to the pop princess, poised and prepared to seduce. As I was walking past her I got her attention and she actually turned to face me.
And I choked under the pressure.
It was very, very late, the lights were flashing and I was chatting with a Zambian superstar. It was too much for me to handle. We made small talk for about 20 seconds before I politely ejected and met up with my friends who were walking out the door.
I blew it, and I’ve regretted not stepping up to the plate nearly every day since.
But don’t worry, folks, I have a plan. I always have a plan. Apparently there are traditional healers nearby in Siavonga who can craft love potions which come in various forms. Some are drinks. Some are powders that you sprinkle on small cuts you make on your body. I haven’t met any of these traditional healers yet, but I know a number of people who visit them regularly, so I think I can network and hook it up.
This way, the next time I won’t even have to come to Mampi. Mampi will come to me.
I’ll be sure to keep you updated.
Thole's Shirt
Thole is a middle-aged man who lives with his small family in a small shack on top of a small hill near the harbor where we park our boats and sell our kapenta every morning. We pay him a small rental fee each month, and I’m pretty sure that, along with the little money his wife makes buying kapenta from us and our neighboring fishing companies and selling elsewhere, comprises his only form of income. Most days he just drinks his head off and lays around in the shade all day. I suppose his family is doing alright. He has a few young girls that are always running around playing in the morning or helping their mother cook or wash clothes and plates. They seem to eat pretty well and they’re always relatively happy. Plus, they have a house right by a beautiful lake. Life could be worse.
Anyway, the other day I came to the harbor in the morning and did a double-take. There was Thole, having just woken, dragging out his front door and donning a University of Virginia Lacrosse T-shirt (UVa being the school I attended).
Now, how a T-Shirt from my school thousands of miles away wound up in the hands of a lazy drunk guy living in a small shack on a small hill by a lake in a remote area of southern Africa is beyond me. Perhaps someone from Crestwood (my home church in Richmond, Va.) sent the shirt along with some other clothes to Namumu and it somehow circulated to Thole, but I doubt it. Either way, it was an interesting moment.
A few other similar instances have occurred here in Zambia that have demonstrated how interconnected all points of the globe are these days and they never cease to amaze me.
Anyway, the other day I came to the harbor in the morning and did a double-take. There was Thole, having just woken, dragging out his front door and donning a University of Virginia Lacrosse T-shirt (UVa being the school I attended).
Now, how a T-Shirt from my school thousands of miles away wound up in the hands of a lazy drunk guy living in a small shack on a small hill by a lake in a remote area of southern Africa is beyond me. Perhaps someone from Crestwood (my home church in Richmond, Va.) sent the shirt along with some other clothes to Namumu and it somehow circulated to Thole, but I doubt it. Either way, it was an interesting moment.
A few other similar instances have occurred here in Zambia that have demonstrated how interconnected all points of the globe are these days and they never cease to amaze me.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Lagging
I know, I know, I said I'd be getting out a blog post for every single day and I've lagged behind already. It's not my fault. I was out of Siavonga for a few days and couldn't write or get to a computer for a while. I'll catch back up shortly.
Coming soon to Sam Goes to Africa...
- I am a witness to a crime and somehow find myself on the getaway vehicle fleeing the scene
- I spend two nights basically being spooned by a grown African man
- I may be marrying a Zambian pop singer in the very near future
Stay tuned.
Coming soon to Sam Goes to Africa...
- I am a witness to a crime and somehow find myself on the getaway vehicle fleeing the scene
- I spend two nights basically being spooned by a grown African man
- I may be marrying a Zambian pop singer in the very near future
Stay tuned.
Franco
Franco, one of our older resident boys, came to Namumu just a few months ago, brought here by the Zambian Department of Social Welfare. He’s tall and lanky, and while he’ll smile at you when you talk to him he usually walks around with a bit of a blank stare.
Like many of our children here at Namumu Franco has really gotten the short end of the stick in life. His father passed away some years ago and his elderly mother has had a difficult time supporting the large family. Franco started misbehaving a bit, getting involved with the wrong crowd and drinking, smoking and stealing from time to time. As Namumu is a respected organization here in Siavonga, the Department of Social Welfare thought that if he came to live here for a while Franco could get his life back together.
Franco is not a bad kid. He’s a good kid who sometimes does bad things. He’s nice and polite and you can tell he cares about other people. He’s gotten in some trouble here at Namumu, but nothing outrageous.
As if things weren’t difficult enough for Franco already, last week his mother passed away, leaving him a double orphan. While he has the support of his brothers in the dormitory and the rest of us at Namumu it’s still a tough time for the guy.
Please pray for Franco at some point this week.
Like many of our children here at Namumu Franco has really gotten the short end of the stick in life. His father passed away some years ago and his elderly mother has had a difficult time supporting the large family. Franco started misbehaving a bit, getting involved with the wrong crowd and drinking, smoking and stealing from time to time. As Namumu is a respected organization here in Siavonga, the Department of Social Welfare thought that if he came to live here for a while Franco could get his life back together.
Franco is not a bad kid. He’s a good kid who sometimes does bad things. He’s nice and polite and you can tell he cares about other people. He’s gotten in some trouble here at Namumu, but nothing outrageous.
As if things weren’t difficult enough for Franco already, last week his mother passed away, leaving him a double orphan. While he has the support of his brothers in the dormitory and the rest of us at Namumu it’s still a tough time for the guy.
Please pray for Franco at some point this week.
Monday, April 19, 2010
A Few More Pictures...
I’m posting this blog from an internet café in the heart of Lusaka, and thanks to the high speed of their internet I’ve got a few pictures for you that I thought you’d enjoy…
In case you thought I was just joking about us being in the middle-of-nowhere, here’s a shot of Namumu Orphanage Centre from the top of one of the nearby hills. In the background you can see Lake Kariba and, behind that, the hills of Zimbabwe. Just lovely.
Here we have my man, Clivert, mentally preparing to take a leap into the cool waters of a nearby stream. Don’t let the fact that he’s holding his nose before diving in like a pansy fool you, Clivert is a maniac. He did jumps and flips and twists off of all these rocks. I just jumped. I guess the real pansy is me.
I actually have a picture of myself on this same rock that Clivert is standing here, but my body is so pale that I was worried it might blind some of you out there, so I kept it off.
I’ve been swimming here a number of times and no, Chris and JJ, no amoebas have gotten up in me yet. Phew.
The sunset over on Lake Kariba, as seen from one of Namumu’s two kapenta fishing boats (see the net rim in the lower left corner). Unbelievably beautiful.
After months of preparation and waiting, our chickens finally arrived on March 18th and started laying eggs shortly thereafter. Here some of Namumu’s boys and Mr. Fwanyanga, a teacher at the community school, helping to unload them from the trucks. After the three hour journey that truck smelled like butt.
Here we have Jimmet, one of Namumu’s older boys, helping to place the chickens in the battery cage. We’re trying to get the kids to help out as much as possible so that they develop skills that might enable them to one day run their own poultry operation.
In case you thought I was just joking about us being in the middle-of-nowhere, here’s a shot of Namumu Orphanage Centre from the top of one of the nearby hills. In the background you can see Lake Kariba and, behind that, the hills of Zimbabwe. Just lovely.
Here we have my man, Clivert, mentally preparing to take a leap into the cool waters of a nearby stream. Don’t let the fact that he’s holding his nose before diving in like a pansy fool you, Clivert is a maniac. He did jumps and flips and twists off of all these rocks. I just jumped. I guess the real pansy is me.
I actually have a picture of myself on this same rock that Clivert is standing here, but my body is so pale that I was worried it might blind some of you out there, so I kept it off.
I’ve been swimming here a number of times and no, Chris and JJ, no amoebas have gotten up in me yet. Phew.
The sunset over on Lake Kariba, as seen from one of Namumu’s two kapenta fishing boats (see the net rim in the lower left corner). Unbelievably beautiful.
After months of preparation and waiting, our chickens finally arrived on March 18th and started laying eggs shortly thereafter. Here some of Namumu’s boys and Mr. Fwanyanga, a teacher at the community school, helping to unload them from the trucks. After the three hour journey that truck smelled like butt.
Here we have Jimmet, one of Namumu’s older boys, helping to place the chickens in the battery cage. We’re trying to get the kids to help out as much as possible so that they develop skills that might enable them to one day run their own poultry operation.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
My Crappy Diet
Here's tomorrow's blog posted in advance because like a bunch of dead-beats we haven't paid our internet bill and I'm pretty sure they're going to cut it off this afternoon...
Now, I’ve taken a fair amount of crap from my friends back home concerning my poor eating habits in Zambia, but let me explain my dilemma to you.
There is a small market close to Namumu, but the selection is very limited and the only place to buy most food is at the main market in town, a 45 minute walk or a 10 minute drive away. No, I don’t have my own car or motorcycle.
I’m working all day on weekdays, basically from 5:30 am until around 6:00 pm. On weekend mornings I’m either going to church or doing kapenta fishing work and in the afternoons I’m either cleaning, cooking, sleeping, or enjoying brief moments of laziness. This doesn’t leave a lot of shopping time.
The only real time I have to buy food is in the late morning during the week when the Namumu vehicle goes to town, transporting someone from the accounts department to the bank and other members of staff to complete various tasks, such as purchasing food or cleaning supplies or materials for our income generating activities at the market. I usually go with the vehicle because there’s often something I need to pick up, either for our boats or for the carpentry/welding workshop, and this is the time when I have a few moments to do some quick food shopping as well. The only time.
The problem is this. Nobody has much money in Siavonga. Even though my Namumu co-workers are fortunate enough to have a job at a stable organization, they aren’t making much. Almost all of them are making less than the equivalent of US$100 a month with which most are supporting large families. While living expenses in Siavonga are quite low when compared to those in cities like Lusaka, my co-workers can usually only afford to pay for absolute necessities and the foods they purchase are only the basics. All of them purchase corn meal to make nsima. Besides that, most keep their diets to either kapenta, vegetables like tomatoes, rape and cabbage, and beans. Eggs, chicken and beef are luxuries for most of my friends and are rarely purchased.
So, when I’m out traveling with my big Namumu group, I can’t come back to Namumu packing eggs, chicken and beef all for myself when everyone I’m riding with is struggling to get by while living off the basics. So, these days usually I just follow their trend and keep my diet to bread, eggs, kapenta and vegetables. It’s pretty simple and it never changes. It’s not the healthiest diet, but what can I do?
Sometimes I can’t go with the vehicle for a few days and I’m stuck eating peanut butter sandwiches for every meal of the day. Some meals I’ll eat only eggs. Yes, I understand it’s not good for me, but as you can see I’m a little constrained. Still, I think I’ll survive.
Fortunately, my parents sent me a multivitamin/multimineral supplement that I take every day, and every now and then I’ll buy some fruit, so while my body may deteriorate in other ways, my Dad says that I don’t have to worry about getting scurvy no more. And I say, that’s good. One less thing.
Now, I’ve taken a fair amount of crap from my friends back home concerning my poor eating habits in Zambia, but let me explain my dilemma to you.
There is a small market close to Namumu, but the selection is very limited and the only place to buy most food is at the main market in town, a 45 minute walk or a 10 minute drive away. No, I don’t have my own car or motorcycle.
I’m working all day on weekdays, basically from 5:30 am until around 6:00 pm. On weekend mornings I’m either going to church or doing kapenta fishing work and in the afternoons I’m either cleaning, cooking, sleeping, or enjoying brief moments of laziness. This doesn’t leave a lot of shopping time.
The only real time I have to buy food is in the late morning during the week when the Namumu vehicle goes to town, transporting someone from the accounts department to the bank and other members of staff to complete various tasks, such as purchasing food or cleaning supplies or materials for our income generating activities at the market. I usually go with the vehicle because there’s often something I need to pick up, either for our boats or for the carpentry/welding workshop, and this is the time when I have a few moments to do some quick food shopping as well. The only time.
The problem is this. Nobody has much money in Siavonga. Even though my Namumu co-workers are fortunate enough to have a job at a stable organization, they aren’t making much. Almost all of them are making less than the equivalent of US$100 a month with which most are supporting large families. While living expenses in Siavonga are quite low when compared to those in cities like Lusaka, my co-workers can usually only afford to pay for absolute necessities and the foods they purchase are only the basics. All of them purchase corn meal to make nsima. Besides that, most keep their diets to either kapenta, vegetables like tomatoes, rape and cabbage, and beans. Eggs, chicken and beef are luxuries for most of my friends and are rarely purchased.
So, when I’m out traveling with my big Namumu group, I can’t come back to Namumu packing eggs, chicken and beef all for myself when everyone I’m riding with is struggling to get by while living off the basics. So, these days usually I just follow their trend and keep my diet to bread, eggs, kapenta and vegetables. It’s pretty simple and it never changes. It’s not the healthiest diet, but what can I do?
Sometimes I can’t go with the vehicle for a few days and I’m stuck eating peanut butter sandwiches for every meal of the day. Some meals I’ll eat only eggs. Yes, I understand it’s not good for me, but as you can see I’m a little constrained. Still, I think I’ll survive.
Fortunately, my parents sent me a multivitamin/multimineral supplement that I take every day, and every now and then I’ll buy some fruit, so while my body may deteriorate in other ways, my Dad says that I don’t have to worry about getting scurvy no more. And I say, that’s good. One less thing.
John the Border Jumper
One of the best decisions I’ve made in Africa came when I resolved to befriend at least one person on every minibus or coach bus on which I happened to be traveling. In the beginning I suppose I was a little intimidated by Zambian public transportation and was hesitant to strike up conversations with those surrounding me. Or maybe I was just worried about getting locked into a three hour conversation with some rambler or some lunatic. Either way, I usually kept to myself and zoned out until arriving at my destination.
I don’t remember the exact trip when I made my resolution, but I know it was a few months into my stay here. It’s been great. Yes, I have gotten stuck chatting with ramblers. It’s no big deal, nothing I couldn’t get out of by pretending to fall asleep. Yes, I’ve gotten stuck chatting with lunatics, which, coincidentally, almost always turns out to be a good thing as I arrive at my destination entertained and with a funny story to tell. Overall the policy has worked out very well for me. I’ve made some good friends.
Most recently this initiative led me to John (not his real name), a 40-something Zimbabwean man with a gap in between his front teeth, a black Michael Jackson-esque leather jacket and designer jeans. John had a seat right next to me in the back row of a minibus traveling from Lusaka to Siavonga. He was originally from Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital, but had been living in Zambia for a year or two. Oddly enough, I was the one explaining to him the details of our journey through Zambia’s Southern Province, how long the journey would take, where we’d stop along the way, etc. etc.
John immediately struck me as an intelligent man, and I soon learned that this initial perception was correct. He was a computer programmer who had worked for a number of large local corporations. I don’t think there are a great number of computer nerds running around Zambia. I know that John is the first one I’ve come into contact with. So that was interesting.
And he was cheerful, a clear sign that he had been living in Zambia recently, not Zimbabwe. For the most part, people coming across from Zimbabwe are not cheerful. They might smile or be friendly or joke around to some degree, but there’s always a sense of sadness and pain behind their eyes that you can always pick up on. It’s terrible. That place is in rough shape. John, however, was outgoing and jovial.
Anyway, around one hour into the journey I asked him what was bringing him to Siavonga. Oh, he wasn’t going to Siavonga, he replied. He was going back to Zimbabwe. That’s weird, I thought. Most people I know don’t travel by minibus to Harare. There are large coach buses that travel directly from Lusaka to Harare that are more comfortable really not much more expensive than the minibus we were on that would only get him to the border. I inquired as to why he hadn’t taken that option.
He chuckled and responded that his documentation was not exactly in order. No, he wasn’t planning to cross through a border post. He was going to sneak across the border, and he was incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing. This was in no way a big deal to him.
I attempted to voice my opinion, that this may not be the best idea. Zim Police are out of control. I can’t say I know a whole lot about them, but I do know how they handle things on Lake Kariba, where the Zambia/Zimbabwe border passes through the middle of the lake. If any Zambian fishing boat is found fishing on the Zim side or anywhere close to the Zim side they impound the boat and lock up the crew, no questions asked. A friend of mine’s crew was fishing on the Zim side not too long ago and when the police showed up the crew tried to speed away. The police opened fire, shooting and killing one of the crew members. Those guys don’t mess around.
So, I tried to persuade him against it, but he was pretty set. He was going to make the jump. He didn’t exactly seem prepared for the journey ahead of him. He didn’t even know where exactly to get off the bus, and his MJ jacket and jeans were probably not the best outfit for wandering through the woods and fording the Zambezi River, all while trying to avoid the police. But he was supremely confident that it would all work out and there was no convincing him otherwise.
He said he was going to do whatever he had to do to get back to his family, still living in Harare.
We exchanged emails and I told him to contact me whenever he got there so that I knew he had made it safely. This was last week. I’ve emailed him and I still haven’t heard back from him yet. Hopefully he just hasn’t been able to access his email.
John was a nice guy, so please go ahead and pray that he gets home safely to his family without running into trouble.
I don’t remember the exact trip when I made my resolution, but I know it was a few months into my stay here. It’s been great. Yes, I have gotten stuck chatting with ramblers. It’s no big deal, nothing I couldn’t get out of by pretending to fall asleep. Yes, I’ve gotten stuck chatting with lunatics, which, coincidentally, almost always turns out to be a good thing as I arrive at my destination entertained and with a funny story to tell. Overall the policy has worked out very well for me. I’ve made some good friends.
Most recently this initiative led me to John (not his real name), a 40-something Zimbabwean man with a gap in between his front teeth, a black Michael Jackson-esque leather jacket and designer jeans. John had a seat right next to me in the back row of a minibus traveling from Lusaka to Siavonga. He was originally from Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital, but had been living in Zambia for a year or two. Oddly enough, I was the one explaining to him the details of our journey through Zambia’s Southern Province, how long the journey would take, where we’d stop along the way, etc. etc.
John immediately struck me as an intelligent man, and I soon learned that this initial perception was correct. He was a computer programmer who had worked for a number of large local corporations. I don’t think there are a great number of computer nerds running around Zambia. I know that John is the first one I’ve come into contact with. So that was interesting.
And he was cheerful, a clear sign that he had been living in Zambia recently, not Zimbabwe. For the most part, people coming across from Zimbabwe are not cheerful. They might smile or be friendly or joke around to some degree, but there’s always a sense of sadness and pain behind their eyes that you can always pick up on. It’s terrible. That place is in rough shape. John, however, was outgoing and jovial.
Anyway, around one hour into the journey I asked him what was bringing him to Siavonga. Oh, he wasn’t going to Siavonga, he replied. He was going back to Zimbabwe. That’s weird, I thought. Most people I know don’t travel by minibus to Harare. There are large coach buses that travel directly from Lusaka to Harare that are more comfortable really not much more expensive than the minibus we were on that would only get him to the border. I inquired as to why he hadn’t taken that option.
He chuckled and responded that his documentation was not exactly in order. No, he wasn’t planning to cross through a border post. He was going to sneak across the border, and he was incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing. This was in no way a big deal to him.
I attempted to voice my opinion, that this may not be the best idea. Zim Police are out of control. I can’t say I know a whole lot about them, but I do know how they handle things on Lake Kariba, where the Zambia/Zimbabwe border passes through the middle of the lake. If any Zambian fishing boat is found fishing on the Zim side or anywhere close to the Zim side they impound the boat and lock up the crew, no questions asked. A friend of mine’s crew was fishing on the Zim side not too long ago and when the police showed up the crew tried to speed away. The police opened fire, shooting and killing one of the crew members. Those guys don’t mess around.
So, I tried to persuade him against it, but he was pretty set. He was going to make the jump. He didn’t exactly seem prepared for the journey ahead of him. He didn’t even know where exactly to get off the bus, and his MJ jacket and jeans were probably not the best outfit for wandering through the woods and fording the Zambezi River, all while trying to avoid the police. But he was supremely confident that it would all work out and there was no convincing him otherwise.
He said he was going to do whatever he had to do to get back to his family, still living in Harare.
We exchanged emails and I told him to contact me whenever he got there so that I knew he had made it safely. This was last week. I’ve emailed him and I still haven’t heard back from him yet. Hopefully he just hasn’t been able to access his email.
John was a nice guy, so please go ahead and pray that he gets home safely to his family without running into trouble.
Monday, April 12, 2010
My Kitchen Window
One of the keys to surviving in rural Africa with no television is to find alternative means of amusement.
For me, looking out of my kitchen window to the back yard while I’m washing dishes usually does the trick. As previously noted, there have been anywhere from 12 to 20 people living in the small house next door to me throughout this past year, and that means that at all hours of the day there is something happening out back behind our house.
Little Junior and Rupiah, the pair of two-year-old rascals living next door, usually provide the most entertainment. Just this past week I was fortunate enough to witness the following events:
On Monday, both Junior and Rupiah were almost trampled in a stampede when the family cows came back to the corral one late afternoon. One minute the boys were running around naked (of course) without a care in the world, the next their eyes were filled with terror as they ran for their lives from the quickly approaching cows. I probably should have been worried for their safety, but the transition from a joyful nude romp through the grass to the raw terror-filled escape was so instantaneous it struck me as particularly hilarious and I couldn’t do anything but laugh. Don’t worry, I knew they were never in any real danger, their older cousins were right there to scoop them up and carry them to safety. It’s like I’ve said, you’ve gotta stay on your toes around those cows.
On Wendesday I saw Rupiah beat Junior up, punching him in the shoulder and then pushing him to the ground. Rupiah is a heavyweight (much like the Zambian president he resembles) and can basically manhandle the welterweight Junior whenever he wants to. Junior started wailing and Rupiah started looking around guiltily, wondering if anybody had seen him. I didn’t have my timer on but it couldn’t have been more than two minutes before the two boys were chasing each other and laughing and having a good ol’ time. I was truly amazed at the drama that had just played out before my eyes. Ah, kids, so quick to forgive and forget.
Finally, sometimes I play music on my computer while doing household chores to make them a little less miserable. On Friday I was cleaning my kitchen and blasting Tupac while Junior was out back. He started dancing/bouncing to “I Get Around”, waving his arms and having a good ol’ time. He was a pretty good little dancer. I felt like a proud parent.
Being easily amused by such things really makes life in the middle-of-nowhere a much more pleasant experience.
For me, looking out of my kitchen window to the back yard while I’m washing dishes usually does the trick. As previously noted, there have been anywhere from 12 to 20 people living in the small house next door to me throughout this past year, and that means that at all hours of the day there is something happening out back behind our house.
Little Junior and Rupiah, the pair of two-year-old rascals living next door, usually provide the most entertainment. Just this past week I was fortunate enough to witness the following events:
On Monday, both Junior and Rupiah were almost trampled in a stampede when the family cows came back to the corral one late afternoon. One minute the boys were running around naked (of course) without a care in the world, the next their eyes were filled with terror as they ran for their lives from the quickly approaching cows. I probably should have been worried for their safety, but the transition from a joyful nude romp through the grass to the raw terror-filled escape was so instantaneous it struck me as particularly hilarious and I couldn’t do anything but laugh. Don’t worry, I knew they were never in any real danger, their older cousins were right there to scoop them up and carry them to safety. It’s like I’ve said, you’ve gotta stay on your toes around those cows.
On Wendesday I saw Rupiah beat Junior up, punching him in the shoulder and then pushing him to the ground. Rupiah is a heavyweight (much like the Zambian president he resembles) and can basically manhandle the welterweight Junior whenever he wants to. Junior started wailing and Rupiah started looking around guiltily, wondering if anybody had seen him. I didn’t have my timer on but it couldn’t have been more than two minutes before the two boys were chasing each other and laughing and having a good ol’ time. I was truly amazed at the drama that had just played out before my eyes. Ah, kids, so quick to forgive and forget.
Finally, sometimes I play music on my computer while doing household chores to make them a little less miserable. On Friday I was cleaning my kitchen and blasting Tupac while Junior was out back. He started dancing/bouncing to “I Get Around”, waving his arms and having a good ol’ time. He was a pretty good little dancer. I felt like a proud parent.
Being easily amused by such things really makes life in the middle-of-nowhere a much more pleasant experience.
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