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…
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Country Boys Head Out to the Big City
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Uncle Chuck Norris Goes to Sea (actually to the lake, but whatever) - PART II
...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.
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.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Uncle Chuck Norris Goes to Sea (actually to the lake, but whatever) - PART I
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…
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…
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Farewell to WCPC (and to Pedro the Chicken)
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…
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
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.
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.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Who's Ready for an African Cookout?
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Clivet aka The Sweater
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.
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
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).
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).
Friday, June 19, 2009
Another Tragedy
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.
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Cows Trample on my Garden and my Heart
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.
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.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Runaways, Stacks of Butter and a Frightening Statistic
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.
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.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Requests
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.
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.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
My Name is Uncle Chuck Norris
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
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
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Namumu's Awesomeness
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.
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.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Prayer Request
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.
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
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
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.
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.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Q & A
“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.
"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.
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