In Zambian schools, in order for children to pass grade seven and move on to grade eight they are required to pass a standardized government examination. Being the first (and in some unfortunate cases, the last) big test these kids ever have to take, it’s a big deal.
For the children attending the Namumu Community School, passing means they get to attend grade eight at Siavonga Basic School, located in the main township, a 40-or-so minute walk away. They get to wear sharp new uniforms, different from the ones the children in grades one through seven wear. There’s clearly a certain status attached to moving on up to the Basic School in town.
Those who don’t pass must remain in grade seven for another year and then take the exam again.
Namumu had 19 of its resident children take the exam. Overall they did very, very well. Two, in fact, Christopher and Brenda, did so well that they were accepted into local boarding schools, a significant achievement.
Unfortunately, one of our girls didn’t pass and will be forced to repeat grade seven. Victoria (not her real name...I don’t think this girl would be happy about me throwing her name around and telling everyone she failed), a very sweet, slightly goofy 13 year old, just missed the cut off.
As you can imagine, it’s been a rough week for Victoria. It’s been obvious that she’s embarrassed, and to make matters worse all of her friends passed and are moving on. She’s bounced back over the past few days, but I have a feeling it will take her a while to fully get over her disappointment. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers.
Still, while it’s unfortunate that Namumu’s children did not all make it through, 18 out of 19 ain’t too shabby. The others scored remarkably high. I would argue that this is further evidence of the advantages our kids have by staying here. They have stable adult influences in their lives that guide them and encourage them to work hard, and the test scores reflect that.
Just another reason why Namumu is so awesome...
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
Livingstone Shenanigans PART III
Towards the end of the week a wave of lethargy overtook us all simultaneously and we contented ourselves with lying around the lodge’s pool and doing a whole lotta nothing. It was wonderful. We didn’t make it over to Namibia or Zimbabwe, but I knew I’d make it over to them both eventually so I didn’t sweat it. Besides, it felt too good being lazy.
We did make it out on a boat cruise (of the Dunder Mifflin variety) on the Zambezi river on our last night in Livingstone, which was nice. Being the fisherman that I am and having been out on Lake Kariba with my crew for many-a-night it wasn’t so new and exciting, but it sure was pretty. And it was nice to be out on the water without a diesel-guzzling generator pumping noisily in the background for once.
Other than the members of our group there were mostly tourists on board, around 30 in all, I’d say. I spent the majority of my time chatting with a chain-smoking fat guy from Poland. He was very jolly and very cool and I couldn’t imagine anyone I’d rather be cruising on the Zambezi alongside. To be honest, I probably only understood around 35% of the words coming out of his mouth, but that 35% was hilarious. Good times.
We got back and docked just after the sun had gone down. The vacation was almost over and I was looking forward to it ending it with a nice, relaxing night with my good friends, Ndandula, Mwenya and Mucho.
Little did I know that I would soon find myself in the middle of a heated tribal dispute, or that I would be forced to play the role of mediator.
Ndandula had to run off to meet a friend in town, so, in the meantime, while we waited for her to return, Mwenya, Mucho and I decided to stick around at the outdoor bar of the hotel that provided the boat cruise. The Zambezi was well within view and the early evening weather was warm but comfortable. We planned to get some food and drinks and hang around for a bit.
By sheer coincidence, Mucho’s boss happened to be staying at that very same hotel and was sitting by the bar. He was staying with his family, but they were all off somewhere and he was at the bar alone. He was a nice older gentleman, outgoing and easy to talk to. He was, shall we say, a bit tipsy.
So, we sat around at the bar, Mwenya, Mucho, Mucho’s boss and I, chatting about this and that, enjoying the scenery, the weather and the frosty refreshments.
As we talked, I noticed that just down at the other end of the bar sat a group of Zambian women of all ages. They were all there together, talking and laughing and enjoying themselves as much as we were. They looked like fun. I, being a fan of fun women, started up a casual conversation with the few closest to us. It turned out my assessment had been correct. They were very fun.
So, at this point, it was basically like we were one big group. One big happy group. And I was right in the middle, one single white face in the middle of it all. I remember looking around and thinking, yeeeeah, I am so happy that my life has led me here. This is excellent.
At one point we settled into a pretty standard conversation. Where are you coming from? They’d asked. Siavonga. Oh, that’s nice, for how long have you stayed there? About 10 months. Have you learned any of the languages? Yeah, you know, I’m in a Tonga area so I’ve learned some of that. I dropped some Tonga on them and they just about lost their minds.
Then, in the midst of all our jovial laughter, one of these ladies, the Queen Bee of the group, in fact, decided it was a good moment to go on a tirade against Tonga men. I mean she went off. Tonga men are the scum of the earth, she said. They treat women poorly, they drink too much, etc. etc., she spouted. Clearly she had had a bit to drink as well. Suddenly the mood of the group began to turn.
And what tribe do Mucho and Mucho’s boss belong to, you might ask? You guessed it. Tonga.
So they start raising their voices a bit and defending their honor, so to speak. Who is this women to say such things? How can she look down on them like that? What tribe is she from? How are they any better? Blah blah blah.
She raised her voice and gave it right back to them, venom shooting from her mouth and fire from her eyes. I thought she was going to reach across me and scratch out their eyeballs.
So, there I am, stuck in the middle of a full-on Zambian tribal war of words. Right in the middle. What was I to do?
At first, I sat enjoyed the show. It was pretty funny. Then, as things got more and more heated, I knew I had to get out of there. I excused myself and walked over to the men’s room.
Something had to be done, I decided. I took a deep breath, pumped myself up, and headed back to the group. Things had calmed down a bit, but there was still tension in the air. I regained my place in the middle of the groups and prepared myself for the speech of a lifetime.
Listen up, everyone, I said loudly. I had their attention. You’re a Tonga, you’re a Bemba, you’re a Losi, so what? You’re a Zambian, you’re a Zambian, I’m a Zambian (for the purposes of my speech I didn’t go into the details by explaining that I am technically an American citizen in Zambia on a Business Visa). We’re all here tonight. We’re together now. So why don’t we forget all this crap and just have a good time?
I raised my glass in the air, looking around for affirmation.
I got it.
I heard shouts of approval from both sides as everyone raised their glasses. We all drank and continued with our merrymaking, the tension, for the most part, dissolved. While we never got back to our original state of glee, we all had a good time.
I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking there’s no way that this actually happened, that it was just a delusional daydream. I’m telling you, it happened exactly like that. Exactly.
I’ve failed many times and in many ways here in Zambia, but when it’s all said and done I’ll always have this moment, one that I will cherish forever. The day I stopped a Zambian tribal war.
The next day we packed it up, said goodbye to our lodge friends and headed out of Livingstone, none of us quite ready for the vacation to end.
I arrived back in Siavonga the next day, tired from the travel but glad to be back amongst my friends and Namumu family. That night I ate dinner, nsima and kapenta, on the ground and under the stars with my neighbors. The dogs howled in the background and the crickets chirped. Oh, and then one of my neighbor’s roaming cows peed on the ground right beside where I had placed my backpack, sprinkling it thoroughly.
Welcome back to the bush, Sam. Welcome back.
We did make it out on a boat cruise (of the Dunder Mifflin variety) on the Zambezi river on our last night in Livingstone, which was nice. Being the fisherman that I am and having been out on Lake Kariba with my crew for many-a-night it wasn’t so new and exciting, but it sure was pretty. And it was nice to be out on the water without a diesel-guzzling generator pumping noisily in the background for once.
Other than the members of our group there were mostly tourists on board, around 30 in all, I’d say. I spent the majority of my time chatting with a chain-smoking fat guy from Poland. He was very jolly and very cool and I couldn’t imagine anyone I’d rather be cruising on the Zambezi alongside. To be honest, I probably only understood around 35% of the words coming out of his mouth, but that 35% was hilarious. Good times.
We got back and docked just after the sun had gone down. The vacation was almost over and I was looking forward to it ending it with a nice, relaxing night with my good friends, Ndandula, Mwenya and Mucho.
Little did I know that I would soon find myself in the middle of a heated tribal dispute, or that I would be forced to play the role of mediator.
Ndandula had to run off to meet a friend in town, so, in the meantime, while we waited for her to return, Mwenya, Mucho and I decided to stick around at the outdoor bar of the hotel that provided the boat cruise. The Zambezi was well within view and the early evening weather was warm but comfortable. We planned to get some food and drinks and hang around for a bit.
By sheer coincidence, Mucho’s boss happened to be staying at that very same hotel and was sitting by the bar. He was staying with his family, but they were all off somewhere and he was at the bar alone. He was a nice older gentleman, outgoing and easy to talk to. He was, shall we say, a bit tipsy.
So, we sat around at the bar, Mwenya, Mucho, Mucho’s boss and I, chatting about this and that, enjoying the scenery, the weather and the frosty refreshments.
As we talked, I noticed that just down at the other end of the bar sat a group of Zambian women of all ages. They were all there together, talking and laughing and enjoying themselves as much as we were. They looked like fun. I, being a fan of fun women, started up a casual conversation with the few closest to us. It turned out my assessment had been correct. They were very fun.
So, at this point, it was basically like we were one big group. One big happy group. And I was right in the middle, one single white face in the middle of it all. I remember looking around and thinking, yeeeeah, I am so happy that my life has led me here. This is excellent.
At one point we settled into a pretty standard conversation. Where are you coming from? They’d asked. Siavonga. Oh, that’s nice, for how long have you stayed there? About 10 months. Have you learned any of the languages? Yeah, you know, I’m in a Tonga area so I’ve learned some of that. I dropped some Tonga on them and they just about lost their minds.
Then, in the midst of all our jovial laughter, one of these ladies, the Queen Bee of the group, in fact, decided it was a good moment to go on a tirade against Tonga men. I mean she went off. Tonga men are the scum of the earth, she said. They treat women poorly, they drink too much, etc. etc., she spouted. Clearly she had had a bit to drink as well. Suddenly the mood of the group began to turn.
And what tribe do Mucho and Mucho’s boss belong to, you might ask? You guessed it. Tonga.
So they start raising their voices a bit and defending their honor, so to speak. Who is this women to say such things? How can she look down on them like that? What tribe is she from? How are they any better? Blah blah blah.
She raised her voice and gave it right back to them, venom shooting from her mouth and fire from her eyes. I thought she was going to reach across me and scratch out their eyeballs.
So, there I am, stuck in the middle of a full-on Zambian tribal war of words. Right in the middle. What was I to do?
At first, I sat enjoyed the show. It was pretty funny. Then, as things got more and more heated, I knew I had to get out of there. I excused myself and walked over to the men’s room.
Something had to be done, I decided. I took a deep breath, pumped myself up, and headed back to the group. Things had calmed down a bit, but there was still tension in the air. I regained my place in the middle of the groups and prepared myself for the speech of a lifetime.
Listen up, everyone, I said loudly. I had their attention. You’re a Tonga, you’re a Bemba, you’re a Losi, so what? You’re a Zambian, you’re a Zambian, I’m a Zambian (for the purposes of my speech I didn’t go into the details by explaining that I am technically an American citizen in Zambia on a Business Visa). We’re all here tonight. We’re together now. So why don’t we forget all this crap and just have a good time?
I raised my glass in the air, looking around for affirmation.
I got it.
I heard shouts of approval from both sides as everyone raised their glasses. We all drank and continued with our merrymaking, the tension, for the most part, dissolved. While we never got back to our original state of glee, we all had a good time.
I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking there’s no way that this actually happened, that it was just a delusional daydream. I’m telling you, it happened exactly like that. Exactly.
I’ve failed many times and in many ways here in Zambia, but when it’s all said and done I’ll always have this moment, one that I will cherish forever. The day I stopped a Zambian tribal war.
The next day we packed it up, said goodbye to our lodge friends and headed out of Livingstone, none of us quite ready for the vacation to end.
I arrived back in Siavonga the next day, tired from the travel but glad to be back amongst my friends and Namumu family. That night I ate dinner, nsima and kapenta, on the ground and under the stars with my neighbors. The dogs howled in the background and the crickets chirped. Oh, and then one of my neighbor’s roaming cows peed on the ground right beside where I had placed my backpack, sprinkling it thoroughly.
Welcome back to the bush, Sam. Welcome back.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Livingstone Shenanigans PART II
In beginning Part II, I should probably throw in a few words about my travelling companions/partners in crime, Ndandula, Mwenya and Mucho, all of whom are around my age.
I’ve known Ndandula, Munjongo and Esther’s youngest daughter, for some time now, and she’s always been my main connection in Lusaka. Ndandula has a job with the UN in Zambia, working primarily with refugees coming to Zambia from surrounding countries such as Zimbabwe, Angola and the Democratic Republic of Congo. Ndandula is awesome. She’s fun and often outspoken and doesn’t take crap off of anybody, a far cry from the quiet, submissive women that I’ve been around for months in rural Zambia.
Mwenya, Ndandula’s best friend, works for the UN as well. She was without a doubt the spark plug of the group, always energetic and willing to go anywhere or do anything. Mwenya wears her hair in dread-locks, a style that is pretty uncommon for Zambian women. Having lived with Steven Lowry for three years of my life I of course know more than my fair share about the science of dread-locks and was thus able to connect with her right away. Man, I love this girl. She is very cool.
Mucho had somehow gotten hooked up with the two others a while back and had hit it off with them. He is, shall we say, a stout fellow who, like Mwenya, was basically down for whatever. I never really understood what Mucho does for a living. I guess I didn’t press it because hey, who wants to talk about work during a vacation, right? Mucho was a bad influence right from the start and was responsible for my involvement in a number of non-blog-postable shenanigans. For this I will always be grateful.
These three are from the city. They are very African but, in a way, have been westernized, I would say. They all have good office jobs. They like to eat pizza. They go to see movies at a movie theater. They’ve casually dated other people. They listen to Beyonce Knowles.
I’ll be honest, I don’t have many people in super-rural Siavonga that I would consider great friends. Don’t get me wrong. The people are kind and welcoming and very cool to be around. But there’s a cultural barrier there that, for the most part, seems to prevent me from reaching a deep understanding with anyone. It’s sad, but that’s the way it is. I’ve tried, and I’ve made a number of friends, but nobody that I would say that I can really connect with. Luckily, I connected with my three travelling companions right off the bat.
So, again, while I’ve got love for my homies in Siavonga, it was nice to be able to talk to and really relate to other people for a least a few days.
And now, back to the trip highlights...
Having survived the Victoria Falls monkey trap, the group carried on in high spirits. The next day we set off early on a trek across the border into Botswana. We exchanged some kwacha (Zambia’s currency) for pula (Botswana’s currency), hopped in a cab and rushed off on the 45 minute or so trip to the border. The border crossing was a breeze and we got on a bus to the nearby town of Kasene. We didn’t have any plans and, to be honest, there wasn’t much to do there, but it was cool to see a new country and there were still a few highlights.
As if it hasn’t been difficult enough trying to get around in a country with nine or so major languages, now I was hearing another completely different one in Kasene. I didn’t have much room in my brain for Swana, the local language, although I did learn how to say “That girl has a big butt”, a phrase that I now know how to say in four different southern African languages. I get really great responses whenever I drop that one on people who aren’t expecting it. I’m fully aware that one day I’m going to catch a beat down for it, but at this point it’s still a risk I’m willing to take.
We walked around the town for a good part of the day. For the most part it was similar to other towns I’ve been around in Zambia, although it was interesting to notice a few of the subtle differences. The roads were much better, for one. And so were most of the houses. Even in the areas of town that were clearly where the lower classes live, the houses were well built and better organized than many that I’ve seen in Zambia. Also, instead of cows and goats roaming around, I saw a number of what looked to be boars. That was weird.
And speaking of animals, I had my first African elephant sighting. We were traveling on a minibus going back to the border and spotted two very large elephants just hanging out by the road. Nobody else seemed too amazed. Ho hum, just another day in Botswana, I suppose. But it gave me a great sense of satisfaction knowing that people are coming into Zambia and paying exorbitant rates to take safaris and see elephants and that I got to see two close up for the price of a bus ticket.
So, that was about it for Botswana. We walked around and ate lunch and headed back for mother Zambia in the early evening.
We piddled around Livingstone for a few days and, before we knew it, Christmas Eve was upon us.
My Christmas Eve/Christmas routine has been unflinchingly rigid over the past few years in Richmond. I like it that way. This year, obviously, being thousands of miles away from friends and family forced me to deviate from this routine, but everything ended up working out just fine.
For Christmas Eve supper we got dressed up and went out to a nice little Livingstone restaurant where I slammed Coca Colas like it was my J-O-B. I treated myself to very large steak which, given the fact that I’ve been forced into a life of quasi-vegetarianism by circumstance in my new home of Siavonga, was just about the best thing I’d ever eaten in my life. They had a guy serenading everyone with a guitar who sang some Bob Marley songs, which of course my dread-locked friend, Mwenya, and I enjoyed a great deal.
During my typical Christmas Eve routine, the late evening is a time for worship at Crestwood’s 11 o’clock service. I really love worshipping at the service. The music is beautiful and you always get to see friends who have come back to Richmond for the holidays.
My Zambian Christmas Eve routine was a bit different, as the late evening was a time for bumping in a night club in downtown Livingstone. Hey, it’s where my group led me, and who was I to argue? Throughout the night I was surrounded by beautiful, scantily clad young Zambian women dancing and having a good ol’ time. It felt like I was right in the middle of a 50 Cent video. Merry Christmas to me. I danced/sweated quite a bit and had a good ol’ time myself. I feel pretty good about my dancing performance, and truly believe that if I can hold my own on a Zambian dance floor I can hold my own on any dance floor in the world. My goodness these people can move.
After such a fun, action-packed Christmas Eve the rest of the trip was pretty tame by comparison. Although, I did have another one of my life’s proudest moments when I was thrown into the middle of a Zambian tribal dispute. But I suppose I’ll save that one for the conclusion in Part III...
I’ve known Ndandula, Munjongo and Esther’s youngest daughter, for some time now, and she’s always been my main connection in Lusaka. Ndandula has a job with the UN in Zambia, working primarily with refugees coming to Zambia from surrounding countries such as Zimbabwe, Angola and the Democratic Republic of Congo. Ndandula is awesome. She’s fun and often outspoken and doesn’t take crap off of anybody, a far cry from the quiet, submissive women that I’ve been around for months in rural Zambia.
Mwenya, Ndandula’s best friend, works for the UN as well. She was without a doubt the spark plug of the group, always energetic and willing to go anywhere or do anything. Mwenya wears her hair in dread-locks, a style that is pretty uncommon for Zambian women. Having lived with Steven Lowry for three years of my life I of course know more than my fair share about the science of dread-locks and was thus able to connect with her right away. Man, I love this girl. She is very cool.
Mucho had somehow gotten hooked up with the two others a while back and had hit it off with them. He is, shall we say, a stout fellow who, like Mwenya, was basically down for whatever. I never really understood what Mucho does for a living. I guess I didn’t press it because hey, who wants to talk about work during a vacation, right? Mucho was a bad influence right from the start and was responsible for my involvement in a number of non-blog-postable shenanigans. For this I will always be grateful.
These three are from the city. They are very African but, in a way, have been westernized, I would say. They all have good office jobs. They like to eat pizza. They go to see movies at a movie theater. They’ve casually dated other people. They listen to Beyonce Knowles.
I’ll be honest, I don’t have many people in super-rural Siavonga that I would consider great friends. Don’t get me wrong. The people are kind and welcoming and very cool to be around. But there’s a cultural barrier there that, for the most part, seems to prevent me from reaching a deep understanding with anyone. It’s sad, but that’s the way it is. I’ve tried, and I’ve made a number of friends, but nobody that I would say that I can really connect with. Luckily, I connected with my three travelling companions right off the bat.
So, again, while I’ve got love for my homies in Siavonga, it was nice to be able to talk to and really relate to other people for a least a few days.
And now, back to the trip highlights...
Having survived the Victoria Falls monkey trap, the group carried on in high spirits. The next day we set off early on a trek across the border into Botswana. We exchanged some kwacha (Zambia’s currency) for pula (Botswana’s currency), hopped in a cab and rushed off on the 45 minute or so trip to the border. The border crossing was a breeze and we got on a bus to the nearby town of Kasene. We didn’t have any plans and, to be honest, there wasn’t much to do there, but it was cool to see a new country and there were still a few highlights.
As if it hasn’t been difficult enough trying to get around in a country with nine or so major languages, now I was hearing another completely different one in Kasene. I didn’t have much room in my brain for Swana, the local language, although I did learn how to say “That girl has a big butt”, a phrase that I now know how to say in four different southern African languages. I get really great responses whenever I drop that one on people who aren’t expecting it. I’m fully aware that one day I’m going to catch a beat down for it, but at this point it’s still a risk I’m willing to take.
We walked around the town for a good part of the day. For the most part it was similar to other towns I’ve been around in Zambia, although it was interesting to notice a few of the subtle differences. The roads were much better, for one. And so were most of the houses. Even in the areas of town that were clearly where the lower classes live, the houses were well built and better organized than many that I’ve seen in Zambia. Also, instead of cows and goats roaming around, I saw a number of what looked to be boars. That was weird.
And speaking of animals, I had my first African elephant sighting. We were traveling on a minibus going back to the border and spotted two very large elephants just hanging out by the road. Nobody else seemed too amazed. Ho hum, just another day in Botswana, I suppose. But it gave me a great sense of satisfaction knowing that people are coming into Zambia and paying exorbitant rates to take safaris and see elephants and that I got to see two close up for the price of a bus ticket.
So, that was about it for Botswana. We walked around and ate lunch and headed back for mother Zambia in the early evening.
We piddled around Livingstone for a few days and, before we knew it, Christmas Eve was upon us.
My Christmas Eve/Christmas routine has been unflinchingly rigid over the past few years in Richmond. I like it that way. This year, obviously, being thousands of miles away from friends and family forced me to deviate from this routine, but everything ended up working out just fine.
For Christmas Eve supper we got dressed up and went out to a nice little Livingstone restaurant where I slammed Coca Colas like it was my J-O-B. I treated myself to very large steak which, given the fact that I’ve been forced into a life of quasi-vegetarianism by circumstance in my new home of Siavonga, was just about the best thing I’d ever eaten in my life. They had a guy serenading everyone with a guitar who sang some Bob Marley songs, which of course my dread-locked friend, Mwenya, and I enjoyed a great deal.
During my typical Christmas Eve routine, the late evening is a time for worship at Crestwood’s 11 o’clock service. I really love worshipping at the service. The music is beautiful and you always get to see friends who have come back to Richmond for the holidays.
My Zambian Christmas Eve routine was a bit different, as the late evening was a time for bumping in a night club in downtown Livingstone. Hey, it’s where my group led me, and who was I to argue? Throughout the night I was surrounded by beautiful, scantily clad young Zambian women dancing and having a good ol’ time. It felt like I was right in the middle of a 50 Cent video. Merry Christmas to me. I danced/sweated quite a bit and had a good ol’ time myself. I feel pretty good about my dancing performance, and truly believe that if I can hold my own on a Zambian dance floor I can hold my own on any dance floor in the world. My goodness these people can move.
After such a fun, action-packed Christmas Eve the rest of the trip was pretty tame by comparison. Although, I did have another one of my life’s proudest moments when I was thrown into the middle of a Zambian tribal dispute. But I suppose I’ll save that one for the conclusion in Part III...
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Livingstone Shenanigans PART I
I got a call from Ndandula, my good friend in Lusaka, earlier this month, during which she hit me with a proposition. She and two of her friends were making a road trip down to Livingstone, Zambia, over the week of Christmas, where they planned to bounce around to Botswana, Namibia and Zimbabwe (all three countries border Zambia near Livingstone). She wanted to know if I wanted to join them, thus posing somewhat of a dilemma for me.
You see, I am the biggest fan that road trips ever had. It’s great to move around, see new places and experience new things. I hadn’t been able to travel around as much as I would have liked to since arriving, so the opportunity to jump a few borders was appealing. And the day to day grind of running multiple businesses in sub-Saharan Africa had led me to the brink of insanity, so getting out of Siavonga would surely be beneficial to my mental health. Finally, as it’s been all work and very little play for me for some time I felt the strong need to engage in shenanigans of some type.
On the downside, if I went on the trip I wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas with my Namumu family, and something about ditching orphans on Christmas made me feel pretty terrible. I’d miss the Namumu Christmas Feast and the worship services.
I tossed and turned over this one for a few nights, believe me, but in the end I decided to hit the road. I packed my bags, told all my Namumu nieces and nephews that I loved them very much and that I’d miss them, and hopped a bus to meet the group in Lusaka. And, despite the occasional pangs of guilt I’ve felt during the week, I haven’t looked back. It was a very, very good week.
Shenanigans did indeed ensue. Some occurrences were funny, some were scary, and some are certainly not suitable for public consumption. Here are some of the highlights:
In order to get down to Livingstone from Siavonga, you have to take a minibus up to Lusaka, Zambia’s capital, first. Lusaka is where Ndandula (girl), Mwenya (girl) and Mucho (boy), my fellow road-trippers, live and work, so I headed up on a Saturday morning to spend the day and night there with them before setting off on Sunday for Livingstone. The vacation kicked off quite well as that night we hit up a Zambian karaoke bar in the city. I wish I had more time to delve into this mind-blowing experience, but I will say that performing Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” in front of a packed house in a dingy Lusaka bar and receiving an incredible crowd response may have been one of the proudest moments of my life.
The next day we hopped on a big chartered bus to get to Livingstone, which, luckily, unlike the minibuses, don’t require you to ride in the fetal position for hours on end while listening to crappy bootlegged African pop music that the drivers like to blast full volume. It was a pleasant seven hour journey. Plus, they played “Blood Diamond”, starring Leo Dicaprio, on the overhead TVs, a good (albeit violent) movie that I would recommend checking out. You know, I’ve spent a lot of time with some of these white fishing camp owners around Siavonga, some of whom were pushed out of Zimbabwe (like Leo in the movie) or have come up from South Africa. Let me tell you something, they got Leo’s character down perfectly. From the accent to the brash demeanor to the chain smoking, most of these guys are exactly like that. Way to go on that one, Leo. So anyway, again, it’s pretty violent, but it poses some interesting questions about Africa and what we in the US can or can’t do to help, so check it out.
Once in Livingstone, we set up shop at a small, relatively inexpensive lodge in the city that primarily caters to back-packer types moving about in southern Africa. The rooms were tiny and there was a central courtyard with a large grassy area, trees and a pool, so it was easy to make friends as everybody usually just hung out in the courtyard. I sure met some characters at this place. There was Dennis, a middle-aged man from the UK who has bicycled all over Africa, competes in triathalons on a regular basis and did yoga in the lodge’s courtyard daily. There was Carolla, a German woman living in Canada who is looking into setting up an orphanage in Zambia somewhere. There were a few Peace Corp volunteers and your average vacationers.
But, I’d have to say that the coolest people I met were Josh and Nicole, a young married couple from the US of A. Nicole was in the Peace Corp in Ethiopia and Josh, a carpenter, lived there with her for a year. They met on the Appalachian Trail, as Josh was hiking the entire thing and Nicole was hiking a short stretch with some friends. Now, though, they’ve bicycled down from Ethiopia and are on their way to Cape Town, South Africa. What a couple of maniacs. They were kind and friendly and fun to be around. I got to chat with them about life, love and Africa. Josh inspired me to hike the AT when I get back to the US and to grow a longer beard like his was (saw a picture, it was large and in-charge, and Nicole still fell in love with him anyways...it brings joy to my heart to know that such women are indeed out there). They both inspired me to travel around Africa a bit more.
So, we ended up spending all of our nights at this lodge and just moved around during the day.
I’ll end Part I with an animal encounter I experienced at the beautiful Victoria Falls on day one.
Livingstone is home to Victoria Falls, a very large, very powerful, very beautiful group of waterfalls. The Falls are a very popular tourist destination, one of the biggest draws to Livingstone, Zambia’s tourism capital. Rightfully so. The size of the Falls is unbelievable. I’d had the opportunity to see them the last time I was in Zambia, but they are without a doubt worth seeing again and again.
Our group went to see the Falls on our first morning in Livingstone. It was a warm, sunny day and the mist from the Falls felt wonderful. We walked along the narrow path to all the small viewing areas. We sat and stared, took pictures and engaged in other such touristy activities. Down beneath the Falls there’s an area known as the Boiling Point, where the water rushes down and churns as though it’s boiling, before it flows away down the river. I had heard it was nice and convinced our group to head down the long path to check it out.
So, we meandered down the narrow, steep path, surrounded by trees and bushes on either side. The path is set a ways away from the other viewing areas and I’m not sure everyone who comes to the Falls knows about it, so we were the only ones there. We made it to the bottom, sat and watched the water for a while, and then headed back up the hill.
As we continued trudging up the path we began to spot a number of baboons of all shapes and sizes, roaming around nearby, no less than 10 or 12, I’d say. Hmm, I thought. That’s interesting. I didn’t see any baboons around the last time I was here. They were running around and making very, very loud monkey noises. Maybe they’re fighting, maybe they’re having sex, maybe we’re in their territory and they’re pissed off, who knows? I thought.
As we got a little higher we noticed a baboon of medium build laying down and staring off into space, smack dab in the middle of the path. Ok, I thought. Let’s not annoy this guy. Let’s just wait for a hot second until he moves, I told my group. So we waited.
Shortly thereafter, a group of around 5 large baboons started convening around 20 meters down the hill, right around the path below us, thus cutting off our only means of escape (at this point on the path there were rock faces to either side of us). It felt like we had been led into their clever little monkey trap and that they were going to pounce on and eat us.
Now, Victoria Falls is a touristy area. Part of me said, you know what, this is ridiculous. These animals have to be tame and peaceful. There’s no way that the people running this place would let wild and crazy animals run around near tourists. We should just walk right up to it and go around it or shoo it away, this part said. After all, I’ve gone out for long periods of time into the bush around Namumu. I’ve been pretty close to baboons out there. I can handle myself.
But you know what? I’d seen/heard of so many ridiculous things happening in southern Africa that the other part of me realized that a brutal monkey attack would not be outside the realm of possibility.
So we stood there and waited. And waited. And waited.
Around 30 minutes later a group of young girls came bouncing around the corner, down the path. The baboon in the path hopped up and immediately ran away. We looked back and the monkeys at the bottom of the hill had gone too. Just like that. No noise. No animosity. Nothing. Our fears were thus proven completely and totally baseless. By young girls.
In order to live with myself I’ve convinced myself that the girls never saw any of the baboons, that if they had they would have done exactly what we had been doing, that they were in fact no braver than we were.
Please don’t try to convince me otherwise.
You see, I am the biggest fan that road trips ever had. It’s great to move around, see new places and experience new things. I hadn’t been able to travel around as much as I would have liked to since arriving, so the opportunity to jump a few borders was appealing. And the day to day grind of running multiple businesses in sub-Saharan Africa had led me to the brink of insanity, so getting out of Siavonga would surely be beneficial to my mental health. Finally, as it’s been all work and very little play for me for some time I felt the strong need to engage in shenanigans of some type.
On the downside, if I went on the trip I wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas with my Namumu family, and something about ditching orphans on Christmas made me feel pretty terrible. I’d miss the Namumu Christmas Feast and the worship services.
I tossed and turned over this one for a few nights, believe me, but in the end I decided to hit the road. I packed my bags, told all my Namumu nieces and nephews that I loved them very much and that I’d miss them, and hopped a bus to meet the group in Lusaka. And, despite the occasional pangs of guilt I’ve felt during the week, I haven’t looked back. It was a very, very good week.
Shenanigans did indeed ensue. Some occurrences were funny, some were scary, and some are certainly not suitable for public consumption. Here are some of the highlights:
In order to get down to Livingstone from Siavonga, you have to take a minibus up to Lusaka, Zambia’s capital, first. Lusaka is where Ndandula (girl), Mwenya (girl) and Mucho (boy), my fellow road-trippers, live and work, so I headed up on a Saturday morning to spend the day and night there with them before setting off on Sunday for Livingstone. The vacation kicked off quite well as that night we hit up a Zambian karaoke bar in the city. I wish I had more time to delve into this mind-blowing experience, but I will say that performing Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” in front of a packed house in a dingy Lusaka bar and receiving an incredible crowd response may have been one of the proudest moments of my life.
The next day we hopped on a big chartered bus to get to Livingstone, which, luckily, unlike the minibuses, don’t require you to ride in the fetal position for hours on end while listening to crappy bootlegged African pop music that the drivers like to blast full volume. It was a pleasant seven hour journey. Plus, they played “Blood Diamond”, starring Leo Dicaprio, on the overhead TVs, a good (albeit violent) movie that I would recommend checking out. You know, I’ve spent a lot of time with some of these white fishing camp owners around Siavonga, some of whom were pushed out of Zimbabwe (like Leo in the movie) or have come up from South Africa. Let me tell you something, they got Leo’s character down perfectly. From the accent to the brash demeanor to the chain smoking, most of these guys are exactly like that. Way to go on that one, Leo. So anyway, again, it’s pretty violent, but it poses some interesting questions about Africa and what we in the US can or can’t do to help, so check it out.
Once in Livingstone, we set up shop at a small, relatively inexpensive lodge in the city that primarily caters to back-packer types moving about in southern Africa. The rooms were tiny and there was a central courtyard with a large grassy area, trees and a pool, so it was easy to make friends as everybody usually just hung out in the courtyard. I sure met some characters at this place. There was Dennis, a middle-aged man from the UK who has bicycled all over Africa, competes in triathalons on a regular basis and did yoga in the lodge’s courtyard daily. There was Carolla, a German woman living in Canada who is looking into setting up an orphanage in Zambia somewhere. There were a few Peace Corp volunteers and your average vacationers.
But, I’d have to say that the coolest people I met were Josh and Nicole, a young married couple from the US of A. Nicole was in the Peace Corp in Ethiopia and Josh, a carpenter, lived there with her for a year. They met on the Appalachian Trail, as Josh was hiking the entire thing and Nicole was hiking a short stretch with some friends. Now, though, they’ve bicycled down from Ethiopia and are on their way to Cape Town, South Africa. What a couple of maniacs. They were kind and friendly and fun to be around. I got to chat with them about life, love and Africa. Josh inspired me to hike the AT when I get back to the US and to grow a longer beard like his was (saw a picture, it was large and in-charge, and Nicole still fell in love with him anyways...it brings joy to my heart to know that such women are indeed out there). They both inspired me to travel around Africa a bit more.
So, we ended up spending all of our nights at this lodge and just moved around during the day.
I’ll end Part I with an animal encounter I experienced at the beautiful Victoria Falls on day one.
Livingstone is home to Victoria Falls, a very large, very powerful, very beautiful group of waterfalls. The Falls are a very popular tourist destination, one of the biggest draws to Livingstone, Zambia’s tourism capital. Rightfully so. The size of the Falls is unbelievable. I’d had the opportunity to see them the last time I was in Zambia, but they are without a doubt worth seeing again and again.
Our group went to see the Falls on our first morning in Livingstone. It was a warm, sunny day and the mist from the Falls felt wonderful. We walked along the narrow path to all the small viewing areas. We sat and stared, took pictures and engaged in other such touristy activities. Down beneath the Falls there’s an area known as the Boiling Point, where the water rushes down and churns as though it’s boiling, before it flows away down the river. I had heard it was nice and convinced our group to head down the long path to check it out.
So, we meandered down the narrow, steep path, surrounded by trees and bushes on either side. The path is set a ways away from the other viewing areas and I’m not sure everyone who comes to the Falls knows about it, so we were the only ones there. We made it to the bottom, sat and watched the water for a while, and then headed back up the hill.
As we continued trudging up the path we began to spot a number of baboons of all shapes and sizes, roaming around nearby, no less than 10 or 12, I’d say. Hmm, I thought. That’s interesting. I didn’t see any baboons around the last time I was here. They were running around and making very, very loud monkey noises. Maybe they’re fighting, maybe they’re having sex, maybe we’re in their territory and they’re pissed off, who knows? I thought.
As we got a little higher we noticed a baboon of medium build laying down and staring off into space, smack dab in the middle of the path. Ok, I thought. Let’s not annoy this guy. Let’s just wait for a hot second until he moves, I told my group. So we waited.
Shortly thereafter, a group of around 5 large baboons started convening around 20 meters down the hill, right around the path below us, thus cutting off our only means of escape (at this point on the path there were rock faces to either side of us). It felt like we had been led into their clever little monkey trap and that they were going to pounce on and eat us.
Now, Victoria Falls is a touristy area. Part of me said, you know what, this is ridiculous. These animals have to be tame and peaceful. There’s no way that the people running this place would let wild and crazy animals run around near tourists. We should just walk right up to it and go around it or shoo it away, this part said. After all, I’ve gone out for long periods of time into the bush around Namumu. I’ve been pretty close to baboons out there. I can handle myself.
But you know what? I’d seen/heard of so many ridiculous things happening in southern Africa that the other part of me realized that a brutal monkey attack would not be outside the realm of possibility.
So we stood there and waited. And waited. And waited.
Around 30 minutes later a group of young girls came bouncing around the corner, down the path. The baboon in the path hopped up and immediately ran away. We looked back and the monkeys at the bottom of the hill had gone too. Just like that. No noise. No animosity. Nothing. Our fears were thus proven completely and totally baseless. By young girls.
In order to live with myself I’ve convinced myself that the girls never saw any of the baboons, that if they had they would have done exactly what we had been doing, that they were in fact no braver than we were.
Please don’t try to convince me otherwise.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Siavonga Christmas
The Christmas Season is upon us, but not much has changed here in Siavonga. There aren’t too many preparations going on that I can see.
But I did watch “Love Actually” the other day to get myself into a Christmas mood, and now I’m happy to say that I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes.
Though I did have to watch it alone...and cried to myself when Colin Firth proposed to Just-In-Cases girl...and in no way is that depressing. Ah, I really need to get out more.
Schools have been on break for the past few weeks and won’t be opening again until January. During these breaks, a number of Namumu’s resident children go off to stay with other relatives in the surrounding villages for a while. A few stick around. Right now, there are around 20 boys and 10 girls staying at Namumu over the break. With the numbers down it’s a lot quieter than usual around here.
I’ve been asking around, trying to get an idea of how people typically celebrate Christmas here and have gotten some interesting responses.
There’s a significant Seventh Day Adventist population here, and as they choose not to celebrate Jesus’ birthday on the 25th that whole group does absolutely nothing. What a bummer that must be.
As for the rest, there isn’t a great deal of gift-giving on Christmas day, as most are living in abject poverty and are struggling to get by. Also a bummer.
Most people do upgrade their meals at least, splurging on chicken or beef to go along with the ever-popular nsima, feasting together as families. So that’s nice.
Besides feasting, most non-SDA church goers spend much of the season worshipping in their respective churches. They sing and dance and eat and have a good ol’ time. Many congregations stay up all night Christmas Eve and worship all the way through Christmas day. So that’s nice, too.
As for my little Namumu nieces and nephews remaining here for the holiday, they’ll be getting a nice little Christmas feast, as is their usual custom. They’ll eat some beef, chicken, nice bread and lots and lots of cookies.
And a local fishing company owner contacted me the other day and informed me that the Siavonga Rotary Club, of which he is a member, would like to make a contribution to Namumu by buying small gifts for the children. It’s nice to know that even in Siavonga there are people looking after these children.
So there’s your Christmas update from Siavonga. I hope it finds you well and in the holiday spirit and that you all have a wonderful Christmas.
But I did watch “Love Actually” the other day to get myself into a Christmas mood, and now I’m happy to say that I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes.
Though I did have to watch it alone...and cried to myself when Colin Firth proposed to Just-In-Cases girl...and in no way is that depressing. Ah, I really need to get out more.
Schools have been on break for the past few weeks and won’t be opening again until January. During these breaks, a number of Namumu’s resident children go off to stay with other relatives in the surrounding villages for a while. A few stick around. Right now, there are around 20 boys and 10 girls staying at Namumu over the break. With the numbers down it’s a lot quieter than usual around here.
I’ve been asking around, trying to get an idea of how people typically celebrate Christmas here and have gotten some interesting responses.
There’s a significant Seventh Day Adventist population here, and as they choose not to celebrate Jesus’ birthday on the 25th that whole group does absolutely nothing. What a bummer that must be.
As for the rest, there isn’t a great deal of gift-giving on Christmas day, as most are living in abject poverty and are struggling to get by. Also a bummer.
Most people do upgrade their meals at least, splurging on chicken or beef to go along with the ever-popular nsima, feasting together as families. So that’s nice.
Besides feasting, most non-SDA church goers spend much of the season worshipping in their respective churches. They sing and dance and eat and have a good ol’ time. Many congregations stay up all night Christmas Eve and worship all the way through Christmas day. So that’s nice, too.
As for my little Namumu nieces and nephews remaining here for the holiday, they’ll be getting a nice little Christmas feast, as is their usual custom. They’ll eat some beef, chicken, nice bread and lots and lots of cookies.
And a local fishing company owner contacted me the other day and informed me that the Siavonga Rotary Club, of which he is a member, would like to make a contribution to Namumu by buying small gifts for the children. It’s nice to know that even in Siavonga there are people looking after these children.
So there’s your Christmas update from Siavonga. I hope it finds you well and in the holiday spirit and that you all have a wonderful Christmas.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
The King of Kapenta
I’ve given my right-hand kapenta fishing man, Mubita, a shout out here and there, but I certainly haven’t given enough credit where credit is due. This guy is indispensible.
Jobs in the kapenta fishing industry are rarely 5 day/40 hour a week jobs. Mubita’s is no exception. When we are fishing locally and parking our boats at the nearby harbor, Mubita is there every single afternoon to see the boats off, making sure they are ready to go, and he’s there every single morning when the boats come in, weighing and selling the catches, recording the sales and inspecting both boats.
When our guys are camped out at Chirundundike Island, Mubita is there, supervising it all and keeping our fishermen in line.
During the full moon breaks, while our fishermen are all off duty, Mubita is working with me nearly every day, planning for the coming month, arranging maintenance work and making reports.
It’s not uncommon for us to work together every day of the month without a single day off.
And you know what’s interesting? He has never complained. He loves to work. I’ve even tried to force him to take a few days off recently and he’s flat out refused, because there’s work to be done.
And still, for all his efforts, Mubita’s salary remains well below the average industry wage for his position. And, on top of that, he doesn’t get the respect he deserves from the Namumu Management Team. He’s more or less treated like a second class citizen. It’s a real shame.
But don’t worry, I tell him how awesome he is from time to time to keep his spirits afloat. If you want to tell him how awesome he is just drop a comment and I’ll deliver the message.
Mubita lives in a small, one-room home with burned brick walls and a grass roof. He’s got a cute little wife who cooks for him every night. He has an “I Love Jesus” baseball cap that he wears nearly every day. Obviously, Mubita doesn’t live a lavish lifestyle, but I still think he’s doing alright.
In his spare time Mubita really likes to read. I’m proud to say that, in addition to his daily Bible reading he is a member of the Namumu Book Club. He’s getting really into the Hardy Boys series. Thanks to my friend, Sylvia, the Namumu library contains around a bazillion Hardy Boys books (was that guy Dixon writing all day every day of his life?), so Mubita should be busy with that for a while. The other day, while we were working on the boats, he gave me a full on play by play of “The Hardy Boys: Camp Death” or something like that, which took over an hour. Can’t say it sounded like my cup of tea, but I’m glad he’s enjoying it.
I’ve fielded a number of requests for prayer requests. Today, pray that God will give Mubita the strength to carry on under the present conditions, because Namumu got more than they bargained for with him. Let’s hope he sticks around.
Jobs in the kapenta fishing industry are rarely 5 day/40 hour a week jobs. Mubita’s is no exception. When we are fishing locally and parking our boats at the nearby harbor, Mubita is there every single afternoon to see the boats off, making sure they are ready to go, and he’s there every single morning when the boats come in, weighing and selling the catches, recording the sales and inspecting both boats.
When our guys are camped out at Chirundundike Island, Mubita is there, supervising it all and keeping our fishermen in line.
During the full moon breaks, while our fishermen are all off duty, Mubita is working with me nearly every day, planning for the coming month, arranging maintenance work and making reports.
It’s not uncommon for us to work together every day of the month without a single day off.
And you know what’s interesting? He has never complained. He loves to work. I’ve even tried to force him to take a few days off recently and he’s flat out refused, because there’s work to be done.
And still, for all his efforts, Mubita’s salary remains well below the average industry wage for his position. And, on top of that, he doesn’t get the respect he deserves from the Namumu Management Team. He’s more or less treated like a second class citizen. It’s a real shame.
But don’t worry, I tell him how awesome he is from time to time to keep his spirits afloat. If you want to tell him how awesome he is just drop a comment and I’ll deliver the message.
Mubita lives in a small, one-room home with burned brick walls and a grass roof. He’s got a cute little wife who cooks for him every night. He has an “I Love Jesus” baseball cap that he wears nearly every day. Obviously, Mubita doesn’t live a lavish lifestyle, but I still think he’s doing alright.
In his spare time Mubita really likes to read. I’m proud to say that, in addition to his daily Bible reading he is a member of the Namumu Book Club. He’s getting really into the Hardy Boys series. Thanks to my friend, Sylvia, the Namumu library contains around a bazillion Hardy Boys books (was that guy Dixon writing all day every day of his life?), so Mubita should be busy with that for a while. The other day, while we were working on the boats, he gave me a full on play by play of “The Hardy Boys: Camp Death” or something like that, which took over an hour. Can’t say it sounded like my cup of tea, but I’m glad he’s enjoying it.
I’ve fielded a number of requests for prayer requests. Today, pray that God will give Mubita the strength to carry on under the present conditions, because Namumu got more than they bargained for with him. Let’s hope he sticks around.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Chicken Slayer
Remember way back in July, when Tom from Texas guest-posted about his stay here and the curse of Pedro the Chicken?
Well, meet Pedro, my first African kill and the cause of a number of subsequent misfortunes for the crew from Texas.
Man, I love this picture. A number of people from church and elsewhere have asked me to send back a picture of me in Africa. Even though this was taken a while back and I look much more skuzzy/Chuck Norrisy/different now, this is how I’d like to be thought of and remembered back home in the US. Sam the Chicken Slayer.
Well, meet Pedro, my first African kill and the cause of a number of subsequent misfortunes for the crew from Texas.
Man, I love this picture. A number of people from church and elsewhere have asked me to send back a picture of me in Africa. Even though this was taken a while back and I look much more skuzzy/Chuck Norrisy/different now, this is how I’d like to be thought of and remembered back home in the US. Sam the Chicken Slayer.
Kapenta Camp
Here is a scene from the Namumu Kapenta Fishing Team’s home away from home, the camp at Chirundundike Island.
This was taken in the early morning as the boats were just arriving. Here the kapenta catches are being weighed before they are taken to the drying racks.
Each blue crate you see can hold around 50 kgs of fresh kapenta. Back in September, Namumu’s record-breaking month of fishing, these guys would come back with as many as 10 or 11 crates filled to the brim on each rig. During a bad month, there are times when both boats combined might come back with less than one crate between them. It’s a business with a good deal of variation and there ain’t much you can do about it. Every single fishing company on Lake Kariba is at the mercy of the weather and kapenta breeding habits.
Still, even during the worst months Namumu’s Fishing Team has squeezed out a comfortable profit.
Kapenta fishing is Namumu’s big money-maker, so pray that the work can continue to operate successfully and support the institution as a whole.
Oh, and Chuck, do you see that net in the background? That’s my boat.
Hurray, Pictures! Part II
Meet Owen, one of the boys currently enrolled in our Carpentry Training Program.
Owen got off to a rough start at the beginning of his training. At first it took a bit of prodding to get him out to the workshop every day. He received his fair share of George Lyle ear-flicks. On what was supposed to be the first day of his training I found him in the boys’ dormitory laying out on his bed in the early afternoon spread out, face down, out cold, asleep. What a lazy bum. This was a common theme for his first week of training.
Fortunately, the George Lyle Tough Love School of Discipline paid off and Owen’s attendance has improved. In fact, in November, it was near perfect. I think he only missed one afternoon for some school activity. He’s doing well and seems to be genuinely enjoying his work. He even seemed upset when I recently explained to him that this phase of his training would be ending at the end of the month of December.
Here he is at the beginning of his training working on a small bench, one of his initial, simple projects. Since this time he has made major contributions to the production of bed frames, tables and chairs.
We’ll be sure to keep on Owen so that he doesn’t relapse into his lazy ways...
Owen got off to a rough start at the beginning of his training. At first it took a bit of prodding to get him out to the workshop every day. He received his fair share of George Lyle ear-flicks. On what was supposed to be the first day of his training I found him in the boys’ dormitory laying out on his bed in the early afternoon spread out, face down, out cold, asleep. What a lazy bum. This was a common theme for his first week of training.
Fortunately, the George Lyle Tough Love School of Discipline paid off and Owen’s attendance has improved. In fact, in November, it was near perfect. I think he only missed one afternoon for some school activity. He’s doing well and seems to be genuinely enjoying his work. He even seemed upset when I recently explained to him that this phase of his training would be ending at the end of the month of December.
Here he is at the beginning of his training working on a small bench, one of his initial, simple projects. Since this time he has made major contributions to the production of bed frames, tables and chairs.
We’ll be sure to keep on Owen so that he doesn’t relapse into his lazy ways...
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Hurray, Pictures! Part I
Well folks, I figured it was time to mix things up a bit this week, but after battling it out with my camera, my computer and the Namumu Internet connection I only have two photos to share. I’d post more but my goodness these took a long time to load. I’ll try to get you some more soon. Enjoy:
I faced a real dilemma in getting you a picture of my little next-door neighbor, Junior. Now, I can’t very well go around posting pictures of naked children on the internet. However, in order to capture one of the rare moments when he’s actually wearing pants I’d probably have to stake out his house for weeks.
My solution? This tasteful little number here. Here’s Junior, on the right, next to Royd, his older cousin who also lives next door, sitting on my front porch, a place where I’ve spent hours upon hours sitting, eating, sleeping, reading and day-dreaming. I think I had just finished reading the ever-popular “Berenstein Bears” with Royd, though here he’s holding some other children’s book. Here you see Junior trying to get a handle on Ernest Hemingway’s “Snows of Kilimanjaro”. He had a tough time with it, so I think we’ll wait a few years and then get him started with the “Berenstein Bears”, too.
Speaking of Junior, I had an interesting realization the other day.
His mother and other relatives often call him “Tata”, the literal Tonga translation of which is “Father”. It’s actually a pretty common nickname for little guys like him. So, naturally, I started calling him “Tata” as well from time to time.
These days, Junior is doing his fair share of talking, and one of the first things he’s learned to say is “Tata”. Whenever I’d say “Tata” to him he’d say it back to me. Then, not long thereafter, he’d start yelling “Tata” at me all the time to get my attention.
For a while I just figured he was yelling that out at me because he didn’t know any other words to yell, but then I started to really think about it...
I think it’s quite possible that Junior thinks I’m his actual father. Yikes.
It actually make sense. His real father, the brother to Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager that lives next door, is enrolled in some schooling program in another part of the country and hasn’t been around much for the first months of Junior’s life. I’ve spent a fair amount of time with the family next door and therefore with Junior as well. I’ve helped feed him and put him to bed. When I come home from work one of the first things I do is throw down my bag and play around with him. He may very well be calling my “Father” on purpose.
Man, oh man, I don’t know how I’ll handle this one. I suppose I should take care of it soon before it becomes a major point of confusion in his life. I wouldn’t want his mother to eventually have to deal with his inevitable question of, “You mean I’m gonna stay this color?”
In the meantime, let me clear up any rumors before they get out. Even though he may say that I am the one, the kid is not my son.
My solution? This tasteful little number here. Here’s Junior, on the right, next to Royd, his older cousin who also lives next door, sitting on my front porch, a place where I’ve spent hours upon hours sitting, eating, sleeping, reading and day-dreaming. I think I had just finished reading the ever-popular “Berenstein Bears” with Royd, though here he’s holding some other children’s book. Here you see Junior trying to get a handle on Ernest Hemingway’s “Snows of Kilimanjaro”. He had a tough time with it, so I think we’ll wait a few years and then get him started with the “Berenstein Bears”, too.
Speaking of Junior, I had an interesting realization the other day.
His mother and other relatives often call him “Tata”, the literal Tonga translation of which is “Father”. It’s actually a pretty common nickname for little guys like him. So, naturally, I started calling him “Tata” as well from time to time.
These days, Junior is doing his fair share of talking, and one of the first things he’s learned to say is “Tata”. Whenever I’d say “Tata” to him he’d say it back to me. Then, not long thereafter, he’d start yelling “Tata” at me all the time to get my attention.
For a while I just figured he was yelling that out at me because he didn’t know any other words to yell, but then I started to really think about it...
I think it’s quite possible that Junior thinks I’m his actual father. Yikes.
It actually make sense. His real father, the brother to Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager that lives next door, is enrolled in some schooling program in another part of the country and hasn’t been around much for the first months of Junior’s life. I’ve spent a fair amount of time with the family next door and therefore with Junior as well. I’ve helped feed him and put him to bed. When I come home from work one of the first things I do is throw down my bag and play around with him. He may very well be calling my “Father” on purpose.
Man, oh man, I don’t know how I’ll handle this one. I suppose I should take care of it soon before it becomes a major point of confusion in his life. I wouldn’t want his mother to eventually have to deal with his inevitable question of, “You mean I’m gonna stay this color?”
In the meantime, let me clear up any rumors before they get out. Even though he may say that I am the one, the kid is not my son.
Taken way back in April, this photo documents one of our first bean harvests at Namumu (the handfuls of beans here are just a sample).
From left to right you see Chuck Norris, Clivert aka the Sweater, Kabuba aka Mabboli aka Eye Booger, Lucky (yes, that’s his real name) aka Mabisi aka Sour Milk, Nancy aka Mrs. Jealousy and Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager, who appears to be taking a nap.
Yes, I’m proud to say that I contributed to the nick-naming of every child just mentioned.
Ahhh, these were the good ol’ days, before cows and water pipe failures destroyed our beautiful gardens. Hopefully soon we’ll get them back soon...
From left to right you see Chuck Norris, Clivert aka the Sweater, Kabuba aka Mabboli aka Eye Booger, Lucky (yes, that’s his real name) aka Mabisi aka Sour Milk, Nancy aka Mrs. Jealousy and Jailas, Namumu’s Administration Manager, who appears to be taking a nap.
Yes, I’m proud to say that I contributed to the nick-naming of every child just mentioned.
Ahhh, these were the good ol’ days, before cows and water pipe failures destroyed our beautiful gardens. Hopefully soon we’ll get them back soon...
Monday, November 16, 2009
Incoherent Rainy Season Ramblings
The rainy season has officially begun here in Zambia, which has led to a few interesting changes in my life.
Most importantly, it has cooled things down quite a bit, which has made me considerably less miserable throughout each and every day.
Unfortunately, however, the onset of rains has forced me to change my sleeping arrangements.
For a while there, like many of my local Zambians I was sleeping outside on my porch every night (yes, mom, under a mosquito net). Inside it was feeling a bit too much like a sauna for me, which, though lovely after a good hard workout is not so lovely when one is trying to get a good night's sleep. So, every night I would set up my little area, putting out a mattress and sheets under the net, and every morning I would move it all back inside. It was a pain at first, but after daily practice I got so I could do it with NASCAR pit-crew like precision and speed.
It was very, very nice being able to lay back and stare at the stars, thinking about life before drifting off to sleep, and to feel the breeze throughout the night.
Now, however, it rains at night from time to time, so in an effort to stay dry I’ve had to pack up and move inside.
Although, the rain isn’t the only reason I’ve moved my bed inside. Much to my chagrin, the rainy season has brought with it a new slew of insects, most notably scorpions. As a matter of fact, I just killed a small one with my shoe a few short minutes ago. Wow, those things are ugly and terrifying, and as much as I’d like to wake up in a bed full of them like that chick from Charlie Sheen’s “The Arrival” (awesome movie by the way, if you’re into unintentional comedy) I figured I’d better pack things up and sleep inside from now on.
Speaking of insects, I was surprised the other day to see many of my little Namumuans chasing, catching and stockpiling a certain type of winged insect. I saw them doing it in the late afternoon the other day and assumed that these insects did something cool, perhaps lighting up at night like fireflies.
No, no, they were catching them so that they could fry them and eat them. Yikes. They keep trying to get me to try them too. Double yikes.
Otherwise, things are just swell here at Namumu.
Junior has been out of town with his mother for a few days, so I haven’t been pooped on lately, which is nice.
Wendy is on book number five with me. I’ve gotten her going on Orson Scott Card’s “Ender’s Game”, one of my all-time favorites. It’s science fiction, so I had my doubts as to how she’d handle it, but luckily Wendy is nerdy enough to enjoy it.
Mubita, my trusty kapenta fishing rig foreman has been in rough shape lately. His hands and feet have swollen up so badly that he hasn’t been able to walk or even hold a pen in his hand. He’s tried to convince me that somebody must have dropped a Black Magic spell on him or something of the sort (I’ve heard a number of people blame their illnesses on something similar). I told him that regardless of the cause, I’d ask people to pray for him. So, if you could, go ahead and pray for Mubita to heal up soon, for my sake as well, because it’s tough doing my job without him.
Speaking of fishing, I was out on the lake fishing with our guys the other night and on the way out we spotted a big ol’ hippopotamus. A very big ol’ hippopotamus, actually. It was out roaming around and eating on a small island out on the lake. It was a hungry hungry hippo indeed.
Oh, and back to the rain, that same night fishing we got absolutely pounded by a storm, and while there is a small tin roof covering the deck of the boat we still got gooshed.
There was a little bit of stinging rain, big ol’ fat rain, rain that flew in sideways, and sometimes the rain even seemed to come up from underneath.
So, not a very fun night, but an interesting experience nonetheless.
Well, that’s about all I got for now. Thanks to all that have posted comments and sent me emails recently, I’ve enjoyed them all. Holler at me any time...
Most importantly, it has cooled things down quite a bit, which has made me considerably less miserable throughout each and every day.
Unfortunately, however, the onset of rains has forced me to change my sleeping arrangements.
For a while there, like many of my local Zambians I was sleeping outside on my porch every night (yes, mom, under a mosquito net). Inside it was feeling a bit too much like a sauna for me, which, though lovely after a good hard workout is not so lovely when one is trying to get a good night's sleep. So, every night I would set up my little area, putting out a mattress and sheets under the net, and every morning I would move it all back inside. It was a pain at first, but after daily practice I got so I could do it with NASCAR pit-crew like precision and speed.
It was very, very nice being able to lay back and stare at the stars, thinking about life before drifting off to sleep, and to feel the breeze throughout the night.
Now, however, it rains at night from time to time, so in an effort to stay dry I’ve had to pack up and move inside.
Although, the rain isn’t the only reason I’ve moved my bed inside. Much to my chagrin, the rainy season has brought with it a new slew of insects, most notably scorpions. As a matter of fact, I just killed a small one with my shoe a few short minutes ago. Wow, those things are ugly and terrifying, and as much as I’d like to wake up in a bed full of them like that chick from Charlie Sheen’s “The Arrival” (awesome movie by the way, if you’re into unintentional comedy) I figured I’d better pack things up and sleep inside from now on.
Speaking of insects, I was surprised the other day to see many of my little Namumuans chasing, catching and stockpiling a certain type of winged insect. I saw them doing it in the late afternoon the other day and assumed that these insects did something cool, perhaps lighting up at night like fireflies.
No, no, they were catching them so that they could fry them and eat them. Yikes. They keep trying to get me to try them too. Double yikes.
Otherwise, things are just swell here at Namumu.
Junior has been out of town with his mother for a few days, so I haven’t been pooped on lately, which is nice.
Wendy is on book number five with me. I’ve gotten her going on Orson Scott Card’s “Ender’s Game”, one of my all-time favorites. It’s science fiction, so I had my doubts as to how she’d handle it, but luckily Wendy is nerdy enough to enjoy it.
Mubita, my trusty kapenta fishing rig foreman has been in rough shape lately. His hands and feet have swollen up so badly that he hasn’t been able to walk or even hold a pen in his hand. He’s tried to convince me that somebody must have dropped a Black Magic spell on him or something of the sort (I’ve heard a number of people blame their illnesses on something similar). I told him that regardless of the cause, I’d ask people to pray for him. So, if you could, go ahead and pray for Mubita to heal up soon, for my sake as well, because it’s tough doing my job without him.
Speaking of fishing, I was out on the lake fishing with our guys the other night and on the way out we spotted a big ol’ hippopotamus. A very big ol’ hippopotamus, actually. It was out roaming around and eating on a small island out on the lake. It was a hungry hungry hippo indeed.
Oh, and back to the rain, that same night fishing we got absolutely pounded by a storm, and while there is a small tin roof covering the deck of the boat we still got gooshed.
There was a little bit of stinging rain, big ol’ fat rain, rain that flew in sideways, and sometimes the rain even seemed to come up from underneath.
So, not a very fun night, but an interesting experience nonetheless.
Well, that’s about all I got for now. Thanks to all that have posted comments and sent me emails recently, I’ve enjoyed them all. Holler at me any time...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Training our little Namumu-ans (Namumu-ites? Namum-ans?)
The Official Namumu Carpentry and Welding Training Program is up and running smoothly these days. Finally.
Here’s the thing. These kids won’t be staying at Namumu forever. When they turn 18 and finish school they will be expected to move out of the Orphanage. They’ll be out, living with other relatives or perhaps on their own. Obviously, it’s important for Namumu to help them gain the knowledge and skills necessary to prepare them for post-Namumu life.
And that’s why we have started programs like this carpentry and welding training for some selected children. Carpenters and Welders don’t make too much money around here. Most just eek out a living. But, in a developing country plagued by unemployment, both are still jobs that pay the bills. While we’d like all our Namumu children to grow up to be doctors or lawyers or scientists or journalists, it probably won’t happen. Hence, we have this program.
In our carpentry and welding operations we have a senior carpenter and a senior welder, both with assistants. In the past we’ve encouraged certain children to stop by the workshop whenever they are free to learn a thing or two. Some actually got pretty good. But we never really had a formal training system in place. Not one that lasted, anyway. Things were never really organized well and therefore the training wasn’t as effective as it could be.
Now, I know that putting together a simple training program for a few children sounds incredibly simple. Many of you may even be wondering why it has taken so long to get things like this going. In fact, if I was reading this from back home, I know I’d be wondering that myself.
Well, there were a number of obstacles for starting this program in particular, most of which are difficult to foresee if you’ve never lived in southern Africa. I think that by looking at this program in particular it gives you a good idea about what general obstacles we face here and what will and won’t work.
So here’s why it took so long...
First of all, we’re dealing with kids here. The ones we are training are in the 12 to 16 age range. Like many early teens all over the world, these children can be very difficult to keep in line, with short attention spans and wavering interests. Maybe they felt like doing carpentry yesterday but have changed their mind today. Maybe today they want to be something else. Or maybe they don’t feel like doing anything at all. Even though they are growing up and maturing (most of them, anyway), they are still children and it can be difficult to keep them on track.
And, given the fact that they are all living at an Orphanage, it’s not like I can call up their parents and ask them to get their children in line. Both the boys and girls have a caretaker, but that’s not quite the same.
Secondly, there’s the issue of time. Time is treated differently here in Africa. It’s one of the first things you notice when you get here. Nobody is on a tight schedule. Church services that are scheduled to begin around 10 am usually start around 10:30 or even 11. Sometimes they might start around 10, but who knows. It’s totally unpredictable. Nobody knows and nobody seems to care much. It’s just the way it is.
So, setting up a system where children come at 2 pm after school and work until 5 pm is doomed to failure. It will never happen. Schedules just don’t exist.
Third, there’s the fact that their school schedules are ridiculous here. Because the Namumu Community School caters to grades 1 through 7, and because there are only 4 classrooms, they have a staggered schedule. And not only that, sometimes their schedules shift throughout the year. And not only that, sometimes the teachers set things up in the afternoons where the children have to come back to the school to clean it up.
Needless to say, setting up a training program around the school system is not easy.
Finally, there are limitations to what can and can’t be done at our carpentry and welding workshop. It is not a big workshop. In fact, it’s really not much of a workshop at all. There are a few tables and benches set up underneath two small tin-roof shelters. There are a limited number of tools. Namumu is always financially strapped and this is probably the way the workshop will stay. This puts a limit on how many children can be taught and how effective that teaching can be.
So, there you go, that’s what we’re dealing with.
Now, instead of going into all the wrong ways we’ve tried to set up a program, I’ll just go ahead and tell you the way we’ve got things now. The right way.
At the moment we’ve got 2 boys training in carpentry and 1 training in welding. At first, Namumu Management pushed for more children to be taught at once, but this way has been much more effective. With small numbers they get the individual attention that they wouldn’t get if they were part of a big group.
This small group will only be training for 3 months, at which point their skills will be evaluated. After that, we will start with another small group. Three months is enough time for them to pick up the basic skills that they need but is short enough of a time period that the guys can remain focused and motivated throughout. There’s an end in sight and gives them something to work towards.
There is no set schedule. They are simply expected to come over to the workshop in the afternoons whenever they aren’t at the school. If they can only make it for 30 minutes or an hour, that’s fine, as long as they make it over. They are expected to be there every week day unless they have a good excuse.
As for enforcement, I’ve happily taken on that roll. I do a little patrol every afternoon, walking around to the boys’ dormitory to make sure they aren’t just lazing around and giving them a George Lyle Ear Flick if they are. Kebby, the boys’ caretaker, is on patrol as well. We had some problems at first, but now they’ve caught on and usually get over without my prodding.
So, there it is, the program is up and running. Our carpentry and welding guys are doing a great job with the children. They’ve already learned a lot. While it may be just a small accomplishment, it’s still a step in the right direction.
Here’s the thing. These kids won’t be staying at Namumu forever. When they turn 18 and finish school they will be expected to move out of the Orphanage. They’ll be out, living with other relatives or perhaps on their own. Obviously, it’s important for Namumu to help them gain the knowledge and skills necessary to prepare them for post-Namumu life.
And that’s why we have started programs like this carpentry and welding training for some selected children. Carpenters and Welders don’t make too much money around here. Most just eek out a living. But, in a developing country plagued by unemployment, both are still jobs that pay the bills. While we’d like all our Namumu children to grow up to be doctors or lawyers or scientists or journalists, it probably won’t happen. Hence, we have this program.
In our carpentry and welding operations we have a senior carpenter and a senior welder, both with assistants. In the past we’ve encouraged certain children to stop by the workshop whenever they are free to learn a thing or two. Some actually got pretty good. But we never really had a formal training system in place. Not one that lasted, anyway. Things were never really organized well and therefore the training wasn’t as effective as it could be.
Now, I know that putting together a simple training program for a few children sounds incredibly simple. Many of you may even be wondering why it has taken so long to get things like this going. In fact, if I was reading this from back home, I know I’d be wondering that myself.
Well, there were a number of obstacles for starting this program in particular, most of which are difficult to foresee if you’ve never lived in southern Africa. I think that by looking at this program in particular it gives you a good idea about what general obstacles we face here and what will and won’t work.
So here’s why it took so long...
First of all, we’re dealing with kids here. The ones we are training are in the 12 to 16 age range. Like many early teens all over the world, these children can be very difficult to keep in line, with short attention spans and wavering interests. Maybe they felt like doing carpentry yesterday but have changed their mind today. Maybe today they want to be something else. Or maybe they don’t feel like doing anything at all. Even though they are growing up and maturing (most of them, anyway), they are still children and it can be difficult to keep them on track.
And, given the fact that they are all living at an Orphanage, it’s not like I can call up their parents and ask them to get their children in line. Both the boys and girls have a caretaker, but that’s not quite the same.
Secondly, there’s the issue of time. Time is treated differently here in Africa. It’s one of the first things you notice when you get here. Nobody is on a tight schedule. Church services that are scheduled to begin around 10 am usually start around 10:30 or even 11. Sometimes they might start around 10, but who knows. It’s totally unpredictable. Nobody knows and nobody seems to care much. It’s just the way it is.
So, setting up a system where children come at 2 pm after school and work until 5 pm is doomed to failure. It will never happen. Schedules just don’t exist.
Third, there’s the fact that their school schedules are ridiculous here. Because the Namumu Community School caters to grades 1 through 7, and because there are only 4 classrooms, they have a staggered schedule. And not only that, sometimes their schedules shift throughout the year. And not only that, sometimes the teachers set things up in the afternoons where the children have to come back to the school to clean it up.
Needless to say, setting up a training program around the school system is not easy.
Finally, there are limitations to what can and can’t be done at our carpentry and welding workshop. It is not a big workshop. In fact, it’s really not much of a workshop at all. There are a few tables and benches set up underneath two small tin-roof shelters. There are a limited number of tools. Namumu is always financially strapped and this is probably the way the workshop will stay. This puts a limit on how many children can be taught and how effective that teaching can be.
So, there you go, that’s what we’re dealing with.
Now, instead of going into all the wrong ways we’ve tried to set up a program, I’ll just go ahead and tell you the way we’ve got things now. The right way.
At the moment we’ve got 2 boys training in carpentry and 1 training in welding. At first, Namumu Management pushed for more children to be taught at once, but this way has been much more effective. With small numbers they get the individual attention that they wouldn’t get if they were part of a big group.
This small group will only be training for 3 months, at which point their skills will be evaluated. After that, we will start with another small group. Three months is enough time for them to pick up the basic skills that they need but is short enough of a time period that the guys can remain focused and motivated throughout. There’s an end in sight and gives them something to work towards.
There is no set schedule. They are simply expected to come over to the workshop in the afternoons whenever they aren’t at the school. If they can only make it for 30 minutes or an hour, that’s fine, as long as they make it over. They are expected to be there every week day unless they have a good excuse.
As for enforcement, I’ve happily taken on that roll. I do a little patrol every afternoon, walking around to the boys’ dormitory to make sure they aren’t just lazing around and giving them a George Lyle Ear Flick if they are. Kebby, the boys’ caretaker, is on patrol as well. We had some problems at first, but now they’ve caught on and usually get over without my prodding.
So, there it is, the program is up and running. Our carpentry and welding guys are doing a great job with the children. They’ve already learned a lot. While it may be just a small accomplishment, it’s still a step in the right direction.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Muleya's Birthday Party
I got to attend a nice little birthday party last weekend. Well, I guess you could call it a birthday party. Whatever it was, it was fun.
Muleya, my little next door neighbor and sister of the infamous (infamous means MORE than famous) Junior the Pooper, was turning five. Birthdays aren’t that big of a deal ‘round these parts, but people do take note of them and sometimes celebrate.
So, I figured, what better way to celebrate than by slaughtering a live animal? I dropped some money on Chealo, Muleya’s 18 year old cousin, and got her to pick up a big ol’ chicken at the local market for supper. Chickens aren’t that expensive. We got a big one for K20,000, about US $4. Still, you have to keep in mind that Zambia is one of the world’s poorest countries and many can’t afford to eat chicken on a regular basis, so it’s a nice treat.
As usual, I insisted that I be the one to do the slaughtering. Having financed the purchasing of the bird I didn’t feel out of line in doing so. So, I sliced it up and gave it over to Chealo to cook up.
Oh boy, what a party. We sat out on mats on the ground in the back yard and ate chicken and nsima and cabbage. We talked and laughed and threw food at each other. It was a clear, breezy night and the stars were out and in full effect. The cows were mooing and serenading us in the background.
The party suffered a minor setback when the birthday girl, walking around with her chicken in her hand, tripped and dropped her chicken in the sand. Man, she started bawling. I told her that it was ok, that it was her party and she could cry if she wanted to.
So, all in all it wasn’t that different from most other nights here. They usually eat outside like that and I often join them. But we did get to eat a big ol’ chicken, and that was nice. In a way I felt like I was back home at Two-For Tuesday.
So that was the “party”.
Later on we were sitting around and chatting, and we started talking about Christmas. They asked me what we did at Christmas time in the US. So I told them. I asked them what they did for Christmas here. One of the girls looked at me and said quite matter-of-factly, “Well, Sam, pretty much exactly what we’re doing right now,” ie. sitting around and not doing much of anything. She didn’t say it in a negative way. Just stating the facts.
I’ve come to find out that most churches have a lot going on around Christmas time, but, for the most part, it sounds like there won’t be a whole lot going on different from the usual.
That’s how it goes out here in Siavonga. There ain’t much changing from day to day.
And you know what? That’s a-ok with me. Give me a little chicken here and there and I’ll do just fine.
Muleya, my little next door neighbor and sister of the infamous (infamous means MORE than famous) Junior the Pooper, was turning five. Birthdays aren’t that big of a deal ‘round these parts, but people do take note of them and sometimes celebrate.
So, I figured, what better way to celebrate than by slaughtering a live animal? I dropped some money on Chealo, Muleya’s 18 year old cousin, and got her to pick up a big ol’ chicken at the local market for supper. Chickens aren’t that expensive. We got a big one for K20,000, about US $4. Still, you have to keep in mind that Zambia is one of the world’s poorest countries and many can’t afford to eat chicken on a regular basis, so it’s a nice treat.
As usual, I insisted that I be the one to do the slaughtering. Having financed the purchasing of the bird I didn’t feel out of line in doing so. So, I sliced it up and gave it over to Chealo to cook up.
Oh boy, what a party. We sat out on mats on the ground in the back yard and ate chicken and nsima and cabbage. We talked and laughed and threw food at each other. It was a clear, breezy night and the stars were out and in full effect. The cows were mooing and serenading us in the background.
The party suffered a minor setback when the birthday girl, walking around with her chicken in her hand, tripped and dropped her chicken in the sand. Man, she started bawling. I told her that it was ok, that it was her party and she could cry if she wanted to.
So, all in all it wasn’t that different from most other nights here. They usually eat outside like that and I often join them. But we did get to eat a big ol’ chicken, and that was nice. In a way I felt like I was back home at Two-For Tuesday.
So that was the “party”.
Later on we were sitting around and chatting, and we started talking about Christmas. They asked me what we did at Christmas time in the US. So I told them. I asked them what they did for Christmas here. One of the girls looked at me and said quite matter-of-factly, “Well, Sam, pretty much exactly what we’re doing right now,” ie. sitting around and not doing much of anything. She didn’t say it in a negative way. Just stating the facts.
I’ve come to find out that most churches have a lot going on around Christmas time, but, for the most part, it sounds like there won’t be a whole lot going on different from the usual.
That’s how it goes out here in Siavonga. There ain’t much changing from day to day.
And you know what? That’s a-ok with me. Give me a little chicken here and there and I’ll do just fine.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Chuck Norris No More
An interesting shift occurred recently without my realizing it.
It all became apparent as I was strolling through the streets of Lusaka last week. Edwin Luneta, the Namumu Finance Manager, Zenzo, Namumu’s Assistant Accountant, and I were there to take care of a few items of business. They were submitting a quarterly report to a big Namumu donor organization and I was renewing Namumu’s fishing license.
As we walked here and there throughout the city something very strange happened. My hair is a bit longer now and my beard a bit bushier and this time, for the first time, not one person called my Chuck Norris. No, no, they all called me something else. This time I heard, “Hey! It’s Jesus!” no fewer than 10 times. No joke.
The strange thing is that it wasn’t a slow shift from one name to the other. I mean, I would have anticipated that maybe the number of people shouting that I look like Chuck Norris would slowly decline and the number of people shouting that I look like Jesus would slowly increase. No, it was a sudden shift from one to the other.
So, as I see it, somewhere along the line I instantaneously transformed from looking like Chuck Norris to looking like Jesus (or, at least, what people in Zambia think that Jesus looked like).
Go figure.
I’ve got to say, one thing I’m very much enjoying about my life in Zambia is the opportunity it has afforded me to, for the most part, show a blatant disregard for my outward appearance.
Namumu is in a very rural area. Needless to say, most of the people in the surrounding villages don’t put too much effort into getting dolled up every morning. Most everyone’s wardrobe options are pretty limited. It’s common to see people wearing the same shirt every day, or to rotate between two outfits every other day. This isn’t true for everyone, there are definitely some sharp dressers, but it’s true for a good number.
So, all this goes to say that I can get away with looking like crap some of the time and that makes me happy.
But don’t worry, folks, I keep myself put together for the most part. Esther Namuyamba (Munjongo’s wife) makes sure of that. She gives me a hard time if my hair isn’t combed or if my pants are dirty. Some days when I know I’m looking skuzzy and I see her coming I have to duck around the corner so she won’t see me. But don’t tell her I said that.
So, there you have it, apparently my appearance has changed quite a bit since I’ve been here. I can only imagine what they’ll be calling me in Lusaka if I’m still here walking around a few months from now…
It all became apparent as I was strolling through the streets of Lusaka last week. Edwin Luneta, the Namumu Finance Manager, Zenzo, Namumu’s Assistant Accountant, and I were there to take care of a few items of business. They were submitting a quarterly report to a big Namumu donor organization and I was renewing Namumu’s fishing license.
As we walked here and there throughout the city something very strange happened. My hair is a bit longer now and my beard a bit bushier and this time, for the first time, not one person called my Chuck Norris. No, no, they all called me something else. This time I heard, “Hey! It’s Jesus!” no fewer than 10 times. No joke.
The strange thing is that it wasn’t a slow shift from one name to the other. I mean, I would have anticipated that maybe the number of people shouting that I look like Chuck Norris would slowly decline and the number of people shouting that I look like Jesus would slowly increase. No, it was a sudden shift from one to the other.
So, as I see it, somewhere along the line I instantaneously transformed from looking like Chuck Norris to looking like Jesus (or, at least, what people in Zambia think that Jesus looked like).
Go figure.
I’ve got to say, one thing I’m very much enjoying about my life in Zambia is the opportunity it has afforded me to, for the most part, show a blatant disregard for my outward appearance.
Namumu is in a very rural area. Needless to say, most of the people in the surrounding villages don’t put too much effort into getting dolled up every morning. Most everyone’s wardrobe options are pretty limited. It’s common to see people wearing the same shirt every day, or to rotate between two outfits every other day. This isn’t true for everyone, there are definitely some sharp dressers, but it’s true for a good number.
So, all this goes to say that I can get away with looking like crap some of the time and that makes me happy.
But don’t worry, folks, I keep myself put together for the most part. Esther Namuyamba (Munjongo’s wife) makes sure of that. She gives me a hard time if my hair isn’t combed or if my pants are dirty. Some days when I know I’m looking skuzzy and I see her coming I have to duck around the corner so she won’t see me. But don’t tell her I said that.
So, there you have it, apparently my appearance has changed quite a bit since I’ve been here. I can only imagine what they’ll be calling me in Lusaka if I’m still here walking around a few months from now…
Friday, October 16, 2009
A Zack Morris Wannabe and a Science Nerd
Zambia is a beautiful country and a wonderful place to live. Let me start with that.
Still, it is a developing country and, as a result, life within it can be filled with frustration after frustration. Corrupt government leaders, underperforming schools, lack of infrastructure, it all adds up to one big headache.
But every now and then I see something that makes me hopeful for the future. Just recently two particular cases have stood out in my mind.
First, there’s Eric. Eric is a bright young chap who lives just down the road from Namumu. He is around 10 and is a student at the Namumu Community School. In fact, his father is the hippo-slaying Zambia Wildlife Official I mentioned in a blog way back.
A few weeks ago, while on a supply run to Lusaka for Namumu’s carpentry workshop, I ran into Eric’s father in the city. He was carrying two giant bags packed with candy and Jiggies, flavored corn chips that are very popular among the children of the region.
I laughed and asked him if he was trying to fatten up his family. No, he told me, the bags were not for the family. They were for Eric.
Apparently, a few months ago Eric did some work for a neighbor, clearing away a large area for planting, and was paid K10,000 (around US$2.00). Instead of immediately blowing that money on toys/candy/some other useless junk, Eric took the K10,000 and decided to start his own little business venture. Keep in mind, this is a 10 year old.
He started small, buying just one bag of candy. Then, like a little African Zack Morris, Eric sold the candy amongst his friends from school, turning a small profit. He then took his earnings and reinvested it all, buying even more candy and a few packs of Jiggies, again selling them to his friends.
The cycle continued and now, a few months later, as his father travels to Lusaka to pick up his monthly paycheck he buys candy in bulk and transports it back for Eric to sell.
It’s oh so common in this world, and especially in Zambia, for people to live beyond their means, living off credit and on the verge of financial disaster. It’s nice to know that kids like Eric are around and are thinking ahead and showing an entrepreneurial flair. I think that boy has a bright future.
Then there’s Saliya, age 12, who lives in the house just next door to me (with Junior the Pooper). Saliya is also very bright and just the other day demonstrated to me that the schools around here are actually teaching a thing or two.
Most days, when I finish work at a reasonable hour, I wander over to my home and sit around on the front porch or in the back yard, reading or chatting or watching the sunset behind the nearby Baobab tree. Recently, Saliya, who also happens to be one of my loyal readers, has taken to firing question after question at me on topics ranging from US History to World Geography to Science to Medicine. She has a very active mind.
Actually, I’m not really sure if she doesn’t know the answers and wants to hear them from me or if she does know the answers and wants to test me. Either way, she keeps them coming.
The other day we had a chat about the positions of the planets, rotation vs. revolution and the history of the universe (you know, the light and casual conversations that everyone has in the late afternoons after work).
Much to my surprise, Saliya had a pretty good grasp on all of it. She then proceeded to tell me all about energy, and about the differences between, gravitational, potential and kinetic energy (which I already knew about because I was a physics teacher…no big deal).
It made me happy to see that there are some sharp kids around here, even if Saliya is beginning to border on becoming a geeky science nerd. Actually, Zambia could use more geeky science nerds, so that would be ok.
If you have any messages of encouragement for Eric or Saliya, let me know and I’ll send them along.
Still, it is a developing country and, as a result, life within it can be filled with frustration after frustration. Corrupt government leaders, underperforming schools, lack of infrastructure, it all adds up to one big headache.
But every now and then I see something that makes me hopeful for the future. Just recently two particular cases have stood out in my mind.
First, there’s Eric. Eric is a bright young chap who lives just down the road from Namumu. He is around 10 and is a student at the Namumu Community School. In fact, his father is the hippo-slaying Zambia Wildlife Official I mentioned in a blog way back.
A few weeks ago, while on a supply run to Lusaka for Namumu’s carpentry workshop, I ran into Eric’s father in the city. He was carrying two giant bags packed with candy and Jiggies, flavored corn chips that are very popular among the children of the region.
I laughed and asked him if he was trying to fatten up his family. No, he told me, the bags were not for the family. They were for Eric.
Apparently, a few months ago Eric did some work for a neighbor, clearing away a large area for planting, and was paid K10,000 (around US$2.00). Instead of immediately blowing that money on toys/candy/some other useless junk, Eric took the K10,000 and decided to start his own little business venture. Keep in mind, this is a 10 year old.
He started small, buying just one bag of candy. Then, like a little African Zack Morris, Eric sold the candy amongst his friends from school, turning a small profit. He then took his earnings and reinvested it all, buying even more candy and a few packs of Jiggies, again selling them to his friends.
The cycle continued and now, a few months later, as his father travels to Lusaka to pick up his monthly paycheck he buys candy in bulk and transports it back for Eric to sell.
It’s oh so common in this world, and especially in Zambia, for people to live beyond their means, living off credit and on the verge of financial disaster. It’s nice to know that kids like Eric are around and are thinking ahead and showing an entrepreneurial flair. I think that boy has a bright future.
Then there’s Saliya, age 12, who lives in the house just next door to me (with Junior the Pooper). Saliya is also very bright and just the other day demonstrated to me that the schools around here are actually teaching a thing or two.
Most days, when I finish work at a reasonable hour, I wander over to my home and sit around on the front porch or in the back yard, reading or chatting or watching the sunset behind the nearby Baobab tree. Recently, Saliya, who also happens to be one of my loyal readers, has taken to firing question after question at me on topics ranging from US History to World Geography to Science to Medicine. She has a very active mind.
Actually, I’m not really sure if she doesn’t know the answers and wants to hear them from me or if she does know the answers and wants to test me. Either way, she keeps them coming.
The other day we had a chat about the positions of the planets, rotation vs. revolution and the history of the universe (you know, the light and casual conversations that everyone has in the late afternoons after work).
Much to my surprise, Saliya had a pretty good grasp on all of it. She then proceeded to tell me all about energy, and about the differences between, gravitational, potential and kinetic energy (which I already knew about because I was a physics teacher…no big deal).
It made me happy to see that there are some sharp kids around here, even if Saliya is beginning to border on becoming a geeky science nerd. Actually, Zambia could use more geeky science nerds, so that would be ok.
If you have any messages of encouragement for Eric or Saliya, let me know and I’ll send them along.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Pooped on Again, a Spear Fishing Re-do and Hijacking Plans
Wow. It is insanely hot here. Insanely hot. From about 7 am to 4 pm it is completely miserable. At all other hours it is only slightly less miserable. I don’t know if I will survive.
Although, the heat has afforded me the opportunity to stagger around with a carton of milk in my hand, drinking occasionally and proclaiming aloud, “It’s so hot out here…Milk was a baaaad choice.” Nobody’s gotten that one yet but I’m going to keep it up anyways because you know what? It’s funny to me.
Ahhhh, nobody gets me.
But enough with the complaining, here’s what’s been going on around Namumu lately…
Junior, the young boy next door (Innocent’s replacement) is growing up right before my eyes. I’ve seen him take his first steps and speak his first words. He gets cuter and fatter every day. His aversion to pants is still as strong as ever.
I really love that little guy, even though he pooped on me. Again. I picked him up the other day and boom, it happened. I should’ve seen it coming, though. I couldn’t even get mad at him. It’s like I always say, “Poop on me once, shame on you. Poop on me twice, shame on me.”
My army of girl readers is going strong and has even been growing as of late. Wendy is knocking out chapters of “Mercy’s Birds” like it’s her job. Vivian is stuttering less. So, if I don’t go insane from reading one crappy young adult novel after another things should keep on just fine.
I was visiting the Peters, two kapenta fishing camp owners I mentioned some time back, and they informed me that their son was returning from South Africa next week and is an expert spear fisherman. They told me to come over to fish with him sometime. Man, I’m excited. After my aforementioned fishing failures with Clivet aka the Sweater I am looking to step up my spear fishing game. I’ll keep you updated.
Our water system hasn’t broken down in a few weeks, so that’s nice.
Finally, I had an awesome follow up conversation with Zenzo, one of Namumu’s accountants, concerning local traditional marriage issues.
We were riding back from town in the Namumu vehicle. Wendy, my number one reader, was in the car, coming home from school. I had given her a newspaper to read through and she was asking me questions. She started reading an article about terrorism and plane hijacking.
“What does ‘hijacking’ mean?” she asked.
I started to explain to her when Zenzo cut in, saying, “You know, Sam, traditionally it is acceptable for a Tonga man, when he identifies a Tonga woman that he wants to marry, to get three or four large friends to “hijack” that woman, perhaps when she’s out drawing water, and to take her back to his home where he can negotiate with her family over the issue of marriage."
So, as it turns out, I might not even be needing the support money to buy a Tonga wife, I’ll only need three or four strong friends. And saving money is always good, right?
Although, the heat has afforded me the opportunity to stagger around with a carton of milk in my hand, drinking occasionally and proclaiming aloud, “It’s so hot out here…Milk was a baaaad choice.” Nobody’s gotten that one yet but I’m going to keep it up anyways because you know what? It’s funny to me.
Ahhhh, nobody gets me.
But enough with the complaining, here’s what’s been going on around Namumu lately…
Junior, the young boy next door (Innocent’s replacement) is growing up right before my eyes. I’ve seen him take his first steps and speak his first words. He gets cuter and fatter every day. His aversion to pants is still as strong as ever.
I really love that little guy, even though he pooped on me. Again. I picked him up the other day and boom, it happened. I should’ve seen it coming, though. I couldn’t even get mad at him. It’s like I always say, “Poop on me once, shame on you. Poop on me twice, shame on me.”
My army of girl readers is going strong and has even been growing as of late. Wendy is knocking out chapters of “Mercy’s Birds” like it’s her job. Vivian is stuttering less. So, if I don’t go insane from reading one crappy young adult novel after another things should keep on just fine.
I was visiting the Peters, two kapenta fishing camp owners I mentioned some time back, and they informed me that their son was returning from South Africa next week and is an expert spear fisherman. They told me to come over to fish with him sometime. Man, I’m excited. After my aforementioned fishing failures with Clivet aka the Sweater I am looking to step up my spear fishing game. I’ll keep you updated.
Our water system hasn’t broken down in a few weeks, so that’s nice.
Finally, I had an awesome follow up conversation with Zenzo, one of Namumu’s accountants, concerning local traditional marriage issues.
We were riding back from town in the Namumu vehicle. Wendy, my number one reader, was in the car, coming home from school. I had given her a newspaper to read through and she was asking me questions. She started reading an article about terrorism and plane hijacking.
“What does ‘hijacking’ mean?” she asked.
I started to explain to her when Zenzo cut in, saying, “You know, Sam, traditionally it is acceptable for a Tonga man, when he identifies a Tonga woman that he wants to marry, to get three or four large friends to “hijack” that woman, perhaps when she’s out drawing water, and to take her back to his home where he can negotiate with her family over the issue of marriage."
So, as it turns out, I might not even be needing the support money to buy a Tonga wife, I’ll only need three or four strong friends. And saving money is always good, right?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Good Times and a Whole Lotta Nudity at Chirundundike
I made my second trip out to the Namumu kapenta fishing camp at Chirundundike Island this weekend. The fishing month was coming to a close and I wanted to check up on our guys one last time. My days there were slow and simple and very, very enjoyable. I’d even go so far as to say it was one of the best weekends of my life.
I’ve commented before on how the general opinion around these parts is that most fishermen are lying, stealing, drunken buffoons. Sadly, these thoughts have permeated the minds of many on Namumu’s staff and management team. Our guys are mistrusted and have been put down from time to time. I know that in some cases it’s true, there are quite a few buffoons out there on the lake. I’ve met them. And I know that stealing is occurring for many of these camps and may be occurring in ours to some degree. Still, the attitude really bothers me.
I arrived at the camp around 11:30 am on a slow moving banana boat (hot sun + slow moving banana boat + pasty white sam = red sam). I wanted my arrival to be a surprise to our guys because, even though I trust them, it’s good to keep them on their toes and aware that they might be under supervision at any time.
When I showed up, I found four of our team sitting on the shore. They came up and gave me a warm greeting. Four were just off the shore on the hill where our camp is set, sleeping in the shade. Two were around a fire, cooking nsima and kapenta, and two were sitting on a rock reading a book together about the gospel of John. Again, not exactly the raging party that those adhering to the “general opinion” might expect.
Spirits were high. Very high. Despite my jinxing of the operation with the blog post you see below, it has been a record breaking month for the Namumu team in terms of catches and sales. The program has existed since 2006 and never has a crew brought in this much kapenta. The guys were happy because they get paid according to their catches and will receive a nice little paycheck this month. But, more than that, I think they just take pride in being good at their jobs.
The sense of camaraderie with our team is unbelievable, and it’s not hard to see why. During the fishing month, when camped out at Chirundundike, our guys spend almost every minute of the day and night together, fishing at night, eating and relaxing during the day. It’s really like a family (which I think makes me the bearded white uncle).
It was a nice scene to walk in on.
To kick things up another notch, Mubita, our rig foreman, and I threw down a challenge right off the bat, saying that whichever boat caught more fish that night would receive a goat to kill and eat, paid for by Mubita and myself. As goat meat is the bomb dot com I was pretty excited about the bet myself and hoping that the boat I was on was the winner.
My first night was wonderful. Just before setting off I once again, with the hot sun bearing down on me, bathed in the cool waters of Lake Kariba and strolled around on the rocks as naked as the day I was born (obviously a great way to kick off any night…if you have the means I highly recommend it). Like the last time, I hopped on one boat (after re-clothing myself) and Mubita hopped on the other. We drove out super duper far (it’s a big lake) and, since we’d left pretty early in the afternoon, there was time to sit around and relax before the fishing started. We cooked nsima, kapenta and cabbage over a small fire and ate with the setting sun in the background. Although the weather in Siavonga has been brutally hot, out on the lake it was cool and breezy. The sun was setting over the hills on the Zambian side and I just about died it was so pretty. We sat around and talked for a while until it was time to fish. It was calm and quiet and very, very nice.
Soon it was time to get to work. We flipped on the lights, dropped the net and prepared the boat for the night (for kapenta fishing procedures see “Uncle Chuck Norris Goes to Sea” below).
Catches were good the first night and my boat won the contest and the goat. Boo ya! Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to get the goat before leaving Chirundundike so it will have to wait until next month, but Boo ya! anyways, right? I spent the night working with the guys a bit, sleeping every now and then, and staring at the stars and thinking about life. Not bad. Not bad at all.
For a short time the next day I got organized with Mubita and made plans for the following month. After that I did absolutely nothing all day but sit on the rocks and read, jumping in the lake every now and then to cool off (I wore pants this time…thinking back I’m not really sure why). My goodness it was wonderful.
I hopped on the other boat to fish the second night. As one of the crew members had gone home to Siavonga early to receive some medical attention (Pierson, the aforementioned jolly-ol’ captain of the Lucy boat, had gotten burned by the engine on his backside, an incident that allowed me to show off the fact that I know how to say, “He/She has a big butt” in Tonga, a phrase I’ve been using way more than I should be and that will probably get me into trouble in the future) I basically had to be a crew member this night and do the fishing work. As I stood there helping to bring up the net, turning the crank handle with the three others on board at 2 in the morning, I thought to myself, “I’ll bet there aren’t too many white guys that are getting to do what I’m doing right now (ie. working an African fishing boat in the middle of the night on Lake Kariba, not turning a crank handle…I’ll bet a lot of white guys get to do that). This is awesome.”
The next morning we packed up our camp and struck out early for Siavonga with the wind blowing through our hair and the sun shining on our faces, filled with the knowlege that our group had just pulled in almost 9,000 kgs of kapenta for the month.
I was right proud of our boys.
I’ve commented before on how the general opinion around these parts is that most fishermen are lying, stealing, drunken buffoons. Sadly, these thoughts have permeated the minds of many on Namumu’s staff and management team. Our guys are mistrusted and have been put down from time to time. I know that in some cases it’s true, there are quite a few buffoons out there on the lake. I’ve met them. And I know that stealing is occurring for many of these camps and may be occurring in ours to some degree. Still, the attitude really bothers me.
I arrived at the camp around 11:30 am on a slow moving banana boat (hot sun + slow moving banana boat + pasty white sam = red sam). I wanted my arrival to be a surprise to our guys because, even though I trust them, it’s good to keep them on their toes and aware that they might be under supervision at any time.
When I showed up, I found four of our team sitting on the shore. They came up and gave me a warm greeting. Four were just off the shore on the hill where our camp is set, sleeping in the shade. Two were around a fire, cooking nsima and kapenta, and two were sitting on a rock reading a book together about the gospel of John. Again, not exactly the raging party that those adhering to the “general opinion” might expect.
Spirits were high. Very high. Despite my jinxing of the operation with the blog post you see below, it has been a record breaking month for the Namumu team in terms of catches and sales. The program has existed since 2006 and never has a crew brought in this much kapenta. The guys were happy because they get paid according to their catches and will receive a nice little paycheck this month. But, more than that, I think they just take pride in being good at their jobs.
The sense of camaraderie with our team is unbelievable, and it’s not hard to see why. During the fishing month, when camped out at Chirundundike, our guys spend almost every minute of the day and night together, fishing at night, eating and relaxing during the day. It’s really like a family (which I think makes me the bearded white uncle).
It was a nice scene to walk in on.
To kick things up another notch, Mubita, our rig foreman, and I threw down a challenge right off the bat, saying that whichever boat caught more fish that night would receive a goat to kill and eat, paid for by Mubita and myself. As goat meat is the bomb dot com I was pretty excited about the bet myself and hoping that the boat I was on was the winner.
My first night was wonderful. Just before setting off I once again, with the hot sun bearing down on me, bathed in the cool waters of Lake Kariba and strolled around on the rocks as naked as the day I was born (obviously a great way to kick off any night…if you have the means I highly recommend it). Like the last time, I hopped on one boat (after re-clothing myself) and Mubita hopped on the other. We drove out super duper far (it’s a big lake) and, since we’d left pretty early in the afternoon, there was time to sit around and relax before the fishing started. We cooked nsima, kapenta and cabbage over a small fire and ate with the setting sun in the background. Although the weather in Siavonga has been brutally hot, out on the lake it was cool and breezy. The sun was setting over the hills on the Zambian side and I just about died it was so pretty. We sat around and talked for a while until it was time to fish. It was calm and quiet and very, very nice.
Soon it was time to get to work. We flipped on the lights, dropped the net and prepared the boat for the night (for kapenta fishing procedures see “Uncle Chuck Norris Goes to Sea” below).
Catches were good the first night and my boat won the contest and the goat. Boo ya! Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to get the goat before leaving Chirundundike so it will have to wait until next month, but Boo ya! anyways, right? I spent the night working with the guys a bit, sleeping every now and then, and staring at the stars and thinking about life. Not bad. Not bad at all.
For a short time the next day I got organized with Mubita and made plans for the following month. After that I did absolutely nothing all day but sit on the rocks and read, jumping in the lake every now and then to cool off (I wore pants this time…thinking back I’m not really sure why). My goodness it was wonderful.
I hopped on the other boat to fish the second night. As one of the crew members had gone home to Siavonga early to receive some medical attention (Pierson, the aforementioned jolly-ol’ captain of the Lucy boat, had gotten burned by the engine on his backside, an incident that allowed me to show off the fact that I know how to say, “He/She has a big butt” in Tonga, a phrase I’ve been using way more than I should be and that will probably get me into trouble in the future) I basically had to be a crew member this night and do the fishing work. As I stood there helping to bring up the net, turning the crank handle with the three others on board at 2 in the morning, I thought to myself, “I’ll bet there aren’t too many white guys that are getting to do what I’m doing right now (ie. working an African fishing boat in the middle of the night on Lake Kariba, not turning a crank handle…I’ll bet a lot of white guys get to do that). This is awesome.”
The next morning we packed up our camp and struck out early for Siavonga with the wind blowing through our hair and the sun shining on our faces, filled with the knowlege that our group had just pulled in almost 9,000 kgs of kapenta for the month.
I was right proud of our boys.
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Next Executive Director
For some time now, Namumu has been searching for someone to replace The Man, The Myth, The Legend, Munjongo Namuyamba, our fearless leader and one of Namumu’s founders, as the Namumu Executive Director. At long last that search has come to an end. Namumu has officially named its next Executive Director.
His name is Mr. Phanuel Simamba. While I am not yet well acquainted with Mr. Simamba I can say that he appears to be a very nice, well spoken, intelligent man. I know that he has lived in the Siavonga area for his entire life, and that everyone who knows him believes him to be bright and hard working.
Beginning next week Mr. Simamba will begin dropping by Namumu to work with Munjongo. This will continue until the beginning of January, when Mr. Simamba will officially take over the Executive Director role.
Again, I haven’t spent much time with Mr. Simamba yet, but I was fortunate enough to be invited to a get-to-know-you type dinner with Mr. Simamba, his wife, and some of the Namumu management and staff. While there I was able to make an observation that I would argue bodes quite well for Mr. Simamba’s tenure…
The dinner took place at Eagle’s Rest Lodge, a beautiful lodge set on the shore of Lake Kariba. Ten were present and we were all seated at one long table. There were a few mini-speeches (although I’ve found mini-speeches in Africa are basically equivalent to full-length speeches anywhere else in the world) addressing the future of Namumu before we were able to enjoy dinner.
Fortunately, drinks were served and refilled throughout the series of speeches. As is usually the case here, the three soft drink choices were Fanta, Sprite, and of course the best drink in the history of mankind, Coca Cola. Out of the ten people present, eight went with Fanta. The two Coca Cola drinkers? Myself (obviously), and Namumu’s future Executive Director himself, Mr. Phanuel Simamba.
So, I’ve found out that Namumu’s future leader is a Coca Cola fan. So far the man checks out with me…
His name is Mr. Phanuel Simamba. While I am not yet well acquainted with Mr. Simamba I can say that he appears to be a very nice, well spoken, intelligent man. I know that he has lived in the Siavonga area for his entire life, and that everyone who knows him believes him to be bright and hard working.
Beginning next week Mr. Simamba will begin dropping by Namumu to work with Munjongo. This will continue until the beginning of January, when Mr. Simamba will officially take over the Executive Director role.
Again, I haven’t spent much time with Mr. Simamba yet, but I was fortunate enough to be invited to a get-to-know-you type dinner with Mr. Simamba, his wife, and some of the Namumu management and staff. While there I was able to make an observation that I would argue bodes quite well for Mr. Simamba’s tenure…
The dinner took place at Eagle’s Rest Lodge, a beautiful lodge set on the shore of Lake Kariba. Ten were present and we were all seated at one long table. There were a few mini-speeches (although I’ve found mini-speeches in Africa are basically equivalent to full-length speeches anywhere else in the world) addressing the future of Namumu before we were able to enjoy dinner.
Fortunately, drinks were served and refilled throughout the series of speeches. As is usually the case here, the three soft drink choices were Fanta, Sprite, and of course the best drink in the history of mankind, Coca Cola. Out of the ten people present, eight went with Fanta. The two Coca Cola drinkers? Myself (obviously), and Namumu’s future Executive Director himself, Mr. Phanuel Simamba.
So, I’ve found out that Namumu’s future leader is a Coca Cola fan. So far the man checks out with me…
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Thanks for the Support
It's been a while since I've thrown out a big ol' thank you to all of you that have helped support my stay here...
So thank you, thank you, thank you, for both the financial and prayer support.
Obviously the frustrations and setbacks are many, but good, good things are happening at this place and I'm grateful that you've helped me to be a part of it.
So thank you, thank you, thank you, for both the financial and prayer support.
Obviously the frustrations and setbacks are many, but good, good things are happening at this place and I'm grateful that you've helped me to be a part of it.
Mr. Kabwe
Tragedy struck Siavonga last Friday in the late afternoon. There was a big, big accident at the Kariba North Bank Power Station located just outside of Siavonga. Even now I’m having trouble separating fact from rumor, but I believe there was some sort of explosion and a number of fires broke out. Many workers were injured and some were killed.
One of the workers that was killed was a former Namumu employee, Mr. Briston Kabwe. Mr. Kabwe was Namumu’s head welder up until only some months ago when he took a job at Kariba North Bank. He had been at Namumu for a few years.
Even though we had not worked together I knew Mr. Kabwe pretty well. He lived close by to Namumu and from time to time he would drop in to check on Vincent, Namumu’s current head welder, his former student. He just wanted to make sure his protege was faring well. He was a nice man.
Coincidentally, I was one of the last people around here to get to see Mr. Kabwe. On Saturday morning, the day after the power station incident, I made a trip to the Siavonga District Hospital with Alfred, Namumu’s driver. The hospital was packed with dozens of men injured in the accident. Family and friends were pouring in to make sure that their loved ones were alright.
Most of the men were in a large general holding area, but Mr. Kabwe was in a separate room. He had bandages all over his body, having been badly burned. He was clearly in pain. Still, he was conscious and talking and appeared to be fine. Two days later we received word that he had been transferred to a large hospital in Lusaka. The next day we received word that he had passed away.
I attended part of Mr. Kabwe’s funeral yesterday. It was just a small gathering of family and friends as his burial won’t be until later this week. It was my second African funeral and it was mostly the same. The men split off from the women and both groups sat around and talked quietly. Or just sat. Or cried. It was terrible.
The worst part was watching Mr. Kabwe’s small children. I believe he had three in total, although I only saw his two small girls, probably only two or three years old. Both were walking around and smiling, clearly oblivious to the whole situation. I don’t think they had any idea what had happened.
It made me wonder when they would know, how long it would take for them to realize the gravity of the situation and how different their lives are going to be from now on. In a relatively impoverished area they were some of the fortunate ones, having had a man with a good job to provide for them. Now that’s all gone. I don’t know, maybe the power company will provide some type of benefits for them. Maybe not. It’s tough to think about.
Siavonga is not a big place, so almost everyone had a friend or family member working at that place. At some point today, please take a moment to pray for those in Siavonga affected by this accident.
One of the workers that was killed was a former Namumu employee, Mr. Briston Kabwe. Mr. Kabwe was Namumu’s head welder up until only some months ago when he took a job at Kariba North Bank. He had been at Namumu for a few years.
Even though we had not worked together I knew Mr. Kabwe pretty well. He lived close by to Namumu and from time to time he would drop in to check on Vincent, Namumu’s current head welder, his former student. He just wanted to make sure his protege was faring well. He was a nice man.
Coincidentally, I was one of the last people around here to get to see Mr. Kabwe. On Saturday morning, the day after the power station incident, I made a trip to the Siavonga District Hospital with Alfred, Namumu’s driver. The hospital was packed with dozens of men injured in the accident. Family and friends were pouring in to make sure that their loved ones were alright.
Most of the men were in a large general holding area, but Mr. Kabwe was in a separate room. He had bandages all over his body, having been badly burned. He was clearly in pain. Still, he was conscious and talking and appeared to be fine. Two days later we received word that he had been transferred to a large hospital in Lusaka. The next day we received word that he had passed away.
I attended part of Mr. Kabwe’s funeral yesterday. It was just a small gathering of family and friends as his burial won’t be until later this week. It was my second African funeral and it was mostly the same. The men split off from the women and both groups sat around and talked quietly. Or just sat. Or cried. It was terrible.
The worst part was watching Mr. Kabwe’s small children. I believe he had three in total, although I only saw his two small girls, probably only two or three years old. Both were walking around and smiling, clearly oblivious to the whole situation. I don’t think they had any idea what had happened.
It made me wonder when they would know, how long it would take for them to realize the gravity of the situation and how different their lives are going to be from now on. In a relatively impoverished area they were some of the fortunate ones, having had a man with a good job to provide for them. Now that’s all gone. I don’t know, maybe the power company will provide some type of benefits for them. Maybe not. It’s tough to think about.
Siavonga is not a big place, so almost everyone had a friend or family member working at that place. At some point today, please take a moment to pray for those in Siavonga affected by this accident.
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