Can't Fake Time

Not long ago, I was asked by Melissa Lefas - "what is different about the way you make decisions now that you've spent so much time in one community?"

My answer was fairly simple - "I want to stick up for them" 

Unfortunately in my first year in Zambia, the combination of circumstances never allowed me to feel settled in.  I was always just about to move to another place.

Luckily, this year, I was able to spend 4 uninterupted months in my little community inNorth-Western Zambia.

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My very cozy home since December.

Never again will I be the same.  When someone speaks about beneficiaries, my mind will cycle through the experiences I have shared in my community.  There wont be an abstract image of someone in a photo, or in a video.  And it wont be about a person I met once when I visited a village.  It will be about my friends, about the people who stuck up for me when I was sick, people who sincerely appreciated my efforts and who are always happy to see me.

One of my friends has helped to teach me the local language.  After months of hanging out, I finally went to visit his home and got to meet his family.  

They are very humble.  In a year they earn about $700 - they stretch every penny, even so much so that this year he purchased "iron sheets" which are the key ingredient to a modern home but cost $240.  But with tight budgeting and a reliable income, he made it happen.

After sitting in his house chatting, his wife arrived and was thrilled that I was able to visit their home.  They explained how this house was going to be given to the oldest child in 5 years and they would live in the new house for now while collecting about $6 a month for renting this one out.

As I left, Charles loaded me up with some corn from his garden - ensuring I only got the best ones - then he handed me 10 pin ($2) so I could buy a drink because he said there was no way I could visit his home without a drink.  

This two dollars represents a third of what his family will make from renting their house for a month.

That was it.  My heart, sole and mind will forever be attached to this community.  

Is there a shortcut to feeling nostalgic?

 

A Team

After a year and a half of being on a team, I realized that just maybe I wasn't really giving back to the team. It was a difficult realization because I consider myself a bit of a team player and maybe even a bit of a leader.  So why didnt I feel I could help lead this particular team?  

I guess the important thing is that I now want to make the most of it and be a strong team player.

Development is tough work - so we have to do something to keep us sane

Being John Malkovich

This week was a blur.  It started out great, I arrived in Lusaka and couldn't sit still.  For the first time in months, I had access to;

• stores selling cheese and wine
  
• Canadians I could hang out with
  
• electricity, even through the night
  
• internet that works

but after 12 hours of this sensory overload, I started to feel like Cameron Diaz when she was controlling John Malkovich...except this was reality, and it was like I was watching a movie in which Mark Hemsworth was simply a stand-in who had nothing to do with the plot.

Luckily this city has somewhat competent healthcare professionals, so I started my malaria treatment right away.

What a waste of a week.  I am now left contemplating what makes me happy, because I know I had some blips of good times this week, but I cant really remember them - so whats the point of having fun if you can't remember having fun?

maybe now I better understand the importance of being healthy?

Bearded me with Seleyi and Jasford as we fabricate a new honey filling unit.

Education

Finally, enough people have kicked me to go check whats the deal with this rash that occurs from time-to-time on my arm, so today I jumped in the vehicle and went with Mr. Matulu to the Kelene Mission Hospital. 

An amazing women named Rachel greeted us and offered to have us over at her home for lunch.

The trip is about 100km and it takes a good 2 or 3 hours to get there.  A secondary goal on the trip was to buy cassava chips for people to eat at lunch at the factory.  I quickly learned first hand why buying from rural farmers here is not ideal...at least for such a one-off purchase.  First people tell you that you can buy it 15km down this road, but you drive down this terrible road, and its hot and the vehicle is complaining but you get there only to find out there is nothing to buy.  Then when you do find someone selling, they have to run off and collect the food, then count each little bit one-by-one and it takes the whole day to buy just $100 worth.  These farmers have to be organized and given the large distances and inability to communicate using phones or radio…the only way to do it is through repeated visits. 

Anyway, we managed to buy some cassava and Rachel took me to see the doctor and it seems my arm will be back to normal again with this medicine he gave me.

We bought 50kg of dry cassava chips from this lady.

Fairly average day right?

Not really.  The lesson learned on working with small holder farmers is HUGE.  And I feel I learned something else first hand that is equally important, something that has been right in front of my nose all these months.  My experience was this;

While sitting at Rachel’s having lunch, her daughter who must be about 11 years-old, contributed to our conversation in a way that floored me.   Same with Rachel’s son who is even younger still.  We weren’t just joking around, the conversation was a bit serious and they were helping to answer  my real questions and doing it in a methodical, intelligent way!  And they spoke with confidence.

Rachel’s kids attend a school called Sakege, which costs over $2000 per year, and its known that everything about the school is top notch (including volunteer teachers from Europe).  So as I’m enjoying my meal, I almost had to stop because I wanted to cry.  For the first time in my life I could see the glaring difference between a world class education system and one that can only be described as a failed attempt.

It was beautiful but sad.  Of course Zambians are fully capable but most just don’t get the chance.  The government here isn’t in a position to provide a good education.  They cant even afford to put paper in their USAID funded printers.

All that being said, something is better than nothing.  I live with a family who has adopted a girl who’s mother died.  Mary sits at home while the other kids go to school.  I managed to convince the school headmaster to enroll her into grade 1.  Mary is 8 years old and has never been to school before.  Even though I know the education she is getting is a sham – it is a hundred times better than sitting at home.  At least she can feel like she belongs to something big.  We bought her uniform and school supplies and she is so excited it melts my heart.

This is Mary - we have a tres cool secret handshake

(as I spoke to the headmaster and paid the $5 to register her, there was an old man next in line hoping to register his grandson who had to be 10 years old, but they didn’t have the $5 to register, and I didn’t have a dime in my pocket to help them out – the fate of this boy was being played out in front of my eyes)

some kids where we bought cassava

I had all the kids dancing to music (railroad earth) 

this guy was really into it

More Photos

This was a particularly good week for photos.  I had two trips to the field plus I had two different Canadian friends to visit me in at my home here in Mwinilunga.  

This is Mary joking around with me - her character is so strong.

Off we go to pick up a load of honey.

This is Benard after we loaded buckets of honey from his house.

These are the newly 'hired' contact beekeepers after a great season.

Here you can see Binwell recording the number of buckets we loaded

The orchard at Mujila Falls

Yet another photo that doesnt do justice, this one of Mujila Falls.

LUNCH

 

Lunch time always consists of chit-chat, or actually, a better description would be gossip.  We eat nshima, which is a porridge like corn meal, and this is accompanied by some sort of fish or meat and one vegetable cooked in oil (such as pumpkin leaves).

I am always the last to finish even though I eat the least amount. I carefully chew on every ounce of food, the rest of the guys and girls swallow nshima almost like jello. 

More than half the time the conversation is in Lunda, so I have a hard time following the intricacies of the conversation.  Partly I feel the guys get tired of speaking English at work, and partly I feel they want me to catch onto Lunda and this is my chance to learn.

 

Today Chris decided to eat with us, normally he goes home to eat with his wife Lisette.  Chris has emphasized English within the company for 7 years - so when he's around the conversation always flows in English, and today the gossip was kicked off by the mention of a funeral, and that funeral was due to a young guy being HIV positive.  As usual, there was no official mention at the funeral about the person being positive, instead they are understood to have died of some illness….maybe malaria, maybe TB or just anything else.  A sad twist to this funeral was that the boy was only 15 - and his parents had died long ago, so chances are that he was born with HIV and he may have never even of known it.  Imagine the confusion at the age of 14 when you start losing weight and feeling unlike yourself, then it just gets worse and worse….

 

The conversation was then fuelled by the relation between drinking and promiscuous late night activity.  A very intelligent, hard working young guy at work was caught drunk last Saturday when he showed up to work saying he had to do a job and borrowed the motorbike only to wipe out.  This person is very well trusted and I consider him a friend - yet a few drinks led him to risking his job and injuring himself.

 

Then there was another story of a person who is well respected who started drinking and everyone knows they are HIV positive….and we talked about the local "guesthouse" which is like a cheap motel, or hostel.  Truth is - it’s a full blown brothel for soldiers, truck drivers and many others.   We talked about a song that a local musician made - where they sing about a government guesthouse which is also known to have sex workers 'servicing' the guests.

 

Before I knew it the gossip went from one person to another about who you knew that was HIV positive, and how they got that way, and about all the children these people will leave behind before long - about how some women, when they don’t have a strong man in their life, will pass the children to their mothers to raise.  A full half hour went by and I became a bit frozen, the guys would laugh once in a while when they talked about a certain person many of them know - I guess its hard to condemn something that is so prevalent and depressing - so laughing helps a bit, not laughing at the persons situation or anything like that, but just laughing at the ridiculous simplicity of it.  HIV comes to those who fool around and don’t use a condom, everyone knows it, yet 40% of adults in Mwinilunga have it.

 

And there is zero mention of ARV's to keep people alive once they have it.  (It was announced a couple years back that Anti-retrovirals are free in Zambia, but I figure its just free in the big cities)

 

Now I sit and type on my computer and I still feel frozen, numb.  The weight of the situation is incredible and I don’t know what to do about it.

 

People make logical decisions, and based on a given persons reality, one may choose to risk contracting HIV.  Everyone knows how you get HIV, and everyone knows how to stop it - you can preach ABC (or just AB if you're the pope!) for an eon but it wont change the fact that underlying the disease is a persons belief that their future is not worth much.  At least not worth enough to never risk getting HIV.

 

How can this change?  How can a person in Zambia believe in a good future? 

 

"fast" internet

Ok, so I'm in Solwezi and they have fast internet here - well, fast enough to easily upload photos, but not fast enough to see youtube, so I feel compelled to put up some photos.

For Easter weekend I'm visiting a friend who lives in a village 50km from Solwezi (so just 350km from Mwinilunga).   

This is Marissa admiring Joe's earings from his Samaritan's Purse box.

So Marissa has been in Zambia for a year and I got a chance this weekend to go visit her and see what her project is all about.  She is working on building a high school 50km from Solwezi.  Learn more on her website - http://www.sameworldsamechance.org

This baby was named after Marissa.

Here is Kalusa sewing together used sacs to create a bee suit.

And Mr. Matulu shows off the result.  Is he going to crop honey or launch into orbit?

After all the Samaritans purse boxes were open, the kids still played with their 'truck'.

Ya, this truck is amazing.  First of all, the one kid made it all on his own, and if you have a good eye - you'll notice that it has real stearing capabilities.  Ya, they hava rack-and-pinion system just the same way a real car would have.

Total inginuity from 8 year olds!