Welcome to my life

written July 23, 2008

I have been procrastinating writing this blog entry for awhile now. I had an idea a long time ago to do a "day in the life" type of entry, and told myself I would write it when my days got just a bit more exciting and were filled more "save the world" kind of work. Well, in a few days I will have officially been living in Fiwila for 3 months and my days are not necessarily going as well as I would have hoped. Don't get me wrong: there are many aspects of my life right now that I love. So a few days ago, I took a deep breath and realized that 3 months is not really that long of a time. Living in the middle of Zambia was never supposed to be easy anyway. I have plenty of time to figure out how to make my days the way I want them to be. So I decided to go ahead and describe one of my days for you now. I figure it will be fun to write a similar entry a year from now and compare how things have changed. Here it is, in all its glamour, a typical day in the life of yours truly...............
My alarm sounds at 5:30 and I let it snooze as I gather up the energy necessary to get out of bed by listening to upbeat music on my I-POD. A half-hour later it is usually my bladder that finally forces me to rise and walk outside to the pit latrine. My fear of being anywhere outside of my mosquito net at night as well as the lack of public toilets have forced me to become an expert at "holding it."
As I walk back to my hut, the sun is beginning to rise, but no one has emerged from their own huts yet. I take advantage of this time of day to do my own routine of yoga, meditation and prayer. I certainly don't want to get too "new age" on anyone, but I have been enjoying the time to explore my own spirituality, what works for me and what doesn't. I have also noticed that my days seem much better when I have done a few yoga poses and read an encouraging word or two from different prayer books.
After my new age activities, I continue with my morning routine by getting the brazier hot enough to cook on. A brazier is a cast iron basket that holds charcoal. Sometimes they are hard to light, but I am lucky to live with a helpful hose family who who help by putting hot coals from their open-air fire on top of my brazier.
I put water on for tea and as I'm waiting for it to boil, I flip on my short-wave radio and tune in to Voice of America and later to the BBC. I am so thankful to have discovered both of these broadcasts, which keep me well-informed about worldly events and help me feel more connected to you. The Voice of America even has a quick segment at the end called "Today in History" (announced in a bold voice) and I listen closely to brush up on my history knowledge.
Breakfast is usually oatmeal but sometimes I splurge on granola. I also have become quite the baker and have made many varieties of pancakes, crepes, biscuits, banana bread, cornbread, and brownies all on the brazier. Anyone who visits me will not go hungry! I cook breakfast on my front porch, even though that is not the custom here. Zambians cook in "insakas", like a gazebo. Most insakeas are partially enclosed with mud or sticks and have a grass roof. This is where Zambians spend the majority of their time at home. If they are not cooking in the insaka, they use it to receive visitors or simply warm themselves by the fire.
I have my own insaka which has recently undergone major renovations by my host family. My Bataata (host father) is in the process of re-thatching it and my Ba Mayo led the rest of the family in constructing a partial enclosure of mud bricks around it. After all that work, they painted the walls with thick bold stripes of orange, black and white. I'm uncertain if they were mainly concerned that I was cooking on my front porch. I have now decided to cook all my dinners in the insaka but will continue my morning routine by cooking breakfast on my front porch.
After breakfast I wash dishes using 2 large buckets of water, one for washing and one for rinsing, plus a kettle of hot water for the nitty-gritty. This is when I belt out whatever song is on my mind at the moment, anything from Disney to James Taylor. I have always loved to sing, but you would have never found me back in the Sates singing as loud as I do here! There is no shame when it comes to vocal chords in Zambia. While I'm doing the dishes, my Ba Mayo strolls over to my porch, balancing a 20-litre bucket on her head and casually drops it off for me. I am always humbled by this daily action. Not only am I in awe that she, at 70-something years old can perform such an act with such little effort, I am also baffled as to what exactly I have done to receive such service. The 3 water containers on my porch are always filled to the brim. A few times when I have started walking over to the "dambo" to get my own water, someone comes running up to me with a look of "how could you do such a thing!", takes the container from my hands and gets the water for me.
After leaving the dishes out to dry on a 4-ft. tall drying rack platform made from sticks, I get ready to walk over to the health clinic. This is about the time I contemplate heating up bath water. I usually decide against it because it takes up so much time and because June and July have been surprisingly colder than I expected. Many mornings when I wake up it is cold enough to see my breath! Even at noon I am most comfortable wearing top and bottom long underwear, a chitenge, AND a sweatshirt. Being naked outside in such cold temps (especially when the wind is blowing) is not exactly a pleasant experience. I figure I will be cleaner in October when it's said to be sweltering hot.
Once I put on one of the 3 outfits I rotate wearing as well as taking care of other miscellaneous tasks that would only bore you to describe, I lock my hut and start heading to the clinic. My bataata catches me on my way out so that we can have our daily conversation.
"Ba Rachel!" he calls to me, walking over and smiling his fantastic smile of crooked teeth. He shakes my hand with a firm grip and says, "Ba Rachel, Mwabuka?" (Have you woken up?)
"Eh, Bataata."
"Mwashibuka bwino?" (Have you woken up fine?)
"Eh, Bataata, nashibuka bwino, nga imwe."
"Na ine nashibuka bwino." (And I have woken up fine.)
"Mwaya ku cipatala nemba?" (Are you going to the clinic now?)
"Eh, naya, ku cipatala nemba."
"Okay, okay," with a slight nod of the head and huge grin on his face, "thank you, thank you."
Each morning the conversation is exactly the same. My Bataata, who claims to be 82-years=old is quite the character. He is always content, smiling and laughing. The fact that is no taller than 5"4", with a thin frame and slight hunch in his back can be deceiving. One would think that after so much living and raising children he would want to relax most of the day. Instead, he is constantly finding some sort of work to do like chopping firewood or improving one of the family's 4 insakas. The other day Bataata told me in broken English that he has lived in Tanzania and the Congo, which doesn't surprise me one bit.
After Bataata and I have greeted each other I actually do start walking to the clinic and my dog, Buddy, is not too far behind. One the path we pass many people and I greet them with a smile, a slight curtsy and a "muli shani" or a "mwashibukeni." In the Bemba language there are about as many greetings as there are daily activities. Here are just a few:
Mwashibukeni mukwai (how goes the morning?)
Mwasamilileni mukwai (how goes the learning?)
Cungulopo mukwai (how goes the evening?)
Mwaikaleni mukwai (how goes the sitting?)
Mwabombeni mukwai (how goes the work?)
Mwatandaleni mukwai (how goes the walking?)
and.....
Mwasalipeni mukwai (how went the killing of the dangerous animal such as lion or snake?)
That last one I haven't heard with my own ears, but I did find it in my dictionary and thought is was quite funny. I usually stick to 2 or 3 greetings just to keep it simple.
By the time I get to the clinic it is about 9:30 and I give a standard greeting with a slight curtsy of course, to all the people outside of the clinic waiting to be seen and then I greet the clinic staff. There are 2 casual daily employees, Ba Kennedy and Ba Mapulanga who are in charge of cleaning and other tasks, but I am convinced that they are the ones who actually keep the clinic up and running. Then there is Ba Monica, a clinical nurse about my age from the Copperbelt (the most developed part of Zambia). She is always looking very pretty, wearing high heels and her nails freshly french-manicured and frequently applying lip gloss. (All the visiting male Peace Corps Volunteers immediatly fall in love with her!)
There is also Ba Ella, the plump and happy head nurse. She has been living and working in Fiwila for the past 17 years and is well respected by the community. I admire her diligence.
Lastly, Ba Aiden is the 28-yr.-old Environmental Health Technician who is responsible for going out into the vilages giving health talks. She figures out things like how many people have pit latrines or sleep under mosquito netting. She usually accompanies me when I go to various villages outside of Fiwila in my catchment area.
I never know how my days are going to go until I arrive at the clinic. Some days I study Bemba while waiting to see if there's anything I can help out with. Other days I sit through 5-hour long meetings either at the clinic or out in the field somewhere. There are also days that the clinic is short-staffed and I become a stand-in nurse. At the under 5 clinic I assist mothers in weighing their children on a hanging scale, recording on a chart showing whether the baby is growing at a healthy pace. At the ane-natal clinic for expectant mothers I have done everything from dispensing iron, folic acid and anti-malarial tablets to handing out mosquito nets to measuring their bellies with a measuring tape.
The ante-natal clinics are really something else. Many women travel from as far as 25 km away, often walking more than 3 hours. Their actual visit with clinic staff takes less time than it would take to go through a McConalds drive-thru. At every ante-natal clinic there is always at least one girl around 16 or 17 expecting her 2nd or 3rd child. Many of them have no idea how old they really are.
I am hoping that once my Bemba improves I can start giving health talks to the women waiting at the clinic. I have been told that a lot of them are unaware of the proper ways to take care of themselves during pregnancy, so I figure I can at least lead discussions on good nutrition and well-being, proper breastfeeding, etc. I think this will be a comfortable role for me.
After time at the clinic, I stroll over to Fiwila's "market" to try my luck finding tomatoes or bananas. A busy day finds 3 or 4 women selling whatever produce that may be in season. Often, though, there is no one selling and I rely on care packages in order to get at least 1 serving of fruits or vegetables for the day.
After passing the market I go over to "network" so I can check my cell phone for text messages and sometimes when I am patient I will check my e-mail. There are about 3 locations in Fiwila where if you stand in just the right spot and hold your phone in just the right way, one or 2 bars will magically appear. I have concluded that being able to receive text messages in this manner is just enough for me. In a way I have enjoyed cell phone freedom; not feeling the need to have my phone on me 24/7 or constantly checking for missed calls. I'm able to have phone conversations with loved ones back home often enough when I am in Jkushi or Serenje.
After spending anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour sending text messages or e-mails, I head back to my hut. On this path I walk past houses built by the mission for certain prominent members of the community. Two of my favorite girls, Chibola and Tedro live in one of these houses with their grandmother and come running to me to give me big bear hugs. Tedro is around 10 years old and shows a kind of innocence as she rambles on to me in Bemba. Her younger cousin Chibola, who might be 7 years old is stunningly gorgous and jumps around like a frog as I ask her what she learned in school that day. Both will continue babbling on to me until I get tired of trying to figure out what in the world they are saying. I walk away from them smiling as they wave and scream goodbye, grateful for their patience and their unconditional loe for the village muzungu.
Assuming I haven't been called to any meetings at the clinic or elsewhere I typically eat lunch at home. Lunch is sweet potatoes cooked earlier that morning, variations of peanut butter or snacks from care packages. It is never anything extravagent because I don't like to light the brazier mid-day.
Soon after lunch I hear a tiny voice at my front door.
"Odi?" (a word intended to demonstrate a visitor is present)
I step out onto my porch and look down at Humphrey, a 4-year old with pouty lips, long eye lashes and an incredible display of confdence for a boy his age.
"Mpeleniko amasweetie."
He has been politely requesting sweeties from the beginning, even before I had any to give. It was only a few days ago I finally caved in and bought a bag to satifisy his craving. I have to be careful about who I give sweeties to and when because I hand out one thing to one child, and before I know it, there will be 10 kids at my door expecting the same.
Sweeties are not asked for every day. Sometimes it is akakopo or amabuku. I learned quickly that all sorts of trash is like gold to these kids. They go crazy for things like empty tuna cans, powdered mild containers, old toothbrushes, used soap containers, and broken ziplock bags to make toys. I am amazed at their creativity. A favorite item they make is a "motorcar" from different materials and they attach long sticks for pushing them and race around them around the compound. I love to hear the wheels of the motorcar spinning in the distance when I'm in my hut near the open door. Suddenly the flash of someone pushing a motor goes past my hut.
Amabukus are magazines either sent from home or donated to the Peace Corps. I usually hand out one for them to share, and a group of children huddle around the pages of National Geographics or Newsweek, devouring the photos of world leaders or exotic animals. It is fascinating to watch because even the tiniest detail of an image is noticed.
Sometimes the kids entertain me for hours. I am happy that there are 5 high-school-aged girls who live in different huts on my family's compound and often drop by to visit. For a while we would sit on my front porch in silence because of the language barrier. But recently I started to teach them card games which have rescued me during awkward silences.
One of the girls, Pokas, keeps asking me to teach them an American song. I love that they want to learn one but I've taken a long time to decide on which song and also worried that my voice will crack or not sound very good (like when I'm washing dishes!). I finally wrote out the lyrics to the Beatles' "Blackbird". After realizing that's not exactly American, I wrote out lyrics to our national anthem as well as a church hymn I learned as a child, "I Lift My Eyes Up." All of the girls sing in the church choir so I thought they'd like that hymn. When Pokas drops by again I want to teach her these songs, then ask her to teach me a few from Zambia.
Some days I will also go over to my host family's yard to sit with Ba Mayo and her 29-year old daughter Ba Brenda. They sit on a reed mat, but give me one of their stools because I am a visitor and a muzungu. I help them remove maize kernels from the husk or peel cassava or sweet potatoes.
Whenever I have any interaction with my host family my muzungu status is never ignored. I am always given a stool even if 7 other people are seated directly on the ground. I have asked to eat dinner with them a few times, which takes a lot of courage on my part because I would much reather be invited. A few of my Peace Corps friends claim it is okay in Zambian culture for a muzungu to invite themselves to dinner and I should not feel uncomfortable asking. The few times I have asked, though,m it becomes a hute "to do" and my Ba Mayo serves me in my insaka with extravagent relishes (foods eaten with nshima). Even if my Ba Mayo feels honored to treat me this way, I feel uncomfortable with it and most nights I prefer to save her the additional work and just cook for myself.
If I am not visiting with anyone I usually read in my insaka or in a hammock hanging inside my hut. I've always enjoyed reading, but now have a new renewed passion here. I've read everything from The Golden Compass to For Whom The Bell Tolls.
At about 1700 (5:00 p.m.) I fill the brazier with charcoal and walk over to my family's insaka for fuel. Dinner alternates between pasta, rice and bean dishes. Special nights I indulge in macaroni and cheese sent from home or have pancakes. I has been lonely to eat by myself at night and my biggest struggle so far. Perhaps one day I will allow my host family to treat me like royalty. For now I am at least grateful for Buddy's company.
By 1900 (7:00 p.m.) it is dark and I get ready for bed, joking that I've become like an old woman due to my early bedtime. Honestly, I'm scared of the dark and can't wait to tuck myself in under the protection of my mosquito net, knowing it may be a false sense of security from the many critters that could wander into my hut
I read and write in my journal until 2000 (8:00 p.m.) or so. I hear children laughing as they sit around the fire or my Bataata giving a satisying "end of the day" sigh. I blow out the candle resting on my bed frame and get a good night's sleep.
Hopefully you can now imagine what my life is like here in Fiwila. I spend my Saturdays at the orphanage and we read magazines, play cards or play frisbee. Occasionally I am lonely, homesick or worry about my work and may spend the day laying in the hammock and immerse myself in a book. I try to remind myself that I would also have these kind of days in the States. Then there are days when I make the 80 km journey to unite with my American friends in Mkushi or Serenje. This involves a 2-hr. bike ride and a 1 to 3-hr. transport either sitting or standing in the bed of a pickup truck with 20 or so other Zambians. That, of course, would take a whole other blog entry.
As always, please write. I love you and miss you all.