As I mentioned towards the end of my last blog, not all of my days are spent in the village, but enjoying my allotted time away by reveling in the pleasures of a hot running shower, electricity, delicious food, and most importantly, the fantastic company of Peace Corps friends. Before all that can happen I have to actually get myself out of Fiwila. The 30k (18.6 miles) bike ride and 50k (31 miles) "transport" can be quite an experience. The bike ride is exercise in the middle of Africa I generally enjoy and look forward to while taking transport is something I barely tolerate.
On mornings when I leave the village I rise as soon as the sun begins peeking over the hills behind my hut. I always pack my bag the night before and all I have to do is gulp down a bottle of Gatorade and chew a Cliff bar. I carefully secure my backpack on my bike, then check that all the candles are blown out, windows closed and front door locked. I set out a huge chunk of peanut butter for Buddy to eat so he is nicely distracted and won't follow me. (Twice he has done just that, no matter how many times I told him to go home or race far ahead of him.) I bike about a kilometer on a sandy bush path until I reach the main road. From that point the rest of the trip is on a worn dirt road where I have to look carefully for bike tire tracks to show best part of the road and helps prevent a flat tire or an uncomfortable, bumpy ride.
It is when I am on the main road that I am always reminded how fortunate I am to have a nice mountain bike. Peace Corps Zambia has TREK 3700's annually shipped from America. These red and white sleek bikes with thick tires, 21 speeds and cushioned seat is the envy of any Zambian who passes me. They ride dilapidated bikes usually assembled from a variety of used parts. Decent tires are rare for them and I wonder how they are able to survive the rough ride. My bike is just one of a great number of examples of how many nice things I own compared to a lot of locals who are just struggling to get by. I try not to dwell too much on this dichotomy because I don't like the thought that my wealth sets me apart from most people here and it makes me sad to think of the hardships they experience. Instead of worrying about why I was born into a life of financial well-being I just try to be thankful for the things I have that make life a bit easier and enjoyable while not flaunting them.
While still on the subject of my being different from the villagers in Fiwila I find it amusing that I probably look like an alien to everyone I pass while biking on the road to Masansa. Of course my white skin stands out. And I'm always wearing capris and a tank top (having not yet mastered the art of biking in a chitenge). My bike helmet flashes "muzingu". Finally, I'm listening to an energizing playlist on my I-POD to give me extra momentum and sometimes have the tube from my camelback hanging around my shoulder.
Now that you know all the details about equipment to survive the ride, let's get back to the journey itself. No part of the trip is flat and I am either battling a hill or flying down one. Rarely do I encounter any vehicles; just me and the African landscape.
Further along, as the sun climbs higher and higher, more people have begun their days and greetings of "muli shani" or Mwashibukeni" exchanged between me and women collecting water at a bore hole or cooking breakfast outside of huts that line the road. The kids have a field day when they see me approach. If one spots me, he springs off to alert his/her friends, brothers, sisters and then a whole clan of them jump out of the bush to greet, gawk, cheer or run along with me for as far as they can.
It usually takes me about 2 hours to reach Masansa, a "town" larger than Fiwila but smaller than Mkushi. It is more developed than a village because of two intersecting roads lined with small shops that offer cold drinks and a variety of goods not available to me in Fiwila. Other than that Mansansa doesn't have a whole lot to offer and it isn't exactly the pride of Zambia. Piles of trash litter the streets and even in the early morning drunks are wandering around.
When I arrive in Masansa I'm greeted by a few people who somehow know my name even though I can't recall meeting them. I have also been called Katie (who I replaced) even though we look nothing alike. My nearest Peace Corps neighbor, Phil, even gets called Katie at times! I tell him it's because they both have blond hair.
Every time I travel through the armpit of Masansa I have been lucky enough to be with Phil and/or Ted (another P.C. neighbor). Phil is in my intake and Ted had been in-country for a year when we arrived. The three of us get along well, frequently visiting at one another's site. I am especially grateful for their company in Masansa so I have someone to travel with to Mkushi or provide support in case one of the Masansa drunks gets out of control.
Before seeing what transport we have to Mkushi we drop off our bikes for safe-keeping at Max's house in the center of town. Max and his family have been friends of earlier PCV's. They force free cookies and drinks from the shop they own and offer nshima if it is during lunchtime.
As we leave our bikes with Max, we talk with him or one of his many relatives about Christianity (evangelism is popular here), how everything is in Fiwila, and whether we'll be voting for Obama in the upcoming elections.
The conversation is cut short by having to get on, or wait, for "transport". Official public transportation is not available for villagers needing to travel between Masansa and Mkushi, therefore private vehicles make money by charging 15,000 Zambian Kwatcha (about $3) for rides into town. These vehicles are typically small, run-down pick-up trucks and occasionally huge cantor trucks. On a good day an NGO (non-government organization) or white farmer will offer us rides in their comfy, cozy, air-conditioned cars, "buana" (wealthy) transportation.
I will, however, make you feel a bit of sympathy for me as I describe this mode of travel. We assume the worst, that our option will be the oldest truck in Zambia, so we arrive as early as possible hoping to be given the front seat in the cab of the truck. If we don't, we climb into the bed of the truck and sit with our backs up against the cab, hoping the driver won't make us stand the whole way in order to fit more passengers into the bed. We are usually the only ones waiting for the ride to take off, but the vehicle drives up and down the streets announcing the ride. In fifteen minutes up to an hour we will be "sardines" jam-packed in the back.
I have observed two unsaid rules about this transport. First, there are no constraints to the number of people a vehicle can carry. As soon as I think another human being could not possibly fit in, three women, six suitcases, a baby, and a chicken will climb on. The second rule is that there is no limit to the amount or type of luggage. Chickens, bicycles, cans of gasoline, kittens (mine in fact), old tires, you name it.
After everything is packed in as tight as possible, the truck starts down the long, winding and bumpy as hell road. If I'm able to move my limbs, I try to adjust myself so that people are no longer jabbing my side with their elbows or sitting on my shins. I know it has been a good ride if I manage to keep my legs from falling asleep. I also secure a chitenge around my head like a burka to keep out dust and wind out of my eyes, skin, hair and mouth. I use my I-POD to cope with the discomfort. I try to find anything secure to hold onto and do my best to enjoy the ride, which can take from one to three hours. It is a relief to finally reach Mkushi.
The journey leaving the village is easier than the one going back. Traveling in the morning before the hot African sun has risen is always best. Rides back to Masansa from Mkushi don't leave until after 1 p.m. and always sporadic. There's a certain amount of excitement leaving the village knowing the luxuries that await me, but returning is less exciting. Getting back on my bike is that last thing I want to do after the tough ride, especially feeling exhausted from lack of sleep and/or hung-over. The bike ride back to Fiwila has hills that are steeper and endure longer, and I have groceries and mail that weigh me down.
Now the journey continues out of the village and into my second life as a Peace Corps volunteer. I am happy to report that I don't always rough it at site. In fact, there are a variety of opportunities for me to leave the village and I do in fact leave every couple of weeks. Peace Corps understands that life can be harsh at times, therefore Peace Corps Zambia (unlike other countries) has "houses" in each of the provinces where they place the volunteers. We are allotted three days each month (may be for medical or safety reasons) to stay at this house for much-needed R & R. Volunteers in the Central Province enjoy the European youth hostel-type house in Serenje. We enjoy cooking meals together, playing games of Pictionary of Scrabble, and throwing theme parties. This is the only provincial house that does not have a TV (that was decided by the volunteers that it would take away from socializing). Once in awhile I do crave sitting on a comfortable couch with the lights off and watching a good movie.
There is an opportunity to see movies and cable TV at a lodge in Mkushi called ATB, as well as indulge in divine meals and incredible hot showers. Though it is equal to a Super-8 motel, it feels like the Ritz to us and we splurge occasionally to spend the night there. This is where we will congregate to watch the upcoming American presidential election coverage.
Other than going to Serenje or Mkushi the Peace Corps lifestyle includes heading south to Lusaka. August 17 - 24 I met with all the volunteers I flew into country with back in February for a week-long in-service training. We learned more about how to be better PCV's, and savored food and activities only available in the big city. Each night we chose from Indian, Chinese, Lebanese, or simple sandwiches or pizza, followed by dancing or a movie. I sat in the back of an American-style theatre terrorized by The Dark Knight with a few friends.
Another reason to leave the village is because I am blessed with 24 vacation days a year to use however I please. As I write this, I have plans to hang out in Livingstone in a few days, a town outside of Victoria Falls. I have also traveled to Nkhata Bay on Lake Malawi with nine other PCV's after the in-service training I just described.
Malawi was the best: freedom from work and worries from being at side, luxurious, fun, beautiful, relaxing, an adventure (Not surprising, transportation there was quite an effort and included a packed bus in which one of the passengers suffered and recovered from a seizure without half of the bus even noticing.) There were 10 of us who stayed at a very nice lodge close to the shores of the lake. The rooms were clustered around a porch where we could hear the sounds of water lapping up onto the rocky beach.
Half of the group spent their days becoming scuba-certified. I saved my pennies and sun-tanned, having intriguing conversations with friends, walked to town to explore and converse with locals or other foreigners, or swimming and snorkeling. One day all ten of us went out with two Malawian guides and motor boats to tour Nkhata Bay and feed eagles, cliff jump, and so more snorkeling and lounging in the sun.
Nights were spent eating the best meals I've had since setting foot in Africa and enjoying Carlsburg beer, a nice change from beer typically available in Zambia. Sometimes we'd chill on the beach with some of the local Rastafarians, singing around a campfire as they tapped on drums. Other nights we'd go dancing in town. At times, though, this vacation got a little "spring break-ish" (I won't go into detail here). We'd conclude the evenings back at the lodge to drag out mattresses onto the porch to sleep under the stars.
One aspect I just loved about Malawi nights was watching the fisherman travel out in the lake. They would leave on their dug-out wooden canoes just as the sun was setting and remain until dawn. A single lantern would travel out with three canoes, and as they got out far enough, the only evidence you would see of them would be lights dotting the horizon.
Oh Malawi. What an escape from the real world of living in the Zambian bush. Combining the week of my in-service training, the vacation to Malawi, and a few days in Serenje after that, I was gone from Fiwila for close to three weeks in August and September. I would love to report that after such gallivanting I arrived back at site relieved to be back home-sweet-home.
To be blatantly honest this was far from how I really felt. Back during training, I listened to experienced volunteers who advised us to just get through the first three months of community entry, that this would be the most difficult time in service. Perhaps I took this advice too seriously and after six months in-country I made the casual assumption that I was home free. Little did I know that my own tough times were still ahead.
I arrived back to site forgetting what it was like to not have the simple luxury of a simple shower every day, what it was like to have convenient and delicious food a restaurant away. The most difficult part, though, was going back to the loneliness and isolation that can come at site, a slap in the face compared to the constant company of great, familiar friends from my own culture and similar background.
Unexpected events also amplified the difficulties I was experiencing. The roof of my hut had needed to be re-thatched long before I was placed at site and the only requirement that Peace Corps has for villages to host a PCV is that they provide safe and livable housing. My village finally got around to fixing my roof the week I returned in September. I was thrilled that I wouldn't have to endure a leaking roof during the rainy season, but during the three weeks that my host father carefully thatched new grass onto the top of my roof, I had to keep every item in my house packed away as well as tolerate dust endlessly falling onto everything, including my bed.
During this same period, the Environmental Health Technician at Fiwila Health Center, the person I worked closest with, was transferred to the Mkushi hospital and that position was left vacant for several weeks. My loneliness was accentuated by the fact that my dog, Buddy, had seemed to favor a neighboring family more than me. I convinced myself that things were more awkward than ever with my host family. Then the Zambian telecommunications provider changed ownership and suddenly I was unable to receive or send any text messages from my cell phone, cutting me off from the outside world.
A journal entry from October 3 describes how I was feeling during this state of depression:
"Some weeks, some days, some hours, some moments I am miserable here. I get tired of needing water but needing to wait for my host family to bring it to me because they act embarrassed if I try and fetch it myself. I get tired of being along 75% of the time. I get tired of always being the outsider and people continuously watching my every move. I get tired of dirty hands, dirty feet and for that matter all other body parts. I get tired of this intense October head and the relentless flies and other bugs it brings. I get tired of not having easy access to fresh fruits and vegetables. I get tired of not having cell phone coverage. I get tired of missing all of the people I love most in my life. I get tired of always having gloomy thoughts."
As you can see, this rough patch I went through was pretty bad. BUT, I got through it!! I am still here! And I am HAPPY! Many factors helped me wait out the hard days instead of throwing in the towel. For one thing, I got to get my house in order after the roof repair was finished and my hut feels more like home. I also had the space to get back into the practice of yoga and meditation and realize how important this routine is for me, keeping me more optimistic and aware of everything. I also went back to daily writing in my journal, which I had stopped doing somewhere along the way because I was just lazy.
And all of the good things spiraled down from there. One of my host family's granddaughters, Paxina, moved onto the compound with her husband and two-year-old daughter. We will often sit outside of one of our houses to chat and she has even insisted on helping me do household chores, showing me the proper Zambian way of doing things. I think we might just be forming a genuine friendship and I am thrilled that it takes away from the loneliness that I have been struggling with at site.
The E.H.T. position at the clinic was also replaced by an incredibly friendly and experienced guy who is more passionate about his job than any Zambian I have met. To my surprise, he expressed an immediate enthusiasm for working with me and wants us to learn from each other, working together to help us become better at our jobs. He made me feel a lot better about potential projects because it is impossible for me to be doing this work by myself. Working with Zambian counterparts is best due to cultural sensitivity and issues of sustainability.
My relationship with my host family has also improved: I think it is all about my new perspective. I'm learning not to expect anything from them and to just take what comes. It is okay that I'm not incredibly close to them like I was living with a family in Costa Rica in 2002. It is okay that I don't eat dinner with them every night. We still can enjoy living on the same compound while teaching each other about our respective cultures.
I also felt better about my relationship with my host family because of a single act my Ba Mayo (host mother) did. She walked over to my house one afternoon with an invitation to accompany her to the family's garden. This was the first interaction she had initiated with me beyond bringing me water, starting my brazier or sweeping my front yard. I was thrilled to follow her on the quiet, peaceful bush path to the garden. As we silently walked, I nonchalantly observed her bare feet and the fact that she was effortlessly balancing a 10-litre jerry can of water on her head. I fully embraced that moment, thinking " I am actually in Africa right now!".
When we reached the garden, she proudly showed me the crops of sweet potato and pumpkin leaves, maize, tomatoes and beans. She smiled and asked me if I knew how to cook pumpkin leaves. When I said that I did, she picked the best leaves and gave them to me. I felt humbled that she offered me this generous gift, especially at this time when Zambians struggle to find food as they wait for the rains to come and their crops to grow.
Lastly I need to mention that my Peace Corps friendships have meant everything during this experience of living in Zambia. Phil, Ted, and others were great helping me through my melancholy, listening to my venting and complaining. I am thankful for their advice and encouragement. I could not do any of this without their help as well as all of the encouragement and support from friends and family back in the States. I hope that I will be able to give back such support if needed from any loved one in the future.
Of course I could keep going on and on, but this entry has gotten quite long and I'm trying to get this off in the mail for my mom to type up. I'm concluding this entry with two more sections. I send all my good thoughts and love to everyone back home. I miss you dearly and love you so much. I appreciate your continued correspondence.
A Few Things I Bet You Didn't Know About Zambia.....
*Public displays of affection between members of the opposite sex is a huge no-no, however it is common to see two heterosexual male friends walking down the street holding hands.
*Zambia is currently preparing for presidential elections the last week of October. The previous president, Dr. Levy Mwanawasa, passed away in August.
*Women give a slight courtsy while giving any object to someone else. I have picked up this habit.
*When washing clothes, you must be careful about pesky little bugs called bot-flies. If the clothing is still damp or has dried near any bushes and is worn within three days, the bot-fly will burrow into the skin and hatch eggs (you will feel!). The only treatment is to apply Vaseline in order to smother the fly so it will work its way out of the skin or to leave it and let the eggs hatch. You need to make sure the area is not a zit and try and pop it! My apologies for this gross information. Thankfully I have not had this experience.
*When speaking in Zam-English, various adjectives can be accentuated by repeating them when used at the end of a sentence. For example: the weather in Zambia is hot hot. The meeting is starting now now. (Everything in Zambia starts later than they say it will!)
*The phrase "oh Ba Rachel, you are getting very fat" is a huge compliment. (I try not to over-analyze it.)
Questions From Letters
How many people live in Fiwila?
The Fiwila catchment area is close to 6,000.
How many people are seen at the clinic every day?
Each day is different. Those seen for everyday ailments such as headaches, stomach aches or malaria symptoms average twenty. On the other days when the clinic offers family planning services, an ante-natal clinic for pregnant women, and under-5 clinic for mothers and their children, the numbers vary from as little as five or as many as thirty-five.
In one blog entry you said you did not know how people got their food. Have you figured that out yet?
I must not have articulated myself very well! Most everyone in Fiwila lives off of subsistence farming, meaning they grow nearly all of their food. Harvest is from April - July. Currently farmers are preparing for the rains to come in November. Villagers occasionally hunt bush meat. Small household items such as sugar and cooking oil can be purchased at small shops in Fiwila or they travel to Masansa for special purchases. Maize can be brought to a "chigayo" in Fiwila where it is ground into cornmeal used to make nshima.
Have you had to wear your rain jacket yet?
I've seen rain twice and that was during training. Never fear, life will be interesting come November when the rainy season begins! I'm kind of looking forward to it.
Do you need to keep food and drinks cold?
Of course! I just use my freezer! Just kidding.........I have to sacrifice my love of dairy products and use only powdered milk.
How do you get all you need to your hut without a car?
I use bike rubbers to tie everything to the back of my bike, and some loads can be quite heavy! It takes extra planning to be certain I buy items I need the most in Mkushi.
When do you start your actual work?
This is complicated. If you recall, my community entry phase of my service from May - August focused only on adjusting to village life, meeting people, and learning Bemba. Now that is over and I can technically start the work I was trained to do, however my job training and working with "Neighborhood Health Committees" can be difficult. There are eleven of these groups in my catchment area and only two have shown real interest in working with me so far. NHC members are all volunteers, and considering that people are struggling to feed their families, volunteering on an NHC isn't exactly a priority. Some of the NHC's are inactive.
While part of my job is to motivate volunteers in the community, I can't force people to work with me. I wait patiently, hoping that will happen at some point. I advertise my services at the clinic and try to be aware of any activities where I can be of use. I hope that the new Environmental Health Technician who I previously mentioned, will be able to form strong NHC's in the community so that the Fiwila catchment area can be educated on health issues. Since this work may not materialize the way Peace Corps or myself envisions, I am looking for other projects to work on. I'm currently tutoring the EHT at the clinic about developing health projects and giving health talks more efficiently and effectively. I'm also starting a nutrition club which will help educate the community and provide cooking demonstrations.
Lastly I am trying to start a girls' club at Fiwila's high school and teach "life skills". This girls' club would explore communication skills, self-esteem, HIV/AIDS education, etc. The headmaster informed me that I will have to wait until the beginning of the school year (January 2009) as the school is too busy at this time.
As you might infer, development work is slow, needing tons of patience and may produce intangible results. So I wait around a lot and hope that one day I will feel that I have performed meaningful work. I visit the clinic every day, often just sitting and talking with patients while they wait to see the nurse, or I study Bemba. I do a lot of reading, or simply enjoy the peaceful village surroundings. I know I am becoming smarter and stronger, and that could help me to help someone else down the road......
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