Communication breakdown
I bought a radio to listen to the BBC but it doesn't really work that well...My fault for thinking 5$ was enough for a quality radio. Trying to tune a radio with serious sounding reports in Japanese, French, Italian, and German fading in and out of the squiggles and slide whistles of bad reception, you can't help but momentarily panic and listen for the hum of fighter planes in the distance.
There are some moments when you are forced to remember that you come from a different place. For instance, when you realize perhaps your neighbor only wanted toilet paper and perhaps that explanation of how a tampon works was not only unnecessary but a bit scandalous... I knew that Zambians don't really use tampons but thought my neighbor may be interested in a new technology. Wrongly thought.
Sometimes when I read with the women in our adult education class I don't correct their mispronunciations when they are saying the word as every other Zambian says it. Like the word 'tortoise' which is commonly said just as it is spelled- 'turtoyz.' I let these mistakes slide because it makes me giggle inside and because language is after all about communication. If they said 'tortoise' as you or I or the queen of England might say it, no one would have any idea what they were talking about. Communication breakdown as Mr. Zulu often says. Instead of a look of recognition they would get a look of confusion, similar to that which I often get when I speak English without metering it or tempering my thick American accent. The new chairlady of the adult education center said the other day: "Keli, try to speak chisoli, when you speak English is just sounds like (lots of garbbled sounds and tongue wagging)."
As the rain season and thus my garden draws to a close- a final count:
-Several handfuls of okra
-Several handfuls of green beans
-A row of carrots which do not pop out of the ground as cartoons lead you to believe
-5 peas
-Several pumpkins which were all stolen while I was gone
-Bunches of eggplants which are growing still, requiring water be carted to them - demanding little beasts
Laura Mason - Marshall asked what things I might light sent to me. Nothing really. I am just ok.
But if you really want to send something...cheap plastic kites. Old digital cameras or disposable cameras for a kid photo project. Laminated teaching posters for the school. Books.
AND!
Our library still needs donations!
_______________________
The other day a raucous broke out on a bus I boarded. Some man in back instigated some kind of argument and the driver and conductor were vehemently defending me against whatever abuses were being thrown in my direction. Something about being white. I think maybe something to do with him being poor and me being rich and the conductor accepting my offer of 4,000k fare instead of 5,000k. The driver called him a dunderhead several times. The funny thing was that the man complaining is a community school teacher and I am a volunteer in this country to work with community school teachers. Anyway, though the dunderhead was being a bit obnoxious he is in some ways justified in his opinion about foreigners. There is something, or should say CAN be something offensive about a foreigner coming in and advising you on how you could improve you life with only a superficial understanding of why you make the decisions you do. There is something mildly obscene about anyone who lives so comfortably in the world refusing to give aid or handouts. But charity is not straightforward, and pretty sure charity alone is not going to pull Zambia out of poverty. But given that development isn't straightforward either- not entirely beneficial or entirely useless, what else is there to do but keep trying? Leave people to suffer in circumstances history has given them?
As a development worker trying to teach skills, self-reliance, and local initiative, the white=money mentality can be an obstacle. As someone with all her worldly needs taken care of it can confusing. What is my responsibility and where exactly are those tricky loops where good deeds make things worse? And as someone just trying to live her life here it can annoying.
A neighborhood girl who comes over alot often just stands in my door way and asks for whatever she sees.
At city market there are always street kids begging, some of them probably really hungry, but then also one day I passed a boy who was playing merrily with his friend until he saw me, dropped his ball, sucked in his cheeks, looked sad and cupped his hands out for donations.
The same day of the bus raucous the other minibus I take to my village broke down half way home. At night. I was tired and mildly irritated so keeping to myself a bit and not trying very hard to listen to or speak chisoli and everyone was kind of watching me to see how I would react. It is moments like these when it is unfortunate that in someways I am representing my nation and my race, rather than just my individual desires and mood. I suppose you always bring history and varying circumstances into any interaction but here it often weighs more heavily. Because the varying circumstances are greater and the understanding of each other lower. Which in the end is good to experience, but in the moment can be exhausting. Especially when it is 20 hours and your minibus is broken down 15k from you home.
So in short Zambia is a complicated place to be a foreigner. Zambia is also a complicated place to be a white person. But this is getting long so maybe another time about racial privilege and prejudice...
There are some moments when you are forced to remember that you come from a different place. For instance, when you realize perhaps your neighbor only wanted toilet paper and perhaps that explanation of how a tampon works was not only unnecessary but a bit scandalous... I knew that Zambians don't really use tampons but thought my neighbor may be interested in a new technology. Wrongly thought.
Sometimes when I read with the women in our adult education class I don't correct their mispronunciations when they are saying the word as every other Zambian says it. Like the word 'tortoise' which is commonly said just as it is spelled- 'turtoyz.' I let these mistakes slide because it makes me giggle inside and because language is after all about communication. If they said 'tortoise' as you or I or the queen of England might say it, no one would have any idea what they were talking about. Communication breakdown as Mr. Zulu often says. Instead of a look of recognition they would get a look of confusion, similar to that which I often get when I speak English without metering it or tempering my thick American accent. The new chairlady of the adult education center said the other day: "Keli, try to speak chisoli, when you speak English is just sounds like (lots of garbbled sounds and tongue wagging)."
As the rain season and thus my garden draws to a close- a final count:
-Several handfuls of okra
-Several handfuls of green beans
-A row of carrots which do not pop out of the ground as cartoons lead you to believe
-5 peas
-Several pumpkins which were all stolen while I was gone
-Bunches of eggplants which are growing still, requiring water be carted to them - demanding little beasts
Laura Mason - Marshall asked what things I might light sent to me. Nothing really. I am just ok.
But if you really want to send something...cheap plastic kites. Old digital cameras or disposable cameras for a kid photo project. Laminated teaching posters for the school. Books.
AND!
Our library still needs donations!
_______________________
The other day a raucous broke out on a bus I boarded. Some man in back instigated some kind of argument and the driver and conductor were vehemently defending me against whatever abuses were being thrown in my direction. Something about being white. I think maybe something to do with him being poor and me being rich and the conductor accepting my offer of 4,000k fare instead of 5,000k. The driver called him a dunderhead several times. The funny thing was that the man complaining is a community school teacher and I am a volunteer in this country to work with community school teachers. Anyway, though the dunderhead was being a bit obnoxious he is in some ways justified in his opinion about foreigners. There is something, or should say CAN be something offensive about a foreigner coming in and advising you on how you could improve you life with only a superficial understanding of why you make the decisions you do. There is something mildly obscene about anyone who lives so comfortably in the world refusing to give aid or handouts. But charity is not straightforward, and pretty sure charity alone is not going to pull Zambia out of poverty. But given that development isn't straightforward either- not entirely beneficial or entirely useless, what else is there to do but keep trying? Leave people to suffer in circumstances history has given them?
As a development worker trying to teach skills, self-reliance, and local initiative, the white=money mentality can be an obstacle. As someone with all her worldly needs taken care of it can confusing. What is my responsibility and where exactly are those tricky loops where good deeds make things worse? And as someone just trying to live her life here it can annoying.
A neighborhood girl who comes over alot often just stands in my door way and asks for whatever she sees.
At city market there are always street kids begging, some of them probably really hungry, but then also one day I passed a boy who was playing merrily with his friend until he saw me, dropped his ball, sucked in his cheeks, looked sad and cupped his hands out for donations.
The same day of the bus raucous the other minibus I take to my village broke down half way home. At night. I was tired and mildly irritated so keeping to myself a bit and not trying very hard to listen to or speak chisoli and everyone was kind of watching me to see how I would react. It is moments like these when it is unfortunate that in someways I am representing my nation and my race, rather than just my individual desires and mood. I suppose you always bring history and varying circumstances into any interaction but here it often weighs more heavily. Because the varying circumstances are greater and the understanding of each other lower. Which in the end is good to experience, but in the moment can be exhausting. Especially when it is 20 hours and your minibus is broken down 15k from you home.
So in short Zambia is a complicated place to be a foreigner. Zambia is also a complicated place to be a white person. But this is getting long so maybe another time about racial privilege and prejudice...
posted by Keli at 12:23 AM
