With Stars In Her Eyes

Nothing becomes great without discipline and intention.

2009-11-23T18:29:00.000-08:00

Today I realized at 7:20am that my flight from Chicago to Kansas City did not actually leave at 10:10am but at 8:40am. Getting to Midway from Logan Square on the Chicago public transportation system in that span of time is an impossibility. I arrived at my gate 10 minutes before take off, with my shoes still untied, my belt in my hand and my hair pulled back but with significant chunks sticking out. This disheveled, panting person is not the image of a competent adult. Lucky and fast - but not together. I am trying to discern how worried I should be about this.

My friend's mother is a pediatrician and she once said that adolescence is not determined by age but by one's ability to financially support herself, create healthy relationships and love maturely. Perhaps manage one's own life logistics effectively should be added to that list. There are several sociologists and journalists who write about a trend towards extended periods of adolescence for my generation. A combined result of the four year college, delayed age of entering the work force, delayed marriage, delayed point at which you become responsible for another human being, etc. I am in full support of this delay period. Obviously. It let's you make sure you know who you are - so you can make decisions which will honor your true desires. Important business. Focusing and evolving those desires - figuring out how to create a functional life around them is the work of adulthood.

Part of my hope for the Peace Corps was that a capable adult that resembles me would pop out the other end. I certainly felt more capable at the end of my service - but capable in ways that are still being translated to this new life. I moved to Chicago for many reasons but an important one among them is my search for the details of my adult life. Post Peace Corps. In an American context. On my own terms.

What principles do I feel are true and worth sticking to? What decisions and priorities do I need to set in order to stand by those principles? What kind of food am I going to buy at the grocery store? How am I going to spend my free time? Where am I going to spend my money? What am I going to emotionally invest in? What is worth being a stickler about and worth going out of my way for? It seems that to live responsibly and fully all these details need some exploration and deliberate attention. A break from the willy-nillyness of youth.

It is possible that I need only to accept that, in adolescence and adulthood, I am the type of person who occasionally mixes up important details like arrival and departure times. Or the type of person who spends 15 minutes comparing conditioners at the store just to go home with two bottles of shampoo. If you have stars in your eyes perhaps you are blinded to the logistical minutiae of the earth. Perhaps this is but a comforting stronghold so I never have to change.

I want to be a fully capable adult who still has stars in her eyes.

New Speed Racer

2009-08-28T18:53:00.000-07:00

I bought a bike. I sold $100 worth of chotskies at our garage sale and $35 worth of used books then bought a bike for $125. Good trade. And I am pretty sure the bike is exactly what I want.

The day I was going to pick it up a friend of mine warned me that I should make sure to ride it home. "If you put it in the back of a car it stays in the back of a car." Symbolic logic but really true. I suppose with most things you do define your relationship from the get go. If you are going to be committed to living in the ways you want to live the decision is now. Starting tomorrow is always too late.

The bike was only 4.5 miles away and I planned to run that far anyway so why not run towards something I needed to do? It was threatening to rain and I did consider the option of driving. But then I also reminded myself that I was in the Peace Corps and have been wet before.

It didn't rain. Perfect running weather. Good distances for a run. And riding my new bike back was so quick and easy in comparison.

I have been hanging out with my grandparents alot - in a caretaker capacity. It takes a lot of time but today I got to witness my Pawpaw hunting flies in the courtyard for a good 15 minutes. As well as the corresponding dialogue between he and my grandma who was directing through the windows from inside. The urgency on one side of the glass and determination on the other side really made the whole episode so enthralling. And endearing.

Sitting there watching all of it I thought about how being open to experiences gives you these kinds of little treats (or "goodies" as Pawpaw would say), if you are willing to accept them. Spending half a day with your grandparent when you didn't intend to is an ok thing to let happen.

I feel the same way about running to my bike and riding it home when I could have easily picked it up in the car. As far as choosing the type of experience you want. Or being open to allowing an experience to be pleasant. I feel like I learned this in the Peace Corps. Good to know it hasn't all drained out of me.

I might write more about my grandparents ways. There are a million endearing things to tell.

Back in the U.S.A.

2009-07-30T08:15:00.000-07:00

I have been back in the states for two months and I still have not entirely figured out how to explain the transition. Partially because it is difficult to understand. It would be easier if it was tangibly difficult but really turns out to be very vague. Like a quiet undercurrent of emotions I can't quite name. I figure trying to write about it might help.

I miss Zambia. I miss my house and my village. I miss my way of life there and the work I was doing. But I think the most difficult part now is not that missing but that my life there feels so distant and inaccessible. It is difficult to find parts of my life now that relate. I was talking to one woman I don't know very well about being back in the US and her response was "well you must be so happy to be back!" I said yes I was but I was also happy in Zambia too. To which she said, "Well but you wouldn't want to live that way forever."

There are some really nice things about being in America. There are LOTS of really convenient things about being in America. But for every thing that is easy or nice (like hot showers, grocery stores, washing machines) there are things in Zambia that I really miss and can't have (like outdoor showers, leisurely Sundays doing my laundry by hand while listening to the BBC). So though taking a hot shower is really nice, cold milk is really nice, it also just doesn't matter that much.

It is strange that for every convenience here it seems there is something very peaceful forfeited.

I told my friend once that the great thing about living in the village is you are forced to have amazing experiences. For instance, I hardly ever choose to get up at sunrise but having to catch the bus at 5:30 in the mornings made me be regularly present for the very peaceful experience of walking though a quiet village as the sun comes up. You really learn to appreciate the opportunity instead of getting stuck in the inconvenience. Experiences of equal peace, exhilaration, beauty or novelty are very easy to avoid here.

So it comes down to what new decisions will I make in this old context- now that expectations have changed and my perception of happy living has widened.

I said many times while I was in Peace Corps that I expected this experience to allow me a step back - a greater freedom from the binds of American life. It is distressing to find that is actually still easy to get swept up in that current.

I have been cleaning out my room - an overwhelming process simply because I am a pack rat - but also turning out to be strangely emotional. Having a room full of useless stuff feels disgusting. Evidence of an excessive culture- evidence of how personal that excessive culture is within me. The difficult part is feeling disgusted by the stuff and also, at the same time, feeling emotionally attached to it. It is turning out to be a neat little example of my struggle. Wanting something else, having a different perspective than I did before, but still feeling the force of habit and nostalgia which make it hard to change.

I have been thinking about why it is so hard to change personal habits or even collective cultural habits when there are better ways and when it is obvious our routine is not working. I think some of it is laziness or maybe I should say overwhelmedness, because figuring out how exactly you want to change things takes some work. Some of it is cultural pressure because other people want to feel validated in not changing their own habits. Some of it is an addiction to luxury. But no one is entitled to luxury. Some of it is nostalgia for every detail about one's way of life. I think this is an interesting thing to think about - the nostaligia of lifestyle. When things are tied to memories, loved ones, and tradition the answer to the question "is this good for me?" is not easy to embrace. It isn't easy to even ask.

I am trying to decide what is worth doing, what is worth being forceful about. This is what I have so far.

1. Don't drive places that are easy to walk to
2. Don't own a car at all
3. Prioritize local food - which may mean more money but from what I will save on buying fewer TVs and fuel it should work out
4. Eat real foods
5. Don't buy things that I won't use a lot
6. Borrow and share stuff
7. Use what I already have and use it until it is unusable
8. Reduce the amount of new manufacturing required for my life
9. Limit the amount or red meat and diary products I consume
10. The amount of packaging waste created should be a factor in purchasing

It is a start at least. It is not a new story but it matters. The system is perpetuated by millions of tiny, daily decisions.

The two day long first of June

2009-05-31T23:55:00.000-07:00

I woke this morning, June 1st, and went hiking up a steep mountain to look out over the fijian beach below and the ocean beyond. Tonight I will arrive in Kansas City in the last hours of June 1st. It is the best June 1st ever.

Fiji is pretty great. You may have heard stories about how unpretty and unamazing and unfun it is. These are all lies. It is pretty amazing and fun. I went swimming with manta rays that were at least 2meters from wingtip to wingtip. It was pretty much the most amazing experience of my life. or one of. Manta rays are the most graceful things I have ever seen. So much more graceful than anything that has joints. These were seen while snorkeling while be dragged by a rope behind a boat. Manta rays need a strong current and we couldn't keep up with our own jointed and inferior limbs. (Don't worry Sissy I kept my heart far away from their tails. I did not try to put one in a boat which I think was what really saved me.)

I also snorkeled out side my resort which was a pretty fine view too. I really love snorkeling. I love it because it is meditative, and experientially beautiful, and because it makes me feel like a mermaid. Sometimes I even flip my flippers in unison to maximize this feeling. But then, what usually happens, is I run into a real mermaid, giggling in a twirl of fish kisses or some other magical mermaid thing they do. I make the universal underwater hand signals for "Let's be friends!!" and then she says, in her clickty dolphin language: "You aren't a real mermaid! You are just a snorkler!" I then try to respond: "If I am not a real mermaid than how come I can understand you! and how come I can talk underwater!?" but only manage to dislodge my snorkel in the effort. The mermaid flits away and I am left choking on salt water. It's the same every time.

But really. I went to this art exhibit in Sydney by Kusuma or something that I don't have time to verify right now. She is an artist that kind of came of artistic age in the 60's with art happenings and drugs. She did these rooms - like a black living room in black light with all these fluorescent dots on everything. And another room that was all mirrors and hanging Christmas lights - so it looked like there were just Christmas lights forever. Awesome. But this is kind of like how I think of snorkeling. Only snorkeling is better because you are floating. Floating and being moved by the waves and surrounded by a strange, beautiful, other worldly world. And it is real. MORE awesome.

The place I stayed is called Octopus Resort. It was ideal. Affordable, good fun, nice. AND they SEEM to have a really good respectful relationship with the neighboring village. The resort has a school fund for all the kids, scholarships, books, etc. and uses their boat to take the kids to boarding school on Sundays and brings them back on Fridays. They have a lot of activities that directly benefit the guides, supports the local rugby team or whatever.

It appears to be a win win win situation. Which is exactly what I like to see. The village benefits from employment and influx of money, the tourist get a good and affordable experience and real interaction with the people whose island they are visiting, and I assume the owners are making enough money to be happy without cutting anyone's throat. Nice.

Himba - Herero

2009-05-19T18:52:00.000-07:00

It is raining in Sydney so I can't go running. Boo.

So -The Himba were one of the main reasons I wanted to go to Namibia. I had a friend visit about a year ago and he was telling me about two of the tribes in northern Namibia who live as neighbors but one maintains traditional dress of not much more than a loin cloth, bare chested, and the other wears full length dresses covering everything from their neck to the wrists to their ankles. I remember him saying something along the lines of "So in the same supermarket you could see a woman with no shirt on and a woman with a missionary style dress." That is what I wanted to see.

And indeed it is all true. The Himba, as pictured on my flickr site, dress in leather skirts, ankle cuffs, necklaces, and not much else. The women cover their bodies in a butter/ground ochre mix making them reddish in color. The other distinguishing and I think amazingly beautiful characteristic of their dress is their hair- packed with clay making long red chords. The children also have a particular hairstyle before they mature - the young girls' hair is braided in one big braid curling over their forehead. The women also never bathe in water. Instead they steam bath every morning with perfume herbs and different lotions. Apparently their main chores involve cooking, looking after the children, and making themselves look beautiful. They are traditionally nomadic people and many of the family groups do still move around frequently.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Himba

The Herero on the other hand, who technically are the same people as the Himba - Ovahimba is a subgroup of Herero, fell under the instructive control of german missionaries - hence the long dresses. And funny head dresses. Which are now kind of a mix between colonial style dress and african flare. I met some Namibian Peace Corps volunteers who said that- for whatever reason the style started - the Herero now consider it their traditional costume - explainging the massive petticoats and the horn like hat as a proud nod to their cattle. It is so interesting to me that a tribe would shift their norms in response to missionaries (maybe it was by force...), and now, a hundred years later, still work to preserve that tradition in the face of western culture all around them. Namibia is a not a densely populate place but it is far more developed than Zambia.

The Herero are not a homogeneous people. This is because the main group in central Namibia (called Herero proper) has been heavily influenced by Western culture during the colonial period, creating, thus, a mixture of the European and Herero cultures, that is a whole new identity. Even though the different groups share the same language, culture, and origin, their traditions differ sharply. The North-Western groups (such as Himba, Kuvale, and Tjimba) are more conservative, preserving cultural aspects that have been lost by the southern groups (Herero proper and Mbanderu). For example, the Southern Herero have traded in their leather garments for the type worn by Europeans in colonial times. The Southern Herero are involved in the economies of Namibia and Botswana, mostly as cattle breeders. The Kaokoland Herero and those in Angola have remained isolated and are still pastoral nomads, practicing limited horticulture.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herero
(You can also read here about the masacres that took place during German colonialism... Ruben and I feel like Namibia is still a very racially tense place - unlike Zambia).

And as far as I could tell, a traditionally dressed Himba or a traditionally dressed Herero could be sitting amongst Namibians in t-shirts and jeans at a gas station and no one really thought much about the variety. Except me. But I was a tourist.

I am of course not the only person who finds these tribes interesting. They receive a lot of attention and many of the Himba women have left the north for the bigger tourist attractions to make money by having their picture taken. The effects of interaction between western culture and people who have maintained consistant traditions is a long standing query of mine. On some level I want traditions to be protected. I want the world to house as many diverse histories and cultures as people have created. On the other hand, it isn't ethical to deny people in far flung places conviencies that would lighten their burden, or keep them from dying of things that are preventable. As far as the Himba go - their uniquness and beauty attract alot of outside attention - but is that attention giving them another reason to maintain their way of life or just drawing them away from their villages and throwing them into another world. If the rest of the country is become more and more modern, if jobs are in the big cities, than is it only a matter of time until everyone leaves the village in search of work, or education, or modernity. I don't know.
The Himba village I visited was a cultural village set up to receive tourist. It was a community project, all the money goes to the village and the people who participate for food, medicine, travel etc. Tours to the village are part of a scheme to care for orphans. That doesn't really seem like a bad idea- no one has to stay, they know what they are in for and they are use to dealing with tourist groups - who come on their terms. Fair enough. This village also said that most of the kids do not go to school because they do not want them to loose their traditions...

I hate being a tourist and all of this is just me trying to figure out how to be responsible tourist. I love traveling places. I love seeing things that are so different from anything I have ever seen before. I love being in beautiful places. I think the more people interact the more they care about and understand each other. And tourism is undeniably an economic opportunity and CAN be an economic opportunity for people who don't have many other opportunities. (That was another thing I thought was cool in Namibia. I THINK that some of the attractions we went to - the rock carving and cave paintings - were community projects - goverenment run but benefiting the people who lived there.) BUT I also know that tourism can be destructive. It can bring unwelcome things into different parts of the world, it can take advantage of desperate people, and it can cause environmental harm.

Where is my money really going? What am I contributing to? These are overwhelming questions for me. But significant.

Anyway. Namibia is really great. I want to go back. I want to go back in my own vehicle so I can get to hard to reach places. Like the very very north. Like the sand dunes that run into the ocean. Like Soussevlei which is probably one of the most spectacular sites in the world and I didn't go because of money. That seems stupid now. Another time. I will go back.

The more I travel the more I want to see - and the more places to which I want to some day return to.

ooh la la

2009-05-07T11:22:00.000-07:00

I've just returned from my northern Namibian tour. It was a small group, with the guide and camp assistant we made a cozy group of five. There was an adorable British guy who would say adorable British accented things like "I've got sompthin in me eye."
There was an adorable french girl who would say adorable french accented things like "When is zi love season for zi an-i-mals?" and I swear exclaimed "ooh la la" at least once. Then there was adorable me who said adorable American accented things like "Golly that sure is purrtty." It was totally relaxed and fun. Our guide was a very likable young Namibian. our camp sites were great. It was a really great way to leave Africa I think - eating around a campfire, taking outdoor showers which you know I love- all very similar to the village only posher - with running water, flush toilets, and even electricity sometimes, plus someone else did most of the cooking and washing up. We saw all the exciting African animals. We saw 7 black rhinos at the watering hole one night. We visited a Himba village where I got kind of filthy playing with the kids. We went hiking to see ancient rock carvings and cave paintings - through a shaded valley of white stoned streams and ethereal fluff of bush grass. The most famous painting is called the 'white lady' because the figure is painted in white - the first anthropologist to study it hypothesized that it was an early white visitor from the Mediterranean. This has long since been disproved - and it is now widely accepted as a male shaman figure with "an obvious male groin adornment" ...still it keeps the name white lady. oh white people.
More on the Himba tomorrow.

2009-05-06T19:12:00.000-07:00

The person who was suppose to replace me just left Zambia early... I am not pleased. I am less than pleased. I am crying in fact. There is more to say about Namibia but I am crying.

Botswana

2009-04-28T12:56:00.000-07:00

Note to travelers between Botswana and Namibia. You CAN get from Maun to Windhoek though it will take two days. Take the bus from Maun to Ghansi (47 pula) then the bus from Ghansi to the Mamuno (35 pula) then hitch to the border (15k) then walk across the border - there is a rest camp on the Namibian side where you should probably stay because it will be close to dark. You can get a ride from there. We went on to Gobabis and found a nice camp site for the night and hitched to Windhoek in the morning pretty easily.

Eric Ruben and I got from Lusaka to Maun, Botswana just hitching. And Ruben and I got all the way to Windhoek from Lusaka for something like $3 0 USD. Ama zing.

Botswana is a beautiful sun bleached place with lots of donkeys. One of the guys we hitched with bought donkeys for 50 pula (like $6.00) and sold them for a considerable mark up to Australia - who we later learned turns them into salami - allegedly. Ruben and I - in moments of self doubt and despair on the side of desolate and untraveled road- considered purchasing donkeys to travel to the border. Though we would have to buy a third to carry the bags and then would not really be affordable. We stayed at a great back packers in Botswana called the Old Bridge Backers. Kind of an ideal little place next to a lagoon. That region of Botswana is known for the Okavango Delta. Our sole reason for going was a mokoro trip through the fingers of the delta. A morkoro is a dug out canoe propelled by a poler. Like a gondola without the pomp and fuss. our boat had a woman poler named Kelly. The delta is like a river bleeding into grass land. the narrow water ways edged by tall grass and dotted with lilies. perfect lilies and lilly pads. fairy tale lilies. It also houses a wide range of birds, little white frogs, crocodiles, hippos.l I was a pretty perfect day.

The other highlight of Botswana was the craft market for crafts by the San people. Amazing baskets and ostrich egg beads. It left me ultimately dissatisfied with tourism. It is not enough. buying stuff is not enough. I want to learn how to make that stuff. I want to sit and listen to their click language all day. Being a tourist is fluff. I only have tickets to the show.

More on Namibia.

There is no tomorrow

2009-04-15T22:25:00.000-07:00

I have moved out of my village. Rode out on my bike with my possessions packed on sticks to extend my carrier's capacity. It was hard to leave.

Two weeks ago my replacement came to my site to see her new home and get an idea of the place while she was still in training. Having to start giving my house and work to someone else was the first time leaving felt real. It was good to meet her and be able to transfer as much knowledge as I could in a week, though overwhelming for her, and strange for me. I kept feeling jealous of her for getting to live there, for getting to start fresh - envious of the opportunity to have what I had but also a chance to do it better. An opportunity which really isn't there and really isn't about her. She will make her own mistakes. She will make it her own place. All my hopes for her to be just like me only calmer, stronger, more patient, more kind, more thorough- are really just hopes for myself. I hope to be just like myself only calmer, stronger, more patient, more kind, more thorough. More sincere and more deliberate with my life.

A good friend reminded me that not only is it time for me to leave, it is time for my community to have someone new too.

She is going to care for Garbanzo which makes my heart rest a little easier. I hope she falls in love with him. I kind of took it for granted that everyone would enjoy a cat sleeping on your neck or enjoy the daily preening for ticks as loving quality time. He will be fine. He is lovable. And gets to stay in his own house.

Time to leave and let go. My last week was a perfect village week. It was everything I could have hoped for in my last days. And what I realized as I was doing everything for the last time is that my appreciation of all these experiences didn't really increase knowing they were fleeting. There can be such a desperation in last times- trying to soak it in so much that it can never leave. But it made it easier to leave knowing that I soaked it in every time. That I appreciated and loved and recognized through out. I didn't need to soak it in any more because it is there already. There is a sadness in leaving this place and life that I will probably never come back to but the desperation of regret is not there. The time I spent here was good. I like who I am though I was at times worried I would not turn out a better person.

I suppose the turning out is ongoing.

So on to other things. Unknown things. That feels exciting.

The uncollected

2009-03-01T05:15:00.000-08:00

Mr. Mwalusaka is a very jovial and present member of my community. People call him 'Doc' for no explainable reason. Every time I see him he greets me by my village name 'Mutinta!' and then invariably says 'hallo hallo hallo hallo hallo' in a quick decrescendo. I run past Mr. Mwalusaka's house everyday - or everyday I run and he always waves and yells 'Kuyumyuna!' meaning to stay or be strong. This word is invariable coupled with a brief holk hogan-esq double fisted muscle flex. Many a times I go running someone will ask if my bike is broken and I use to just say 'I am just running' which was met with a look of confusion. Now when someone thinks I am just trying to get somewhere fast without a machine to carry me I say, 'kuyumyuma!' and then we both do the little double fisted muscle flex and they nod in understanding.

Yesterday on my way to run I passed some boys in a field watching their goats. One of the little boys was wearing a dirty pink hearted shirt and gumboots. As I passed he picked up a baby goat, a tiny brand new, gleaming jet black baby goat, and carried it tucked at his side, the goats little knobby legs swinging. It was very pastoral. Very picturesque.

Two weeks ago a passed boys doing flips into piles of cut grass. Running up a sack full of dirt as a jumping board and doing full head over heal flips.

I often see toddler perched on the cross bars of bikes in between their father's arms. The sit holding tightly to the handle bars seemingly in no distress about their situation in the least. Sometimes people make little improvised seats attached to the carriers on the back of their bike. Last week while I was running a man passed me with his little daughter on the back of his bike in one such arrangement only this was the best I have ever seen. He had tied a chair upside down, the seat flat against the carrier the legs sticking straight up, the chair back alongside the back wheel. The daughter was placed in the middle of the upside down chair, protected by the horizontal support bars of the chair that made 3/4 of a box around her. The fourth side of the box was closed off by a fastened piece of wood. It looked relatively safe.

Yesterday I also passed Betty and her small sisters foraging in the grass beside the road with officer's packets in their hands. Officer's packets are a single shot of cheap vodka sold in convenient plastic pouches. You can imagine their popularity. When they passed by my house later I stopped them to ask about the packets, preparing my best 'Vodka is not for children, children' speech. Which in chisoli would have amounted to 'Bad. Don't. Children don't drink. Death in future." Though given the similarities between 'kutangu' and 'kutunga' and my tendency to confuse them would have actually amounted to 'death to sew.' But alas it was unnecessary. The girls were simply packing their fat green grasshoppers in them to carry home for frying.

All these things I wish I had pictures of. These and a chicken in a bag. There are lots of ways to carry a chicken, just loose, in a basket, in a cage made of sticks, in a chitenge like a baby, or in a plastic bag with the chickens head poked out of a hole. This last is my favorite. A few weeks ago I saw a man with a big bag with three chicken heads poking out at various points. The bag was twirling as he walked making the scene all the more mesmerizing.

These are also the things I will miss so much. Random beautiful things. Maybe they are there in America but not so unabashedly.

_________________________________________

Selected moments from the library process:

K: Mr. Mpatisha look at this neat book on bugs. SO awesome!

K: No way! Seriously!

Mr.L: What is it?

K: Dostoevsky!

K: Mr. Lungu, look at these huge books Room to Read brought!

Mr.L: Oh, yes.

K: Mr Lungu, look! A book on radiation!

Mr.L: Oh, yes.

K: Mr Lungu, Look! Fires of the Heart! In america we call this a trashy romance novel!

Mr.L: Oh, no.

K: Oh I read this as a child...

If you want to know what this really sounds like, imagine my mother coming across any well loved artifact from our childhood. Sighs of nostalgia. It sounds just the same.

This is a really good library. Yesterday we found a nice new atlas and after we all admired it Mr. Lungu said now we have everything. Which isn't quite true, but we have a lot. It is amazing. AND an amazing amount of work. Work that will not get done before I leave which is heartbreaking since I won't be able to go through all the boxes. But we are off to a good start, probably will be operational if not complete before I leave. And I am leaving them in the very capable and dedicated hands of Mr. Lungu and our new Librarian Assistance.

_________________________________________________

For those of you who still don't really know what I have been doing - here is my Description of Service - in process:

Ms. Campbell was a member of the fourth group of volunteers to be placed in Zambia to work on the RED Project. Ms. Campbell’s primary efforts in the village included:

Assisted Zonal In-Service Coordinator (ZIC) with planning and facilitation of 4 GRACE meetings (termly zone wide in-service by grade)

Trained 32 teachers at 4 separate Interactive Radio Instruction trainings
Advised 8 community school PTAs on needs assessment, goal setting, project planning, and initiating IGAs

Conducted a core teaching skills training for 17 untrained teachers from 9 community schools along with ZIC

Co-planned and facilitated 2 day library training for CHANGES 2 (USAID)at Provincial level for 15 ZICs and District Resource Center Coordinators,
Monitored 2 schools on library set up for CHANGES 2

Co-planned and facilitated 2 day library training for Room to Read at District level for 50 Head Teachers

Monitored and served as support person for 2 community schools participating in the QUESTT (USAID) IRIpod pilot project

Coached Musolokeni Community School in proposal writing and budgeting, resulting in a $2,300.00 USD grant awarded by QUESTT for building supplies

Trained and supported Musolokeni on grant management and record keeping
Initiated and developed adult education program and directed student committee in program management and expansion

Assisted Lwimba Adult Education Student Committee in proposal writing resulting in a $700.00 USD grant for income generation from the US Embassy’s Ambassador’s Self Help Fund.

To encourage professional development of teachers, improve literacy, and improve access to information for the community, Ms. Campbell assisted Lwimba Zone in constructing a two room building to be used as a Zone Resource Center and library. Her responsibilities included

Wrote Peace Corps Partnership Proposal with the community, approved by Peace Corps Zambia.

Collaborated with Zonal Head Teacher and Library Committee in sensitization and mobilization of surrounding schools and villages to support the project and to contribute burnt bricks, sand, and crushed stones.

Developed fundraising material to inform donors about the project, ultimately raising $20,000.00 USD

Coordinated interviews, hiring, and contract signing with construction contractors
Spearheaded construction management along with Head Teacher

Budgeted funds and maintained all financial records

Directed school librarian with set up and organization of library system for over 3,000 books.

Secondary Projects

During Ms. Campbell’s two year service she also engaged in projects beyond the scope of the RED program. These projects included:

HIV/AIDS Education Through Sport at Twikatane Basic School:

Coached committee in project planning and proposal writing resulting in a $1,600.00 USD grant from Peace Corps (VAST) Fund

Guided committee in grant management

Co-facilitated a 3 day TOT with Sport in Action for 17 local coaches

Assisted committee with planning and orchestrating futbol tournament with a focus on HIV/AIDS education and Voluntary Counseling and Testing facilities.

Lwimba Anti-AIDS club and Lwimba Area Women’s Association (LAWA):

Facilitated HIV education and life skill development activities at regular Anti-Aids Club meetings and planned various peer and community education events with club members

Planned and orchestrated Women’s Day 2008 Celebration with Women’s Group and Anti-Aids Club

Conducted regular business skill sessions and craft making workshops for LAWA

Taught weekly English classes for adults in women’s group.

Tertiary Projects

Beyond the scope of official Peace Corps duties, Ms. Campbell also took on the folloing responsibilities:

Enticed strangers to pick her from the side of the road, endeared them to her cause through chit chat
Effectively balanced large quantities of water on her head
Developed expertise in waiting
Learned proficiency in navigating downtown Lusaka with efficiency
Managing financial negotiation tactics on various levels of society
Well versed in making do

I will be done in 5 weeks. I will be home 11 weeks. I will be broke in 13 weeks and looking for a job. I think you can see how qualified I am for everything - I am very willing to work regular hours for decent pay. and benefits. So put that in your oven and bake it...

Oh decisions to be made.

We are human after all

2009-02-05T11:56:00.000-08:00

So the books are coming from Mpika, which is about 600k from me I think. You can imagine how difficult it is to arrange transport from such a distance. Arrange with no phone books or internet but only short expensive calls and texts. The man who is really arranging is Willy, who I contacted through a friend and met for about 10 minutes. Long enough for him to tell me there were no trucks going to Lusaka when I wanted them to but that he would arrange. After three weeks of waiting I think they are on their way...maybe even in Lusaka though can't be sure.
Last week I texted Willy to see what was up and when he said they were coming soon I then texted back that he should be sure to tell the driver to cover them well with plastic. He responded that the driver had a good tent and don't worry the books will come. I then texted: "That is great. Thank you. Sorry to keep bothering you I am just anxious and excited for the books!" TO which he said: "We are human we must help each other." Very true Willy. And in a nutshell we have what is so great about how wonderful Zambia is. I mean maybe he is getting a cut of the deal but maybe not too.

A man from Rwanda was talking to Mr Zulu the other day and telling him that no matter if Zambia is peaceful you never know when things will change, when people will change, when your neighbors will turn. It is a very common story in Africa and tragic that is the expectation. If any country can be free of that legacy or expectations it is Zambia. I hope.

When I got back from America I was sitting in Chongwe waiting for a full bus to take me home, and sometime in that four hours the driver pointed to another mid sized bus that came limping by. The bus looked to be in bad shape, which is saying a lot considering the perpetual state of breakdown in which most Zambian buses exist. This bus was coming from Lwimba, the driver told me, it was just now pulled out of the river. Apparently, a few days earlier the bus driver decided to stay in Chongwe, visiting a girlfriend as the story goes, leaving the conductor to finish the bus route. The conductor was, apparently, not very adept at driving an overloaded stick shift bus up a steep incline. The bus "failed to climb" the hill coming out of the river bed, sliding back down towards the bridge, at which point the driver/conductor jumped out and left a bus full of people to roll into the river. And then the driver/conductor ran away. Luckily no one was hurt. Luckily the bus ran down a soft slope instead of tipping off the side of the bridge. Luckily the river was not full that day. But cell phones were damaged, mealie meal and fertilizer ruined. That really is the stick of it. Even if you can manage you probably are only just managing, and then something happens, like your bus rolling into a river, or you are accused of being a witch, and you are no longer ahead.

I am closing down shop here but putting off thinking about what will happen once I am state side. More just thinking about what I want to take. What I will hopefully protect once in the flood of American life. It is easy to be swept away. It is strange to think of all the things that feel so comfortable, that feel easy. How many times have I craved ease and convenience. Options. Immediate gratification. Accountability and some level of trust in the system. (Zambia has taught me the beauty of a functioning system - inversely). It will be interesting to see what things I crave when I am in America and away from Zambia. Greetings, kids kids kids, cute phrases, men wearing Brittney Spears shirts with jauntily fringed edges...

Someone was asking me what it was like to be in America and if it was overwhelming, fearing what it would be like to move back. I said, and hope, that we have a unique perspective, more detached, so that we might choose what to let in and what not. Is two years enough for that? I suppose it is an ongoing discipline.

I have also thought many times about how I will not miss the feeling of guilt and complication in how I live and how I live with my neighbors. As in having to sit with yourself after telling a family that has been out of maize since November that you will not give them food. I have a lot of good reasons for refusing handouts. I can not feed a family of 10 for 6 months. I can not feed half of my village who is in the same predicament. I do not what to be seen by my neighbors as a way to get things. They are able bodied and giving food will not help them learn to budget or plan better. (People who are willing to work hard do alright) and I do not understand why you would need sugar for a baby. Invalid requests excluded- no matter how good your reasons you can't escape that denying someone food who needs it, when you have more than you need, is on some level inhumane. The problem of course is that when I am back in America I will not be removed from making this decision. I will continue to decide everyday about what I give and what I keep, (and what I do with what I keep), but I will be removed from the intensity of it. As much as that, in someways, seems so relaxing and easy - I am also so frightened that the reality I know here will seem so distant and less real. Like something you know of but really nothing about.

There is no escape of the participation just the consequences.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There is a chicken that stays around my place all day and as soon as I turn my back darts inside to peck at Garbanzo's food. She is quick, relentless and devlish. Feathers of jet black with a sinister bluish gleam. I think of her as the devil's hand maiden. I often get angry with Garbanzo for not helping to defend the house, since it is HIS food she is after ("Do you constantly sharpen your claws for nothing!") But really can you blame him? What is a wee cat to do against such a beast? Twice his size, outfitted with sharp tallons and a beak, and has the devil on her side.

I have seriously considered asking the Zulus if I can buy this chicken. No, just that chicken and yes I will pay twice her worth...now, will you kindly assist me in slaughtering this chicken which I have just by chance purchased? We can feast together.

It hasn't happened yet. But I am not promising it won't.

Home Sweet Home

2009-01-06T22:15:00.000-08:00

I am back from home in America. I am back home in Zambia.
Good to be home in both respects.

The feverishness of humidity. People riding their bicycles loaded with charcoal. Women in chitenge dresses. Babies hanging out of their slings. Negotiation with taxi drivers who are trying to swindle me. I realized yesterday as I was re entering this life that it is the last time I will return home to Zambia.

Suffering for nothing

2008-12-20T01:45:00.000-08:00

The debate this morning between Ruben and I
K: Should we take the big bus or the little bus?
R: Whichever comes first
K: But we have big bags
R: I can put it on my lap
K: What if you have to stand
R: ...and then they make me pay k5,000 for the bag hmmm...
K: That minibus is going straight to town
R: It won't stop in Chongwe forever?
K: I don't know. Maybe. But if the big bus gets stuck in mud it is stuck all day but the little bus they can push out.
R: Good point. Let's take the little bus.

And the big bus got stuck in mud indeed. We win. The crap shoot. Today.

_________________________________

One of the groups I am working with received a grant from the US Embassy and was suppose to come to a signing ceremony with the ambassador. Several people involved or sorta involved in the project were invited but were not provided transport. An area politician told them they must attend but failed to provide transport in time and did not attend herself. They arrived 1 and 1/2 hours late to the ceremony-which was by then over. The chairlady the only one who HAD to come and who HAD transport money was also detained with this group and missed the ceremony. I had to sign for them and shake the ambassadors hand. It was really embarrassing. For me and for the community.

On the way home that night we came across one of the volunteer teachers who had biked 40k to Chongwe to go to the ceremony just to arrive late and be turned back. It was dark and muddy, he hadn't eaten all day and was drunk. Saying "suffering for nothing! They sent a truck the letter saying we must come but then couldn't even provide us transport to go to the ceremony. Traveling with no lunch. Suffering for nothing! for nothing!" I told him not to be discouraged, we had all been disappointed but the project was still good. It was heartbreaking. It was a bad day.

I arrived in Lwimba late that night and it was really dark and super muddy but a boy who lives behind me, Chester, was walking home too and walked in front of me so I would know where not to step. He directed me over to the side of the path saying "Keli. These are the cows," which I had totally not seen. I got home and found I had lost a pouch full of money meant to be returned to a teacher. I switched the batteries in my headlamp and marched back to the market with a light brighter than most car headlamps - fuming and pitying myself the whole way. But then I found the pouch just where I thought it would be. Untouched. The Minibus driver and another man I know from the village where there and asked what I was doing out in the dark. I told them I had left this pouch- with money in it. "Ah you are very lucky then." Yes indeed. The village always redeems.

Ruben and I instigated a Christmas Party for the Anti-Aids club. We made cake and thought the party would pretty much be eating cake, listening to some Christmas music and going home. But then we found they had made all kinds of plans for food, a stereo system, and dancing. There was an agenda. Mr. Lungu the patron, myself and Ruben all made two speeches, saying pretty much the same thing six times. Only in Zambia do you open a party with a prayer.

I'm not soft

2008-12-11T03:33:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago I went to visit my friend Lisa's site in Northern Province. Beautiful. Scenery a dinosaurs would be fond of. She has a river 10 minutes from her house. She goes swimming every day. I am jealous. She also has a waterfall 16k from her house so we rode bikes and went swimming. I was so happy frolicking about in my scivies that I was negligent about my sun protection and got a fierce burn on my back. A blistering burn. Which I showed to everyone once back home so they would understand. Before when I would move into the shade or wear long sleeves saying "sunburn" everyone would say "yes it is very hot." No burning. like a fire...

I showed the mini bus driver to explain why I didn't want to carry my back pack and he just clicked his tongue and said "ah you are very soft." NO! I am not soft! I am not weak! I am just...fair.

Though I am soft. I get blisters just from touching a hoe. When I showed Mrs. Zulu she told me I was soft and then showed her own hard as stone palms. "But Junior. He gets blisters?" No he doesn't. Maybe because, though he has his own minifarmer hoe, he spends most of his time playing in the dirt while his grandma and aunts weed. Junior's minifarmer hoe is the one they give me when I ask to borrow one...

I came across Mrs. Zulu shelling groundnuts and sat down to help. Because I think it is fun. But she said "No you can't" and rubbed her thumbs reminding me of the time I tried to help them shuck dry maize and sliced both thumbs open. I can shell peanuts though. I know how.

I also went cliff jumping with Lisa off the waterfalls. I am embarrassed about how long it took me to jump. It wasn't a very big cliff but I kept thinking of that singer we use to listen to who was paralysed from diving into a shallow pool. After about the 20th time of asking Lisa where I was suppose to jump and where EXACTLY was the rock I was suppose to avoid and should I run or not she said "Lots of volunteers have done it. I promise." But the problem is saying lots of Peace Corps Volunteers have done it does not really make me feel more at ease...I know lots of Peace Corps Volunteers.

It was fine. I am not paralyzed and can live proud and free knowing I didn't back away from a cliff.

I am coming home for Christmas. If you want to see me plan to have a plate of food between us. And cheese on that plate.

Cheesecake. Hamburgers. Cold drinks. Margaritas. Hot water without a fire. CLEAN for two weeks straight! Hard matresses! movies! MY FAMILY! MY FRIENDS! SNOW! CHRISTMAS! oh my god I am going to pass out.

Rainy season is here again!

2008-11-09T08:04:00.000-08:00

If you remember – my shed burnt down, incinerating my bike into piles of melted aluminum along with a reed mat, a bucket, a basket full of pumpkins, my hammock, and a bag of charcoal. The remnants of coal were still burning in the morning were used to cook breakfast – with a when life gives you lemons kind of mentality. I have been making arrangements to have the shed rebuilt but after months of talking and reminding the school about the work to be done it was still a burnt down shed. I finally enlisted the help of the women’s group to re-mud the shed before roofing. They came the following Monday. They decided they could not mold new bricks for the shed that day without a mold so instead they started working on my Nsakas and clearing the surroundings. In three hours they made short work of all the little tasks I have noted but felt overwhelmed by or ill-equipped to handle (and when you feel overwhelmed or ill-equipped obviously the best thing to do is leave things…)

We shook off termite dust, swept, hoed the dry grass, and re-muded both nsakas. I love mudding walls. While one lady and I hoed the path to the toilet she lectured me on keeping my surroundings clean because, she said, “If there is a snake there, you can even say ‘there is a snake.’” Strange bit of foreshadowing. The entire process was a confirmation to all that I am not skilled at keeping house. But then we ate shima together under my mango tree and it was pretty much the perfect day. One woman came the following day to paint decorations on the now nicely gray walls. She boiled powdered charcoal and mealie meal to make a thick black paint which is supposedly impervious to rains and accented with a deep red clay. The following Monday even more women came to re-mud the shed.

Zambian women are so effective and efficient with the things they know about and feel comfortable with. The problem is that there is just an awful lot that they feel is outside their world. Otherwise they would revolutionize the world.

The roof is now on the shed too. AND my house is re-roofed. The part that was leaking had rotten poles. Go figure.

Everything would be looking so nice if cows had not knocked down my drying rack. Twice. After the second time I marched over to the Zulus to find out whose cows they were. I plan to have a conversation about responsible ownership with that person. I am pretty sure this conversation will be pointless.

Mrs. Zulu came over last week to burn the piles of grass left over from roofing. Re-roofing means a lot of dirt and grass to clean up. I cleaned it up partly but feel there is only so much yard work I can do with only a stick and grass broom. And it is freaking hot right now so any motivation I try and muster just melts as soon as it tries to exert itself. Heaps of grass on the perimeter of your yard is not only unseemly however, it is also dangerous as snakes like to make cozy little homes beneath them.

I don’t generally burn my own grass because I don’t really know how to control after the burning starts. And what if I set the village on fire?!

After the women came I went into the pit latrine at night and found a big black snake inside. I think I did anyway. My light was dim and I didn’t stick around that tiny space to get a good look but instead quickly ran next door saying, “Njoka! Njoka mu chimbusi!” – “There’s a snake in my toilet” in a voice of restrained hysteria, per-usual. I continued to babble “If I leave it till morning will it go away? I don’t want anyone to get bit. It is really big. Like this, maybe” while Mrs. Zulu calmly got up from cooking and went to get a big stick. Mrs. Zulu just checked around the chimbusi and then asked for matches to set the brush on fire. Effectively and efficiently setting a semi circle of tall grass on fire around my toilet. I stood uselessly on the nicely cleared path, in the heat and glow of the fire saying. “but it’s inside.” Mrs. Zulu said it would go out. “But how?” I said. She wiggled her hand up through the air like a snake slithering into the sky. “It can’t. Snakes can’t climb brick walls.” To which I think she said: “It will grow legs. Just don’t go in.” Maybe she was just being funny. Or just telling me not to worry about it. It probably went out the same way it got in – through the door like any other civilized creature. Or maybe it grew legs.

Mrs. Zulu left to finish cooking shima, leaving me to pee behind my house and watch my neglected surroundings calmly burn.

The snake was gone in the morning. Though I am still convinced it is there somewhere. Maybe hiding in the thatch. Or living in that hole in the latrine shaft. Or maybe it became invisible. Did you think of that…? If my memory serves me right it was about a meter long and thick and black. People say could have been a cobra. When I described it to one of the women she said: that ones head gets big.
____________________________________

Whenever I see Di Zulu carry water and am astounded at how beautiful she is. The perfect female figure. Like a statue. At 17. And then I get glum because I feel only a bit like a real woman. If Di lived in the states I think she would be made to feel very insecure about her body. Once when I was meeting the women’s group they all started telling me that I was growing hips and getting shorter not taller. I said thank you and then told them if they said that to a woman in America she would start crying. They laughed.

________________________________

I burn things that I shouldn’t sometimes. I know this because sometimes my yard smells like things-that-should-not-be-burned. A specific example: I thought too late about checking the empty can of easy cheese for flammable risks. But after the unwise decision to light the fire with the can in the pit I made the wise decision to not try and fish it out again. Instead just stood back adn waited for whatever was going to happen. It exploded. With a small pop.

Fire Fire's New Clothes

2008-09-29T00:21:00.000-07:00

Fire fire is our village crazy man. Named such because he likes to start fires. A fact I learned one day when an unattended fire started coming too close to the YWCA and the women had to pause the meeting to redirect the fire - all the while saying "Fire fire" and tisk tisk tisking.

Fire Fire was not always crazy. He had a wife once and speaks English fairly well. Well enough he can harass me in it. Now he spends his days picking up trash in the market place. I think sometimes for his own little keepsakes but also probably so he can burn whatever is not edible. Sometimes he does small chores for the people who own the tavern. Like carry water or sweep. He often is the the witch/villain's tavern and I sometimes can't help but imagine him as a henchmen doing evil bidding. I think they pay him in beer because sometimes he is very polite and sometimes he is drunk and not. When he is being polite he greets me as "Hello Mr. Karen! how are you?" or proposes marriage nicely. When he is drunk he is more obnoxious and aggressive and says "I want to damage you so your family will pay me money." At which point I race off huffily on my bike yelling "They won't. They will kill you! I will kill you!" No worries dear family I am not afraid of him. He does not come to my house and the village is pretty good about watching out for me.

Once I had a Peace Corps friend visiting and as we were walking to the market Fire Fire approached us thinking my friend was my father. He told "my father" that he wanted to marry me and my friend kind of moved him along saying "no, no." Then Fire fire said "Karen I want to marry you!" and I shrugged my shoulders and said "He said no. What's a girl to do?"

The sad thing is that Fire fire is in direct competition for my hand with five year old Jr. Zulu. Who I adore. One night Mr. Zulu asked Jr. why he was not wearing a jersey when it was cold and Mrs. Zulu responded that he refused to put one on because Keli was coming and he didn't want me to think of him as an old man but a fit man. So cute.

And both of them are in competition with a number of other Zambian men who have wasted no time in declaring their intentions. I have lost count. I try to explain that I wouldn't cook and they would be unhappy but that only works sometimes.

Anyway, the other day I was riding past the tavern with my neighbor Ruben and saw that Fire Fire had on new clothes. I commented to Ruben as I passed. When I came back by Fire Fire came running out saying "Mr. Karen, Come! Look! I'm clean! Look! I'm Clean!" It was pretty endearing. There is a strange place in my heart for Fire Fire.

And though I make light of it - people who are mentally ill and poor without any services available to them are tragic.

_________________________

It will cost an obscene amount of money to bring my cat home so that probably will not happen and I am heart broken. Even if I can find someone to care for him properly - I am convinced I am the only person he will ever love.

When I think about leaving him the scenario plays out like that scene from Princess Bride when Buttercup finds out Wesley has been killed by pirates and neither sleeps nor eats for days. Garbanzo also will sit forlorn in his hey strewn room saying "I will never love again." Only the movie ends there. Unlike Wesley and Buttercup there will be no joyful reunion in the fire swamp for Keli and Garbanzo. Just forlornness forever.

Been awhile

2008-09-04T01:23:00.001-07:00

So.

I haven't written anything in a while and haven't actually prepared anything.

Most recent developments:
My shed burnt down (see flickr) with my bike inside. The bike melted into puddles of aluminum. Peace Corps gave me a new bike but the shed is yet to be rebuilt. Getting it built the first time was such a headache. But I haven't lost hope.

My best friend in Peace Corps left due to security issues. This is ok in some ways and not in some ways. I won't go into the details. But pretty terrible for me. She was a pretty constant stream of support. She will be still but delayed and not daily. Fallen now into that group of people I love who I can not easily access.

The building has started and is now half way finished. This has happened with relatively few problems. My head teacher is on it. Now I have 6months to make sure all the systems are in place and people are very very sure about what they need to do to make this project work.
It can happen. This is the fun part.

I have been thinking a lot about the twilight hours of my service, especially with my friend leaving earlier than she expected and feeling like things were left undone. I feel really good about what I need to do in the coming months to feel like I can leave things and they won't fall apart. They may fall apart anyway. But being happy and comfortable and knowing what needs to be done is a nice feeling. I know who I should work with, I know what to expect of them, and I have learned something about how to be effective here. And I really love my community.

Also. President Levy Mwanawasa died. He had a stroke several months ago while in a meeting with Prez. Mbeki and Mugabe. I watched the burial on TV yesterday with the teachers. What will happen now? An election. Zambia is peaceful country and any Zambian will tell you that readily.

So there. That is how I am. How are you?

Women: Nyanja nyanja Nyanja
Keli: Come? Come where? Me?
Women: Nyanja blah blah blah
Keli: To your house? Why? I don't know.
Mr. Mulilo riding up on his bike: Keli, they say come to their house to get what you've been promised
Keli: What have I been promised?
Mr. Mulilo checks with Women: Nyanja blah blah
Mr. Mulilo: A monkey
Keli: A Monkey!? Ok. I will come. Wait is the monkey alive? Do I have to eat it?
Mr. Mulilo checks with women: Nyanja blah
Mr. Mulilo: No, a live monkey. Just to see.
Keli: Sure! I will come!

And indeed there was a monkey. Tied to a rope in a tree in my village. Illegal. He tried to sell it to me. for $50. Thought about buying it too just to let it go. But then they would just keep catching them and then I would keep buying them and letting them go...

I did not purchase the monkey.

The day before the above episode Chester had an animal in a trap at the borehole. It looked like a very large rat but I only saw the end and it's long rat tail. I asked a bunch of people what it was. I was convinced for a day that it was an African possum. But in fact I think it was just a very large kind of rat. Like the size of a cat... and apparently they are very nice to eat.

Library!

2008-06-29T09:51:00.000-07:00

All the money is donated for the library! Thank you all for your help. I am amazed. And happy. We are in process of hiring a contractor and as soon as money is in Zambia we will buy materials and start building! I will keep you all updated on the progress. If you didn't get an opportunity to donate - send books.

Children's books
Large print books
dictionary
Reference books on carpentry for the carpentry school
Reference books on tailoring for the tailoring school
Reference books.

You have all done so much - this is not a request - just an opportunity for those who are looking.

Thank you. Seriously.

so much to tell

2008-06-28T04:49:00.000-07:00

So the other day I came home from dinner with the Zulus and found my NEW bathing shelter partially destroyed. Mrs. Zulu assured me it was not a derranged person. She thought it was a cow. A WILD cow? you may be asking...because what other type of cow would be left unattended to roam the night destroying people's bathing shelters?! No I believe it was not a wild cow but a cow owned by some negligent person. I would like the name of this person. Though I suppose it is only a hypothetical non-wild cow. Perhaps it was a tiny tornado. Or a witch falling from their flying basket overhead. But probably it was a cow. All fixed now.

I ate a rat. It was BBQ'd. Imagine a small rat if you will. Then imagine a scooped out bowl where the intestines use to be but the rest just the same as a live rat. Little charred claws and long charred tail. Little teeth sticking out of it's charred little dead head. Then imagine eatting it. It wasn't so bad. Charred crunchy and slightly meaty. The little liver tasted like liver. I gave the head to Junior because I am not that curious.

How did this come about? Well Ruthie was asking me if I ate rats and I said I hadn't but only because no one had brought any to me and I would certainly try them sometime. Then she pulled a bowl of rats out from under the bed and I was able to try one sooner than I had expected.

The rat was better than the goat offals they gave we last week. I couldn't stomach those at all. Goat offals are awfully well named.

tee hee
__________________________________

There was a witch finder afoot in the village. He found 10 witches in Shapola and 15 in mine. I was waiting for my English class one day, idlely looking at the people milling about. Then the PTA president came over and I asked what kind of meeting this was. Agricultural? It was the witchfinders business. And those old women there? Witches. A coven of witches paitently waiting in the grass to pay their fees for the witch finder's services. 1.25 million kwacha each - which is no small bit of money - then the witch finder will take away their juju tools and give them medicine so they can't practice anymore. How does he find the witches? He has them look in a mirrow. And gives them an interview. All so tame. More like a witch scan than a witch hunt. Every once in a while you just need to de-witch your village. Like viruses from your computer or worms from your child. And what if they don't pay? the villagers beat them or run them off. Not so tame. No one questions the witch finer either. He is a wealthy man. You can see where there is some room for abuse. And once a witch pays the fine what happens? Do they loose their friends? For a few months there is that stigma but then people forget. Forget that they supposedly killed people. Hmm. Strange.

The only bit I got to watch was when the witchfinders lacky showed the villagers the objects taken from Mr. Kapapos house. A bird's head. A leg of an animal wrapped in something. A necklace of posion pouches. A bone of a child. Or a bone that kills children. I am not entirely sure. I asked to photopgraph them and he said we could negotiate a price. So I didn't.

The man that Mr. Zulu thinks killed his first born daughter was accused. Also John the senile old man who has nothing and asks for the borehole every day was accused. He can't pay. I don't believe he is a witch. He is so jovial. And poor. Someone speculated maybe it was accidental witchcraft - trying to find out who had betwitched him. Because apparently John worked as a pilot for Zambian Airways for many years. And now he has nothing. No food. The same man that may have killed Mr. Zulu's daughter also may have taken all of John's money. And when the money was finished chased him off. Witch or not he is a bad man.

_______________

Now that it is cold the fashions are changing in Zambia. One glove only. Disembodied ski jacket hoods without a jacket to button too. A style I will rock in the states just you wait. and a man in a women's one piece pink ski suit walking down the streets of Lusaka. Legs hit at his ankles and shaped is butt nicely. Amazing.

Pony Up

2008-05-30T05:19:00.000-07:00

Work it harder
Make it better
Do it faster
Makes us stronger

Our work is never over

Thank you Daft Punk. This is now embroidered and pinned to my wall. Because somehow I forgot that this is a pump up to psychic power.

I am refering to myself. The revolutions within.

I have been feeling lately like my weaknesses are all out of control. So I have been stumbling around trying to figure out how I can still be the person I think I am, and fearing I am doing myself damage.

I am lonely. Not alone but lonely for my loved ones and left to process myself only within my own head. Which is like trying to tie your shoe in a tilt-a-whirl. Well not really as bad as all that. But this issue does occupy a fair amount of my otherwise disengaged mind. Time and energy I could be using productively. Like to sew. Or teach a child to read. or, say, meditating on releasing my inner tension.

So no more.

All the world asks of you is that you bring what you have to the table.
Maybe what Rose meant by learn to love the hill

Our work is never over.

_______________

Garbanzo got into an awful scrap the other day. He is still limping. Neither of us know what the matter is. There is some kind dried thing sticking out. Which I thought was a scab of sorts but connected to something... I suspect some ligament or tendon or other important life cord got pulled out in the battle. I think this is probably not true. Hope not because that sounds like it wouldn't heal itself.

Communication breakdown

2008-04-20T00:23:00.000-07:00

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...

"The Womens"

2008-03-15T04:36:00.000-07:00

I work with a women's group in my area, doing some business training activities, doing some craft making workshops, and last week organizing a local celebration for women's day. The chairlady of the Lwimba Area Women's Association is a lady named Saphi. The other day she was telling me about a discussion that came up at an agriculture field day, about gender and why there were only 2 women in attendance. She said that women sometimes are kept from being active in the community because their husbands don't let them or complain they aren't at home, etc. Then she said: "I tell you it was really embarrassing!... for my husband."

When Saphistra started getting involved in development projects aimed at women her husband told her she had to give the goats back. Then he said she had to choose between being his wife or being involved in projects and community activities. She moved back to her parents house and now is paying him to weed her field because she is too busy.

I heart Saphistra Chiposo.

The other day the women's group had a broom making workshop - which I was excited about it missed because someone from the ministry unexpectedly showed up and wanted to go to a community school down the road. I got back in time to teach English that day and afterwards asked them to quickly show me how to make a broom. When I started to plucking the wrong grass ("the fakes") a group of ladies ushered me down the path to where the good broom grass was. We stood in the tall grass, in the dimming light, pulling stalks from their sheaths. The women saying "No teacher, like so. Like so," gathering quickly and efficiently. They all handed their little bundles to me to add to my broom, making sure I patted the ends level to make it tidy and nice.

People here clap each others hands a lot, when they are sharing in a moment. It is a really natural response to them but I often forget to hold my hand out to be slapped for a moment- causing a bit of awkwardness in the gesture. I am getting better now. That and patting my heart when I greet someone.

I danced with the women on women's day and they were really happy about it. A lot of women slapped my hand.

Collected Scenes

2008-02-29T06:03:00.000-08:00

From the Zulu house at dusk.

Babygoats: Jump on the house! Jump on the house! leap! leap! leap! leap in the bucket! wait...Leap out of the the bucket! Where's mom!? Headbutt. Leap!
Junior (running in a large cirlce around the yard): Liiisssttaa Solllweeetooo Liisssttaa Sollweeetooo
Keli: Lista Solweto? That girl there? Her last name is solweto? Junior what are you saying?
Junior: Liiissssta Solllwweeeto liiiisssta solweto
Mrs. Zulu: Mista Solweto. The goat is Mista Solweto.
Keli: OOOhhhh. The mama goat is Mr. Solweto. Of course.

------

Mrs. Zulu: (speaking Nyanja): Nyanja Nyanja Nyanja
Keli: No, I haven't eaten Nshima this week.
MZ: Nyanja Nyanja Nyanja
Keli: I'll come but sometimes...
MZ: Nyanja Nyanja Nyanja
K: Yes, Nshima will make me strong.
MZ: Nyanja Nyanja Nyanja
K: What are you saying? I don't understand. Junior what is she saying?
Junior: ...
MZ: Nyanja Nyanja Nyanja
K: I do eat just sometimes rice or...
MZ (speaking in English): Rice is bad. Eating Shima once olo twicey per week is not good. Is bad. you are not in America. You are in Zambia. In Zambia we eat shima.
Keli: ...

-----

Man on the morning bus: 'We will meet.' Not broken English. That is correct English. 'We will meet.' ...Only we will cabbage because meat is too expensive.

-----

Mr. Chiumia: Do you have nails?
Headteacher: I have one.
MrC: Please give me I need it to fix something. Mrs. Chiumia is coming today and instead of saying - you aren't keeping the house - you are just sitting - what what - at least...
Keli: At least now you can show her the one nail you hammered into something...she'll be pleased.

_____________________

Sometimes when I am riding my bike away from my village, I surprise a Zambian child on the road who was not expecting a white person. This Zambian child then takes off running, frantically shouting "Mizungu! Mizungu!" to alert the other children so that they might come quickly and catch a glimpse before this elusive creature flits away.

There are about four little girls who belong to one or other of the teachers that have the school grounds as their playground. They see me a lot and know me so when they spot me instead if "Mizungu!" they frantically shout "Keli! Keli! Keli!" to alert the others who were not so quick. Then in chorus or taking turns in a never ending cycle they say:
Girls: Allo
Keli: Allo
G: Allo
K:Allo
G: How are you?
K: I am fine. How are you?
G: How are you?
K: I am fine. How are you?
G: How are you?
K: I am fine.
G: How old are you?
K: I am 25.
G: ... How are you?

Ad infinitum. Always jumping jumping jumping.

These girls often give the impression that they are crazy little dolls. Because of all the second hand clothes children often wear discordant outfits, mismatched, inappropriately fancy, but tattered and dirty. Not because they are poor but because all clothes are equally good for playing in the dirt. They even have doll hair, black yarn braids that are forever in some half way stage of done or undone.

Yesterday I went to a teacher's house and found this bevy of girl dolls there. I sat down next to them and chatted while the lady I came to see was coming out. "Good morning. You are bathing? No? to play only?" One of the little dolls with big big eyes was wearing a little plaid upside down umbrella of a skirt and just a small evening jacket for a shirt, made of purple velvet and clasped with a shiny rhinestone broach. She stood close enough to touch my knees and looked as though she'd caught a unicorn. I should have taken her picture- so then I could have caught a unicorn too.

Donate to the Lwimba Library Project

2008-02-12T08:29:00.000-08:00

My community and I are working to construct a building to be used as a resource center and library. I am writing to you today asking for your support and contributions.

Zambia is ranked 165th out of 177 countries on the human development index (http://hdrstats.undp.org/countries/country_fact_sheets/cty_fs_ZMB.html). In 2005 literacy rates were estimated at 68%. They are estimated at under 50% in our zone. Lwimba is a rural community of mainly subsistence farmers. My neighbors and I all live in mud huts with thatched roofs, cook over a fire, and bathe out of a bucket. 63% of Zambians live off less than $1USD per day (http://hivinsite.ucsf.edu/global?page=cr09-za-00&post=19&cid=ZA#Poverty).

Despite my glaring differences, I've been welcomed into this community with friendship and warmth. Though living with poverty, illiteracy, disease and limited access to resources that might alleviate these burdens, I've found most Zambians generous and happy people.

The more I see of development work the more I am convinced that the most effective change comes when people are given the resources and knowledge to change their own lives and guide the direction of their own community. There are a lot of pressing needs in Zambia and many of them are tied to lack of education. It is difficult to ask someone to participate in their community's development if they cannot read, have not developed their analytical thinking skills, or exercised their creativity. I believe books can help with all of those things. It will help Betty, who is 8, learn her alphabet, Dilas learn English so she can pass her Grade 9 Exams and the women in my English/ Literacy class be able to read to their own children.

This building will be a place to store and organize a library collection, making a wide range of reading and reference materials available to the pupils, the teachers, and the community. The building will also provide a space for zonal in-service meetings, as well as other community meetings. My main Zambian colleague, Mr. Chuimia, is the Zonal In-service Coordinator for our zone and we are already working to improve literacy teaching skills. If the building is complete by Sept 2008 as we hope, we can spend the remaining 8 months of my service making sure the library system is organized and everyone has the skills to utilize this resource. There will be two volunteers in the community after I leave but for the project to be sustainable and long lived, community members should have the skills needed to manage and maintain the library.

I know a building is a big project and will take a bit of money, but I would not be asking you for contributions if I did not believe in the inherent benefits of this structure or if I felt the community was not committed to the idea. They have already burnt two kilns of bricks for the project and are prepared to mold and burn more when the rain subsides.

So what can you do to help? You can donate RIGHT NOW on the Peace Corps Website:

(Go to peacecorps.gov >Donate now >Volunteer Projects >Africa >Zambia, K. Campbell)

We would like to have the building complete by September so we are looking to start construction in June, which means there is no time to waste!

But also tell other people about this project! The more people who here about this project, the more likely it will be successful. Tell your family, friends, co workers, etc! My social network is limited, but my network's network is limitless!

For more information visit our website at lwimba.blogspot.com

So it goes

2008-02-09T22:30:00.001-08:00

Everything in my life smells of mildew. Everything. My Grinnell sweatshirt had mold growing on it. Which I take as a personal offense (How dare you, mold...How dare you?). I have been doing a lot of washing and airing and sunnying. Which takes a lot of time. And keep pulling out other things that smell of mildew. Black leather shoes molted yellow and white. My eye glass cleaner. Things that I have already washed...BUT I suppose it is the price to pay for living in a house made of all organic materials in a very wet country and cramming all my textile goods in one wardrobe.

_________________

I tried caterpillars. They aren’t at all bad. But are still caterpillars when fried. Crispy. But the spikes don’t go away.
_________________

The other day I felt like an adventurer-wading through rivers with my bike and climbing up and down muddy slopes. I was like Indiana Jones, slashing through the jungle to save my love from being sacrificed to the jungle gods. Only there is no jungle really…and I was on my way to a development meeting…and I had my bike helmet on the whole time…but for excitement sake would you please imagine the involvement of a machete and snakes. While still wearing bike helmet of course.

Someone told me that the river was very safe to cross and would reach my knees. It was in fact at my thighs and not so easy to cross the current on a rocky bed with my bike on my shoulder. The second river was to my lower thighs and muddy bottomed so a bit easier.

The meeting started 2 hours late and lasted for 3 hours, during which time it rained heavily every hour, so coming back the rivers were even more swollen. I thought might be to my waist but in fact was to my chest and the thing about rivers is you don’t really know how deep they really are until you are in the middle of one. Then there is nothing to do but put your bike on your head and keep going. I did not attempt the other river but instead took a slightly different route (why aren’t people more forthcoming with these secrets!?) which accounts for the muddy slopes. Down and up two sets of steep banks of mud, which I only managed because someone else was managing my bike for me. I did not fall in the mud until I was back at the school borehole cleaning off my feet.

All in all a pretty good day. It was beautiful when I was actually riding, the toe I thought was damaged and infected healed up, and while not super easy, crossing rivers is kind of fun and exciting. Though I think I will not make a habit of it.

This is my life. My pretty new date book got wet. It still holds dates but not quite as prettily.

That night the Lwimba River flowed over the bridge. We have gotten a lot of rain. The maize is yellow from it.
__________________________

My cucumber plant decided to grow peas instead of cucumbers to my surprise. They have also died from the rain.

My gardens harvest is thus far a handful of green beans and two handfuls of okra. The pumpkins are doing quite well too. Pumpkins are perhaps my plant mate because they need so little attention from and could probably grow on the moon.
___________________

Have I mentioned before how startling it is sometimes to live within such beauty? Not beside it or by it or near it but ride through it carry water through it and be surprised by it. The full moon actually rises from my backyard and when the moon does not come out the milkyway stretches out directly over my house. I often stand out under it and listen to the crazy man sing drunkenly from across the river. This is also my life.

_______________________

I got letters from some 5th graders – this is but a sampling of our correspondence:

Is your hut small, medium, or huge? Do you know the size of your hut?
-5th grader

Keli: My hut is a bit bigger than 10 ft by 15ft. SO assuming that 5th graders are all 5ft tall, you could fit two 5th graders laying down one direction and three 5th graders laying another. Of course 5th graders is not at all a good way to measure because they are not all 5ft tall. In short, it is big enough to suit my needs but small enough I have to keep it tidy or I trip over things.

How old is Garbanzo? What’s the bed called that he sleeps in? Does he like kids at all?
-5th grader

K: He sleeps with me, usually tucked in somewhere very close. He likes everyone except dogs because they chase him up the mango trees.

I was wondering if you would tell me about your place. I heard you have no water or no light. That made me feel sad for you. I promise if you come here and I will give you anything you want. That is including an xbox.
-5th grader

Exactly why did you move to Zambia, Africa?
-5th grader

Keli: I came to Zambia Africa because I was curious about Africans and their ways of living. Also because I don’t want them to be poor forever.

I have one hobby and that would be to build.
-5th grader

Keli: What do you like to build? Cars? Robots? Castles?

If you want to know I have four siblings and they’re all younger than, so it’s tough.
-5th grader

Keli: I have three siblings but I am the second one born so my older sister was the one who had it rough. If you want to know, eventually having four siblings will be really fun.

I will be looking forward to your answers to my questions and maybe you could ask me some questions about my life arrangements.
-5th grader

They were all really good letters.

____________________

Thanks for all the comments posted friends. I read and appreciate them. Really.

Keli-Long time.

2008-01-12T06:18:00.000-08:00

"Ah Keli, you are back! And you've even gotten fat!"
"Yes... Thank you."

_________________________________________

Once when I was at a community school with a Zambia counterpart - talking to a parent about their plans to build a school - my Zambian colleague asked about where they got the deminsions for the foundation of the building which was being dug. The parent responded that some white lady had brought out some plans for a classroom. Then my colleague said- "You mean this white lady?" and pointed at me who was just there. He didn't recognize me as I had come via car rather than bike.

I have a friend who is often hollared at as she passes on her bike by the name of the precedding volunteer. Her predecessor was a man PCV.

There once was a very tall but still feminie PCV who had been in her village for about a week or so when someone came up to her and said "So- are you a man or a woman?"

I cut my hair - like a boys, or a pixie- and was curious to see how the village would respond. .

Zambian ladies spend a lot of time making their hair longer than it really is. With extensions, weaves, wigs, whathaveyou. So reactions have been limited to a sort of silent confusion. They know I am a girl even though I wear trousers.

The other day a girl who comes to the reading games activity hour on mondays at my house,a nd who has recently acquired a foot and a half of long braids, asked me "Why you cut hair?" I tried to explain but she just looked at me like I was a fool, and shook her head as though she were very disappointed in me.

15 months left we will see how long it gets.

_____________________________________

My flowers are blooming and they bring me great joy as I walk to the latrine everyday. Walking now with TP in hand as someone has taken my little bag in which I use to hang my TP in my latrine. I suspect John. But John is old and sometimes a little senile. He shuffles past my house in a dirty old suit, with two little water containers and often asks where the borehole is. Just there John. Where you found it yesterday.

A protective Juju charm to ward off snakes cost 250,000k. Or about $62USD...Wadula Musonda! Too Exspensive!

2007-12-21T05:03:00.000-08:00

Another note about transport. Sometimes it is amazingly redeeming. I have definitely ridden part way out of Lusaka on some strangers lap in an jammed packed minibus-grateful to be going. Getting any transport home when you think you won't is amazing. And riding in the back of a flatbed truck at dusk down my beautiful dirt road is one of my favorite things. The other day I had a really good conversation with my seatmate on the way to the village. We talked about black people and white people, HIV, development... I told him we don't have malaria in the US- which was a surprise. It was raining, the road was muddy and slippery and eventually I was the only passenger left. I asked the driver if he stayed in Lwimba or past and he said he stayed back at a past turnoff.

Keli: So I am the only one?
Driver: Yes. (fishtailing in the mud)
Keli: Oh sorry sorry.
Driver: But how would you manage in this? To walk? No.

So it doesn't ALWAYS steal my soul. It was nearly dark when we reached the market, my bag was wet, it was raining and the road was so muddy I lost my flip flop several times. But it was so nice to be home, walking past the taverns- the swarming laughter, chatter and reggae music competing with the pulsing cicadas.

Garbanzo was also happy that I was home. I could tell because if I was not in motion he was sitting somewhere on my person.
Garbanzo is often very muddy.
Now no place will ever feel like home unless there is a muddy cat sitting on my neck surreptitiously licking my face.

_____________________

The thing about haphazard gardening is that is doesn't actually work that well. I may have transplanted some weeds so that they may have more room to flourish...

The story of Zanzibar will be told via photos.
Merry Christmas.

I lost the month of December

2007-12-18T02:23:00.000-08:00

I had two training meetings scheduled in December which were to be my two shining days of productivity this month. I have now missed them both. It took us 4 days to get home from Tanzania. Our 24 hour bus turned out to be lie. We left it in Tanzania and were not entirely lucky with our hitches home. I need to get home so I can recover from my vacation. As it turns out vacationing in Africa isn't much of a vacation because you are still in Africa. I was looking forward to going to Zanzibar with my sister- which was fun and wonderful - but certainly not a break from interactions loaded with history and socio-political context, or just plain old swindling. Zanzibar is in someways worse because of the tourism.

My sister asked if it ever got frustrating to have things not work - not having electricity, or toilets, systems not working etc. Peeing in a hole is perhaps the easiest part of my life. When things don't work because there isn't money, infrastructure, resources, etc. It is tiring but you can get use to it. When things don't work because someone is a crook or a jerk, or drunk-That is irritating.

Come January I am never leaving my village. Because as Jacob has discovered, my nsaka is the most relaxing place in all of Zambia. And because transport steals my soul.

I am not a farmer

2007-11-20T21:52:00.000-08:00

Rain means planting time. Nowadays I wake not only to the sound of roosters crowing but also the sound of whips cracking on the backs of oxen. Not a fun time to be a beast of burden in Zambia. Though I suppose, by definition, beasts of burden don't have fun times...

I was talking to someone about farming in America and how not everyone was a farmer so the people who did farm had big farms. He asked if they all had their own Oxen and I said they all had their own tractors. Then the man fell over from shock.

Everyone is asking me if I will, or telling me I should, plant a field of maize. I am a little worried about the social ramifications if I don't. Of course if I try to plant maize and fail I may loose what little credibility I have as a capable person. And golly that seems like a lot of work.

No, no Zambians. Ndatatilwa ne ntame bulimi. ( I am busy and I am not a farmer)

Both true but unfortunately not very valid excuses since EVERYONE grows maize. Even if you do something else to earn money you grow a field of maize to feed your family nshima.

So Saturday I ploughed my "field." I use "field" to refer to the small plot of land...actually "plot" is misleading also...what is something slightly larger than a flower pot? Let us use "patch." I ploughed several patches of soil to plant my kasmall galardeni (small garden).

Ruthie Zulu: Mwapunduku?
Keli: Cheena, ito amwe?
RZ: Cheena. Blah blah blah you are farming? (in Soli)
K: Yes I am farming (in English)
RZ: What will you plant? (in Enlish)
K: Here? Pumpkins...and flowers.
Rz: Flowers?
K: Yes. flowers.

Ntame bulimi.

Here is how you know: My patches of soil are hodge podge because I didn't want to disturb the lush green grass growing. I only ploughed the ugly soil. Sunday morning Mrs. Zulu sent their youngest girl Di over to help me plant. They often think I don't know what I am doing. They are often right. I give them very little reason to believe otherwise.

So Di and I planted okra, cucumber, eggplant, carrots, green peppers, peas, some kind of bean, organic beets courtesy of Sophia Walker, pumpkins, and flowers. I didn't plant maize because when you are farming in patches it seems a little ridiculous (Oh really Keli, you grew 10 ears of corn? How very industrious of you.) AND if I want fresh maize I can just go to the Zulus field and pick some. They are good farmers.

I hope things grow.

Someone passing Sunday afternoon told me I should plant some maize. I pointed to my freshly tossed soil rows and said I'd planted a garden. "Yes but you should plant some maize"

And yesterday morning, waiting for the truck to take me to Chongwe,

An entire gang of village men: Keli, are you going to plant some maize? Where are you going? You should be here ploughing your field. You are very lazy.
Keli: It is true.

November rains

2007-11-10T02:25:00.000-08:00

I asked Mr. Zulu why a certain man in the village, a certain man who always finds ways of making money for himself at the expense of others, often at the expense of community development, is ever allowed on committees, as he is generally known to be untrustworthy. I would even say crook. Mr. Zulu said it was because he was a powerful witch. I guess that does explain it.

Mrs. Zulu: Keli I am coming.
Keli: Where are you going?
MZ: uh African doctor.
K: Where is the African Doctor?
MZ: Mr. Kapaso
K: Mr. Kapaso my neighbor?
MZ: Eay.
K: Huh. Is there a witch doctor in Mwakomkoma?
Mz: Uh...Musonda.
K:Musonda? (Musonda that smiling Bemba man in mud boots who was so happy when I greeted him in Bemba? Musonda Musonda with only one name and a small son with the same?)
Mz: Eay.
Keli: Huh.

~Time Elapse~

Keli: Muli Shani Musonda.
Musonda Musonda: Bwino (laugh giggle smile)
K: Musonda are you a witch doctor?
M: Yes! (laugh giggle smile)
K: O-kay! (Laugh giggle smile)

Ha ha Zambia. Good witch doctor I would imagine. I wonder how much a protective juju charm costs...

_________________________________
The rains have come and that means a bit of reorganization in your daily life. And I look like this now (See Fig 1.) And an impressive amount of my house washed away. Well the mud plaster at least so also the nice mud designs. Too bad. I wanted it to look charming for my sister.

Who is coming in three weeks! Lalala! I am already making lists of things that MUST be done to my little house.

1) Sweep the yard
2) Sweep the house- maybe even scrub the floors -hey!
3) Clean off the food buckets
4) Wash all my linens, sheets and Chitenges
5) Don't wash the blanket so it can be used as a sleeping cushion
6) Hoe up the intruding weeds and clear the yard of grass
7) Build a table so my storage shed is properly set up
8) Whisper sweet nothings to the mango trees so their fruits will ripen quickly
9) Have Musonda put a snake protection charm around the place

PLUS I need to start my garden. Which doesn't leave much time to keep up with Mr. R. Gray's demanding list of Robot Animals (see Flickr Fig. 2)

Luckily rainy season also means that often Zambia is washed in stormy blue -which is lovely.

Death is all around

2007-10-20T01:56:00.000-07:00

Last Friday the bus I take to my village swerved off the road. I was in the back of the bus so all I knew was that it felt like we almost flipped over. Once we had stopped and dust cleared I could see a mangled bike and then a mangled body laying in the road behind us. Apparently we had just hit someone. Apparently the man on the bike had swerved infront of the bus.

This is not the first accident I've seen here. A few months ago I passed a flipped semi truck on the notoriously dangerous mountains of Eastern Province. A man was trapped under the wreckage. A bus, another truck, and several cars had stopped to help, or stand around and watch. When we passed they were trying to pull the wreckage off the man with the other semi-truck, using a rope and a cargo strap. Both of which snapped immediately. The nearest ambulance was probably 3 hours away in either direction. I don't know even know what kind of equipment would be available in Zambia to lift a semi.

Similarly, the young man who had been hit by the bus, run over I would guess from the look of his crushed bike, was completely reliant on what by-standers could think to do. Which was to pick him up like a sack of maize, shuffle everyone and their luggage to make room on the already crowded bus, strap the mangled bike to the roof and drive the rest of the way to the Lwimba clinic. There are no doctors at the Lwimba clinic, only a few poorly trained nurses with limited resources. The clinic's borehole has recently broken so someone went to fetch water from the nearest well. I heard later that the nurse refused to treat him because it was "a police case" and there needed to be a report first...

So he was put on a saline drip, the men watching the futbol match were called over to identify him, then he was carried back to the now empty bus like a sack of maize, and driven 40k on a dirt road to the Chongwe clinic, and eventually to Lusaka, where he died.

I stood watching this trying to think of what to do, but what was happening was what could be done. I certainly have no medical expertise, not really even first aid. My mother, Uncle Scott, Sara, Brad, Aemelia - their medical skills could have been usual in this situation, as in many, many, others. Instead I stood around and observed and analyzed like a good sociologist, being absolutely no help whatsoever. Instead I started thinking about the causes and consequences of powerlessness. Both real powerlessness and an ingrained mentality and resignation to powerlessness.

People were saying the young man was drunk, which is why he swerved in front of the bus. Then I heard that the driver was also drunk and I got so angry I marched straight home and cried for several hours. About a lot of things. About people believing that nothing more can be done or expected, that people die of things here that they shouldn't die of- and you don't die of it you have money, that with all the ways to die here people make even more. And I suppose also about my own powerlessness, in the overwhelming circumstances of rural Africa.

I think the driver being drunk was idle speculation. The police cleared the driver of blame. But drunk driving is by no means uncommon. Pretty much anything done here has a high incidence of being done drunk. A symptom of powerlessness. Ages and ages of powerlessness. Perhaps I should encourage my Zambian friends to try hiding in their huts and crying for hours at a time as a reaction to powerlessness. Less destructive, less expensive, but equally unproductive.

I went to the funeral today of a grade 4 pupil who died of malaria. This was the 6th funeral I have attended. The girl who was buried was the granddaughter of the local carpenter, a man I know and like very much. The other funerals I have attended I didn't know the deceased or the family even. But it doesn't matter because EVERYONE goes to funerals. On more than one occasion I have arrived for some program at some school and found all the teachers gone because most of them are at a funeral. Something in my schedule is cancelled about once every two weeks because of a funeral.

A Zambian funeral often lasts three days. There is no preserving of the body so burial is a pressing issue, but there must also be time for family to be notified and travel, and time to cry. I was once at my neighbors and Mrs. Zulu quieted everyone to listen to distant wailing, trying to pinpoint which village it was coming from and think about who had been sick. The women of the family stay up and wail all night, sitting with the body until burial. The wailing is like crying as a song. Also the church choir usually comes and sits in the funeral house and sings. The other day I asked the woman I had come to the funeral with about the singing and why they did it continuously. She said it was just to help people from crying too much. "How is a better way to say that?" Then we discussed the world console. She taught be the equivalent in Soli but I don't remember it.

Sometimes the family tries to wait for a wooden coffin to be made or brought from town, but if there is no money the body is simply wrapped in a blanket and rolled in a reed mat. There is something very fitting about being buried in a red mat. So little separation. People die everywhere obviously, but the way Zambians enshroud death is significantly different than Americans.

During the three days of funeral people mostly just sit. But they also eat, and chat, and pass on news, sing a bit, cry a bit, and also laugh. I was at one funeral where they made community announcements while everyone was gathered around the burial plot. There is certainly mourning too, people wail openly and loudly, and entire community comes to recognize and share in the death, but this is all woven together as part of life. Not like a contrary force to life. Because it is so present. And because often there is so little a poor Zambian farmer can do to control, or postpone death. So there is a sense of inevitability and resignation. Powerlessness against the things you can not stop. I think this American could certainly learn a lesson from that, how to sit quietly and calmly with the things that are outside my control.

I think what Zambia and I have to learn from each other is when to sit calmly and when in fact to be indignant, and how to turn that indignation into something productive. How to teach and learn when something can in fact be done to change the outcome.

Plus a fair increase in infrastructure and public services certainly wouldn't hurt anyone.

___________

The other day my neighbors came over to tell me they had seen a snake go in my new storage shed. They poked around a bit and indeed there was a snake inside my storage shed. So we went to get Mrs. Zulu, who went in and killed it while the rest of us stood around outside holding sticks but also screaming a bit. Or laughing a little hysterically in my case and repeating "this one can kill you!" It was a puff adder. After it was very dead I checked for fangs. A puff adder is like a rattle snake only without the convenient warning.

That night I ate dinner at the Zulus but forgot to take my torch. Mrs. Zulu knew I was afraid of snakes (clarification Mrs. Zulu: Scared of snakes with poisonous fangs) so she walked me back home to light a match at my door to check for snakes. On the way I was telling her I wanted to tell my family about the snake but if they knew that I had fears, they would have fears. Especially my sister, she will say "Keli come home!" And Mrs. Zulu said "Don't tell them! You can't go home. After two years, then you can go."

No worries sissy, if I get bitten by a snake I will be flown to South Africa on the wings of American tax dollars. You would think that a country with as many poisonous snakes as Zambia would have just a bit of anti-venom. Apparently people don't really get bitten that often though. Which seems strange considering Mr. Zulu's advice to me, if I were to run across a puff adder again, was to not try and jump over it but just stomp on it. Pretty sure if I see another puff adder, I am just going to run and get Mrs. Zulu to destroy it. If Mrs. Zulu gets bitten by a snake then I will fly her to South Africa on the wings of whatever is available. But I am not entirely convinced Mrs. Zulu isn't a snake charmer...

Hut life

2007-10-08T02:37:00.000-07:00

The fun part about living in a hut is that home maintenance is largely experimental and yet often still successful.

There is still a right way to do things, and then there is the Keli way to do things, but here it seems the Keli way is closer to the right way.

For instance, if you have a hole in your wall, you might say to you self "Good Golly that hole needs mending!" Then simply go outside, wet some dirt, stick in the hole, and feel very pleased with yourself for being so resourceful and handy.

I built an oven this weekend. Which is less like science and more like making mud pies. I have not tried the oven yet...

I was able to make an oven because, after several of my own unsuccessful attempts to arrange for some bricks to show up at my house, my counterparts wife employed some pupils to transport the load. Thus Grade 4 and myself paraded from the school through the village to my house with a brick atop every head. I paid them each a colored hairband.

The other fun thing about living in a hut is that much of your living space is outside. Last night I bathed with the setting sun behind me and brushed my teeth under the stars. Wonderful. Brushing your teeth under the rising moon is even better.

I cook, eat, bathe, wash dishes, and laze about outside in my extended living space. When Uncle Scott visited he noticed that the ladies sweep their dirt yard and asked about it. They do this daily because really it is like tidying up the living room. When you come home and kick off your tropicals (flip flops) you don't want to step on any chicken poop or thorns.

I sweep my yard about every other day. Because I wear shoes. And I'm lazy. But I'll tell you - it sure is nice to have a swept yard.

Of course having living space outside also means that sometimes you come home to find cows have pooped in your kitchen...

Next time: Sitting around a village home, with Ba Mary as she cooks over and open fire, listening to Britney spears on the wirlesi (wireless radio). Being white in Africa: The complicated merging of tradition and modernity, poverty and aid...or something.

My life in a ground nut shell

2007-09-28T05:54:00.000-07:00

Here is a picture of Peace Corps for you. Myself, freshly bathed and wearing my relative nice clothes, a backpack full of teacher training manuals, a little plastic bag filled with example teaching aids made of rocks and cardboard tied to my backpack strap, flip charts under my arm, and a chicken in each hand, taking the short cut to school through the dried ravine to have a workshop for community school teachers. The chicken did poop on me. The training went ok.

Mrs. Zulu recently told me to come over and sit. "Don't sit alone. You think too much"

True True Mrs. Zulu. But sometimes when you feel you can't communicate your thoughts and emotions, and sometimes when you feel someone is angry or offended about some action of yours but you don't speak enough nyanja to figure out what the offense was, or if there even was one, and don't speak enough nyanja to explain the misunderstanding anyway, then that feels kind of terrible and at those times it feels more lonely to sit with people than to sit alone...

"Thank you Mrs. Zulu. I'll come"

I do love the Zulus. Mrs. Zulu feeds me eggs when I come over to eat because she knows i like them. One day I sat with Mrs. Zulu and helped her husk (is that the right word?) some dried corn. She had to show me how to do it properly. And then I sliced both thumbs open somehow. They thought that was funny. So soft.

My roof was patched recently. This consisted of one or two workers on the roof and another four or five sitting around drinking village beer. It was fun. Now I have a funny fat little roof on my storage shed too. Well we will see if the patch thatching fixed the leak. Not the first time it rains, not the second, but the third time. THEN we will know. When the grass is sleeping.
If it didn't then I have an enormous blue tarp sent by my father which will hopefully span the width of my house. I believe it will.

I put in concrete steps between my house and kitchen Nsaka to keep my feet out of the mud when it rains. Putting down concrete is a lot of work.

This mud hut is really the first place I feel a sense of ownership of. Hmm. Next project is an oven to make delicious breads and cakes.

Groundnuts are peanuts. I eat them a lot. The Zulus groundnuts are the best because they are from Eastern and know how to grow them well. Apparently to grow a goundnut you just stick it in the ground. Not sure why I didn't know that would work...

Work:

2007-08-21T07:52:00.000-07:00

Library Project: The community is behind the idea and ready to go. The idea is to a build a structure that can be used as a Zonal Resource Center for the teachers and also a Library for the students and community. We are working on raising the money for the library right now and then will get the books from one of several book donation organizations. Look back here in the near future for a link to the library website and how to contribute money! Horray for literacy in Africa! Along side this construction project my counterpart and I are going to be training the teachers on how to use a library, how to use resources in general, the importance of literacy and strengthening the Ministry of Educations programs to teach literacy. The problem is always implementation of new ideas and skills. Lots of educating going on but getting teachers to use those skills in their classrooms, to change how they are use to teaching and working is a difficult challenge. Similar to the challenge of getting people to protect themselves from HIV/AIDS. Everyone KNOWS how you get it. It is widely talked about in theory. But making decisions with that information is an entirely different thing.

Everything ties together though. Encouraging literacy will also help kids learn English. I am trying to figure out how to help prepare students for the grade 7 and grade 9 tests that they have to pass to continue school. A big percentage of students do not pass them. It seems the major problem is the test is in English and a lot of students don't read English well enough to take the test properly. So in short: we are working on education all around.

I am looking for contacts for fundraising.

If you know of any organizations, people, etc who are looking for a good cause please let me know.
Also, I would like to get a book on Zambia, written by the pupils in my zone, published as a fundraising device. So if you are, or know of any publishers who want to print these books as a charitable donation - well that would be awesome. I am also interested in people who are willing to print for a very reasonable rate.
If there are girl scout troops and boy scout troops or youth groups who want to take on this library as a project send them my way. Or even if they just want to do a cultural exchange.

My sister and Jacob are designing this building. Based on a regular classroom block but improving it with their architectural/ community planning super powers! It will be affordable but hopefully address some of the environmental and social challenges that buildings face in Zambia.

Women's Group: I am having my first workshop with a women's association in my area. The idea behind a women's group is that they collectively work on businesses to raise money for the group and to create a soft loan pool for members to access when they need some extra help. It is a wonderful idea but often the groups hit an obstacle and stops working. Or the money is mismanaged and disappears.

We are going to discuss the importance of having a club constitution and following the guidelines you agree too, seasonal calendars - supply and demand, action planning, business planning, ideas, cash flow, profit and loss, budgets, and record keeping. Starting in the very basic of terms: as in - you need to keep records of where your money goes because then you know if you are losing money or if making money how much. Etc. I hope it goes well. Not all of them speak English but my co-facilitator speaks Soli. And again- then they would have to be diligent to keep on the records and go through all the tedious steps of planning.

Community Schools: Community schools are amazing. They are community initiated and supported schools when the local government school is too full or far away. There are lots of things to work on here. Right now we are focusing on - again - constitutions: School vision, Mission statements, and policies. Also deciding what their priority issues are and how they want to address them. In the future we will start working on setting up Income Generating Activities to raise money for the school - to help support the mentors who are generally volunteers. In most cases schools stop operating because the mentor is not getting any support and gets discouraged or has to look for ways to support their family elsewhere.

I just attended a workshop put on by a USAID organization. It was a community school teacher training and had sessions on lesson planning, teaching a multi-grade class, health policies, how to approach gender in the classroom etc. And the three teachers who attended from my zone are holding a training for the rest of the teachers at their schools.

Some the community schools in my area are not running right now and for those we will work on identifying a mentor and rallying community support.

The other PCVs in my district and I are also working on systems for the Ministry of Education to register community schools and organize information about them. We are all really excited about this because procedures around here are pretty fluid and changeable. Never standard and never written down. Makes things difficult. Luckily I work with someone who is a good chart maker.
I sometimes am a better idea maker. But I am going to work on my other skills as well.

Gender: I am going to start doing weekly sessions with the HIV/AIDS club. But have not planned much for them. Talking about facts of HIV/AIDS but also life skills.

Agriculture: Not gotten TOO involved in this but have informally and briefly talked to some people about the tick problem that killed alot of cattle in the village. I am not sure what to do about it. There are some dips and vaccines but they cost money. Might just be convincing farmers to sell one cow to save the rest...but that takes some faith that your actions will be effective. Doing more research.
Sidenote: I hate cattle. Because they roam around free, eat my banana trees, eat my soap, poo in my kitchen insaka and run through my clean white laundry. Perhaps the solution to the cattle dying problem is a big bar-b-que. I kid. I want to save the cows.

There are probably other things and some things mentioned here are only good intentions. My big task in planning my work is starting with the basics and being thorough about them. Start at the appropriate level and slowly build. Zambians get eager and in that eagerness don't always plan well. Keli is the same way. She needs to work on this in order to develop as a person and volunteer.

Keli is excited about her work. Keli needs to get going because two years is not a long time. Though sometimes, in some contexts, it feels like it. Keli is going to be so focused and diligent and detailed that effectiveness is a possibility.

I started a compost pile (Happy Birthday Dad!) in preparation for my wee garden to be planted in Nov.

Ratscallion: I'm not a killer I just want things to die

2007-07-15T02:33:00.000-07:00

It is field burning season in Zambia which means that I live within a scorched landscape. And also that the children are digging for field rats to eat.

About a month ago a rat got caught in my squito net but I could not take advantage of the confusion and desperation to kill it. Poor little things was just trying to live.

My aunt sent a KC Star with an article about a Buddhist monastery with a horrible biting ant infestation. Sanctity of life vs. quality of life. One monk tried to vacuum up the aunts before releasing them outside the monastery.

This week I killed 6 rodents of decreasing size, employing the use of a mouse trap. One night I emptied the trap of rodents 3 times. The first rat (I am not sure how long in tooth or tail a rodent need be to deserve the title of rat, but I feel fairly confident in the description) died with a peanut in his mouth and a look of shock upon his face. I felt a bit bad for it.

But then there were still more rats running around. Rats that stole the bait from the trap thrice without dying. Rats that when blocked out of their hole squeak loudly and run about making lots of sleep disrupting noise. There was also a moment on this night when I stood over a cornered mouse with a sharp stick at the ready for several seconds before poking half heartedly in its general direction. No killer instinct to speak of.

Night 3 the strategy progressed. Blocked off the corner where the burrow was and set the trap just inside. On this night a rat was trapped but declined to die, instead thrashed about, squeaking and carrying on. I realized while laying in bed waiting for the end to come that I had not ever killed anything larger than a bug with my own force, and the reluctance had something to do with feeling it a small tragedy that anything need die while frightened. And thought about how feeling bad about things we do is a reflection of some dissonance, but perhaps also a way to avoid full responsibility for that dissonance. So I got up to help the rat die instead of let it continue to suffer in fear. Jabbed it with a stick. I felt a bit sad.

The next morning the little neighbor girl came by with a bag full of field rats. 24 field rats. Every Zambian child can kill a rat.

The rest of the mice were good enough to die in the trap immediately.

Soon I will get a cat to do my dirty work for me. He will enjoy it more than I.
I might name him Garbanzo.

Zambians don't eat the mice in the house, just the one's in the field.
_____________________________________

This week while riding on a back road with my counterpart we came to a cross road and went right. I asked where the road going straight went to and he responded: "ah that one, it goes somewhere other than where we are going." Indeed.

I bought a 1989 American quarter from a street vendor selling various coins. He first asked 10,000K for it ($2.50). I paid 1,000 (aprox. $0.25) I think this is really funny. My friend pointed out that the exchange rate has changed and I actually lost money. Haha.

We just had a session on snakes. The dead snake I passed on the road was a puff adder. I also have seen a hooded black snake in my yard - a cobra. Capable of spitting venom. The Peace Corps advice on snakes: avoid being bitten.

______________________________________

Community entry is over: What have I learned?

Being effective is hard thing to be.
Knowing where to start is a hard thing to know.
2 years seems a short time to get things done.

Directing someone to discover something for themselves is much more difficult than teaching and preaching. I don't know exactly how to do it but I think might have something to do with asking the right questions in the right series, and questioning ideas with enough force to challenge but without enough force to alienate.
Creative thinking helps a lot of things.
I need to learn how to work within the existing Zambian system/culture to push it forward on its own trajectory.
Every decision is a mixed bag. I tell myself that decisions are neither good nor bad - but simply carry consequences. Knowing the full scope of those consequences is hard. And often you have to make decisions before you know what your doing.

I will write about the work I am doing next time. Right now I am all talk. Hoping I am not always all talk.

Notes from the bush

2007-06-16T06:10:00.000-07:00

Lessons learned:

Shortcuts are not shortcuts if you don't know where you are going. They then turn in to back this way and that cuts until you curse the heavens and all of Africa.

If you don't know where you are going do not assume you will be able to find it.

Even if the path you are on is but an ox-cart trail of bent grass through a field that does not mean you are going the wrong way

When going somewhere new, or somewhere you've been before, ask every person you pass if you are still headed towards your destination. Make decisions based on average of answers. Give people who speak english extra weight. Do not include the responses of people who are drunk, look like they have seen a ghost, or who want to marry you.

If someone tells you to just go straight please know that there will be at least 3 forks in the road. Probably 5.

Thinking you know how to fix a flat tire and knowing how to fix a flat tire are different things

Action step #1 for being lost in the bush: put chitenge on as cape. To protect from unplanned sun exposure. And also to make you feel invincible.

Be wary of stopping too quickly because there might be children running behind you that you were unaware of.

___________________

I rode past a dead snake on the path that was about the girth of my arm. It had no head as had been cut off. The small boy running behind me confirmed that it was poisonous. I asked him what type it was and he said "Green."

I would have stopped to take a picture but I was late to meet a man who never showed up. Again.

I don't know why the children of Zambia like to run behind foreigners on bikes but they seem to find it a rare joy. Sometimes you don't know they are there - but only hear the faint but continuous rustle of a plastic bag following you. Bare feet on sand don't make much noise.

I rode my bike for like 6 hours over some small mountains and when I sat down to eat the orange I brought - found that is was in fact the most delicious orange ever grown in the world. Might have fallen from heaven.

Being frustrated, late and tired with a flat tire you tried unsuccessfully to fix can lead to moments of weakness: such as accepting the statement - "let them do it they are boys" and sitting down to chat while the men folk take care of business. I am not proud of it but it happened.

I had another flat tire and fixed without assistance.

Today I have some time so...

2007-05-01T02:40:00.000-07:00

Important: I think one of my projects here is going to be building a library. This project will become more and more organized at which point I will bring it up again and perhaps solicit more direct involvement- however, just to put it out there: If you are interested in collecting donated books ( from churches, libraries, schools etc), just sending a few books to contribute, helping pay for postage for books to be sent, etc., let me know. The US Post office will let you send 66 lbs of books for $10.00 in a M - Bag (Mailer bag: http://pe.usps.gov/text/imm/immicl/immicltz_026.html#NL508_26). So feel free to go ahead a send them. Or wait for the project to take shape and direction. I'm still new here.

_________________________

A few notes from my journal to finish up the last post on community entry:

"Today I spent one million Kwacha on household goods"

"Like navigating without a compass"

"There were moments when I hated today"

"Cell service around here is like a shifting plasma wave"

"I stood in a dark field for five minutes tonight-calling cosmically for someone to text me. They didn't."

"It seems the floor is the worst place for anything when mice are afoot. But that is in fact where everything is..."

"Then some man or monster tried my door. It was locked and I heard no more but still lay frightened in my bed thinking Mrs. Mary Zulu was quite right and in the morning my braiser and hammock would be lifted. Now it is midnight, and still unwilling to unlock my door for fear - I peed in a grocery bag in my hut. I thought about peeing the bath bucket but the thought was unappealing. Should have done - I can say now - since peeing in a plastic bag works even less well than you would think. They do not hold liquid. In fact even three layers of plastic bags do not hold liquid and now I have three different spots on my floor as evidence." (Then I stood holding a leaking bag of pee - still unwilling to open my door and instead threw the whole mess out the window... I'm serious. Nothing was taken and also I was not scared past daylight. I am not worried about my safety- and you shouldn't be worried either. Perhaps my decision making abilities but not safety.)

"I put down cement in the second part of the house today- by myself. It took twice as long as I expected and now my hands are raw and horribly painful in about 20 different spots...I felt wretched about myself when I started. It wasn't going so well and I was cursing myself as the failure of the floor would be a result of all my fatal flows combined: impatience, obstinacy, laziness, carelessness, and dreadful independence when entirely inappropriate. Then I felt like crying. I got better at smearing it around though and decided that perhaps tomorrow instead of hating it as a reminder of my faults and flaws, I would love it as such an accurate imprint of myself."

I got a cat. Her name is Neko: Destroyer of Worlds. I call her Neko. She has destroyed at least two rats. She has certainly left one. For this and her food thieving - I also call her Punk. But she is also a lover. I feed her dried fish and the villagers think it's funny.

Now I've told you everything.
________________

Cultural Notes:

My friend Hannah gets to name a baby. I want to name a baby because they name their children such things as: Boneface, Impervious, Giftness, Loveness, Anxious, Fatness. ( I have met all these people).

If I get to name a child it will be: Truthiness

The list of names I am compiling for Hannah's naming consists of these thus far: Phatness, Impertinence, Onus, Awkwardness, Movius*

Playing: "This is my baby, __________" is just about as fun as "This is my dog, _________" (i.e. Douglas) Sissy knows what I mean. If you want to play make a comment.

*word used in Zambia to mean you move around alot.
_____________

Let me tell you about the Chitenge. The Chitenge is perhaps the most useful item ever invented. I am learning to never leave home without one. Most commonly a chitenge is used as a wrap skirt. In it's most basic form it is but a stretch of cloth. But the chitenge can also be:
A head wrap, a shoulder wrap (Zam Jacket), a baby sling or backpack, a package in which to carry your purchases or a pumpkin perhaps, a ground cloth, a blanket, a towel, a cushion for your head while carrying water, a decorative hip accentuating belt for dancing, a wrap to keep your identical patterned chitenge suit from getting dirty. I often use mine as a sun cape to protect my pearly glean, as well as for a decorative ceiling drape, which was quickly turned into a cat napping hammock.

You can make one to use in America - just cut 2 meters or so of fabric. If you want to be true to the origin - make sure the pattern includes a rooster, the presidents face, or the insignia of whichever religious organization you affiliate with.

Nothing in Africa is Convenient

2007-04-13T01:52:00.000-07:00

So I have been posted for two weeks. My community has very welcoming. I have already met with the women's groups who are ready to start english classes, and the clinic has invited me to teach pre-natal health classes for expectant mothers. However, this time that I know occupy is called community entry - which means I go around and meet people, try to remember names, figure out what resources are available in the village, and try to acclimate to my new life. Thank God for Community Entry. Right now I spend my days trying vain not to get sunburned and being ridiculous. Much of my concern goes into not embarassing myself infront of the villagers- it happens anyway. A lot.
Alright - post in two parts...

feeling so right with the world my heart might explode.

2007-03-25T01:48:00.000-07:00

I am sorry I have not posted in so long - hopefully that will change. I get posted in a week which means moving to my village and seriously starting my time in the Peace Corps- in my village: Lwimba. We got our mountain bikes and they are super fancy. I was a little like whatever but then I rode home and fell in love. Good thing too because I will be biking a lot. I life 40k from my BOMA (closest city outside the village). Also since I last updated I went on Second Site visit- which was a good time to solidify friendships with my amazing fellow trainees. This is when I saw my new home for the first time (look at flickr.com for photos). Also we stayed for several days in PCV's village who is being replaced. Just hung out together and it was awesome. Eric, Charlyle and I climbed a mountain with 6 local children as our guides. Charlyle climbed most of it with out shoes. And on top was such a beautiful view - eventually this too will be on flickr. (BTW climbing the "mountain"- though still strenuous- only took us 20 minutes. ) Last night we had a cultural night with all our home stay families to say thank you. It went off amazingly well. I am totally impressed with our group for getting it all done with not much planning. We made "American" food and my home stay family mentioned to me maybe 6 times that the bar-b-qued chicken was too black.

Ah also interesting news: at the beginning of the week I had a bad rash on my arms and didn't really know what it was from. Two of my friends had similar rashes from caterpillars but I had not seen any caterpillars any where near me. The next day my rash was worse and spread to my torso and legs. So I eventually decided my towel was somehow involved and washed it. Then my Bama asked if I had looked around my house for caterpillars...oh good idea Bama - lets go look. Sure enough behind my laundry bag- where I hang my towel- a cocooned, evil little Caterpillar. Bama got rid of it and washed my bag. The rash is slowly getting better now that I am not rubbing catepillar toxins all over myself everyday. Funny. And had Bama NOT suggested looking I would have continued for who knows how long. Ah Zambia. This seriously has been the worse itch since chicken pox.

Whatelse whatelse: I ate chicken heads. Or at least part of chicken head. Once I saw the little eye sacks I had to put it down. My policy is pretty much eat what is put in front of you. Generally it is good. Some things go down a little thick. I don't eat the kapenta (anchovies) but my family understands that I don't like the eyes to look at me - I think the Peace Corps might have told them that.

My Bama made a clay pot the other day to give me - a traditional African pot made from the ant hill clay. It is awesome. I can't wait to try it myself.

I am tired of training but very happy with my friends. After this next week who knows when we will see each other again. My nearest neighbor is like 100k away. Now starts the long days of village life - carrying water, cooking on a fire, sitting sitting sitting. and napping whenever I want.

please please write me letters.

Love Keli

Take it easy

2007-02-18T05:25:00.000-08:00

Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.

There is so much to say- where to begin and how to fit it all in.

I spend my days in class, first language (Soli) from 8-12:30 and then Tech training from 2-5. tech training to learn how to do sustainable capacity building. Both are enjoyable at times - the whole affair is exhausting. We are staying with homestay families. Mine is the Mbele family and I love them. Paul, Beauty and their kin: Willy Copolo, Ander Soni (whom I called Anderson for the first week), Rogers (said Logers), Mary, Oswa (Joshua?) and little Lakelo, plus an ever increasing string of extended Mbeles. They are very patient with me and Bama Mbele is good about making me pronounce things correctly. Left to my own choices the emphasis is always wrong. She also encourages me to iron my clothes and insists she clean my dirty trousers, while I stick to the easier items like t-shirts which need less attention. Hand washing your clothes is a skill to acquire - like aim in the pit latrine. Beauty is also pretty intent on teaching me to dance like a Zambian as well. Probably so I can marry a Zambian. Luckily Ndandanga Kushana (I like/love/need to dance)(though sometimes what you really need is to shake shake it like an american). Anywho, I love them and am happy and comfortable - but living is a bit exhausting. Because communication is always a charade, and a guessing game, and a lot of me not knowing what is going on. Though learning a language that is immediately applicable is fun.

The other exhausting component is the swarm of conflicting thoughts that are swirling around you at any given time. Last Sunday was the first day I felt really weary and it was because - in the span of a few hours i felt 1) embarrassed about the amount of clothes/ possessions I had 2) like I wanted to shower my family with gifts to show my gratitude 3) indignant that people were coming to ask for gifts. And there is nothing really to do about it accept let them all swish around inside you for a while and then take a warm bucket bath. Bathing outside with warm water, I have found is my cure all. That or quietly rocking out. Though I think the "quietly rocking out" is why later that day someone asked me if I knew karate...

You might be pleased to hear that I am actually very comfortable. Once you let go of a few things it is easy to be comfortable. I do have moments when I feel overwhelmed, but they pass and then I come home and Bama presents me with two pieces of bubble gum and orange crush as gifts, and those taste a lot like love.

Anyway running out of time. When I return in two years I may be nothing more than a pile of freckles in rough human form. Please try to love me as such, though I understand the challenge.

Robots = street lights

Chamkumbete chakumbetuka is a song they sing at significant life events, meaning "what was folded is now unfolded"

please send me mail. if you want more details write to me and I promise an enthusiastic reply

C/o Peace Corps, P.O. Box 50707 Lusaka Zambia Africa

I might also like to receive these:
-news about you
-news
-Page of some simple yoga routine
-Cds
-Southern hemisphere constellations
-simple recipes (chili, butternut squash soup, etc. I forgot to do this before I left)
-crystal light -individual packets
-origami paper and the booklet of instructions
-instructions on neat knots
-anything else that is flat and light
-Peanut butter m&ms

Things are pretty amazing if you let them be.

Oh dear there is more to tell but no time! Write me a letter and I will share my secrets!
LOVE Keli

in country

2007-01-28T03:10:00.000-08:00

This is going to have to be a quick post. I think in the future I will write what I want to say before and then just type it. I am in Zambia and it is really a beautiful country. We chose languages yesterday and I chose Soli - which means that I will be living somewhere in the Lusaka Provence. This is in the middle of the country - closest to Lusaka of all the provences - and we are the first volunteers to ever be there. Which has some pressure but could also be really exciting. Apparently the community is really eager to have us come. So far we have just been doing more training and paperwork etc. But tomorrow we go out for a week long site visit (2 day car ride) so we will get to see how other volunteers live and more of the country. I am so excited to see the Northwestern provence! I don't know what else to say - so far everything has been great. I love my training group. I really like my program (called RED -Rural Education Development now instead of LTM) . And I really like Zambia. You all should come because it is so beautiful!

This is kind of a boring post. Next time I will be more prepared with funny stories and specific instances of cultural differences.

We have all noticed the very subtle differences between us trainees and the long term volunteers. We are all excited to be more like them in a couple years.

Oh and I DID find my camera! the cab driver was a friend of an employee of the hotel so after several phone calls the drive got in touch with me. Unfortunately by that time we were already on our way to Dulles - Do I paid the driver to bring the camera out to me. It was an expensive! cab ride but still george from Eritrea is my hero. also Manny at Holiday Inn.

I am not spell checking so get over it.

im off.

2007-01-23T18:43:00.000-08:00

I leave for Zambia tomorrow and apparently will not have internet access for a while and when I do it will be infrequent. So - I like my group. I am excited about Zambia - more now than before staging. AND my appreciation for the peace corps has incresed since staging. Next time I have a chance I will put up a disclaimer about my opinions not reflecting the US Gov. nor the peace corps but until that time - please know that these are my opinions only and no reflection of the US Gov. nor the Peace Corps/. Also - looks like I lost my camera. Haven't left the country yet...sigh.

Your friend,
Keli

I like to list things

2007-01-21T08:16:00.000-08:00

I would like to bring several things to your attention:

1) This little flashy picture box to the right is a link to pictures - right now you may view some photos of me in Australia, or of my new hair cut, etc. In the future this will be where you will find pictures of Zambia.

2)Check out the link to my friend Alice's page on the right. She has a pretty voice.

3) The adventure starts tomorrow (Monday)

4) I have wonderful friends and a very loving and supportive family. Makes me want to be a better friend or family member. This is perhaps the most important of the four items.

jiao ji

2007-01-09T19:36:00.000-08:00

I got a fortune cookie tonight that said "A visit to a strange place will bring you renewed perspective" and then had the chinese pronunciation for"anxious" on the back. Fortune cookie, how do you know me so well?

I leave on Jan 22nd

2007-01-04T22:28:00.000-08:00

Things That I know keep me happy:
1) Consistent physical exertion
2) A Schedule - however flexible
3) Goals with enduring excitement
4) Something to think about
5) Music
6) Good books
7) Enough rest
8) An outlet for creativity
9) A listener for my trivial thoughts (haha that's YOU!)

Things I plan to do in my free time in Zambia:
1) Improve my mind through reading
2) Improve my powers of synthesis through writing
3) Improve my ability to play the harmonica by learning anything on the harmonica
4) Improve my determination by running in jungliest Africa
5) Improve my seeing eye by photographing
6) Test my resolve for self-discipline
7) Be friendly to my neighbors and practice looking people in the eye
8) Play cards
9) Maybe grow a garden
10) Probably sculpt things out of mud
11) Raise a baby elephant

Of course these are just my ideas. Zambia might have some better suggestions too.

ROAR!!!!!!

2006-12-11T11:34:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I felt like I needed to post something but all I really had to say was "Oy-I'm full".

Today however I do have something to say: My iPod got erased and I hate the world.

That was 15GB of music and uncounted hours of my time.

This would not be such a big deal if all my music was easily stored on one computer - this is not at all the case. I feel a little like vomiting.

Oh GOOD my 10 easily replaceable photos are still on there - thank heavens not EVERYTHING was deleted against my will.

Luckily I am mercifully unemployed so I can now dedicate all of my remaining time in the states to ripping cds and repurchasing lost music.

New Rule

2006-11-28T08:39:00.000-08:00

Sara* is a medical student and so we often discuss the many and varied infectious diseases and types of worms available in Zambia. Last night this conversation inspired the idea of a HAZMAT suit as another item to consider for the suitcase (Alan could I get one of those faulty SanFran suits? I can put duct tape over the parts that have lost their integrity). Now imagine Keli in a yellow HAZMAT suit in Africa, peering out through her square plastic face mask, waving a plastic suited hand and saying, "Hello villagers! I am your new neighbor, I want to integrate myself into you community!" Rubbing the condensation away with her nose. Hugging her new friends with a cheek pressed against the plastic. Quickly hurrying back to her hut to rinse off with iodine. Ah it was good for a laugh at least.

But now the new rule is no imaging myself in Zambia. Not unless it is something outrageous or impossible. Like going over Victoria Falls in a barrel. Or bringing up a baby elephant as my own. That will of course continue. But no pre-conceived ideas about what life will be like. No half-baked plans about how to save the village from poverty, or Zambia from AIDS, or the world from evil. I will figure out those things when I get there. For now I will meditate on the idea that I need to keep my goals manageable, my theories inductive, and my methods ever reevaluated.

And no more reading other PCV blogs. Though in doing so I realized that Zambia is not on the moon and this is not an unblazed trail of unseen wonders. This might not have occurred to you either, but I am NOT the first volunteer to adventure into the heart of Africa. Truly! It's been done before! So I will probably tell you all about the exact same things they told their friends - the texture of roasted bugs, the details of getting violently ill, dealing with boredom, exactly how long I have been sweating, and the progress I have made on my little home improvements to keep the rain/mud/bugs/snakes out of my bed. Please act surprised when I do tell you these things cause it will probably feel like the first time it has ever happened - even if it's not.

*Sara also suggested a vile of battery acid carried around the neck and a long bladed diving knife strapped to the calf as further safety precautions. She has been really helpful.

Ol' Cottonmouth

2006-11-20T18:29:00.000-08:00

I have had two dreams involving venomous snakes. Two dreams involving me having to kill venomous snakes (snakes a la the horror of Snakes On a Plane if you've seen it). Both times I awoke thinking "this is what Zambia is going to be like." Of course it isn't. You can avoid snakes. And moreover- I am really not that scared of snakes. I mean beyond a healthy startle and hesitancy that is only natural. I think perhaps these snakes should be read - in a more general context - as unnamed fears of Zambia. So I will list out my snakes one by one, draining them of the venom that makes them impossible to live with.
In no particular order:

1) Living in Misery
2) Living in Boredom
3) Living in Fear
4) Living with Loneliness
5) Confirmation of all my greatest shortcomings
6) Wasting two years of my life with nothing better off
7) Unwittingly contributing to a system of evil
8) Life continuing elsewhere without me
9) Dying or worse.

There we go - nothing but little garden snakes in the grass.
And of course if I DO get bit by a real snake – not a dream snake – at least I HAVE seen Snakes on a Plane and thus know how to suck the venom out of a bite. Olive oil is the secret –coats the mouth. And if no knife is available to open the wound – use your trendy dangly earrings that happen to have a razor sharp point.

I also have two questions for the general public:
1) How do you encourage economic development without encouraging rampant and careless consumerism? Can everyone be employed doing useful things or are the people who design, market, make, deliver, and sell Bling Bling Barbie Head inevitable in a successful, booming economy such as ours?

I have over 100 troll dolls - from my mall shopping days in middle school. Yes - over.100.troll.dolls. The astronaut was my favorite. It had the most elaborate costume. No- wait: the alien. Elaborate silver costume AND it had green skin.

So second question:
2) How do you change your ways? For instance - How do you penetrate my psyche deeply enough to change my daily decisions? Cause knowledge is not the same as application. And I still love useless cheap crap – though I buy it less often.
Another example from a NYTIMES magazine article - How do you convince people to use condoms when they know all the facts and still don't? One answer is apparently marketing it as a fad rather than a health concern. A lifestyle choice. Eat it up kids - condoms are coool. Not dying of AIDS is cool.

My kids are getting mud and sticks to play with. Maybe a wood block if they prove to be especially creative with the mud and sticks. And condoms. Of course condoms. I wouldn't want them to be uncool.

Oh I am glib - in the lots to say with nothing to say kind of way.

I feel a little weird.

2006-11-15T17:22:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning I might have said I hate surfing. Actually I did in fact say "I don't like surfing very much." But that was before my intermediate lesson, which had ideal surfing conditions. It was grand and left me with feelings about surfing that are luke warm enough to induce me to it again sometime. Once you learn a few tricks you can control what the waves do to you a little better. Not that they are fun tricks, just limited expected discomfort rather than varying unexpected discomfort.

The fun of most things come when you have developed some skill and the effort is more fluid and not so much a struggle. I dislike struggle - which may mean I will never truly accomplish anything. But for now I will not dwell on it.

I leave Australia tomorrow. Going back homes means starting to the think of Zambia as a quickly approaching reality. eck.

The Ocean is Ferocious Beast

2006-11-08T04:05:00.000-08:00

I had my first day of surfing today. Harder than it looks. and I didn't love it. Though I am holding final judgement until I have as much success as failure. I cannot say that I discovered I disliked surfing but rather that I discovered I dislike being pommeled by waves. The ocean is so powerful - each time I started out towards the breaking water I kept thinking how futile it is to fight a wave. How foolish I am to do anything other than what the ocean wants. And it seems the ocean wants to kill me. Roll me around it its salt-water mouth, slap my board into my face, instil a sense of panic and disorientation, and then spit me out waterlogged and cursing onto the beach. With any luck on a collection of beached blue bottle jellies to boot. I felt like a duck out of water, or perhaps more appropriately, like a Kansan in the ocean. What an impediment it turns out to have grown up in a land locked state. The only other time I can remember swimming with serious ocean waves, I was 6, in Florida, and once one went over my head and I spent the rest of the day looking for hidden treasure in the sand.

But as I think about surfing, and inevitably about how my reaction to it reflects my deep-set flaws and shortcomings, I have decided to push on. Pony up.

As I said to Jacob's dad - I need to figure out how to not fight the waves. Learn instead to intermingle my fate with the waves' so as to share in a common destiny.

I don't know what that means really - but it sounds very Zen.

Plus I need to paddle harder.
It only sucks because I am doing it wrong.

The ocean is a magical place

2006-10-30T18:40:00.000-08:00

Full of odd things.
I know because I have recently seen the evidence.
Did you know that starfish bring their stomachs to their mouths to digest things?
Did you know that sea turtles practice nesting before they actually lay the eggs?
Or that there is a cone snail that can kill you with a venomous harpoon?
Manta rays can get up to 18 feet across - can you even imagine a manta ray that big? And if the ocean generates whales, and giant mantas, and giant turtles, and giant squid, maybe there are also giant starfish, and giant seahorses. Wouldn't that be neat?

Anyway I think the ocean is grand. Recently back from the Great Barrier Reef. I saw sea turtles crawling up on shore to flap around a bit before heading back in. They are with eggs currently but not laying just yet. The shorelines were covered in rays (though not giant) and reef sharks, the reef was covered with squiggly lipped clams and coral with bits of glowing color. I am glowing red on the backside- and everytime I feel a bit of burn I am reminded of my own unexplainable negligence.
I think this might be called the snorklers burn.

i heart australia - or i plan to at least

2006-10-19T20:58:00.000-07:00

San Francisco gave me shin aches and a working knowledge of bicycle repair. Well, to be fair, it was more of Alan then San Fran that gifted me the bike knowledge. Now I am sufficiently prepared to blunder my way through a bike related crisis. Did you know that the spokes can be adjusted and are actually rather important? I didn't know it before. I think I never thought of their reason past decorative.

Anyhow Australia is grand - though I have been here for maybe 7 hours and am experiencing it through the haze of the under rested. I knew this was my kind of place when I learned how much they make up funny names for things. And reading Bill Bryson's travel book on the place only fuels my fondness because really the place is so absurd and has always been so.

Fly Qantas - they give you hot towels and goodie bags. Since I have been in Australia I tried to get the phrase "nibbliees" to catch on for what some call "snacks." No success thus far.

oy I'm tired.

editing suggestiong courtesy of carolyn c campbell

I am officially in unofficial training for the Peace Corps.

2006-10-07T14:26:00.000-07:00

This self-conscripted training consists mainly of eating things that have fallen on the floor, breaking in my pricey walking sandals, and filling out forms. When I fall asleep at night I try to imagine that I have only a straw roof above my head and honestly it at first felt more like being on a raft in the middle of the ocean. But then Rose and I slept out with only the stars to cover us and now I feel more willing to embrace my self as a child of the wild.

Keli: And really how many people get to live in a hut?... well I guess all those Africans do...
Lex: Yeah, nobody. Except all those millions of Africans.

Anyway, I am also picking up all sorts of other lessons for my bag of tricks. For Instance: in Vermont I learned that when traveling by bike with groceries - it is NOT wise to hold the bag near the front wheel less you want your flour and sugar spilt all over the parking lot. By way of Rose I know that many odd things taste good in pie form, so perhaps do not immediately rule out mince mice meat as a favorite. I encountered a snake on my run and effectively charmed it into submission by not bothering it. I have discovered how my nimble little fingers can shimmy up a rock wall if by chance an angry rhino has cornered me against a bluff. I know how to shoot a .22, and am prepared to defend myself in case an empty coffee cup ever threatens me. Supposing of course there is a handy .22 around. And when I get back from Australia I will be able to surf and punch a kangaroo in the face, so THAT will be taken care of. Hopefully I will not know how to punch a great white shark in the face.

Keli: Oh look an African Market! I should go stand in there. You know, to get acquainted.
Ty: Make sure you stand in the Southern part of the store.

Plus all my wonderful friends are supplying me with book lists, or music lists, or items-to-take-to-Africa lists, or oodles of cds, or bike fixing tips, or news that the plague actually has a vaccine and treatment, or contacts in or around or recently back from Zambia, or well wishes and encouragement, which are as good as diamonds.

Several people asked if I am excited and yes I am. I asked for Africa. I have heard/read only good things about the program I will be working with: Learning at Taonga Market, which is overseen by the Ministry of Education. It is learning through interactive radio programs to make education more accessible to remote villagers. There is also a scarcity of trained teachers due to AIDS. My job will not be teaching but helping to coordinate this program in a certain area. I have heard from a Peace Corps volunteer recently returned from Zambia that this is a wonderful place to be a volunteer. This assignment fits my qualifications and I will be able to work with children without teaching them directly. Which is really what I wanted. And if I love what I am doing I think it will not matter so much that I have other neglected comforts.

I will probably love living in a hut. Living in a hut will be good for me. And not being a little baby might not be so bad for me either.

I suppose what apprehensions I have about the living conditions come mainly from a deep-seated question about my own resolve - because I often choose not to run up hills. But I give myself too little credit for being adaptable. I am more likely to laugh than cry. And maybe Zambia will teach me to love the hill, as Rose says, even when I hate the hill.

Or PERHAPS Zambia will tell me that walking up the hill still gets you up the hill. So shut up.

Who knows. Wonders will unfold. There is no way to prepare.

If I leave here tomorrow,

2006-09-26T08:46:00.000-07:00

will you still remember me.

**Zambia**
"A chirping and bellowing slice of jungliest Africa"

I had to look it up too. Because who knows anything about Zambia? Well let me tell you a little bit about it. Neighboring Zimbabwe, The Republic of Congo, Angola, Tanzania, Namibia, and Mozambique. It is one of the poorest countries in the world. 86% of the population lives under the poverty line, 50% are unemployed. 6.99% of the land is arable and yet 85% of the labor force is agricultural? Copper rich country with privately owned mines - some of which are owned by the Chinese. Government is republic, temperature is tropical and moderate. 109 airports, 10 airports with paved runways. 91,440 km of roadways, of which 20, 117 km are paved. I get a mountain bike. I may live in a grass hut. 17% of the population has HIV and the Plague is listed as a health risk. I am not entirely happy about the grass hut.

Thus I will live for two years, free as a bird. For I must be traveling on, now, cause theres too many places Ive got to see.

You might be wondering how I am feeling about such an assignment? Well I can't really tell you. I am a bit shocked. Once I stop thinking about the physical discomforts that await me - the possibility of getting the plague, or worse - not having a place to plug my iPod into, then I start to see abject poverty, high HIV rates, strong incidence of young girls contracting AIDS from older men as just a lot to take care of. Apparently I will be working on a radio education campaign to get the knowledge out. Honestly it will be a bit of an adjustment but what are we if not adaptable.

And now I just need to remember to keep my dreams within the scope of possible success.

But here is what I ask of you, dear friends and family:
I leave in January of 2007 and from this point to then I will be collecting music and books to consider for my suitcase. Send me the name of your favorite book, or Cd, or even better - a playlist that I can download and put on my probably unusable iPod with your name attached to it.
Also if you have any resources about Zambia, HIV education, education in general, how to fix radios, how to start a women's collective, where to sell goods from a women's collective, small business loan pools, how to not be useless doing aid work, thatching grass roofs, warding off the black death, or repairing a mountain bike- let me know so I can call upon you later.
I plan to use this blog not only to update about my life and progress but also to post things that I need to know and don't know.
And actually I have no idea what I will need to know.
But I feel I should start collecting some skills and pronto. Because I doubt collage-ing will be of much use.

Anyway,
Keli