2 Months in the Vil: Part II

     By the beginning of my second week in the village, I was starting to settle in and get a routine going. My closest Peace Corps neighbor, David, and his girlfriend Colleen who is posted on the other side of our district, came and sought out my hut. This was also the first day that it rained, so I really enjoyed seeing some American volunteers, and sitting with them in my hut watching the lightning and listening to the thunder and rain outside my door. Now, David and I hang out a few times a week, try to coordinate projects together (He is a AgroForestry/Land Conservation Volunteer), and visit each others villages to have meals together. Colleen is moving in with David, so they both come out to my village every Saturday and do tree nurseries while teaching my village, and we have dinner together.

     I began going on evening runs, always around 5 pm because dusk is the golden hour. It's not too hot, and I get to watch the sun begin to set as I'm running through gorgeous terrain. I run on bush paths, which are trails that connect different villages and a small dirt road. A lot of my trails are sand, sometimes the path goes down to a river and is flooded a bit. Sometimes I'm running through grass, sometimes corn, sometimes under a corridor of large trees. I run past massive gardens, rivers and ponds. Goats, pigs, chickens, cows, and children get in my ways. Everyone outside their huts waves and smiles at me and calls my name as I run by. "Yebo!" I reply, which means yes, okay, or fine, according to my language book, but here it is also used as a quick sort of "Hey!" instead of having to stop and shake hands with everyone. Some times the little old grandmas try jogging a few steps to give me a high five and laugh, so I'm often slowing down. As I run by people and they ask me what I'm doing (Zambians don't understand the idea of running for fun or exercise), I say "Chimbira ya ine! Run with me!" and motion them along. They think it's funny, and I enjoy it, especially when I have a tail of 50 children following me. That means I just got those 50 children to run 2 miles.

     On my 10th day in the village, Prince knocked on my door early in the morning. "Pack up all of your things, you have to move out," he said. Then, he ran off. I had just finished unpacking! I tried to find him to ask him to explain, when he popped up out of nowhere and started taking all my things out of my hut. Finally, he told me that people were coming to spray, and as I glanced around my village, I noticed everyone else had moved all of their things out, though their piles were a lot smaller than mine. Even though they saw me move in, I still felt guilty about how much I had. A canter truck pulled up and two men got out, wearing all white hazmat suits, with ghostbuster tanks on their backs. They were here to do IRS- Indoor Residual Spraying, a service that the government provides for free which sprays chemicals in peoples huts to kill mosquitos (and other bugs). They sprayed all of our walls and roofs, but we had to keep the doors closed and stay outside for over an hour before moving back in. I went and grabbed my nail polish, and started painting the babies fingers and toes, and had lunch (sima and potatoes) with the village women.
   
     I've started helping out at my clinic after I observed there a few times. I realize I haven't written much about my job, or what it really entails. The beauty of Peace Corps is that I'm my own boss. I'm the one that's out here, in my village all alone, seeing how the people are living, seeing what they really need. I'm supposed to be the link between the people of my catchment area and the Ministry of Health, which is a segment of the Zambian Government responsible for health. Since I go into the BOMA about once a week, I can relate issues from my clinic to the District Health Office there, or hitch into my provincial capital and meet with the Prov Health Office.
    There are 3-4 main topics that I work under as a PCV. HIV/AIDs Education and Prevention, Malaria Education and Prevention, and Neonatal, Maternal and Child Health. So far, the one I'm doing the most work with is the latter. Every Tuesday and Friday at my clinic are Ante-Natal days. On Tuesdays, we do bookings for new mothers. This means all these pregger women sit on our stoop and I call them into an office one at a time, and fill out their registration card. I butcher their names, village names, and husbands names when I try to write & spell whatever they tell me. Most of them have never been to school or dropped out at a young age (so they could get married and start having babies), so I have to speak to all of them in Tumbuka, and I don't understand half of what they say. When I ask them how to spell their names they look at me like I'm crazy, because there's no way they know how to spell their own name. I ask them when they last had their period, and for some reason, about 90% of them tell me August. So I add 9 months and 7 days to whatever date they give me, and write that as a tentative delivery date. I also have to ask them how many children they currently have, and what years they were born. The women never know the dates, they just tell me how old they think their child is and I subtract the years. It's always astonishing to me when women who are in their 40's are registering with me to have their 7th or 8th baby. No bueno. But it's even more astonishing when I have a 16 year old sitting in front of me telling me this is her 3rd child. Also no bueno. The next question, which is always a difficult one for me to ask because I don't know how to respond, is how many of their children are alive, and how many have died. From that, I have to find out if it was a still birth, or if the child died after being born, and what year that was. Always a tough one. Then I weigh them, hand them a mosquito net to sleep under (which they will probably never do) and send them back out to the porch to wait. Once I've booked all the new mothers, we call them in one-by-one again to do an HIV test, get iron supplements, tetanus shots, and malaria prophylaxis if they're in their 2nd trimester. The HIV test is a simple finger prick, drop of blood onto an RDT, and it gives results within 10 minutes. So far, of the 37 women and 3 men I've tested, no one has tested positive. After I call them in and watch their faces change from anxiety to happiness as I reveal their test results to them, we have them lay down on a bed for a pelvic exam. This is the part where I'm still observing with a midwife. I've been feeling the masses, using only hands and knowledge to determine how far along a woman is and in what position the baby is in. After that, we tell them when they should next come for a visit, and send them on their merry little ways.
    Once a month my clinic does Under 5's, which is a time for all the mothers to bring their children under 5 years old in to the clinic for weighing and tracking, as well as shots. We have a sling which is more or less attached to a hanging grocery veg/fruit scale, and we hang that from a strong branch under a large tree. One by one the babies are placed, screaming and crying, into the sling while I record the weight that I read. I record this on a card that every mother should have, that tracks the childs growth every month, and shows whether they are malnourished or not. The children that are underweight, severely, slightly, or on the decline, I refer their mothers to another clinic worker to learn about proper feeding and nutrition, which I will eventually be lecturing them on. Sometimes, the moms have lost their childs card, so they hand me an empty composition book, which I then have to fill out with the childs name and age. This is the tricky part. 1st off, again, mothers rarely know when their child was born. 2nd of all, they give their children weird ass names. I know a Bornface, Ason (a son...), Alone, Lasson (last one), and other funky things. There are kids named Memory, or Mountain, or Blessing, or even Obama or Barrack. And sometimes I ask a mother their baby's name and all I get is silence and a dumbfounded look. These are the times that, when they don't know their own childs name or I can't understand what the heck they are saying, I write "Emily" or something simple like that :) When I leave, there are going to be so many kids with easy American names.
     Somedays I go into the clinic and all thats going on is medication dispensing. As a PCV, I am not allowed to dispense medication, but I sit with my pharmacist, learn about the different drugs they have and uses, and do pill inventory for them. It seems like my clinics answer to mostly everything is Coartem, which is used to treat Malaria. I know malaria is a huge problem in my area, but there is not really any hard evidence of that. This is what it looks like when I go to my clinic: ~60 men, women, and children sitting on the cement benches right outside the clinic door. My coworker has collected all of their books, and is calling them in one at a time. She calls someone in, they sit in a chair next to their desk. "Suzga vici? What is the problem?" She asks. "Nalwala nthumbo, na mutu. I'm sick in the stomach and head." She writes out the prescription for malaria in their book, and hands them malaria medication. Almost every single person is the same deal. They get different dosages for different ages/weights, but there is never a malaria test done to see if thats what the person is actually suffering from. And they never see a doctor or are examined. They're in, and they're out, and everything is completely free for them. We keep a tally of how much and of what medication we dispence, and that's probably why our clinic reports such high malaria rates. Not only is this a problem because the Zambian government won't always be able to offer free health care if they run out of funding, but also because people aren't learning anything from this process, nor are they bettering their lives. If half of the people that are given mosquito nets actually use them to sleep under, or have their children sleep under them, we would see a huge decline in the incidence of malaria, of child mortality, and we would have more drugs to offer the people who really need them for real reasons. But... it's Zambia.
    So far, that's all that I really do with my clinic. I should be attending more meetings, but I'm either gone or not informed of when they are happening, and in the beginning there's not much I can teach about because I'm still getting the feel of how they do things. This is where I feel like I'm not doing a lot. And to be honest, a lot of the time I really feel like I have nothing to offer them. They are set in their ways, they've got a working routine, and I've never experienced hospitals in a 3rd world country so I don't feel like it's my job to come in and change everything. But it sort of is my job. Either way, I love the people that work at my clinic, and enjoy just going in and sitting with them and watching them work.
     One day I was doing Ante-Natals, and when I finished the booking of new mothers, someone went to cook food. They always provide lunch for us when we're working there the entire day, usually just some sima and a relish such as rape, cabbage, or kapenta. When I had arrived at the clinic that morning to do Ante-Natals, I noticed that there was a government cruiser out front and some people sitting under the tree where we usually hold community meetings. I went and introduced myself to the team that was there from Chipata, they were with the Zambia National Blood Transfusion Service, and said that they were there collecting blood donations. I talked with them for a while (it's always nice when people speak English, plus I'm trying to network with as many people and health organizations here as possible), exchanged numbers, then told them I would find them later as my pregger women were waiting for me. After the booking was finished and I was waiting for lunch, the ZNBTS came and got me to say they were taking off to other villages. They were traveling around to villages in my catchment area, villages that I had not yet visited, so I hopped in the cruiser along with them to go out and meet and greet. In the first village we got to, Samuelli, kids started running after the cruiser once they saw a muzungu in the back seat. We were swarmed with people immediately, a much larger turnout than they probably would have had if I wasn't there with them. Everyone wants to see the white person. There was a woman who wanted me to see her house, so I went off walking with her further into the village, to sit on a couch in her living room for a few minutes with her. Zambians love to have you see the inside of their huts if they have the littlest amount of money to decorate with. I sat there and she brought out a big bowl of groundnuts (peanuts) and handed them to me, then said she wanted me to meet her friend. We ventured further into the village, until I heard loud music coming from some speakers inside a hut at the end of a trail. As I stepped inside, the entire place was filled with women and children dancing, and there was barely any room to maneuver, but they fit me inside. Women fold and tie their chitenges up a certain way around their waist so that when they dance with their hips, it's exaggerated with the extra padding there. They tied one around my waist, and everyone gathered around to watch and laugh at me dancing. I always say "Nili bvina yaya, ndine tuba ya ndine soni! I cannot dance, I am white, and I am shy!" to which they tell me not to be shy. Zambians don't judge you at all, they just think it's great that a white woman is in their house, dancing (or trying to, at least) how they dance. After getting nice and sweaty, I sat on the couch and they served me some munkoyo, which is a village drink that they make out of maize, bark, water, and sugar, that they sometimes let ferment for a few days. I chugged mine down, as it's an acquired taste and I'm now getting used to drinking it (the first time I had it when I had just arrived in Zambia, it tasted like licking a cigarette ash tray). After that, I went back to the tree where we had set up the blood drive, but not without first stopping back at the first womans hut and stuffing all the peanuts from the bowl into my sweat pants pockets. She really wanted me to have them. As I returned, the ZNBTS staff informed me that no one was offering to give blood, and asked if I would as an example. Of course I said sure. Blood is blood and people need it everywhere in the world. If America never takes my blood again because I've served in Africa, then so be it, but it's not going to stop me from helping people where and when I can.
    I sat there on a reed mat under the tree in the dirt, they swabbed off my forearm with alcohol, then slid the needle into my vein. A little of my blood squirted out, which made the Zambians wince. They were also surprised to see how green and visible my veins were through my white skin. As the bag was filling with blood, I thought back to the lunch that I was about to sit down and eat before I jumped in their cruiser, and realized I hadn't eaten anything yet that day. It was 3pm. It took less than 3 minutes to fill up the bag, but as she started sliding the needle out of my arm and giving me cotton to clot the blood, I started feeling light headed. Then my hearing started to get fuzzy, as did my vision, and I told the nurse I needed to lie down for a second. Regardless of my not having eaten, this is a normal reaction anyways. And this isn't the Red Cross, there aren't fancy beds with blankets to lay back in while your blood is being taken, there are no cute little snack areas to hang out in until you're better. I laid back while they got me a softie, and from just laying flat for a few seconds and taking a sip of Fanta, I felt instantly better. However, the Zambians having seen this did not feel better about giving blood. I was supposed to inspire them, and instead I think I hindered it. I sat around making faces with all the children for a good 30 minutes, then people started to finally brave up and donate. We collected about 30 bags of blood between 2 different villages. But that's my experience with giving blood here. No squeeze balls, no gloves, no interviews prior or discrimination or waivers.

Zambia National Blood Transfusion Service

Blood Donations

Making faces at kids making faces at me.

     Other things that have occurred over the last two months are, but are not limited to: teaching sign language to my village kids, learning to cook traditional Zambian food with my village women, playing soccer every day with someone, personally giving shots to my kitten to treat him for worms (the vet in town just gives me the shot and the bottle of medicine to take back to my hut and measure out and administer myself!), visiting the basic school and the community schools around me to observe and teach, getting a new roof for my hut... 3 times, planting a ton of trees all around my hut, growing and then killing herbs because I'm a horrible gardener, attending funerals in many different villages, painting my hut and the kids hands, doing a radio show, staking fish ponds, teaching about hygiene, making mango jam and mango wine, doing fertility dances with women, hitch hiking or biking everywhere, talking about health to anyone who will listen, discovering all the cool things I can cook over a brazier, and reading a crap ton of books. And by crap ton, I mean I've read 14 books in the last 2 months.

(L-R) Jonesi (host brother), Moniqua, Daphu, Alfredi (host brother)

Jones is always in my hut, I dress him in all my clothes and accessories- he's sporting my head lamp in this picture- and him and Moniqua are my little 3 y/o buddies. Moniqua is sick, so she always comes and eats with me, and I make sure she gets enough protein. Once or twice a week I make something for  all my village kids, usually it's popcorn. This was popcorn breakfast day. 

So one day, I took my soccer ball to a village next to mine that has a soccer field. My village kids and I usually play just outside my hut, and use bricks as small goal posts, so I thought it would be cool to go play on a huge field at the school, and that there also might be a few kids there so we could get a good sized game there. I underestimated the "few" kids that we'd find. Before I even got to the field, I had a tail of kids behind me. Then kids started popping up out of everywhere! The village grapevine travels at the speed of light, apparently, and kids were dropping out of trees, coming up out of bushes, and pouring out of little mud buildings running towards me. I quickly had upwards of 100 kids, and only 1 soccer ball. AND I had promised a group of girls we'd be playing soccer, but there were too many boys around to exclude them. I had no idea what to do, and my Tumbuka is definitely not developed enough for this situation, so I let the older kids take the ball to the other end of the field and I stood there surrounded, just staring all of them. A few of them had Zammade soccer balls- sand wrapped in plastic bags tied with bark from a tree, so I started kicking those around and running all over the fields with the kids. Then I tried explaining how to play tag to them, but they just thought I was telling them to run. So they all took off and ran a lap around the track, then back to me. I remembered that Zamkids copy everything I do, so I was like "Okay, perfect time to do some soccer training through running endurance." The kids that had returned from the initial lap stood there panting and coughing up their lungs, which really bothered me. There is no reason for children this young to be that tired from one small lap, which is a result of no physical activity in the schools, and poor lungs from all of the field burning, indoor fires, and inhaling of dust that Zambians do. I'll bet if they were to do a bunch of lung exams in the villages here, they'd find a lot of lung cancer. SO, I started running around the track and sure enough, all of the kids followed behind me. I did side step, karaoke, lunges, jumping jacks, jumping while running, running and touching the ground every few steps, high knees, butt kicks, and backwards running.. and the kids copied everything. They had such a blast doing it, as did I, because I was getting a nice work out and laughing the entire time. 

Oh yea, and this happened.

"We give you knowledge, and not the money; You're welcome."

    Many people have been asking me what they can send to my villagers. This might sound weird, and it’s kind of hard for me to say, but I’d rather people didn’t send gifts. I didn’t really understand this at first, but now I’m beginning to. When I volunteered in an orphanage in Romania, we brought tons and tons of gifts for the orphans, but that’s okay because we were there for such a short time.

Peace Corps approach to development is sustainable development: we don’t give money (you’re welcome.). Sure, we can teach village members how to apply for grants and help them out, but we don’t do it for them. The reason that we use titles such as ‘Counterpart’ and Co-Facilitator, is to emphasize that we’re not here to do things on our own. We’re here to help the communities mobilize, and learn how to help themselves. That way, when we leave, they are able to carry on their projects, and continue advancing, because they will then have the knowledge to sustain something.

The same thing sort of goes for giving out gifts or material help to my village that people send from home. Aside from that not being a sustainable approach,  my villagers would then always expect me to be bringing them things, which isn’t the image that I want here either. Yea I share my sweeties from America with them and let them try things, because that’s cultural exchange. But what if I brought in a box of shoes, and not everyone in my village got a pair? Or my neighboring villages got upset that I didn’t have anything donated for them? Or my clinic workers don’t understand why I wouldn’t first bring Western things to the clinic and it’s patients? The best and most important thing I can give the people here is knowledge.

     This is why, when you ask me what the kids would want here, I ask for beginning readers books, teaching guides, learning posters, easy experiments, etc... Things I can teach my village that is useful to them. Some of them never went to school, some of the young children will be too ill go to go school once they are old enough. Mostly all of them don’t know English. And there is a young boy who is deaf, and I’d like to be able to help them all communicate with him, and vice-versa.

… Also, I’ll always take soccer balls. That is one thing I will distribute through playing and coaching in mine and surrounding villages. I can even make this educational, and use the soccer training SKILLZ and Grassroots Soccer to teach about HIV/AIDs through the beautiful game.

      I love that so many people want to help out. But free hand-outs and sending material items is not sustainable, nor will it help them develop on their own, to get to a point where their country no longer needs foreign aid (this is a huge dream, and many many years down the line, but possible).

      That being said, there will be times when I’ll be working on a project, and ask for people from back home to donate in some way. If you want to help out, wait for these times. One that I know of for now is Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) which I’m very excited to be a leader for next August. It is a week long overnight camp in which 20 grade 8/9 girls and 10 female counterparts attend sessions on empowerment, gender-related issues such as domestic violence, young marriage, HIV/AIDs, and other such topics. We will also be doing arts and crafts, as well as sports and other fun activities. Since I get to bring two girls from my area and my female counterpart, I will then continue to encourage them to start Girls Clubs at their schools and pass on the information that they learned at camp. This is an awesome experience for these young girls, where they can learn things that they might not learn otherwise. Most girls never really leave their village or get to travel, so it will be huge for them to go to an overnight camp. When we get more into the funding of these camps, I will post information on how you can contribute.

Front of my hut. Since this picture was taken, I've added 

many more handprints to my left wall, from everyone, 

adults and kids, that comes to see me.

The right outer wall is being cemented, which I will then paint 

over with blackboard paint, so I will have a chalkboard

to teach on. 

    I don’t know what the holiday traditions are for Christmas in Zambia. I don’t know if I’m supposed to do anything special for my village (I will, of course, share with them any things from America that are sent to me).  But, I’ve decided I will buy a goat, and we can have a feast together, and I’ll cook them a relish (side dish) from America to try. I’ve also never killed a goat, only observed the slaughter and held it while they skinned it, but I’m beginning to believe that any animal that you eat, you should have at least killed once and done the work for, so you appreciate what they go through in order for you to enjoy them. This is a completely different Caitlin. 

Two Months in the Vil

(Introducing ZamTips, little lessons I learn every day in Zambia)

ZamTip #1:

Never throw anything into your trash pit that you

 don't want to see the children playing with/sticking in their mouths a few hours later.

i.e. razorblades, your barf bag, moldy food, etc.

And as a Health Volunteer, I also recommend that you throw your used condoms down your latrine.

There's all this talk of the new intake of volunteers coming in a few months, and I'll no longer be one of the 'freshmen'. We're getting 6 (SIX!!!) new volunteers up in my district of Lundazi, totalling us at 23, but a whole 12 new volunteers in Eastern Province alone. But that means that a few of my volunteer neighbors that I've come to know and love will be closing out their service and heading on to new adventures elsewhere, and it makes me sad that they'll be leaving soon. My intake of health volunteers will all be reunited for the first time in 3 months, and have IST (In-Service Training) together in exactly a month, which that will mean that I'll have been in Zambia for 6 months. That's crazy for me to think about because I often think back to when I first got invited, and all the preparation I had to do to leave in such a seemingly short amount of time, and it doesn't seem that long ago. I was so stressed and excited! These last 5 months have gone so quickly, even just the last 2 in my village!

Since I'm typically horrible about keeping a journal in my village, and I usually just write letters to people instead, I've made it a point to keep track of the things I do each day in a pocketbook calendar (But I'll need a new one for 2013, and a wall calendar, too! *wink wink*). So I'll be writing this based off of memories from bullet points throughout my days. I feel like I haven't really done much in the last two months- actually, according to what Peace Corps wants me to do during my first three months, I haven't done anything- but then I look at my pocket book and I'm proud of what I've done. However, I still feel lazy and that I'm not doing enough or working that hard. Here's the last two months in review:

Thurs, Oct 11: First Day in Kamsokoto Village
   My welcome to the village of Kamsokoto was a lot more extravagant than I had expected it to be. As the cruiser drove along a bumpy bush path, I could tell we were getting closer to my village at the point when all the kids we were passing looked over, jumped up, and shouted something that sounded like "She's here!," then proceeded to run after our cruiser. Our PCVL (Peace Corps Volunteer Leader), Maggie, said she wasn't going to tell me which hut was mine, as she wanted me to guess, but she didn't even need to make that threat. Posted on the outer wall of my future hut was a picture of a baby being weighed during an Under 5 Clinic, one of my future jobs, and a sign that read "You are most welcome to Kam'sokoto village, the peoples den!" I didn't have much of a chance to look at the sign or my hut from within the cruiser, because before O'bren even put the vehicle into 'park', a group of men and women stood up and began clapping, singing, and dancing while swarming the car that carried myself, Jesse (PCV), Morgan (PCV), Maggie (PCVL), our driver, and a multitude of things that I would use to make this mud hut a home. After being embraced in hugs by all of the women, shaking everyones hand at least twice, and unloading the cruiser into my hut, they sat us all on a reed mat under a ginormous mango tree that is about 10m from my front door. My host father, Prince Kamanga, then proceeded to give a speech about how happy their village and the surrounding villages were to have me, that I was free to make this my home, and that all that I do will be successful and prosper through the work of God.
    As the cruiser gang was getting ready to leave so they could post Jesse at his site before dark, my host father stepped in and refused to let them go just yet, as it is Zambian culture to prepare food for a guest, and my host mom had started cooking for them already. He also claimed that if my friends left, I would be too shy and not eat lunch with my new family. I said he already knew me too well! No, I was starving, I would have eaten with anyone! It just would have been a wee bit awkward. They directed us into my hut, which they had put some short stools in and barely fit the 5 of us, and they brought in some of the most delicious chicken and sima I've had thus far.
   When Peace Corps pulled away and left me there with my new village, I didn't feel lonely or afraid. Everyone was so welcoming, that I immediately felt at home. The kids came to see me, and I couldn't stop smiling. I went with my host mother, named Agnes but who I just call Bamama, to the shallow well, washed out my Jerry cans with soap and sand (they once held cooking oil) and proceeded to try and carry 20L of water back on my head. I made it about 200 yards before I had to take it off, and the iwe (my 9 y/o sister) came and carried it back for me. (I later learned how to tell them, in short, that I have a weak neck. I explain to some people that I broke my neck a few years ago so it is not strong, and that in America we don't put heavy things on our heads, to which they were astonished...I also don't fetch my own water anymore because the women say I am too weak, but sometimes they give me their 5L bucket and I carry it on my head, balancing it with one hand- they laugh and clap.) I spent the rest of my first day setting up my bed, making some shelves out of wire and string, and starting to unpack and put nails into my mud walls to hold my pots. I went for a walk around sunset with my host father to a nearby village looking for a bag of charcoal for me to purchase, and I sat on a ton of different Zambians' front stoops, shaking many hands and introducing myself: "Mwatandala uli? Zina lane ndine Caitlin. Cait-linnnn. Enya, Cateliné. Cateliné Kamanga. (pause for laughter over my Zambian surname) Nkhukala ku Kamsokoto, kwene ndine wa ku Amerika, calo ca California. Ndine wojipereka mu Peace Corps, na ndine kuno chifukwa nizamusambila pavya umoyo na chitukuko. Nikukumba kugula malasha."- How is your evening? My name is Caitlin. Cait-linnnn. Yes, Cateliné (Zambians cannot say Caitlin). Cateliné Kamanga. I stay in Kamsokoto, but I am from America, the province California. I am a volunteer with Peace Corps, and I am here because I will be teaching about health and development. I want to buy charcoal. 
    Although no one was selling charcoal, because they all cut down trees and cook over burning logs, a boy knew where a small bag of charcoal scraps were, and he gave it to me for free. It was perfect for getting through the first two days until I could venture further out to find a larger bag. We returned to my village, and while my water for my bath boiled on my now-lit brazier, I brought out my soccer ball and started kicking it around with the kids. Which brings me to:

ZamTip #3:

Having trouble making friends in your new village?

Bring out a real soccer ball; the kids who once ran from you, crying,

will now run towards you, laughing.

Fri, Oct 12: Lessons Learned

  I woke up around 5 and began unpacking the rest of my kitchen and bedroom stuff, trying to nest. I realized that my mosquito net got lost somewhere in the move across the country. I hung millie meal sacks above my bed to keep bugs, dust, and twigs from the thatch roof above from falling on me while I sleep. I made tuna for lunch, which I dont particularly care for, but I wanted to clean out the tuna can so I could nail it to the wall and use it as a candle holder. I've eaten a lot of tuna to be able to light up each room of my hut. As I was busy nesting, one of the village women came and knocked on my open door. She pointed to a reed mat under the mango tree where women were starting to convene, and told me they'd like to sit with me. I made the mistake of telling her that I was "busy, busy". I instantly felt bad and stopped what I was doing, then went and joined the women that came to see me, and sat and laughed and misunderstood language with them. Which is:

ZamTip #4:

You should never be too busy to take a few moments

 to sit, be present with, and get to know someone,

 even if you can't understand each other. 

   They were wondering how I play soccer so well, so I explained to them the culture of sports in America,  the best I could with simple and broken Tumbuka-English. I told them I would teach the women how to play. They yodelled and clapped. I returned to my hut and left them sitting there, quickly swept and mopped (on my hands and knees), then brought two basins of water out to my front stoop. I told the women "I wash, you watch,"as I began to do my laundry, remembering the technique and rhythm that my earlier host sister employed while rubbing clothes between her two closed fists, knuckles acting as washboards. First off, the women laughed at what I said, then they laughed at the fact that a muzungu was washing her clothes like the Zambians do, which they are always surprised to see. The reason I had to tell them to just watch was because they would come and try to take over, and I wanted to kick off my stay in the village by showing them I could live independently and didn't need to be babied. I want to live how they do and participate in the culture as much as I can. At sunset I again played soccer with the kids and went through my nightly activities. My host father came and sat under the stars with me for a bit, then informed me that tomorrow we would get up at 6am to go meet the Chief.

Sat, Oct 13: "Meeting the Chief"
     I woke up at 6, and Badada and I got on our bikes around 6:45. We rode ~20km out to a sub-BOMA, called Mwase. Brooks, another PC volunteer, lives in Mwase, which I found out after the fact. I was thinking this was where the Chief stayed, until we pulled up to a Police post, got off our bikes, and went inside. As we sat there on a cement bench along the innerwall of a hot and stuffy room, I tried to pick up as much as I could from the conversation my host father was having with the police man, who was perched up at a raised wooden desk, almost like a judge presiding over a courtroom. I heard him mention a few things that I recognized were about me, so I assumed he was sort of registering me with the local police, so they would look out for me, as well as know why I was there. A few weeks later he informed me that he was actually checking up on some matter that had happened prior to my being there, and the visit really didn't have much to do with me at all. After we left the police station, I followed my Badada a bit further into town, then into someones yard. He had to stop in and see the owner of Dunavant, a fertilizer company, and pick up money from his last harvest. Then we got on our bikes yet again, and started back on the road towards our village! After a while I finally asked "where to now?" and he said to Kapichila, where the Chief lives. Kapichila is only a few kilometers from my village, so I didn't understand why he dragged me all the way to Mwase with him, but I appreciate now that he just wanted to show me around. When we got to Kapichila, we went straight to my clinic. There happened to be a meeting, so he had me go into a room and sit down with all these Zambians. The meeting lasted more than long enough, and I know this because I fell asleep sitting up. Probably wasn't the best impression for my first meeting at the clinic, but I had no idea I'd even be going to the clinic that day, and was exhausted from trying to get settled and adjusted to my new life and surroundings. Also from the long bike ride. However, USAID was in attendance of the meeting, and presented the idea of SMAGs groups. I also presented my little introduction in Tumbuka, and was able to meet all of the representatives from the 7 different NHCs (Neighborhood Health Committee) in my catchment area. Other highlights of my day included but are not limited to: Was given a free chitenge, got +1 marriage proposal, took a nap (told my village I was reading the whole time), fed a stray cat some sima, discovered scorpion spiders in my hut, decided I'd definitely need to get a cat fast, made soya that was way too salty so I ended up throwing it in the chimbuzi (big mistake, I think it molded down there and made the smell worse), and figured out that I need to learn how to 1) cook on a brazier, and 2) cook for only one person. But...the chimbuzi part just reminded me of my:

ZamTip #2:

Don't bring anything of value with you into the chimbuzi,

it's likely to fall into the hole of no return. Then every time you use the chimbuzi,

you'll be reminded of how you're pooping on your precious Raybans

or peeing on your once treasured iPhone. 

(*disclaimer- I own neither of these, what I dropped down my chimbuzi is more embarrassing*)

     That evening, after I had eaten and as I had just made myself a cup of coffee to sip while sitting on my stoop under the stars, Prince came and sat with me again. We had a really long talk about his religion, life and death, the stars, and then the work that I used to do back home. I explained many things and did quite a bit of sensitization about people with special needs. We also discussed the word "retard" and why he should discourage people from using it, as well as how to sensitize others in the community to accept all people.

Sunday, Oct 14: First Time in a Church in Zambia
     Church with Prince. I went with him at 10 am. I wore a white & gray shirt with a white skirt, and he worse an all white suit with a red tie- the dressing that they wear to church to signify being cleaned by the blood of Christ. We rode our bikes into the village of Kapichila, through the secondary school, and to a little white, open aired building. There were women sitting on the ground on the reed mat out front, and men sitting on benches or the hill side.  Of course me being a muzungu, I get offered a seat on the bench with the men. There was already a service going on inside, so I guessed we were all waiting for the next one. My host father just kinda said "You sit here," then walked away. I observed people coming up to the ushers at the door and, just before getting to their  plastic grocery collection bags, the church-goers would bend down and pick up a stick from the ground, then drop it into the 2nd ushers bag. Then they would sit down outside. After about 30 minutes, the girl next to me told me to come with her. She took me into a room attached to the church, filled with broken school desks, and Zambians around my age. Some of the guys in the corner spoke English, so I went over to sit and talk with them. I asked them what the man at the front door was doing collecting sticks, and he said thats the way they count how many people come to each service. Then the guys went through their regular Zambian series of questions: What's your name, where do you come from, are you married (followed by 'I will make you my wife'), what is your church? I can get through the first two without getting much of a hassle, but the church thing is a huge one to them. I can't sit there and explain what I do or don't believe, because they just argue with me and don't like what I have to say. Then they say "But you're white, it was you that brought religion to our country, and then you go back home and dont practice it?" ... I just tell them that my church is out doors, in the nature.
.....Well that led to the church taking their entire next service outside, under a huge tree, so I could have my church in the nature. There were about 200 people there under that tree, the women off on one side sitting on reed mats on the ground, and the men sitting on the school desks. And me, sitting on a school desk. Then there was the Bishop, in his robe, sitting in a comfy chair at a table in front of everyone. The service started off with a group of women getting up and singing and dancing, and then a prayer, and a lot more singing and dancing by different women or children. Then they came over to me and said that the Bishop would like to know who I was. So, I got up and stood on the table (even though everyone could see me, I kinda stick out like a sore thumb here), looked out at everyone, and shouted "Monire, bose!"- Welcome, all! To that, everyone burst out in laughter. First of all, they think it's hilarious when a white person speaks Tumbuka, because they don't expect it at all. Second of all, I put on quite an outlandish performance, in broken Tumbuka. When I was done, all the women yodelled for me, their form of celebration, instead of clapping. Then there was some more singing and dancing, and a very long sermon. The thing went on for about 4 hours, and I was getting tired and hungry. In fact, I dozed off a few times during, even though I was trying to listen to all of the Tumbuka and decipher what he was preaching about. I'm surprised how much of it I [think I] understood. It was a good experience, I'm just not going to make it a regular thing to go to church here. I do, however, want to go to all the different churches/religions that are here and experience them all. It's also a great way to see a lot of people from different villages that I might not have been to at once, and them getting to know who I am and why I'm there. They also like me more for going to their church ;)
    At church, I got 5 marriage proposals, some by men looking to make me their 2nd, 3rd, or even 4th wifey. I told them I must marry an American. The most clever response I got to that was "You are a Tumbuka from California, you should marry a Tumbuka from Zambia." To which I said that there were not enough cows in this country to afford my dowery. Without missing a beat, he countered, "How many do you require? And then how many donkeys, pigs, horses, and goats as well?" Done.
    Other highlights include but are not limited to: 5km walk with Badada, this time in a successful scrounge for a large bag of coal (cost=15,000 kwacha = $3), taking a nap (you'll see this is a reoccurring thing), talking to Bamama ku Amerika (!), having peaches from a can for dinner, sawing into my thumb while cutting said peach can, hammering my finger while nailing said can to the wall, and gaining a new candle holder. :)

Mon, Oct 15: My Day of Rest
    After waking up and reading for a while, I spent a good hour sweeping out my entire hut, which I've come to the conclusion, will never be clean, considering I live in a house made of dirt and grass. (Though now, this is an pastime activity that I really enjoy doing, I sweep my hut about 6 times a day, and "deep clean" every other day.) I then ventured down my promenade of village huts to one at the end of my row, where all the women were sitting and husking corn. I spent the better part of my morning husking and shelling dried maize with the women, as Badada had gone into town and wouldn't be taking me around to meet with the surrounding Village Headmen. We sat on the ground buried in and surrounded by piles of corn husks. As I pulled back the silks and ear wings, to find out what was inside, each ear of corn being a bit different than the last. Some had pale while kernels, some were tinted red or purple, or were a light shade of yellow. In some, the kernels were packed tightly together; in others, generously placed or half eaten by bugs. Sometimes I'd pull the layers back and white dust would fall to coat my hands, leaving just an empty husk with no corn to be seen. I've never harvested food before, I guess I didn't expect to see so much differentiation in field maize here. As we worked, the young girls would take a few husks, shell them, and roast the kernels over an open fire. After we had taken all the ear wings off the ears, it was time to shell them all. To do this quickly by hand, you would clear one husk of its kernels with your palm, then use that now-bare husk to knock the kernels off of another by rubbing it up and down against the unshelled maize. This quickly dried out my hands and rubbed my skin raw, leaving me with many invisible fiberglass-like cuts along my fingers and palms. But the time I spent sitting with the women, laughing, singing, and working with my hands, is something I hope to not soon forget, and something I hope to do more with them other the years. These are the moments that make me less lonely, and these are the moments they, too, will remember after I end service- that I stayed with them, learned from them, became part of their village, their community, their family.
     Other mentionable events of the day were but are not limited to: holding a 6 week old baby named Bornface; getting pooped on by Bornface.

Tues, Oct 16: Mental Health Day
     My 6th day in the village was Mental Health Day at the clinic. Again, this was a huge meeting held out by the school under some large trees. There must have been 300+ people there, including school children, mothers with their babies, elders, drama groups, the Chief of Kapichila, and officials from the Ministry of Health and District Health Office, of which I sort of work under. The Chief was sitting in his throne (an overstuffed chair) with some of his Group Headmen and guards alongside. The theme of Mental Health Day, and their focus for the next year, is on Depression. They spoke about what that is, and the drama group from the secondary school performed a few skits. There was also traditional drumming, dancing, and song, along with two adorable little boys who were dressed up and did traditional story dances. I really wish I had my camera. At the end, I got to meet some of the Health workers, then was quickly whisked away by my host father so we could go eat sima.

One Week Anniversary in my Vil
     I've attended one village meeting: the first SMAGs meeting for a NHC. When USAID (United States Agency for International Development) came to my clinic and presented the idea of safe motherhood, all of the neighborhood health committees got together to have their initial meetings and decide who would get to go to the big SMAGs training in January. SMAGs stands for Safe Motherhood Action Groups, and it's made up of a group of volunteers from clusters of villages (neighborhoods) and they are responsible for different health priorities involving safe motherhood in their areas, because a lot of times people are far from the clinic and aren't educated. Some things they teach about are warning signs during pregnancy, family planning, PMTCT- Preventing Mother To Child Transfer (For HIV+ Mothers), the importance of delivering at a clinic with trained midwives, the importance of ante-natal care, nutrition, and general education about safe motherhood. Too many mothers lose their babies or die while giving birth here. This is something that I was trained on to co-facilitate in my village, so I came to the meeting with books. The meeting was in Mapala, about 8km from where I live. [Back then, that felt like a long ride out to there, now it feels so short]. We met, again, under a large tree in a school yard. Prince and I were the first ones there, it was supposed to start at 8am. Then came another woman, around 9. A few more slowly trickled in, and we started the meeting with 8 people, around 10 am. Everything was in Tumbuka, I was completely lost, so I zoned out. Especially because they spent the first 30 minutes arguing about the minutes of the meeting and in what order they should do things. Then, they argued for over an hour about who would be Chairperson, Vice-Chair, Secretary, Treasurer, etc. So I started sketching things in the SMAGs books I had brought along, and then they asked me what they were. I told them "Oh I've been trained in this stuff, I have training manuals that I can help you with," and I head the expression that I've now heard every single day from my host father: "We are so blessed that you are here."

Ulesi means Lazy

Zambians are really hard workers. Everything they do seems to me to be such a tedious task, because of the luxuries that I grew up with. Where they will spend all day husking and shucking hundreds of ears of maize, sifting and pounding thousands of kernals, drawing water, gathering firewood, and cooking for many hours, I'm just like "Um, I think I'll heat up some spaghetti tonight.."- something that I bought in a store, packaged, and only have to boil in water for a few minutes. They have to prepare their fields by hand (no use of animals or machines in my village), they have to harvest all of their land, and if they want to eat, the rains better come. Their lives depend on the workings of nature. The water source in my village is a shallow well. If the rains don't come, or if they don't come soon, the well will dry up. If people plant their fields at the first rain, and then it's weeks until the next one, they will not have food. If people wait to plant their fields, and the rains come early, then they will not have food. If the well dries up, the women will have to walk, which they do barefoot in the hot sand littered with feces and sharp objects, to another watering source even further away, and carry their water back. 40L on their heads, 20L in their hand, and a baby tied to their front sucking on a breast. If they have to walk further to get water, that means less time can be spent preparing food, doing chores, and completing other activities that are required just to live day to day. They work from sun up to after sundown, beginning the day by sweeping out their huts and living compound then scrubbing their floors by hand, to washing their dishes in the dark after feeding their families dinner. They're awake by 4am, and go to bed around 9, or sometimes stay up the entire night drumming, singing, and dancing. They even work in the hot midday sun, a time when I'm usually hiding out in my hut, and they never complain about a thing. It makes me feel pretty lazy somedays. I still get up at 4, but after using the chimbuzi (toilet), sweeping out my hut, watering and placing my herbs outside, I usually crawl back into bed and read for a few hours. Somedays I read in bed the entire day. Sometimes I don't feel like lighting the brazier, and thats when I eat peanut butter out of the jar or just raw sweet potatoes for dinner. If I skip a bath one evening because i don't feel like making a fire, boiling water, and kneeling on the ground to wash myself out of a small bucket, they will wake me in the morning and tell me I need to bathe right then.

I don't find myself longing for the luxuries of back home, but somedays I do miss certain things. Sometimes I wish I could just turn a knob and have hot water come out of a shower head that I can stand underneath. Sometimes I wish I had an electrical outlet and could plug in a fan, or charge things, instead of having to bike 20km to a house, whose power might not even be on that day/weekend/week. I don't really think that life is tough here, it's just different and calls for a lot more physical work than back home. More work, and definitely a lot more time to do get things done. No pushing a button and zapping food to cook in 3 minutes!

There's a lot that I thought would be difficult that I actually really like. I enjoy going to fetch water with the women, and having them laugh at me when I get tired from only drawing 20L  from the well. Or as I stumble and spill water while trying to carry it on my head. I enjoy my long bike rides, sometimes hours long, to get to places. It challenges me, its doing good things to my legs and for my heart, and I get to meet people in every village that I pass through, as well as bike through such beautiful landscape.  It can get really hot, but there's always a mango tree to sit under, fresh fruit to eat, and women to laugh with. The language can get really frustrating at times, but I'm still studying and I know it will come in time. The best thing to do is laugh at myself when I mess up, and keep trying. I'm beginning to understand more each day. I drew light switches on the wall in each room of my hut, to give my hut some humour, but I really like that my hut is lit by just candles. I rarely use flashlights or headlamps, unless I'm out after dark. I think it's really cool about writing people letters and cooking and reading by candlelight only... Speaking of which, I think it's cool to be writing people letters in general. I like getting to put my thoughts to paper with a purpose, and I like that someone halfway across the globe will hold that paper in their hands in a few weeks and learn a little bit more about what life is like in Zambia. Sure, it's not instant communication, which I do sometimes need, but there's something special about a letter. I know how great I feel when I receive one, and I'm sure it excites my friends back home to see a personal letter from Africa. It means that someone took the time to sit down and devote time to someone else that they can't otherwise communicate with.

There are other things, like the 500 flies that buzz inside my kitchen during the day, or the scorpion spiders and mice that find refuge in my hut at night, but that all comes with getting to live here. And I've grown quite used to falling asleep to the sound of the termites eating my mud walls and building their home out of mine. I guess I can share. I'm thankful to sleep under a mosquito net each night, it's like my own secret fortress that no bug shall enter.  As it's been said, and what I think is the best description, is that living here in a mud hut is just like glorified camping. I thought I'd want a radio to help me fall asleep at night, but the truth is, I don't listen to any music except sometimes on long runs or bike rides. I'd rather my ears be filled with all of the life that surrounds me, which is something I don't expect to become tired of anytime soon. There is always laughter- women, men, and children laughing all day. There is never yelling or fighting, and the children rarely cry. Someone, if not everyone, is always singing. Each night, all night long, the drums are being beat in a nearby village. The silence that remains is filled by the crackling of fires and the sing-songy chirp of crickets.

I get to be in the nature, and that is where I'm happy. As long as the natural beauty of this world exists, and I may live to see it, the sunshine, the trees, the painted skies, the rhythm of people living peacefully and harmoniously, as long as this lasts, I cannot be unhappy. According to the cycle of emotions, I'm in my honeymoon phase of service here: excited and in love with everything. It's said that after this positive spike, there will be a negative one. And while I'm sure I'll face obstacles that will challenge me and put me down at times, I don't think I'll ever stop loving life here. This is me, I'm right where I should be. To be quiet and alone with the heavens, nature, and whatever I perceive god/s to be, is when I feel that all is as it should be, and that people are meant to be happy amidst the simple beauty of nature.

These are the things I think about during my sunset runs.

Off to meet the Prince

I have so much to write about that has happened over the last two weeks, but in all honesty, I feel horrible right now and am much too lazy to do so. This is my last hour that I will have internet and computer access until we have Provincial meetings on Thanksgiving, however, I've spent the last 16 hours with a stomach virus, have not gotten any sleep, and have some of the worst pains throughout my body right now. Stick it out.

Last Friday I swore in as an official United States Peace Corps Zambia Volunteer. It was a beautiful ceremony hosted by the U.S. Ambassador at his gorgeous house. Many currently serving Volunteers, Host Country Nationals,  Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, leaders, Headmen and Headwomen, and other dignified guests were in attendance. They said some wonderful words about Paul Blum, and about how he would have made an amazing volunteer, something of which I am very sure of. We had an empty chair for him, with a rug that was made for his family from all of our left over chitenge material (from the outfits we wore for the ceremony), and a rose on top of that. They flew his life long friend out from the US to accept his certificate. And then we all proceeded to be announced and accept ours as well. It was a fun time, and something that I'd been looking forward to and working towards since the day I stepped foot in this country. I have completed my job training, as well as learned the language to a degree well enough for them to be confident that I will be safe and able in my new village.

So today is the day. Today is the day that I am posted to my new village. Where almost all the other volunteers were able to travel to their villages for a night and meet some of the people that reside there, I was never able to make it to my village due to Pauls passing away the day we were to go. Which is completely fine, and I know everything will work out, but I'm pretty nervous about all of this. One thing I'm nervous about is showing up with all of this stuff- me being a first generation volunteer, I have a lot of crap because I have to furnish the place- them seeing me with a cruiser full of things, and then me telling them that I have no money, I'm really not rich, and I have nothing to give them but knowledge and a good time. On the other side of being nervous, I'm so excited. I can't wait to meet my counterpart again, and I hope that he is able to guide me and introduce me to the people and my clinic. I can't wait to meet my new host father, Prince Charles, because he's been calling the PC staff non-stop asking where I am and when I'll get there! I'm glad that they are really excited to meet me, but because I'm tired and grumpy and not feeling well right now, I know that when I get to my village all I will want to do is unpack, get organized, and sleep and probably crap my brains out for the rest of the day. But really, I'll be surrounded by kids and people wanting to meet me, wanting to eat with me, wanting to sit and stare at their first crazy white person.

Yesterday I was able to post another new PCV, Joe, to his new village. That really helped me to see what it's going to be like when I get to mine. As we drove up in the cruiser, everyone was waving, then started coming over to his hut. We were instantly surrounded by so many people wanting to shake our hands and just watch, as well as a ton of people who wanted to help unload all of his things. They were really excited to have him, but they were also excited to have me because they thought I was staying! After we said good bye and I was leaving with the cruiser, the kids ran after us waving for quite some time. One family stopped the cruiser asking if they could have me as their Volunteer, everyone wants an American! I hope this is what my village is like today as well.

It is said that this next week is going to be the hardest week of my life. After being around other Americans and English speakers for the last 3 months, then spending over a week in a hotel or a house with electricity, running water, internet, and an actual city with roads and cars and shops, I'm going to go live in a mud hut, completely alone, back to the village life. They say that this first week is the first time I will experience what it's like to be [seemingly] completely alone. I'm going to feel like I have absolutely no one, especially if I don't have cell service at my site, and I won't be able to just go visit another American very simply. I don't know where my closest Volunteer neighbors live yet or how to contact them, so hopefully they seek me out. I don't know if my host family or anyone near me will speak English (my counterpart does, but he lives 30k away). But again, it's all going to be okay in the end. I'm going to make it through it, and I'm going to have a blast doing it.

I'm really happy where I'm at, I'm really happy to be able to have this experience, and I'm really happy that I'm able to share it. I'm amazed at how many of my friends, family, and complete strangers follow my blog. This is the 3rd goal of Peace Corps- to teach Americans about the people and culture of Zambia. I'm glad that I'm able to have an impact both here, back home, and in my friends lives across the world. It means a lot when you all write to me to say what you've learned; it means a lot when you ask how I'm doing and ask different questions about Zambia and my experience. It means a lot that you all care. Because all I've ever wanted is for people to care, and to care about others. It means a lot that I get to bridge that gap between America and Zambia, and connect you all to a culture, a people, and a lifestyle that many of you didn't know really still existed. Life is simple, and that's completely evident by how we live here in Zamtastic Zambia.

Get ready people of Kapichila Village- it's about to get crazy!!!! Cheers to the next two years!

A Westernized Zambian Kitchen Party

On Friday, Courtney and I were to start off to my sister, Mwaka’s, kitchen party in Kabwe, two hours from where we live in Chamuka. That night we would have stayed up all night dancing with my sisters. Unfortunately, because of the program scheduled to finish up PST (Pre-Service Training), Peace Corps would not allow us to leave early, and we had to depart the next morning. I woke up at 4am, put on my beige chitenge suit patterned with elephants and hunters with spears, and ate my breakfast. My sister Ruthie said that she had arranged for a vehicle to come to take us to Kabwe, and that it would arrive there at 6am. Courtney, her host mother, and her host baby sister, Lina, walked down to our house and shortly after, the vehicle was there- a ‘canter’, which is basically an open-back truck. The bed of the truck was about 8ft long, and had three wooden benches in it, two of which were laying down. Courtney and I climbed into the bed of the pick-up and took our seats on the wooden bench, and then our hosts, as well as 4 other women climbed in too. We took off down the bumpy dirt road, and stopped a little later, as a few Zambians came running up to the truck to hitch a ride. This occurred quite frequently during the journey, with Zambians boarding and alighting at different times; at one point in time we counted 26 of us on this truck. Because we had not picked up the other two wooden benches, everyone squished onto the floor of the truck or sat on the railings. One of the wooden benches had my feet pinned under me and was pressed against my shins, so every time we hit a bump (which was every half a second), the bench would slam into my shins and I quickly got knots and bruises up and down my lower leg.

After a long journey, we finally made it to Kabwe around 8:30. My sister told us to leave our things in the truck, and we would walk around the BOMA (which is a small town, stands for British Overseas Management something). Little did Courtney and I know that we’d be hanging out in the BOMA pretty much all day. We went into a few stores, looking for something for my sister Ruthie to buy for Mwaka as a Kitchen Party/Wedding gift. After a while, she decided on some kitchen pots, and we then ventured into a Shoprite grocery. I was carrying my baby niece, Jesska, in a carrier on my front, and I got a lot of strange looks and overheard a few conversations about a white/blonde woman carrying a black baby. But I’d just smile and kiss her on the forehead and act like she’s mine. J We went and found some tuck shops, drank some cold water (you don’t get cold things very often here!!!, this is something to write home about), ate some bread, and then found our way to some shacks in the back of a parking lot, which would look completely sketch and I probably would have never ventured into alone, or even in America, but sketch is just the way that things look here even when they aren’t. Our hosts sat us down in a little shack that was playing music, handed us the two babies, and then said they’d be right back. A few hours later, Courtney and I started to wonder if they’d left us with their screaming crying one year olds and ran away, and we thought about calling our language teacher to see what we should do. Thankfully they returned, but the wait was still not over. They wouldn’t really let on to what was going on, and by now it was 1pm, and they still hadn’t mentioned the kitchen party or when we would go there. However, I know that we are on Zam time now, so I didn’t bring it up. I figured it would happen when it was meant to happen.

We eventually got in a taxi around 2pm, and it took us out to a very fancy pre-school. This is where the kitchen party was to be held. Now, before I talk about what the kitchen party actually was, I will mention what I had been told/what I thought the kitchen party would be like. From my understanding, we would be with a few women, out in the bush, with a couple of drums. From what I’ve been told, the kitchen party is where older women (but never the mother of the bride, it’s forbidden for her to talk about sex with her children) would show the bride different dances that represent different sex positions and sexual acts. They would school her in ways to please her husband, as they are supposed to have sex on the first night of their marriage. On the night of the marriage, the older women will place money on the bed under the sheet, and the couple is to do the dirty, and if the man finishes, then they will place the money a certain way. If the sex was good and the man is able to finish, this means that the marriage will be good. However, if he doesn’t, then the women will come in and know that the marriage will not go through. Anyways, back to the kitchen party assumptions. I’ve been told that while the women are doing these dances to the drums in the bush, the bride has to get naked and climb a tree, the tree signifying as the man. When we present the presents that we have brought for the bride, we are supposed to dance with our hips. To my understanding, men are not allowed to be present during the kitchen party.

How it really was: As we pulled up to the preschool in the taxi, I heard loud, American music blasting from speakers within the school walls. When we entered, we saw many white chairs, streamers, balloons, a fancy table splayed with hot food trays, a huge sound system set up with 5 young men DJing, and many awnings. And there was an actual brand new kitchen, pretty much. There were cabinets and table tops, an oven/stove, a microwave, a dining room table, and reed mats full of gifts for the brides kitchen- everything brand new and sitting out there on the cement. The guests were dressed in beautiful chitenge dresses, even the little kids running around popping balloons were wearing their Sundays best. My host mom came out, wearing a gorgeous gold ensemble with some major earrings and a brand new hair wig; she looked beautiful, and I was so happy to see her, as she’d been gone for a few days. She told me that Mwaka had just arrived and was in the back of the pre-school, and invited me to go take pictures of her. When I walked into the back room with my big fancy camera, I was really surprised to see Mwaka looking so sullen, almost as if she was drugged. She looked amazing, in a white and black chitenge dress and her hair pulled back and decorated with white beads, her makeup done just like brides in America would have it. But she just looked so sad, she wouldn’t smile, wouldn’t say a single word, and would only look down at the ground.

After a lot of sitting around and waiting (and me taking a million pictures of the kids dancing), the women started to beat the drums and it was announced that Mwaka was coming out. She was preceded by a girl dressed in, what I assume, is the traditional woman dancer-wear, beads covering her face, shakers on her legs, and other things I can’t find the words to describe- see picture. As this girl danced in front, Mwaka was led out by one woman in front of her and one woman behind her. Except you couldn’t see Mwaka, she was in the middle of the two women, covered by a chitenge, almost like a non-transparent veil, almost like a Chinese dragon. They led her to the porch, where they sat her down on a mattress, still covered, and stared at the ground. The MC of the party sang obnoxiously over the music, and women came and danced, with distinguished control of their hips and badonkadonks. A while later, Mwaka’s husband arrived, wearing a chitenge suit that matched her dress. Although he didn’t smile, he looked a lot happier to be there than she did. His entrance was also preceded by a group of women dancing, which led him to the stairs beneath where Mwaka was seated. After some tribal songs and dances, he was then able to slowly roll the chitenge that covered Mwaka back, revealing her to the rest of the party. After he had uncovered her, the MC made him hug her and kiss her, which neither of them seemed to want to do, and then he presented her with baskets and fruit, she presented him with a basket of fruit, and people came up to place money around them. Mwaka then laid on the ground and clapped three times for him, then rolled over to her other side and clapped three more times before getting up, covered in dirt. This was then done for her mom, as they presented the couple to both of their mothers. The entire time, Mwaka did not look up or smile, but she did cry when she hugged her mom.

The group of women danced Mwaka and her husband to the entrance, where she hugged him goodbye, and then returned to her spot on the mattress to stare at the ground some more. It was then announced that food was being served, and although it was just getting started, we were supposed to leave at 17 hr, which is was already passed. They said Courtney and I should eat first, of which we were stoked about because 1) we were starving and 2) they had beer. Beer that was free, and beer that was cold. We stocked up (actually, the lady handed us each two from the get-go, without us asking) and chugged them down along with our food. At that time, my sister said that we had to go, for the canter that drove us here was about to leave. But of course, we couldn’t leave without presenting our gift to Mwaka and dancing! Courtney almost got out of it, until I said that I couldn’t dance without my other Muzungu, and that the gift was from both of us (we got her a toaster) so we had to present it together. So, the dance floor cleared and we shook our butts, to everyones amusement. When I turned around everyone had their cameras out and were smiling and laughing. Everyone except Mwaka. I told her I loved her, to which she did not respond but continued looking at the ground, I grabbed a few more free beers for the road, and we headed out. When we arrived back at the truck we found that it was completely full! There wasn’t any room for us to sit in it. However, because we had already paid the man to take us there and back, and we had hired him for the day, he had to make room for us. Or rather, we had to make room for ourselves. We climbed over and on people to get in, I ended up sitting with one cheek on a tire on the floor, squished up into the fetal position, with my sister sitting on one of my knees and Courtney’s mom sitting half on me. Courtney got to sit on the bench instead of on the floor by peoples feet and crotches, (I HATE FEET!!!!! AND THEY SMELLED!!!!) , but I can’t say that she got a better seat than I did. One of her legs was hanging over the edge of the truck, she was holding my 1 yr old niece, and there was a man sitting on the cab of the truck dangling his legs onto Courtney’s shoulders. We were definitely squished. How squished, you ask? We counted 49 Zambians in the back of that truck. People were standing up and surfing back, because there was no room for them to sit. Definitely not safe, but the driver was trying to make money. My legs fell asleep, my foot was bent in a weird position, I had shooting and throbbing pains up my leg and into my back, and it was hot as hell… But you know what? I didn’t hate it. Because it’s the Zambian culture and I got to experience it. I got to experience how they transport when their only other option is to walk for a few hundred kilometers. And after an hour or so, people started getting off as we would pass their villages, until there was enough room for us to maneuver, and I could join Courtney and sit on the bench. Then when enough of them had gone and there were only the few of us that had started off together left, I got to sit on the edge of the truck, under a beautiful night sky with an almost full moon, and watch the road come ahead of us as the cool wind blew past my face and I thought: how lucky am I to be in this beautiful country.

The end (of PST) is in sight!

It’s done, it’s over, it’s finished. Pinch me, I must be dreaming. I cannot believe how quickly PST has come and gone. Months ago, when I got my invitation to serve in Zambia, I dreaded how long pre-service training would be. Each day during, I’d cross off the activities on my calendar, and count down until the day I would swear in as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I’d read the description of what was required of us as far as language proficiency goes- to score Intermediate-Mid in an African Tribal language after just 10 weeks of classes, seemed unattainable.
Yet, I’ve done it. I’ve gone through the motions, and it hasn’t been as bad as everyone said it would be. I’ve actually really enjoyed it. I love talking and learning about health, so tech training has been (for the most part) interesting. I love being able to work with my hands and enjoy mechanics, so learning bike maintenance and being able to take my bicycle apart and put it back together has been awesome. And the language.. it’s definitely been rough. In the beginning I was doing very well, until I got sick and sort of hit a plateau. I definitely lost interested in learning for a while, where I was very excited to be learning a new language when I had begun. I became frustrated when one of my classmates decided that he’d be a dick to me during class, and enjoyed showing off his language skills. I’d shut down, because to me it no longer mattered, every time I’d open my mouth to talk, he’d butt in with his answers. I definitely gave up on language for a while, but my teacher never did. Every day he’d tell me that it was in there, I knew it all in my brain, which I couldn’t really believe because I hadn’t been studying. In fact, I never really studied, because I suck at it and I don’t really know how. But I began to practice my language a lot more, and, after my teacher telling me that I could score Advanced Low on our final exam, I started to believe in myself as well, and aimed for that.

On the day of my final exam, I started my morning off with a few cups of wine. This really helped to calm my nerves and give me the confidence I needed to go in for my final interview. It’s a ~30 minute conversation that is recorded on tape, and then listened to by all of the language trainers, scored, and then sent to Washington DC and scored as well. The tester definitely threw some curveballs at me, that I didn’t exactly know how to answer in Tumbuka nor have the vocabulary for. Such as: explain why there are higher rates of HIV/AIDS in Zambia than there are in America, describe why people should sleep under mosquito nets to prevent malaria, what are you going to tell people who use their mosquito nets to catch fish instead; why should young children and people with HIV eat nutritious foods, and what do proteins, carbs, and vitamins do within the body? All of these things I can definitely explain in English, but I didn’t know how to say it simply in Tumbuka, which I guess I really need to work on, since it’s my job! Oh well, I still felt really good about my interview when it was over, partly just because it was over!  

I don’t have my scores yet, but I know that I did pass. All I needed was to score Intermediate-Mid, but I was aiming to score Advanced-Low. I’d also be really happy if I got Intermediate-High, but even if I don’t reach either of those, I’m still really proud of myself for learning a language in 10 weeks, and knowing it well enough to understand a good amount of it, and to speak confidently about myself, my family, the differences between here and America, different foods, garden items, and so forth. And I have two years to practice my language a village that actually speaks Tumbuka (where I am now, they do not) and I have a lot of time to become fluent!

So now that we have done all of our final wrap-ups, what’s the next step? On Tuesday, we will have cultural day, where our host families are invited to celebrate all that we’ve learned over these last 10 weeks with us. We will sing a song in Tumbuka, do some dancing, sing a song in English, and present on the things that they have taught us. We will have a huge cookout, with both American food and Zambian food (I’m cooking sima with some old ladies!) That evening we will also say our good-byes, which I am dreading. I have come to love my family so much, and I couldn’t have been luckier with who hosted me. They have been absolutely wonderful, and have done so much for me. I’m really fortunate to have lived with them, and will always treasure the conversations and interactions I’ve had with every one of them. They really understand what it means to serve others, why I’m here and doing what I’m doing, and they definitely appreciate us being here. I’m so blessed to have made families all over the world, and I’m glad that I can also call them my family, and have them consider me part of theirs.

On Wednesday we will travel back to Lusaka and stay in a hotel until we swear in on Friday morning. We have a few sessions on Thursday, about PC policy and what not. On Friday morning I will put on my new chitenge dress that I had made, and will be announced as a United States Peace Corps Volunteer. This makes me really proud! This is something that I’ve wanted to do for a very long time, and I’m happy that I am able to serve my country, this country, and the world, in this way. Saturday (my birthday, woot woot) I will most likely be hung over after celebrating our swear in, but we will go shopping and start prepping to move into our new villages!

Over the next three months I will be in the phase that is known as “Community Entry”. During this time, we are not allowed to do any work. It is a time to get settled, get to know our communities, and start planning out what we will do during our service. I will begin to nest, and I’m so excited to start making my hut my home. I will cement the walls, decorate, and paint. On the front wall to my hut, I want to paint the kids hands and have them put their handprints all over. Since I’ve been joking about painting rainbows and sunshine on my hut, I plan on doing that on the back wall. On the two sidewalls, I plan to paint something about my job, which entails HIV/AIDS, Malaria, and Neonatal, Maternal, and Child Health. I plan to start my garden, plant some veggies, and spread my California poppy seeds around my property. I will most likely build a fence, and hopefully I will pick up some chicks and build a chicken coop. And possibly a dog house. And possibly start a compost pile, maybe at the health clinic. Inside my hut, I’m excited to get some furniture built, put up pictures, and start making candle stands to light it. I might also feel crafty and make a chandelier out of wire, coke bottles, and candles. I’m going to go McGeiver on this shit. Watch out, MTV Cribs. There needs to be a Pimp My Hut- Zambia edition.

Over the next three months, I plan on seeking out a Tumbuka teacher in my village, in making appearances at the local schools, meeting the village headmen and Chiefdon’s chief, and basically just going out everyday and getting completely lost so that I meet as many people as possible and find my way around. I plan on finding out where the other volunteers live, and getting to know my neighbors. I plan on doing a ton of reading- my kindle has 2000 books on it, with characters and worlds just waiting to be explored. I plan on getting better at playing my ukelele, and at juggling. I plan on finding some kids to play soccer with (which definitely won’t be hard. There are three things that I’d really like to do while in Zambia, and I think it’s possible that I’m able to accomplish all of these things. I want to coach a girls soccer team, and be able to mentor them through that, as well as teach about HIV. I want to seek out people that are living with disabilities, and help to disseminate knowledge and acceptance amongst other villagers, as well as do some developmental and possibly physical therapy. And thirdly, I hope to learn how to and assist in delivering babies, which will come in time, as soon as I’m allowed to start working at my clinic!

I’m really excited for what’s to come. I can’t wait to get to my village and meet everyone, and to start making Zambia my home. Amidst all of the excitement, though, I definitely do have some fears. Aside from mambas, things I fear are my safety and security. I keep thinking up different situations that have happened to volunteers here before, and try to imagine how I would respond should it happen to me. One of them is, while laying in my bed late at night, what if I hear someone tampering with the lock on my door or one of my windows? What if someone actually gets in? What if someone attacks me or mugs me while I’m out in the bush? What if I come home one day and find that my hut has been broken into, and all of my things taken? 

I know these are all what-ifs, but they have happened. I feel as if I can protect myself, but I hope it doesn’t come to the point where I would need to. I am glad that I live on a family compound, so hopefully my house and myself will be protected by living so close to my host dad and mothers’ houses.

Some of my other worries are basically about being alone for the first time in a long time, and getting depressed. I don’t want to become frustrated if I can’t understand anyone in my village, or if they can’t understand them. I don’t want to be rejected by them, because they are fearful of white people, think I’m a spy, or don’t appreciate that I’m an independent woman. I don’t want to become shy and shut myself off from my village, because of my fears of being liked by them or not being able to communicate. I’m afraid of missing all of my friends that I have grown so close to over the last two months, and I feel that, although I have not yet been homesick, this is the time when I will become homesick. I won’t be in trainings all day, I won’t be allowed to work, I won’t be surrounded by a bunch of Americans, (or any for that matter), my mind wont be pre-occupied with studying, I won’t have any electricity or technology, and I have a feeling I’m going to be really bored a lot of the time! Then again, these are the times in which I can do all of the things that I’ve previously mentioned wanting to do, and these are the times when I will actually be able to write letters back to everyone who has written to me (sorry, I’ve been so busy!), and these are the times when I can really work on my self improvements. So enough of the fears and stupid stuff, this is going to be an amazing adventure, all of it- the ups, and the downs! And when it all boils down, I’m still completely stoked to be here.

A little bit of the Zam Culture.

This last week, while we were at our second site visit, we had an assignment to speak to some of the village community members and get to know some of the culture and cultural beliefs.

To start: Traditional Beliefs/Superstitions among the Nyanja/Chewa people:

• If a fly enters your mouth, it will mean something bad is coming
• If a snake with stripes dies, and if it breaks into pieces along its stripes (as the apparently do so here?) it means that either where you are going or where you are coming from, there will be a funeral
• If you see a black and white snake and it doesn't hide it's face, you will die where you are going.
• If you are moving and a big bird passes in front of you, it means there is a death in the family.
• During lightning and thunder storms, it is advised to only stay inside, and not to wear red, as it attracts lightning to strike you.
• It is a bad omen to eat a corn husk with three parts; it means you will have triplets.
• If a grasshopper stops and digs in the sand infront of you, and then re-covers it, and you witness it, there are problems in the family and trouble will come by nightfall.
• When a person is struck by lightning, it is believed that he/she was bewitched, or is being punished for a wrong doing.

... After all of this, we told them we wanted some positive ones. People die all the time here, so they dont fear death as we do back home, but they seem to have many excuses for death or other negative occurances. I assert this to their lack of knowledge. I told them of our superstitions on the US, such as walking under a ladder will give you bad luck, or seeing a black cat.. or Friday the 13th, and I realized that our superstitions are linked with negative things as well. But, they were able to tell me two, sort of positive, beliefs:

• If you see a black ant carrying food in its mouth, you will find luck and abundance where you are going
• If your hand itches on the palm, you will receive something good; if your top eyelid twitches, it means you will see something good.
• When rains aren't coming as they are supposed to, you can pray under a Masolo tree and offer sacrifices, and it will rain.

"These are to passed from generation to generation so that each new generation is kept aware of good and bad things. They are meant to teach respect, and to teach young ones to focus and plan for the future." ...I'm not sure how, exactly, but thats a direct quote when we asked the significance of these customs and beliefs to the Zambian culture.

Funeral Practices: In a village, whether you knew the person, were invited, or not, it is important to attend the funeral and pay your respects. This next bit will be my notes from the village community members when we asked them about funeral preparations, they will most likely be unorganized, since I'm about a 6 beers and a glass of wine in at this point, and the power keeps going out and I continue to lose everything I've typed up... I'm just trying to do this as quickly as possible. This will also be in broken English, as I recorded it how they told it.
    When someone is about to [knowingly] die, members of the village will close
 their eyes and mouth as if they are sleeping. They will wash them, and apply lotion, then dress them nicely, after they have passed. They will place a blindfold on their eyes (to keep bugs out) and place them in a coffin. A hole is dug 6 ft into the ground, the coffin is placed, then logs are placed ontop, then a reed mat, and then the dirt. They will place tombstones, with the persons life history. This is a new thing being practiced, graves used to be unmarked, or only had the names. A woman will not cook if her husband has died, until the second visit from his parents.At the first visit, they will shave some of his hair, and at the second they will shave the front part of his hair, as well as give the wife medicine to wash him in, and then she is allowed to begin cooking again. If they want her to remarry, they will throw a chicken or maize at her to let her know that she's free to do so. When someone dies, word spreads quickly. You will bring a chicken to the chief to tell him one of his people has died. People will bring food to the funeral. When someone dies, they are to be buried the next day. Children will be buried within the same day, ASAP.Everyone in the village is expected to show up to funerals. For stillbirths, there is no funeral. A young childs funeral lasts a day, while an older personals funeral lasts from 2 days up until a month, where people will still come to the house to mourn and pay respects. Church services will be conducted, people will give speeches to tell the stories of the deceased persons life. If a man dies, only men will wash him. If a woman dies, women will clean her. Men are the only ones to lower the coffin, while women provide the food. When there is a funeral, no one will work- no planting, no meetings, nothing- all work in the village is suspended, except for the womans house chores, which she will do as quickly as possible early in the morning. The tradition during a time of death is only mourn, cook, eat.