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!
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Monday, October 1, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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