Ubwafia Sana (Very Problem)

So unfortunately Carrie and I are back in Lusaka, where everything is 10x as expensive as the village and people aren't as nice. Although being able to eat Indian food and Pizza is nice I suppose.

The 'very problem' is that apparently a letter from the clinic at which I want to work along with my resume are no sufficient to apply for a work permit according the the hardass immigration officer of Serenje. And of course you can't volunteer without a work permit. His approach varies between detective "everything you say is being recorded so I will catch any contradictions you are making", helpful and dutiful Zambian official "you see these two flags on my desk; America and Zambia, we are one" (to which I replied "well if we are one then I don't even need a work permit, right?"), and highly educated bastard who likes to hear himself talk "you see this paper, this certifies that I have taken all of these courses, in your country. Now all you have is this paper, which anyone could type on a computer, it does not certify you" (his was no more official than a resume and could also have been typed on a computer by anyone). Basically we talked for maybe 4 hours, him nitpicking everything I had and every defense I used. He even accused me of trying to contravene Zambian law with a penalty of 1 million Kwacha (like $250) because I had gotten a visitors' visa though I wanted to volunteer. Finally, after making Carrie cry because he needed to expound upon something ridiculous and yelled at her for interrupting him in the middle of his monologue, he felt guilty enough to extend my visitors visa without penalty for another month. Just so I could gather the necessary documentation including a letter from the Ministry of Health in Lusaka offering me a position of employment. He says that everything is centralized in Zambia, so the offer must come from the very top of the Ministry, as opposed to from the people with whom I am actually going to be working with. Ugh, frustrating. I would understand if I was getting paid, but it's silly to go through all this rigmarole just to volunteer.

Carrie and I got to Lusaka yesterday, partially in a totally bwana fast and free ride with an accountant. This morning I went to the headquarters of the MOH and was told I need to type up a letter of my intentions. Luckily the nice people on the ground floor let me use one of their computers to do so. Tomorrow I will go back to find out if they agreed to write the letter or not. If not, I may have to leave and re-enter the country every 3 months and not be able to volunteer with the clinic legally. Or I might try and volunteer with the Neighborhood Health Committees in Mplembe, who don't have an astonishing hierarchy and bureaucracy to get a letter from.

On a lighter note, we got 2 chickens; Fireball and Pocahontas - who are fun to watch and feed but lay no eggs because they are too young (the villagers lied!). We might also get another one that will actually lay eggs now as opposed to 2 or 3 months from now. We build a really askew and unstable chicken house of of bamboo, natural fiber (for which I had to rip the bark off of the musamba tree), thatch, and sticks. It's on a really stable platform though. Sometimes the chickens (or kitchens as my headman likes to call them) follow me around because they want peanuts, and sometimes they run away from me when I try to capture them (they usually try to sleep over at the neighbors' house because they deem themselves subservient to the rooster next door [feminism hasn't caught on among humans nor chickens in Zambia, much to my dismay]). The best is disabling a giant locust and then watching the chickens try to choke it down. Anyway, needless to say they provide hours of entertainment.

The garden is surviving multiple attack from the mole or whatever it is. Sweet potatoes are nice because you can replant the half-eaten stems and they will try to grow the tubers all over again. Swiss chard and green bean are not so lucky. At least it's less water to carry I suppose. That's what we would call the proverbial silver lining of the insidious storm cloud of rodent destruction. Clinical Officer Kasolo claims he has a solution to all of our mole woes which he will reveal upon our return. We recently made a new bed permaculture style - with all of the vegetables and fruits all mixed up with eachother and little space between anything. Carrie doesn't think it's viable. I think it's going to be awesome. The mice will be so confused by the great variety of vegetation that they won't be able to even find the tomatoes to take bites out of! I think we need more compost though, because the soil is pretty poor. The chickens aren't pooping enough. The passionfruit plant is growing spectacularly. And most of the mango flowers on one of the trees has set fruit. Apparently all the fruits will be ripe in November or December. I have a feeling the banana tree will beat that because I have been sneaking it water.

I repaired my crappy bike so it's tolerably rideable. Carrie was away all week and it was rather lonely, though the neighbor kids tried to provide company by sitting on our back porch staring at me while I built the chicken house. Periodically the headman would come over to tell me how the chicken house is wrong and not strong. Zambians have a very set way of doing absolutely everything and put no stock in the idea that there is more than one solution for a given problem. Our neighbor, Iron Mumba, wanted to do the roof of the chicken house and the headman wanted to help build the stand, because they felt I was doing it wrong. I showed them that posts don't have to be as big around as one's leg when you used cross-bracing, and that even Muzungus can thatch a roof. I felt kinda bad about helping deforest Zambia with the saplings I harvested to build everything. But then I though about all of the waste and pollution that would be generated were I to build a chicken house in the U.S. and I felt better. I'd probably use lumber which was harvested far away and took a lot of energy to saw and ship around. Then I'd use nails and screws whose metal had been strip-mined from the earth, maybe coated in plastic which was derived from oil too. It's neat being in direct interaction with the earth. I think that's what I'm liking best about Zambia. In the villages, almost everything is done by hand, and all materials are directly from the environment around them. I wish our garden was good enough that we could grow all our own food, but maybe in time.

We got a beehive built (badly) in Serenje and set it up in the mango grove out back. No bees so far. I think either the entrance is too small or the top bars are too irregular and leave gaps that the bees find unacceptable. I think we'll get the carpenter in Mplembe to make new ones. Maybe the bees will be in there by the time we get back. Who knows.

The neighbors are always asking for food, which I usually grudgingly give them because we have so much more and their kids bellies stick out a bit too far. Fortunately (and unfortunately) they are setting up some fields behind their house for finger millet and sorghum. The unfortunately is because they chopped down a huge swath of trees which they are going to burn. The headman and I were especially upset about this huge mupundu tree they cut down. They are handsome trees and they produce tasty little fruits. Oh well, I guess it's good that they are moving towards self-sustenance. Anyway, I'm thinking we could help them set up a garden too, to grow some vegetables to go with all of their carbohydrate-providing staples. Give a person a fish feed them for a day...

My Bemba vocab hasn't increased much as things have been too busy for bemba lessons. I'm getting more comfortable with the language overall though. Oh! Maurice, the carpenter (who is a really stellar craftsman, Dad - you should see his doors, the wood here is so beautiful) speaks French alongside Bemba and some English. It was neat conversing in French, except I would always use awe and ee instead of non and oui by accident. You'd be proud of me Mom, I didn't screw up my French too much.

Nonna, thank you for your letter! I'm glad you liked Sicko and are so politically radical. I always knew I had the coolest grandmother.
Emilie, Foucault isn't too dry. Also, did you ever get my happy birthday text message? Big congratulations on getting a real job! I hope you like it and your new compartment.
Tony, I wait on tenterhooks for the 14 pounds of glory that is Molecular Biology of the Cell.
John, did you manage to get my account straightened out?

I hope everyone is in good health and trucking along just fine. Much love, Doug