tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78554493280645077472024-02-20T10:59:38.416+02:00Sub-Saharan Doug;My life in ZambiaDoughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-79387414106066219142008-10-06T22:43:00.002+02:002008-10-07T00:14:33.199+02:00Finale (or is it!?!)Ok ok ok, this has been much delayed. But here it is<br /><br />I don't remember the timeline on all of this, but I'm pretty sure it all happened before I got on the plane back to the US.<br /><br />We set up a meeting for our local Jatropha (that biodiesel oil-seed producing plant) growers to learn more about how to plant and maintain the seedlings they had in their fields. We invited Peter (that South African organic farmer) to talk to the villagers about it, to be followed by a presentation by Carrie on AIDS and possible future workshops. We put up signs about the event in all the popular spots. Carrie and I were totally shocked to arrive to a crowd of maybe 100, mostly women gathered under the mango trees at the school.<br /><br />Unfortunately, very few of them came to learn about Jatropha or AIDS. Most were there to talk to the Ministry of Lands' wife (who also owns this shop in Serenje) for some unknown purpose. Lucky for us, she didn't get there till later, so all those people got to hear about growing Jatropha and AIDS. Peter gave a slightly less than stellar presentation in terms of organization (probably just cause the PowerPoint projecter wasn't working... kidding), but I think people got most of their questions answered. As Carrie was talking to them, the Ministry of Lands' wife came and the crowd excitedly flocked to her and started singing something.<br /><br />After we got back to the hut we tried and succeeded in scoring a ride to Peter's farm. We arrived to see that his house had been totally burnt to hell by lightning. The mud-bricks still were standing for the most part, but were ready to fall over pretty soon. A bunch of Peter's stuff was ruined by the fire and the rain. Maybe thatch roofs aren't the best things in the world. Surprisingly he didn't seem too terribly concerned.<br /><br />We spent almost all of our time by the river while we were there. It got pretty boring. Fortunately we had a steady supply of drinks and guavas. We got to sleep outside on the sand between rocks by the river. That would have been cool except that Peter was there too. Three is a crowd. Peter also came down with malaria and so was less than active. One neat thing we saw there one morning was wild guinea fowl. We had seen the much larger domesticated variety at Peters and in villages. The wild ones could fly though, so they were more interesting to watch. Unfortunately they make the same annoying sqeaking noises.<br /><br />Some funny things at the river were the constant anticipation of seeing mysterious and gigantic "river lizards". As we were walking down, we saw weird tracks in the sand. Peter said that they were from the river lizards which were huge. He said they were really common but we never saw any and they sounded impossible. Another funny thing was going out in the boat. We thought it was going to be a nice long trip down the river, but it was actually just a very short stretch that took maybe 2 minutes to traverse. Carrie tried paddling the boat once and almost killed us both.<br /><br />The best part of the farm was definately getting to milk a cow. Peter let us try one morning. I had read about how to milk, but it's much harder in practice! Carrie and I didn't get much milk out of her, partially cause she needed to have her udder bounced against (after her calf drank some milk and slammed his head into her udder a few time, she let down a lot more milk for Peter's employees) and also because she was a village cow, not a breed like a Holstein or whatever (village cows aren't specialized for milk production and has short teats) Peter was yelling at his workers about not emptying out the milk pail after each cow, and that was pretty terrible and uncomfortable.<br /><br />Another cool thing was Peter's radio. He has a radio that can communicate with radios around the entire world! I don't understand how the hell it works, since radio waves are pretty low energy and Peter is in the middle of nowhere. He talked to some guy in Italy for a while. Apparently it's a big hobby for some people. They keep a book with cards from all the people around the world they've been in contact with. Very strange. I just picture all these lonely guys calling eachother and talking about their local weather and how clearly the other person is coming through. Anyway, after a couple days on Peter's farm we biked back to Mpelembe.<br /><br />Carrie and I tried to buy up and pound a lot of icikanda roots so that we could bring back the powder to make icikanda (African Balogna) for friends and family at home. One day we both ate a bit of the pounded (but not dried) icikanda. It tasted pretty bitter. That night, at exactly the same time, we both got terrible stomach aches. They ended up being in proportion and duration to how much each of us had eated of the raw icikanda (mine being much worse cause I ate more). Later Joshua came over to warn us that the icikanda would poison us if we didn't dry it. He asked if we ate any and we lied that we hadn't. If only he told us earlier!<br /><br />Our soap went missing again. We asked the neighbors if they knew where it went and they said their dog must have eaten it. Really? Why would a dog eat soap? And if it did, wouldn't it be in some sort of pain or discomfort? Hmm.<br /><br />It got soooo cold during cold season! One morning I checked the thermometer in the garden and it said 36 degrees fahrenheit! I didn't believe Carrie when she complained about the cold in her letters, but it's true, Africa can get really goddamn cold. I think it's because there is so little moisture in the air, so at night when the sun doesn't shine, all the heat radiates away into space with no water vapor to trap it in.<br /><br />Joshua and some of the village kids asked us if they could pay us to watch our TV. For a long time we couldn't understand what they were saying. Then we finally realized they thought we had a TV because they heard our music sometimes. Our music must sound so radically different than their conception of music, that they thought they were hearing a movie or tv show!<br /><br />At some point Carrie and I went over to another PCVs site at Chalilo for the area Agriculture Fair. We got there and couldn't locate the volunteer (Alex) at the fair site. We were then told that actually nothing was going to happen the first day cause the musicians weren't there. Alex's site is also where Chief Chitambo IV (the fourth) lives, so we went to check out his "palace". We were really picturing a palace, so after we biked through the gates of silence (with their "NO YELLING" sign) and passed some huts and insakas, we were perplexed. A guard approached us and asked what were were doing there, and we said we wanted to see the palace. He pointed behind us to the completely underwhelming set of huts (ok one had a tv satellite dish). Funny.<br /><br />A nice guy led us to Alex's house, but apparently he had just left with the wheelbarrow and his demonstration beehive. So we turned right around back to the fairgrounds. We found him and walked back to his hut. While walking my bike I incurred a slash across my foot from the pedal which would later get infected and require antibiotics Argh!<br /><br />Alex's house and neighbors were soooo radically different than ours. They had a well with a big bucket and a crank to draw up the water. His family often makes him meals and heats up water every day for him for a bath. His neighbors were all really nice and kinda bwaana, so they never beg or steal from him. He, and apparently most volunteers, use laundry detergent to wash their dishes. So toxic!<br /><br />The next day, the fair did actually happen bit by bit. We got there too early, when almost no one was set up. We waited forever as people trickled in and set up. There weren't many people with stuff to show and it was mostly corn. It was cool seeing the few weird native crops like this spiky orange cucumber-fruit. One family had a handcranked peanut butter mill! Other people had more field crops like peanuts, millet, and sorghum. Some women had some arts and crafts they had made. There was a good bit of buzz about Alex's hive, so he was over there much of the time. We also got huge pieces of Chalilo icikanda (which is the best cause it has the most peanuts). After a while we decided no more interesting exhibits would open up so we biked back home.<br /><br />Shortly after that trip, we went to visit Laura, another PCV, to attend a village dairy goat workshop. Carrie had been trying for so long to get dairy goats, so we thought that this would be a good opportunity. And we wanted to just hear about goats. Laura had the best site of all. She had a small canal of water flowing right by her house complete with ducks. Her house was all nicely painted inside and she had so much good food from home! She also got radio so we got to listen to a little of what was going on in the world.<br /><br />The goat workshop was at the house of the family that keeps the goats Laura aquired. The patriarch was this super nice old man who loved to tell stories. He also had a non-funtional fish pond (since Laura is a fish farming volunteer [dry because the woman who "owns" the canal diverted it from the ponds]). A vet from Mkushi came out to talk to the people in Laura's village about the proper care of goats in Zambia. It was pretty long and in Bemba. We understood some of it. During the presentation I sat on the ground with the women (always trying to lead by example about changing gender roles). The women thought that was really funny. After we got to meet the goats a bit, though they weren't exactly "tame". It got sooooo cold in Laura's hut at night. Oh my god. The next morning was spent just trying not to die of hypothermia. After things thawed out a bit we hitched back home (actually Carrie went to Lusaka).<br /><br />While Carrie was in Lusaka I worked on a new bathing shelter. I designed it so that one could actually stand up and shower for a change. I also tried to make it more wind-proof, but that didn't work out perfectly. It's tall and constructed like a traditional Zambian bathing shelter (out of sticks and tall grass). It's funny how after trying our version of how we want to build things, we ended up going with the Zambian way (chicken house, bathing shelter, chicken laying shelter). The bathing shelter works pretty well, except that it's super difficult to raise up the full drum of water. I tried to counterbalance the weight with a large log, but you really need two people still. I guess Carrie now just stands on a chair to fill it instead of filling it then raising it.<br /><br />Some final funny things about Zambians. A large number of boys paint their fingernails. When asked why they had no answer. It's especially strange since you wouldn't think nail polish would be readily available in rural villages, and that hardly any women paint their nails. Men who wish to portray themselves as being in high positions not only wear long pointy shoes, but keep their pinkie nails long (not to snort cocaine, trust me). I think they view it as a symbol of not being a farmer or manual laborer, since it would be impractical to have a long pinkie nail and swing a hoe. It's really just kinda silly and gross looking.<br /><br />Jesus, I have almost another whole blog's worth of stuff to write about our trip to Zanzibar. Hmm. Ok, look forward to an epilogue! Except it won't be anything like an epilogue. It will just be what happened going to and staying in Tanzania. Hakuna matata.<br /><br />Dad! much belated thanks for the chocolate, cocoa, jam, and brownie mix (even though we burnt half the batch).<br /><br />Diana! thank you for the coffee! it was much much better than the freeze dried stuff.Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-72381510893409396732008-08-15T21:57:00.002+02:002008-08-15T22:19:09.277+02:00The Long Awaited (2nd to) Last Post About ZambiaHello Hardcore Readers!<br /><br />I am finally going to start the end of this blog. I don't remember exactly where I left off and I don't want to copy Carrie's blog. Well, the chicks, numbering 6 kept growing strong. Every day, several times a day, New Chicken marches them inside the house to discover if Carrie or I forgot to close up Finnigan's dried fishes or left other food within reach. Every time we toss them out, but they never learn. Our newest chicken, Corncob, ate all of our strawberry plants (tons of runners we had just set out). She and the others also ate all of our ultra-composted-sunken-bed seedlings, despite my efforts to built an elevated cover of criss-crossed sticks. It had been growing spectacularly. The rest of the garden, save 2 tomato plants is decimated too. It's mostly since we let the elements and termites punch holes in our garden fence. Our previous gardening "successes" didn't encourage us enough to patch it up.<br /><br />In my last month in the village we built a stand-up showering shelter out of poles and elephant grass. It's great. A person up to 6 feet tall can now comfortably shower with minimal wind to freeze them (which still means a significant amount). It's shaped like a square spiral so you can't see in and wind can't figure out how to navigate to its core.<br /><br />We also basically finished the fence/patio. There is still one roof section that needs a bit of thatching, but I think it's ok. The chickens all love to gather in the shaded corner and preen and sit with eachother. It's pretty cute. We got to sit in it ourselves a little bit, but since it was cold season, it wasn't as often as we would have liked. Whenever we would sit in our hammocks Finnigan would get upset that we weren't cuddling him and would scribble-scrabble up the poles and sit on us. Sometimes he would get tired of Carrie and jump from her hammock onto me (sometimes resulting in claw-marks on my arm).<br /><br />I should have written about everything sooner, as I now forget a bunch. OH! Speaking of bunches - we harvested our banana tree before going to Tanzania and Zanzibar. It was a huge bunch of bananas, since we cut the extraneous stalks to direct all the energy into this fruiting one. Heavy too. Well, we hung them in our hut, during cold season, so they didn't ripen up before I left :( Carrie said they ended up being not that great. I imagine that was cause of the cold, slow ripening. The neighbors said to hang them in our insaka (cooking shelter), but since that's just open, I would guess that the neighbors and others would help themselves to our bananas.<br /><br />Oh. I remembered that I left my list of everything I wanted to write about in Pittsburgh. I'm in Madison, WI visiting my friend Sarah right now. Oh well. I'll save the rest for when I get back to da burgh. It's better to blog in little chunks anyway I think. Expect a bigger post in the 2nd week of September or thereabouts. Take care all.Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-6794695494839193452008-07-21T12:55:00.002+02:002008-07-21T13:06:07.172+02:00Leaving on a Jet PlaneAs some of you know, I will be returning to The States shortly. Sorry I have not blogged lately. The computer in Serenje died, and I didn't need to come to Lusaka, so I have no internet access until now. I have a lot to write about, and feel kinda funny about having to write it all up when I am back in the US. I feel it makes it less interesting if everyone knows that I'm slightly less likely to lop off limbs with axes. Oh well.<br /><br />For now I will just say that I have had a fantastic year here. I've learned a lot about the world, various skills, and I daresay even myself. I will be sad to leave this place with its friendly people and laid back lifestyle. I'll miss living in nature as opposed to on top of concrete on top of nature. I'll miss the strange constellations at night, and knowing when it's a full moon. I'll miss our quaint little hut and our nshima. I'll also be missing our remaining cat, 4 chickens and 6 chicks. Most of all I will be missing Carrie.<br /><br />Back into the fray I go.Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-52487504401326034192008-05-22T21:50:00.001+02:002008-05-22T21:54:11.039+02:00Everything I Forgot and MoreI’m at Peace Corps House in Serenje now. We came for several objectives, all of which failed, other than eating good food. We were hoping to find the goat farmer’s number in Carrie’s mailbox. Nope. We were also hoping that the Zambian postal service had run at a moderate speed and delivered us long promised goodies. Nope. We wanted to buy our train ticket to Tanzania… the train apparently crashed in Kapiri Mposhi, so they probably won’t be repairing the track nor letting any other trains through for a while. Sigh. But we did make and eat: french fries with cheese on top, french toast, grilled cheese, avocado and tomato sandwich, and a fresh-squeezed lemonade smoothie. Tonight we have a vegetarian quiche in the oven to be followed a coconut-custard pie. Tomorrow we’ll probably just have oats and Recoffee (a portmanteau of REally mediocre reconstituted COFFEE).<br /><br />I forgot to mention some of our other chicken-related events and epiphanies. Not only did the first two chicks to hatch get names – Chipmunk and Arctic, because of their respective coloration and patterning) – but also the first two chickens to subsequently show any extreme differences in body size as well. Vulture is the largest chick, not so much by body mass so much as oversized wings and puffy feathers (with only baby feathers on its head and neck, giving it a vulturine appearance). Vulture is probably a boy. He started out like Chipmunk, but has subsequently become almost entirely black, save his head and neck. Wee Wee Wee is – as an astute blog reader may guess – the smallest chick. Though it’s probably a girl, it may just be small because it’s really stupid. She is sort of a boring splotchy wheat color, like 3 others. When you put out the remains of oats, porridge, peanuts, or any other tasty poultry treat, she stays far back while the other chicks dive at the food in a feathered frenzy. If you miraculously catch her and try to offer her food, she just peeps loudly and tries to run away. More miraculously yet, if she manages to get a piece of food before the others, she drops it and picks up it several times before actually swallowing one (typically resulting in the food she drops being eaten by others).<br /><br />I ran out of good books to read at the hut, so started reading the dictionary. There are way too many entries for variants of simple words or prefixes e.g. “Air”; Air, Airplane, Air-conditioning Airily, Air-traffic-control, Airy, ad. infinitum. Anyway, one of the worthwhile words that I came across that I didn’t previously know was “Alectryomancy”. It is the divination of the future by way of watching how a rooster pecks at corn kernels. Obviously I had to try it – here is my prediction: in the future, large nearly flightless birds will peck randomly yet precisely at corn. Oh, and we’ll all drive hovercars.<br /><br />Our Serenje culinary masterpieces have been preceded by some Mpelembe ones. Peanuts have been harvested, so we bought and were gifted a bunch. We also still had the macadamia nuts that the South African farmer Peter had given us. These facts, plus boredom, lead to one large batch of delicious homemade peanut butter and one small indulgent batch of macadamia nut butter! We baked bread and it was all delicious. Macadamia nut butter is very oily and very delicious. We also made bagels a week later. Bagels are tough to make in the bush, but they were good.<br /><br />One day in Mpelembe, Mizz Mumba came up to us and told us there was a funeral. That means she expects us to go. Oh dear. The ones we had been to before involved just going in the house, sitting in there with the body and mourners for a while, and then leaving. Not so lucky this time. It was at the next next door neighbor’s. Someone’s baby had died. We went in and sat down amongst the mourners. One woman was wailing the same phrase about mothers, children, and difficulty over and over. When she was done Mizz Mumba chimed in with approximately the same formula. It was weird sitting on the floor 2 feet away from a dead baby. I felt a little sad for it, but more for the mother, since the baby didn’t even know what the world is about or have any hopes and dreams or anything. After a long time Carrie and I decided to leave and started to walk home. We were redirected. Carrie had to sit with the women, and I was led by some kids to help dig the grave.<br /><br />6 or 7 men were standing/working around the hole. They were all chatting and carousing. Women are the official mourners of Zambia. The hole was already maybe 4 feet deep when I got there. People rotated digging in the hole and clearing back the dirt that had been dug out. I just helped clear dirt, as at the time I still had an infected wound on my foot. They decided the depth of the hole by the point at which they reached wet clay (which just happens to be about 6 feet). When we were done, we walked back to the house area and sat around. Maurice, the French/Bemba/English-speaking carpenter and Iron Mumba came back carrying a large roll of thick inner tree bark. Apparently they make baby coffins (maybe all?) out of muputu bark (which ironically probably killed the tree). They hammered, cut, and sewed the pliable bark into a box – pretty interesting process. In the meantime, everyone got some boiled sweet potato. When they were done, the coffin was brought into the house and the baby was put in. They brought out the coffin and had Iron Mumba, Maurice, and someone else say something. No crosses or anything. Then we all walked to the grace and the coffin was put in. Immediately, people took up implements and began filling the hole. Most of the procession filed back, the men stayed to finish it. After we filled and tamped the grave, they put a cup on top to mark it as a grave. That explained all the cups and bowls on top of what looked to be cassava mounds in the vicinity.<br /><br />I had much that happened in Lusaka after my last blog entry. It was really terrible, then it became ok, then it became worth it. First let me stall by talking about Lusaka items I forgot to write about. I have hair down to my earlobes and a crazy beard right now. This has lead an overwhelming number of urban Zambians to conclude that they should address me as either “Jesus” or “Chuck Norris”. I am flattered in both cases of course (if we forget all of the books Chuck Norris wrote). I have even taken the time to bless people by waving my hand around like the pope (when addressed as Jesus – not Chuck Norris, although that would have been funny too).<br /><br />There is this huge tree that was cut into sections (the base with severed roots, and three trunk pieces) and deposited near a bus stop (“Zesco”, near Makeshi Rd.) for no reason. I felt pretty bad for the tree. Then, when the rains came, the stump sprouted a couple of branches and put out leaves! I’m glad.<br /><br />Ok so what happened after I blogged is that I went to buy our staple groceries at Shoprite (flour, rice, oats etc.). I had my hiking bag and I stuffed it to the brim. I think it weighed as much as me. Anyway, when I finished packing all of my groceries, I put my money belt with 120,000 Kwacha ($30, all the money I had except for the equivalent of a quarter in my wallet) in the top compartment with Carrie’s cell phone and locked it. To celebrate my packing success, I went back into Shoprite to buy myself a ‘Chelsea bun’. When I came back out, I wanted to check the time on the cell phone and noticed my money belt wasn’t in there. Shit! I searched where I was packing, the garbage cans, asked employees and security guards. Nothing. It must have fallen out when I thought I packed it. Everyone I talked to was very sympathetic and 3 different people offered to give me money for transport back to the guesthouse (luckily I had already paid for that night right?). The guard advised me to go to the police station in hopes that they could flag down motorists at checkpoints and help me hitch back home.<br /><br />So I went in and filed a report with the officer in charge. He said they can’t make drivers take me. Then some traffic patrol cops came in and heard my sad tale. They said they might be able to get me a free ride aboard one of the intercity busses. I told them some of my stuff was still at the guesthouse, so they decided to drive me to the guesthouse and then to the bus station. By polite asking (by me) followed by uncalled for intimidation (by Detective so and so), I got a 30 pin refund for not staying that night. When we arrived at the bus station, the cops talked to one of the ticket booth guys and he said he could probably put me on the 4 am bus to Mansa (which goes right by Mpelembe). So the traffic cops handed me over to the bus station cops. The bus station cops also filed a report for some reason and wrote me an official (with 2 stamps) note with the subject “RE: STRANDED PERSON” and ending in “Please do whatever is necessary to aid the bearer of this letter”.<br /><br />While in the bus police station I met a guy with a child’s-print handkerchief who responded to my greeting by saying “Peace and love”. Can’t argue with that. The officer in charge and I talked about some of the finer points of Bemba and he seemed to enjoy chatting. Suddenly three guys were shoved through the doorway, followed by a cop. The cop was yelling “Lock them up! Lock theme up!” and shoving hard. When two of the prisoners were in the cell, he shoved the third against a locker and yelled at him in Bemba (I think) and English. Then he started hitting him about the head and arms for no reason and told him to talk in English. The poor guy offered no resistance, but the cop kept hitting and swatting him. Finally he shoved the guy in the jail cell and left. Needless to say I was pretty stunned. I felt pretty angry and wished I had confronted the cop. My opportunity arose when he brought in a cab driver and repeatedly shoved him into the locker. After he locked him up I told him he didn’t need to be so rough. He said that I didn’t know these cab drivers and that next time he was going to use a baton. I said there’s no reason to be violent, the prisoners weren’t resisting, and that Zambia is a peaceful country. He just reiterated that I didn’t understand. Well, at least I spoke up. 10 minutes and many “Ba Officer”s later, one of the cops surreptitiously accepted a 10 pin ($3) bribe to let the cabbie out. I acted like I didn’t see. Bribes are pretty common when dealing with police to facilitate things (I haven’t done it, but I’ve seen it done frequently).<br /><br />After all was taken care of in the station, one of the cops walked with me back to the ticket booth, where maybe 30 people were bundled against the cold to sleep or watch some movie. After some discussion he led me to a bus that wasn’t leaving for a long time and told me I could sleep on board. There were some other people on board also sleeping (although two were annoyingly talking nonstop). I ate and tried to sleep. After a while I had to use the bathroom (fee paying – 1 pin), so I showed the doorman my police note and he let me in for free the rest of the time I was there. This was the cleanest bathroom in Zambia! It even had showers! The bus got cold because some jerk wanted his window open – which also let in all the bus station clamor, so it was hard to sleep. I fell asleep for a while only to be awoken by some god-awful extra loud movie with a soundtrack consisting of the same track of a recorder over and over again. From what I gather it was a low budget and/or old movie about an African independence movement. It consisted solely of blowhard politicians giving loud speeches, sometimes interspersed with unenthusiastic masses cheering, followed by the recorder. It must have gone on for 3 hours.<br /><br />Finally at 4 am I got up and went to my bus. Several different people rotated in to take people’s tickets, none knew if it was ok for me to get on. My note got passed around and finally someone approved it. By that time I was worried there would be no seats, but the bus was less than half full for some reason. By 5, the bus took off. So, by sleeping on a bus instead of in a bed (30 pin), and by getting a free ride to my proverbial doorstep (80 pin), I made up 110,000 of my 120,000 Kwacha lost. On the bus I got a free soda and some coconut cookies, so really with all that, the transport money the Shoprite lady gave me, and the experience, I didn’t lose anything. Ok, so the bus stopped about 2 km past the road to the hut, so I lost a little in sweat and suffering - lugging that pack back. Oh, also on the bus, I got to watch this video of this pot-bellied Nigerian guy with his face painted like Insane Clown Posse dancing and rapping ridiculously. Totally worth getting my money snatched.<br /><br />The funny thing about those coconut biscuits was that they had a leprechaun with a four-leafed clover on the front. Ireland has no coconuts, and I doubt that 1 in 10,000 Zambians knows what that little guy in green is. There are also these savory corn snacks adorned with a sleeping Mexican wearing a sombrero pulled over his eyes. Post-modernists would have a field day in Zambia.<br /><br />A few days ago the neighbors saved up enough money to buy a goat. So they borrowed Carrie’s bike and came back with a supposedly pregnant female (African goats are so small it’s hard to believe). I tried to feed it and it just bucked and ran to the end of its tether. I noticed it had been hanging out at the well, and rural Zambians never seem to give their animals any water, so I brought over a bucket that still had some water that I was just about to fill. The goat seemed interested, but ultimately backed away. I shrugged and started to fill my bucket at the well. Ingosa, the neighbor’s only daughter, came over with a concerned look on her face. After greeting me she said “Mbushi, ukusamfya, ukufwa”. I didn’t understand and said so. The sentence didn’t make any sense “The goat, to wash, to die”. After she repeated the third time I understood and broke into laughter. The neighbors have seen us bathing our cats, the dog we had, and even one of our chickens (she was totally crusty when we got her). So they thought I had approached the goat and was now drawing water in order to give it a bath, and they thought that if it got wet it would die (goats do hate water). I explained that I was just trying to give it water to drink, but Ingosa left seemingly unconvinced and moved the goats’ tether closer to their house.<br /><br />To all the wonderful individuals who sent me/us books, I am returning soonish, so would like to know who wants me to bring back the books they sent. Emilie, you wanted them all brought back right? Anyone else?<br /><br />Thanks for the Easter candy Diana and Ken!<br /><br />I actually didn’t finish, but it’s getting late. Goodnight<br /><br />p.s. the coconut-custard pie turned out deliciousDoughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-8847433142836060472008-05-16T11:54:00.002+02:002008-05-16T12:59:56.384+02:00I forgot my list of what to write aboutGreetings, as you can see from the title I will be ad libbing and forgetting most of what has happened lately. Typical.<br /><br />Today I went to immigration (everyone's favorite inefficient government agency) to retrieve my final visiting permit extension. They couldn't find it in the log-book (side note: Tell USAID to take back the computers given to Zambia for the immigration dept. because they don't use them except to read BBC News) and so the table 10 lady asked that other lady and she said my application was rejected. So I went to ask her if she knew the grounds for rejection and she said she was kidding. Wow, thanks for the stomach ache that lasted 5 minutes. She proceeded to search for my file and found that, but my application and visitor's permit were not inside as they should have been. Whoops! We lost your permit, but hey, thanks for the one million kwacha. So I sat around for an hour while she tried to find it. I explained that I handed it to the guy at the next desk to hand to her, and she said maybe he misplaced it. But of course he isn't in and won't be for a while because his kid is sick. So I made the long, tedious, expensive trip to Lusaka for no reason. I am going to be searching for a good ticket price for returning to the States, but I could have done that in Serenje.<br /><br />What's new in Mpelembe? We got another new chicken. The guy said it would start laying the next day (or that it layed the previous day? "mailo" is both) but I thought it's eyes were too green (I noticed baby and young chickens generally have green eyes and adults have orange eyes) and it's pubic bone spacing was unsuitable for squeezing out eggs. We bought it anyway. It battled the other chickens including Peeps (who is actually a rooster, but doesn't realize it yet) and got pecked in the eye. So now we had a brand new one-eyed non-laying chicken. Yay. We wanted to call it Corn Cob or Coco Puff, but then decided on Peg-Leg, on account of the missing eye. Well I put some drops in its eye and it healed up, so now it doesn't have a name really.<br /><br />The baby chicks have hatched! Several hatched in Carrie and my very hands (we even cheated and helped them out, New Chicken also cheated by pecking the egg shells!) It was a very cool experience. We had brought New Chicken and the nest indoors and one night we heard peeping. I didn't recognize it as that at first; I thought Carrie or I had a weird booger and were breathing funny. Then we both realized it was coming from the eggs! Peep peep peep, peck.... peep peep. So we went to bed that night feeling like kids the night before St. Nick and Black Peter come to dole out presents. We woke up early to see the chicks hatch. In the wee hours of the day the first chick hatched. It looked like a wet bird/chipmunk. It's head was too heavy to lift so it just peeped and laid on my hand for a while. We put it back under the chicken to keep warm. Over the course of the day 5 chickens hatched I think, including New Chicken's only child (who was bigger than the others cause N.C.'s eggs are bigger than Fireballs. The next day the rest hatched. All were at least a day early for some reason.<br /><br />So we have 8 healthy chicks (one is stupid and doesn't eat as much as the others so is smaller). The first two to hatch have names: Chipmunk and Arctic (which Carrie pronounces as Artic). They are really cute, but are now scared of us generally, as New Chicken has been telling them dirty lies about us. They will come over if you have peanuts in your hand. Sometimes New Chicken decides it's time for "Mother Ship" and she makes a certain cluck (she always clucks to the chicks and they always peep to her) and squats and all the chicks get under her. We don't know why she does that. Sometimes the chicks try to jump on her back for some reason. Just trying to be silly I guess or get a free ride.<br /><br />Chicken hawks are continually trying to eat the chicks. New Chicken is good at spotting them though so goes "Braaaawwwk! Braawk!" and all the chicks scatter and hide. They hide so well and stay so still that you can't find them until New Chicken starts clucking again and they all come out. The neighbors help keep the hawks at bay with their cries of "Iwe!" etc.<br /><br />I was cutting the top off of a tree I felled with the axe in the woods with Carrie one day. It was for the goat house platform. I guess some self-destructive part of me was dissatisfied at my failed attempt to saw off my finger a while ago, so I missed the trunk of the tree and chopped into where my big toe joins my left foot. Ouch! Blood! I sat down as blood gushed out of my foot. I still don't know if I managed to cut into the bone or not. Carrie became really stressed out which was kinda funny, since I was the one with the wound. I got her to get some gauze from the house and applied pressure. The bleeding more or less stopped so I hobbled back to the hut. There, I cleaned out the wound and put on some handmade butterfly bandages (I didn't want to go to the clinic and get stitches because of concerns about sanitation and lack of anesthetic, but probably I should have). I kept my foot elevated above my heart and generally sat around for several days until a scab started to form.<br /><br />Then I started going outside (big mistake). I was trying to get a chick to take a picture of its development and accidentally kicked my right heel against my wound and broke it open again. Blood, pain etc. Well, this time it didn't heal up fast. I sat inside again reading for some number of days. In spite of the butterfly bandages the wound wasn't closing. One night I had a bad headache and got really cold. I barely slept because I kept getting alternately hot and cold. La Fiebre! My joints ached etc. Well, in this part of Africa, with those symptoms we generally like to assume it's malaria. Carrie found out that the clinic had the rapid diagnostic test, so got me one of them to try. It came out negative. Still I didn't know whether to start the treatment or not. I felt better the next day and cleaned and redressed my wound. I noticed a lot of fluid oozing out of the wound and then realized that the cause of my fever was of course that my toe was infected. I wrote down some antibiotics that would work (thanks to referencing Where There is no Doctor) and Carrie got them from our friend Mulenga at the clinic. After taking those for a while and applying hot compresses (which alone might have been sufficient to clear my infection) my wound stopped oozing and closed up. Now it's just a big scar, but the joint still hurts a bit. Yesterday I stubbed my other toe really hard (which happens every time I come to Lusaka - land of the thousand uneven/absent sidewalks), so I have two bum toes.<br /><br />There's more I want to write about, but I forgot most of it. Maybe this will be yet another two part blog.<br /><br />Oh, we could use more Tom's Spearmint Anticavity toothpaste. Also natural soap bars are badly needed. All the soaps here seem to have sodium tallowate, which I think is the ingredient that makes my interdigit area get hives. If anyone has a spare milk goat, they could send that. Because the lady who knows the farmer with the dairy goats still hasn't replied to us about the guys phone number. It's been months!<br /><br />Take care all!Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-55422250646386190772008-04-10T17:15:00.002+02:002008-04-10T20:01:12.201+02:00Continued from the previousBarely made it in time to pick up the visas. Whew.<br /><br />Anyway, I am in Lusaka primarily to renew my Visitor's Permit for another 3 months (April 21-July 21) which is my third and final renewal. Despite the Permit's seemingly limitless pages on which to stamp renewals, one is only permitted three (9 months) in addition to the entry visa you get at the border (3 months) for a total of one year. Since I was not able to secure a position under the Honorable Ministry of Health and Paper-Shuffling before Mpelembe's Clinical Officer and EHT left, I have no recourse but to leave by July 21st. Then I am told I cannot reenter Zambia for one year.<br /><br />I wanted to write about personal developments and revelations and so forth, and now I have the time. One thing I have really noticed about myself (and to some extent Carrie as well) that we've gotten from the States (and I'm not sure if it's good or bad or both in different circumstances) is a rugged sense of individualism. Zambians absolutely love to help - in any capacity from cutting trees, to drawing your well water, to digging a hole. And frankly I get annoyed when it happens. The funny thing is, one part of me is grateful for the help if it's a big project, and one part of me resents it. Every project I embark upon I want to do all by myself (or with Carrie, depending on the project). I get a real sense of pride when I singlehandedly build or do something, and that's diminished when someone helps me. I also am less confident of the quality. Sometimes with good reason. As I've said Zambians have a very set way of doing things.<br /><br />A good example of this dilemma was a week ago when I was cutting apart an already fallen tree (the one the kids cut down so they wouldn't have to climb to get caterpillars) to make into boards to make a door. The tree was one of the hardest of Zambia's hardwoods called Kapanga, and it had been felled many months ago so was well aged or cured or whatever - harder than when it was fresh. I had cut through the central trunk to make a 6 foot long log that was about 2 feet in diameter (The tree is 23 years old if anyone cares). About the time I finished and was trying to figure out how I was going to split it in two to start milling it into boards, our other neighbor Kapiria comes over through the woods. I told him what I was up to and he wanted to help. So he starts hacking a line down the trunk on which to split. I winced with every slightly off center stroke (not that I am an extremely accurate logger) and finally said I was going for lunch and "tapali ubwafia" - no problem - in reference to me continuing. He mentioned they use poles to split the wood usually and said he would look around. I ate lunch then went to the Headman to ask for the spikes and he had them and a sledgehammer head. I went back to work and shortly both the Headman and Kapiria return. I was going to use a hand adze to cut a straight line on both sides of the log so that it would split exactly in half, but they decided to start splitting right away. It was slow arduous going. I still did most of the spike driving (as evidenced by the worst blisters ever), but was bothered by their assistance. The worst was at the end when it was clear that the tree was not split on a straight line at all. The heartwood had even gone in one half only. This translates into an immensely larger amount of work for me to make each half into a level plank, as I have to cut away everything higher than the lowest point. Finally I have make a large adze out of the hoe handle and axe head, so it won't kill me, but still.<br /><br />Okay another very American and non-Zambian trait of mine is a desire for privacy. Our hut is placed such that all sides and the all parts of the yard are visible from the frequently used path that passes through our yard. So if you go to read a book on the porch, inevitably some kids will come over and sit by you, probably followed by watching, noisemaking, or asking for things (usually a combination of all of those). This makes it very unpleasant to read or do anything at all outside. Even if you are in the garden the kids usually see you through the grass fence or reed door and let themselves in. I've given up caring about the cultural taboo of not wearing a shirt (it's not super taboo anyway, some men (and women) go shirtless when doing something sweaty) when I'm working hard like hoeing a garden bed or chopping wood. My desire not to be bothered has at times even led to me moving about different parts of the porch as people pass, to avoid being seen. Pretty silly I suppose. But if you had to greet everyone who spots you and had to explain what you're doing to half of them who sit down, and try to deter a quarter of them from helping, you might do the same. The only time we can read is to go sit in the mango tree by the garden. Even so, some people will come to your closed house and "odi" (the greeting for "may I come in?" which isn't much of a request, since I've said no to the kids and they come anyway to ask for stuff) for several minutes.<br /><br />So generally we read in the darkness of the house. Of course the neighbor kids still bug us and sit on our porch and ask for things.<br /><br />One definitely good trait I've inherited from the West is a respect for animals. Zambians see all animals as either a source of food or a tool. They throw rocks at dogs and goats, don't feed dogs enough, and smack them for the slightest infraction. They steal wild birds' eggs and baby birds out of nests to eat. In spite of the tiny size of wild birds' eggs and the much larger size of chicken eggs, most people in our village won't eat chicken eggs. Because of living on the verge of starvation, Ndumfwa ("I Understand") - the neighbor's dog (the single survivor from 4 puppies) - comes over and eats scraps of food we put out for the chickens and the chicken's eggs. I didn't believe at first that a dog would know that there's food in eggs, but after 4 or 5 eggs disappeared and I noticed the dog lurking around a lot, I decided it did. This also explains why whenever we leave the hut for days, Joshua always takes our eggs to put inside their house. I asked how to protect the eggs, and the neighbors said to hit the dog. Frustrating.<br /><br />Another good one, possibly related, is respect for the environment (certainly not terribly common even in the West). When Zambians are driving they throw their trash out of the window. Always. Rural Zambians have no compunction about chopping down any number or trees or burning any hectares of land. They happily use fertilizers (subsidized by the state) and pesticides - when they can get their hands on them (which is probably more from lack of information). I try to minimize the number of trees I cut, and when I harvest bark for rope, I only harvest one strip per tree, so they can heal it back over. In their defense, trees do grow very fast here and many species will grow back from stumps. Unfortunately they've reduced the forests to only fire tolerant trees and shrubs with an open canopy in most places. Also I imagine there would be a lot more wild animals if they didn't burn. To their detriment, burning drives destructive insects away from their normal foodsources and onto crops. There would be more trash in the village, but most people can't afford to buy a lot of products that tend to come in wrappers. Of course Zambia has no garbage trucks in most parts, so trash is burned (Lusaka is riddled with the reek of burning plastic at times) or buried. We have a pit out back where we put all our trash, so I guess we can't be saints on this cause. Kids reclaim a good portion of the plastic to make soccer balls. They also scavenge condoms from somewhere to blow up for the center of the soccer balls. Needless to say, that practice worries me a lot. That's the main reason why, at HIV/AIDS trainings, they tell people to put condoms down the pit latrine.<br /><br />Ok can't think of anything else for now. So howabout some wacky Zambian things.<br /><br />I saw a hand painted sheet today outside of one of the bus terminals in Lusaka with the following: "HIV/AIDS WAS CREATED IN A SECRET LABORATORY IN NEW YORK CITY, USA, FOR THE PURPOSE OF TAKING BACK AFRICA. IN [2000 something] 6[or so] FOREIGN MEDICAL WORKERS IN [some African country, not Zambia] INTENTIONALLY INJECTED THE VIRUS INTO [some number of people, subsequently infecting some high number of people (which wasn't equal to the number of people who actually have AIDS) and so on]". I remember reading the story on BBC. Some poor European doctors in some North African country were accused of giving people aids and have been in jail for several years. Rediculous.<br /><br />It's a widely held view in rural Zambia (at least Mpelembe) that white people only have white skin because we haven't spent enough time in the sun. They must think we are indoors all the time back home, or that it's always cloudy or something. We tried to explain that we will get a little darker, but eventually just burn. They wouldn't hear of it.<br /><br />In the market they sometimes sell balls of white clay they simply call "soil". Carrie bought two not understanding what their purpose could be. She asked the head teacher and he explained that they supposedly have a lot of iron and that when women are pregnant they crave them.<br /><br />All cooking pots in Zambia (usually cheap aluminum affairs) must be cleaned on the inside, but especially the outside with sand and water. Women scrub their hearts out to keep the sides and bottoms of pans and pots spotless (this is an immense amount of work when you consider that almost everyone cooks over sooty wood or charcoal flames and usually no soap is involved). Pointing out that it's just going to get dirty later that day when they make dinner does no good. Neighbor lady even came over and scrubbed one of our pots randomly.<br /><br />Whenever Zambians get almost any illness, they claim it's Malaria. Even when the symptoms are totally inconsistent. Sometimes they will admit they have a cold though.<br /><br />Ran out of those. Now back to what has happened lately.<br /><br />Actually this part was a while ago. For about a month I was teaching first the neighbor kids, then a bunch of random kids how to write. It started when Patty (5 or 6 years old?) wanted to read some books. Eventually I brought out some kids books with the letters and tried to explain them. Kids found out and the next day 10 kids were all huddled around. The request arose for writing lessons and so I gave like 12 kids pens and paper and we all practiced the letters. Sometimes we did numbers and I would reward the kids with gum if they could get to 100 (sometimes a string of numbers like 70-79 would repeat itself, but I gave them gum anyway). After our supply of gum and pens was exhausted, fewer kids came. Still I usually had between 4 and 8 kids. We ran out of paper and kids lost/forgot/were not the same kids I gave pens to, so we started writing in the dirt. The kids loved it! Their favorite part was erasing letters with the sound effect "kshkshkshksh". They went wild. It was hard to keep the kids all oriented so that they were seeing the letters I wrote right-side-up, so we had a lot of M's and W's confused. Also some kids are dyslexic, and some have never written before. Sometimes kids who were obviously old enough to be in a grade beyond writing letters would come. I think they just liked the personal attention and my exclamations of "cawama" (it's good). After class (back when we had paper) the kids would rush up to me to get their papers graded.<br /><br />One day when class was almost over, I had to run to the school for something and I left the kids with their writing tablets (magazines) in the insaka to continue. Joshua (who I trust) and Wizzy (who is 14 at least and is the Headman's son, and who I told to watch the kids) were both there. I was gone for maybe 8 minutes and when I came back all the kids had left and Joshua was wailing nearby. Apparently Iron Mumba came over after I left and chased away all the kids and hit Joshua. He said that the kids would have stolen the magazines and then we would blame it on him, so he had to chase them away and hit his son for not alerting me to this fact. Obviously I would have assumed the kids and not Iron Mumba stole the magazines. It made no sense. My little schools attendance fell off a lot after that.<br /><br />One day I was teaching some kids in the insaka and I had some peanuts drying. When the lesson was over I told the kids they could go home and I really had to pee. I got distracted by something else and when I returned I saw that all the peanuts were gone. When the kids came back the next day, it was most of the same ones, and I asked why they stole the peanuts. One older kid said it was this 3 year old kid they brought along that did it. I said he was lying and there would be no school that day. Ever since then my teaching career has basically been over. Doug's school of writing excellence turned into Doug's school of hard knocks I guess.<br /><br />One day maybe 2 months ago, Carrie and I made a trip to the Mulombwa river. Carrie had been talking it up and wanted to go for some time. So one auspicious morning we set off. Right away I noticed the neighbors had lowered my seat again when I lent it to them. So there was a long delay while I struggled with stripped bolts and a broken rear rack. Finally we got going. When we reached the road, I dismounted briefly and my saddle fell apart. This was the saddle I bought to replace the original saddle that broke. Good beginnings for a picnic at the river. As we went further, Carrie wasn't entirely sure of the way and since it was rainy season we soon found ourselves biking/walking through between 6 inches and 2 feet of water that had flooded the road. It was so terrible it was funny. For me anyway - Carrie was kinda upset about it. After a long time we asked where the river was and a guy just up and offered to lead us all the way there. So onwards we trekked. We passed an area so low lying that a woman was pounding cassava in an insaka that was an island in the middle of a small lake along with the house. Finally we reached the river. It was huge! Really wide with a fast current. This guy who was sitting there checking his fish traps offered to take Carrie and I out in his dugout canoe. It was awesome, the canoe was barely above water level, very tippy, and it seemed the current would sweep us away in the middle. The river had flooded so that many trees were submerged near the bank. After the center with the current was a grassy waterway with slow moving waters. It was nice. The fisherman said that there used to be lots of crocodiles in the river, but they had killed them all. We ate our picnic and it started to rain a little. We biked along the river looking for something or other, then biked/sludged back home.<br /><br />Our corn finally produced months ago! We had 4 delightful ears of corn between 3 and 5 inches long and up to maybe 3/4s of an inch wide from maybe 20 corn plants. Guess we should have burned or used fertilizer. We didn't have enough compost for the whole field (not really even enough for the whole garden). The corn was quite good, what little there was. Very sweet. One day I was walking through the field and I saw a snake! It was 3 or 4 feet long and black. I yelled for Carrie and we got the camera. It turned out to be a cobra, how cool is that. It reared back and spread its hood. I had glasses on so I wasn't worried (they are usually spitting cobras). We backed off eventually and let it slither off. Recently I saw a much longer black snake - just the back half - sticking out of the pit latrine. At my approach it went down the hole. Probably after a mouse.<br /><br />We have these terrible biting ants (imposhi) that move in nomadic columns in search of food. They often come at night. If they come into your home, your only recourse is to spend the night in someone else's house (the good news is they clean your house of all insects and crumbs). Other PCVs have had their chickens killed by them. They eat anything. Twice they have come after the chickens. I don't know how they locate food, but they managed to climb up our elevated coop and attack our chickens. We were awakened by strange scratching sounds in the middle of the night. We went out and realized it was the chickens using their beaks to detatch imposhi that had latched on. We tried to use burning thatch waved on the ground to cause them to flee, but there were so many and they kept biting us. There are several different size imposhi in a colony, and the biggest ones love to climb unknown up your pant legs and bite tender areas and your armpits. The chickens decided to literally fly the coop. We brought some inside the house and one ran to the neighbors.<br /><br />They attacked again recently, which was more terrible because only I was there to defend the chickens, and New Chicken was sitting on the eggs and so refused to move in spite of being under attack. It took nearly an hour and much burning thatch to convince the ants to go elsewhere. At one point I tried to clear the ones out of our laying shelter (which has grass for padding on the floor and a thatch roof) to get to New Chicken and the eggs. The only method is with fire, so naturally I accidentally caught the nest caught on fire, which caught the roof on fire, and caused New Chicken to flee. The flames were huge, but luckily I had been working with lushishi (bark rope) which requires soaking in water, so was able to use a nearby bucket to put the fires out before they ignited the hut's roof. I grabbed and dried off the eggs and put them in a basket with New Chicken. Luckily none of them were hard-boiled and I was able to pull off all of the imposhi from the chicken. Disaster averted. The laying shelter roof wasn't even damaged too much.<br /><br />We ate bugs! There are the rather large bugs that screech really loud at night during rainy season. The kids in the village dig up their holes during the day and eat them. I had been finding a few at night when they leave their burrows to feed to the chickens. The cat also drags them in sometimes. "Look what the cat dragged in" - actually "Listen to what the cat dragged in". The bugs are so loud it hurts your ears! Carrie and I decided to try them. I killed two quickly by putting their heads in fire. Then followed the recipe we had been given. Pull off the legs and wings, fry in cooking oil, eat. They were pretty good actually. Kinda like shrimp or crab or something.<br /><br />Mango season ended some months ago. There were a few unripened ones hanging around Carrie and I tried to keep secret, but the kids found them and stole them. We also had many big green oranges on the orange tree by our insaka. Carrie and I both left Mpelembe at one point and when we came back, there were only about 6 oranges left. I don't know why Zambians eat unripe fruit. Carrie claims it's to make sure that someone else doesn't get it before they do.<br /><br />A couple of weeks ago Carrie and I took a trip up to Mansa and Samfya in Luapula province. We mainly wanted to go to Samfya, which is on Lake Bangwelu, but we thought we should check out the Peace Corps House in Mansa and get some food for the trip. Mansa turned out to be a terrible city. It's like if Serenje were dingy-er and much bigger, but exceedingly spread out. Walking anywhere took forever and the streets have no logic to them. Turned out that day was Easter, so instead having a low-key night maybe watching movies at the house, a bunch of people were there and were going to drink and play twister. Someone started watching Pirates of the Caribbean 3, which we wanted to see, but then the power went out. Apparently happens all the time in Mansa. The next day we bought some cheese, bread, PB&J. The cheese was moldy from the power outages, and the bread was stale. Ugh.<br /><br />Anyway, we went to Samfya. Right down to the water. There were 2 guesthouses, both ridiculously expensive, so we camped on the beach. I must admit, those thermarest things are essential to camping. Even on sand our hips and shoulders would get so sore and we'd have to roll over every half hour, all night. In the evening, we got rowed across the way to the actual town and got some good nshima. I ordered nshima with fish!!!! I decided to violate my vegitarianism to try the fresh local fish. It was delicious. We found some secluded spot on the beach and set up the tent and slept poorly. The next day we tried to find out about going to one of the islands in the middle of the lake (it's a big lake), but the boat only leaves on certain days and was too expensive so we just laid on the beach, drank hard cider, read, and swam. The water was really nice once you got in. Now I probably have schistosomiasis. We'll know for sure if my urine becomes bloody in the next 10 years or so. It was worth it. There is also a single dose cure. We put on sunscreen (except my legs which were judged by Carrie to be dark enough) and we both got sunburned on the backs of our legs and Carrie on her back as well. Damn. It's been many years since I got really sunburned. Hurt like hell and made sleeping that much harder. It was neat watching the fishermen go out in their dugouts and cast their nets. They didn't bring in much. We also wanted to see crocks, but they are on the other side of the lake. That night we asked around the guesthouses for nshima, but they said they didn't have any power to cook. Eventually, the one guy let us use their charcoal brazier and their mealie meal. We just had to buy the eggs.<br /><br />I built Carrie a swing as a surprise one time when she had to go to Serenje. I braided together 3 strands of lushishi, and then three of those braided strands to make strong rope. I milled down a log into a board for the seat. It was pretty sweet. We put it up and used it a little. Mostly the kids who pass by and the neighbor kids use it. They broke it a few times from swinging wildly. I broke it once cause I'm too heavy :(<br /><br />We are considering getting a dairy goat! We want to start a project in Mpelembe to get people to take care of dairy goats (which are rare in Zambia) as a source of income and protein for themselves. Carrie is trying to get a grant to make the goats available cheaply for the villagers. First we want to buy a goat for ourselves so we can teach ourselves before we teach other people. We've read up on it a bit, mainly in "The New Goat Handbook" and an article in a magazine my Mom sent. The handbooks warns that goats have the sort of curious behavior that may seem to result in "malicious pranks". I can only picture them putting a full pail of milk on top of the barn door. We started to build the goat house. The log I was splitting will be the door, and we have gotten the posts for the raised floor already. The floor will be raised to keep the goat dry in rainy season, and so we can gather the "berries" for natural fertilizer. I bought chain and a lock to tether the goat (we'd love to just let it loose, but it would eat our and the neighbor's crops. Also someone might steal it because milk goats are much bigger than the dwarf goats most people keep and probably will look very different). Carrie and I are super excited about getting a goat. They sound so funny and intelligent. And of course, then we get fresh milk!!! No more Nido or Cowbell for our oats and coffee. We're hoping to give out free samples of the milk to people to get everyone interested in the project too. A Peace Corps Volunteer in Mkushi district has already started a goat project in her village, so we may even get a goat or few from her. A baby goat would be really cute. We are so eager I might try to get a goat on my way back from Lusaka. Probably not though, because the PCV with the goats hasn't gotten back to us with the number of the farmer she bought from yet. I wrote down some numbers from the telephone book and may try them on my way back. Who knows.<br /><br />I guess that's all the updates!<br /><br />Now I will try to recall who to thank for packages.<br /><br />Emilie! Thank you so much for all your goodies and the nutritional yeast flakes. We've already almost eaten everything.<br /><br />Dad! Thank you also for the goodies! The toothpaste was also much appreciated.<br /><br />Nonna! Thank you for the chicken book! I'll have to bring it back for Dad, as this would be an especially suitable method of chicken-raising in the garden plot.<br /><br />Everyone with land should get chickens! Fresh eggs are so much better than factory farm ones. Even if you are in the city it is feasible. There is a book on urban chicken husbandry out there. I know Carnegie library has it.<br /><br />Can someone (not everyone) send us non-animal based rennet and mesophilic milk culture? Co-ops might have both. I know the East End Food Co-op had rennet. We want to make Chevre! Thanks!Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-86912418233927264142008-04-10T14:05:00.002+02:002008-04-10T14:58:54.779+02:00Mares eat goats and lambs eat goatsLong time no blog as they say.<br /><br />Well. What has happened in the past few years I've been in Zambia? First to expound on the issues raised in my last post.<br /><br />One day Joshua was walking to school with their white (good, wise) rooster bound at the feet. I asked him what he was doing and he said that they were selling their rooster to "Ba Head" (the principal) to pay for school fees or books or something. I said I'd pay him 5 pin if they sold the "headless" (evil, ugly, defeathered) rooster instead. We went back to their Insaka to discuss the matter with the great patriarch Iron Mumba. After much confused broken Bemba and incomprehensible gesturing, Joshua and I made Ba Iron understand that I wanted them to sell the other rooster and that I would even be willing to give them our beautiful rooster as a gift as incentive (better than 5 pin for them and us, as our rooster was one of those delightfully chronologically-defective individuals who begin crowing at 4 or 5 am, and roosters cost like 20 pin). Most of their misunderstanding stemmed from the fact that Carrie and I are known to desire our hens to produce eggs. Rural Zambians are convinced that a rooster is necessary for the hens to lay. So why would we give away our rooster if we wanted eggs (they failed to think about the fact that our houses are definitely within rooster walking distance, and that we had eggs before we bought the rooster). How they explain why women menstruate even without having constant sex is unknown. Anyway, they finally sold the terrible rooster at the road (Ba Head didn't want it) and now have our rooster and the white rooster.<br /><br />Post script to this drama is that I had taught our now ex-rooster my chicken call (a whistling pattern) and so he comes over and steals food whenever I try to round up our hens to eat. He's a pretty bad rooster, he fails to mate with our hens most of the time because he runs after them really slowly, gives up early, and doesn't understand how to trick them.<br /><br />We didn't eat the last batch of eggs from our 3 laying hens and have allowed New Chicken to sit on them (~15 days out of 21 so far). Candled the eggs to see the embryos. It was pretty cool. They are sort of swimming around in the eggs. New Chicken attacks the cats viciously whenever she is off of her nest for exercise or to eat.<br /><br />She nearly killed the kitten (who I have yet to mention in depth). He either had a heart attack, a stroke, an seizure or something like that. He was unhurt from the attack, but started pawing at his head and then stopped breathing and went completely limp and unresponsive. I pinched him as hard as I could and he didn't move. I gave him CPR and he came back to life after the first breath into him. Scary as I had a puppy die on me a month before that in the same manner.<br /><br />We had a puppy for less than a week. One night we heard this terrible yowling outside the hut and I found a miserable looking tiny puppy with hair gone from his forehead, congenitally in-turned front paws and several bot flies and infected bot fly exit wounds. We put him in the insaka with some water and decided to take care of him if he was still there the next day. He was. Pulled out 6 or so huge bot fly larvae, gave him a bath, put on antibacterial gel, and force-fed him reconstituted milk. He wandered around a little, usually just to leave his clean bed of straw and lie in the dirt. We asked around to see if someone lost a dog (figuring it wandered off and had a terrible time in the forest), only to find out that this kid has ukuposa'ed (thrown out, as in garbage) the dog because he said it looks bad. Ok it did look bad. Especially when he brought over its brother who was easily 2/3x as big and healthy and bright-eyed. Obviously ours was a runt that maybe the mother rejected. The kid tried to sell us the healthy dog offering to hit ours over the head with a hoe (why didn't they do that in the first place? why cast it out to die a slow and painful death?). It only strengthened my resolve to make our dog healthy. Not that we particularly wanted a dog, but we couldn't just abandon it. It seemed to be getting better until one day it got really bloated with diarrhea. It became less and less responsive and iridescent flies started laying eggs on its posterior (carrion flies I believe). After washing off the eggs it was in terrible shape and eventually quit breathing and went limp. I was pretty upset about it, and Carrie had gone to Serenje so it was especially hard to bear alone. I buried it between two old Cassava heaps in the backyard under moonlight.<br /><br />Boy that's f-ing depressing huh.<br /><br />So when Carrie and I were in Serenje last we were in "Tusheni's Grand Bazaar" and we saw these kittens creeping around. Carrie fell in love with the long haired one and I agreed it was pretty cute. I'm sure she gave a lengthy description in her blog if you want to read about the kitten. We named him Finnegan, though we usually refer to him as "Little Cat/Kit/Kits", which I imagine will actually become his name as per New Chicken's example. He is pretty damn cute, but looks terrible when wet. He is always climbing up us, uselessly attacking the other cat Professor and bounding about like a kitten.<br /><br />After the first colony of bees absconded, we heard of another swarm near school. We put it in our hive (only 3 stings for me) and put on paperclips to keep the queen inside. Of course she needs to mate to get the colony going so we had to take them off eventually. A few days after that the new colony absconded. Sigh. They built a tiny 2x2" section of comb before they left. At least they contemplated staying. Swarming season is over so now we may resort to kidnapping a colony which has already established itself in a dead tree (our neighbor has offered to open the hive up for 3 pin).<br /><br />Went to Livingstone (Zambian side of Victoria Falls). The ride there was terrible, as the road is in extreme disrepair and we took one of the smaller busses to save ourselves 10 pin or something. Ended up taking 2x as long as it should have. The guesthouse (Jollyboys) was delightful and cheap. Even offered a free ride to the falls. We went there and hiked all the hell around it. Of course it was rainy season and we didn't realize that the volume of water going over the falls is so great at this time that the mist actually obscured about 3/4s of the falls. Silly us. It was still gorgeous and awesome (as in inspiring awe). We saw it from the side, the top, and the gorge at the bottom where the river executes a nearly 180 degree turn (called the Boiling Point, due to the madly roiling nature of the water movement. There was a big log stuck in the whirlpool just going around and around for who knows how long. We had to hike through a flooded path and ate some wild dates to get to it). At the top about 10 feet from where the water actually falls over the cliff I first stuck my leg in and then (much to Carrie's dismay and anxiety) my whole body from the stomach down while holding onto a tree branch (don't have a heart attack Mom, I think there were some rocks I might have been able to grab onto had I slipped off the limb). I just let my lower half be bobbed around by the current. Fun! Dangerous! Carrie took pictures! We got soaking wet hiking beside the falls. It was fun.<br /><br />Then we went to get some souvenirs! Can't tell what they are since some will be presents. Took a long time. Those guys are hucksters of course. "What kind of wood is this carved out of?" - "Mukwa" (I've cut down mukwa trees and it didn't look anything like it). After we were on the minibus back from the falls to Livingstone, I realized that the light weight and lack of coldness indicated that some of our items were carved from wood with lots of paint instead of the "river rock" that lines the river gorge. Damn. Oh well. Some stuff is pretty sweet. Carrie kept trying to get close to this olive baboon that was eating trash at the falls. It was so tame. She almost touched it practically.<br /><br />Half the garden beds are functional. One whole row of stawberries, 8 tomato plants, maybe 10 green bean plants. In the field our watermelon plants are finally making watermelons and a discarded watermelon and tomato seed in the compost grew and are very productive (though I think the neighbors/chickens are getting most of the tomatoes). Had to repair the grass garden fence, which partially collapsed during the rains. Rainy season is basically over. Beginning cold season. My favorite.<br /><br />Oh god, I am supposed to pick up Carrie and my's visas for our upcoming trip to Tanzania at 2 so I can't finish this blog. It's already 3. Maybe I will be able to get back to the internet after I retrieve the visas. We are going to Zanzibar island - spice and cultural mixing pot of the ancient world! in Junish<span style="font-weight: bold;">.<br /><br /></span>Sorry I never have enough time to post!!! I even am staying an extra day in Lusaka and I still am running short on time. All bureaucracy takes longer than one thinks of course.Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-75143989100898498332008-03-08T08:43:00.000+02:002008-03-08T09:03:37.396+02:00Riding the Short Blog to VictoryOk this is going to be a brief summary of happenings of late since I didn't get to use the internets much this trip.<br /><br />Got rid of the enemy rooster through nonviolent means. Caught 1.5 swarms of bees (7 stings) and put them in the hive only to have a civil war break out and the survivors scared off by army ants (imposhi). Went to (and in!) Victoria Falls briefly. Saw Baobabs in Southern Province! (was going too fast to hug). Seems like I only have one visa renewal of 3 months left (won't be trying Mastercard next), meaning that my stay here might be up in July. We have built a state of the art (which art? cave paintings?) laying/incubation shelter with the intention of hatching some chicks. Added compost (never enough) and tilled most of the garden beds and sowed several varieties of tomatoes and some carrots. Beans to come. Peace Corps Trainees (4 days out of the good ol' US of A) visited us for 4 days to learn the ways of the rural Zambian. Our youngest and littlest chicken Peeps ran away quite a long distance (for a chicken) twice (probably for free cassava scraps and to escape nightly pecking). Now returning to Mpelembe (hopefully to a chicken sitting on 14 eggs and a hive full of bees).<br /><br />Thanks for all the packages! More explicit blog and thanks to come in early April!<br /><br />Stay (or get) radical, DougDoughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-20421206775742466312008-01-13T10:46:00.000+02:002008-01-13T10:47:29.729+02:00The Bad AirCarrie had malaria! Plasmodium Falciparum; Fortunately she is already cured. Well, she took her last dose of Coartem yesterday, so she’s malaria free today. We confirmed the malaria with an expired chromatography quick-test. It was a little scary in the beginning, lots of sweating, weakness, and a little delirium. Funny how it was cyclic too. Really bad in the afternoon, then she was mostly functional at night. After a day and a half on Coartem she was on the mend though. Funny how I, who haven’t been taking any prophylaxis, still haven’t come down with it yet.<br /><br />I still have a second degree African “red badge of courage”. I got a tumbu/bot fly about 3 days ago! I had a really bad itch on my right thigh for a while. Then one night I woke up cause it itched so badly. I shined my headlamp on it and could discern a bit of grey within the swelling. They say if you suspect having one of these larva in your skin (which come from eggs laid on clothing that is left to dry outside) to smother it in Vaseline, then they are supposed to back out of the hole drilled in your skin for air, then you pull them out with tweezers. Well, it was taking too long, so I had to excavate with a safety pin. Pulled out a tiny little worm with tiny little hooks on it. Gross.<br /><br />So we are in Serenje because of Peace Corps policy on malaria (you have to come into town then call, then you’re supposed to go to Lusaka to get a blood test to make sure you have no parasites left), but they just told her to take her Coartem and stay here. I’m leaving today to go back to Mpelembe.<br /><br />The last time we were in Lusaka (not long ago), we bought two trees. One is a Lichi (delicious, grape-like, tropical fruit in a thin red peel), and the other is supposedly a pear. The thing is I can’t imagine it gets cold enough in Zambia to satisfy the “chilling requirement” of pears. Temperate fruit trees need a certain period of cold weather (i.e. Winter) to induce further growth and fruiting. We’ll see – or rather the 3rd PC volunteer at Carrie’s site will see (several more years until they bear fruit).<br /><br />We finally got our roof repaired by Jameson Kunda and what Carrie termed “Team Zambia” (his kids and a nephew). They threw up bundles of thatch and just laid it on all the open spots. I guess we didn’t actually need any expertise, though we don’t have a Zam-ladder (some long sticks with short sticks tied/nailed on as rungs).<br /><br />We’ve been doing a bit of mushroom hunting since rainy season started. In fact we were supposed to go with Justin and Brenda today. It’s a very popular past-time in rural Zambia. Kids and women usually go out in the morning or afternoon and comb the forest for tasty fungal treats. There are soooo many different mushrooms. Most you can’t eat naturally. We have brought along the neighbor-kids to help us discern which mushrooms are edible. The most abundant types are not very flavorful naturally. There are medium-sized grey ones with a flat cap that are tasteless. Then there are stringy little white ones (musafya?) that are ok. There are also some rounded red-capped ones witch all look exactly the same, but the kids only let us pick some (all inedible/unknown things are described as posing mortal peril to any foolish consumers. [picking up a mushroom and showing it to a kid] Question: “ici?”(this?) Answer “awe – ukufwa” (no – to die).) The best ones are incidentally the most interesting. They are these brown-fading-to-white very rounded puffy mushrooms with a smooth almost slimy coating called ‘Telya’. You find them encased in a white ‘cacoon’ emerging from the ground. You pull up the cacoon and peel it back to find the tasty little mushroom within. At this stage they look exactly like ‘amabuns’ (the buns they sell in Mpelembe and Serenje). Later they look more like normal mushrooms, but usually are found before that stage. Finally there are the gigantic white mushrooms that are 2 to 3 feet across. Haven’t eaten those. It’s almost impossible to get mushrooms without a bunch of dirt, so most mushroom dishes are crunchy.<br /><br />I believe we’ve written about the terrible neighbor rooster with no feathers on its neck or head (which I was recently told is due to inbreeding). Well we decided to buy our own rooster (Abraham) so that it would mate with our hens so we could have cute little baby chicks instead of “headless” ones. Unfortunately neighbor rooster is the hugest rooster ever and beat the two roosters we tried to bring in. Because of pecking order the winner of the cockfight (neighbor rooster) still gets primary mating rights with our hens. Which of course means he keeps hanging out in our yard, crowing terribly and loudly at all hours of the day. We kept our loser rooster anyway because it’s really quite pretty. We hope that he’ll mate with the hens as much as possible behind the neighbor rooster’s back. The neighbors also brought back their white rooster (who has all his feathers), but he’s so old that the other neighbor rooster scares him off all the time. Our rooster beat the white rooster. I try to chase off the neighbor ‘headless’ rooster pretty frequently so our rooster has a chance to mate, but the enemy rooster comes back within 5 minutes or so.<br /><br />One day I was so frustrated with the sight, sound, and sexual prowess of the enemy neighbor rooster that I devised a plan to trap him. I herded our three hens into the garden, then started chasing the enemy rooster around. Knowing that there were distressed hens in the garden, it was pretty easy to chase him in there as well. Using the garden fence to corner him, I managed to capture him after much sweat was shed. With the ugly bastard in my grasp, I bound his legs, put him in a cage, and stuck him in the icimbusu all day. At the end of the day he escaped with the tie still around one leg. I wonder what the neighbors made of that. Hmmm. We might resort to the plan of buying the rooster and giving it to Justin or someone to just eat. It’s that bad. You’d have to be here to understand.<br /><br />In 2 months, Carrie and I will have each eaten more mangoes than most everyone in the States eats in a lifetime. Awesome.<br /><br />Mom! Thank you for your extremely thoughtful package! We’ve devoured almost all of the chocolate. It’s a good thing that you sent 2 nutellas, because we were each able to have our own, avoiding civil warfare. The containers are perfect for our modest tea collection. I put up the little statue by the door. Believe it or not, I’ve even started reading one of the books you sent! ‘The Quantum and the Lotus’. Almost done. To date, the windchimes haven’t been stolen, so that’s good news. They sound nice. Oh, the magazines were excellent. I was very excited to read about homesteading et cetera. Thank Dave for me. I think I’ll just request Mother Earth News at the library when I get home.<br /><br />John! Thank you for your contribution to our food supply. I hid the M&Ms from Carrie so we could ration them.<br /><br />Bonnibelle and Bill! Thank you for the books! I definitely look forward to reading them, especially ‘Hen and the Art of Chicken Maintainance’.<br /><br />People are watching a movie now, so I’m signing off. Love you all, Doug.Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-37859498568932368222008-01-02T14:13:00.000+02:002008-01-02T15:23:03.137+02:00An Inquiry into the Nutritional Value of Luffa CylindricaThis post is a continuation of the previous post. Read that one below first!<br /><br />So luffa leaves are edible. Good.<br /><br />Remember the post before "Surprise Post"? Where I typed all night long? Well we got a free ride back from Serenje to Mpelembe from no one less than the President of Mukwa Beer; Frank Somebody. Mukwa beer is the competitor of Shake Shake in the ever so popular cheap carton chibuku market. Craziest and scariest hitch ever. He had a really expensive SUV and bought Carrie and I two Heinikens each. He also was drinking Heinikens while driving and insisted on opening them all himself by using opposing bottle caps. He drove fast. Really fast. I'm still alive, so don't freak out, but he tried to average 180 kph (111 mph). He fortunately managed to avoid destroying all the human and goat life we encountered on the road. Made it back to Mpelembe in record time! When we got out he gave us his business cards and invited us to go clubbing with him the next time we were in Lusaka. My least favorite thing about Frank was that he tossed the empty bottles out of the window saying "keep Zambia clean, right?" in reference to the Keep Zambia Clean program (like Redd Up Pittsburgh, but even more unsuccessful). Whew.<br /><br />Here's how Christmas went: Got out of bed, had some Christmas Coffee and oats. Opened all the presents! Carrie had chitenge pants made for me from brown cloth with a funny rooster pattern on it. They are a little big cause the guy who made them was unable to adhere to the measurements given (this seems common in Zambia; the beehive and subsequently manufactured top bars were also not made to specifications. Not even close). Admired our mildly cone shaped tree we cut from the wood, adorned with paper snowflakes and the lights that Carrie's mom sent (thank you!). We baked bread for our neighbors, the (ex)head familiy, and our friend Justin. Then we went to the paved road, where apparently rural villages go to celebrate holidays. Everyone who lives in Mpelembe was there practically. A little dizzying seeing all that colorful clothing and teeming masses out in our middle of nowhere. There were many people who brought/were making food to sell, and of course all the bars were open. We got some fritters and people watched after talking to a few people we knew. After a couple hours we went back and baked a mango cobbler for ourselves. It was delicious. I also attempted to make eggnogg!! Yes, we drank our very own raw, unpasturized eggs! It was quite good and eggnoggesque. The only problem was that the cream that I brought back to fold into the drink opened up before I could get it back. So I just drank like a half liter of cream. Mmmm. So flavor was good, but texture should have been thicker and richer. Turned out the candles and watched the Christmas lights some more, then went to bed. Oh, Zambians greet people on Christmas by saying "Christmas!"; phonetically "Ka-rist-mass-y". At least I think it was a greeting. Hmm, in light of "peleniko new years", maybe they were asking for Christmas charity from the rich muzungus.<br /><br />For New Years we went to Serenje, on the possibility that there would be some people to celebrate with. We were the only ones there. Everyone else was vacationing elsewhere. We made grilled cheese - a rare treat - and drank some [Tony, when you get back to lab, tell Daniel that I finally tried Tusker lager!]. We watched a scary movie '1408' which I highly recommend if you like that genre. It was on one of the funny cds they sell here for cheap that have between 9 and 15 movies on them, so it was kinda bad quality. Oh well. Then we watched some Family Guy episodes and tried to get Carrie to watch Aqua Teen Hunger force. She fell asleep and then we missed the advent of the New Year. Oh well. Next morning we had a cheese omlette and coffee (all rare treats).<br /><br />Then we came down to Lusaka yesterday so that I could put in my application for a 3 month extension of my Visitor's Permit (sucessfully! I have the reciept, so I can at least stay 3 months more [to April 21st]). Also so [that](Nonna, is placing "that" there gramatically unnecissary? I've never figured this out) Carrie could get the free (to PC females) HPV vaccine and talk to some PC staff about a bike project. Sarah, do you know any organization that would send free bikes? Carrie is having some difficulty in dealing with the one she contacted (Pedals 4 Progress). We are heading back this evening.<br /><br />Diana (Carrie's Mom, not my Aunt) thank you for the thermometer (which is hung in the livingroom on a nail in the mud [it would get stolen if outside, besides, there's probably not a big temperature difference between the mud hut and the outside] Hopefully high enough so The Professor won't knock it down). Can you smell me all the way from The States? Is it that bad? Well hopefully my odour will improve with the natural deoderant you sent. Carrie is jealous of my new headlamp cause it's brighter than hers! Thanks also for the razors, as my infrequent shaving tends to grow formidable, razor denting bristles. It's funny, Siddhartha was recommended by an aquantance of mine back in college, but I never got around to reading it. So thanks for everything!<br /><br />Thanks ahead of time to all those whose packages are still in the works. Carrie got a package slip in Sereneje and we are probably stopping there on the way back home, so maybe we will have more Christmas presents to covet before long!<br /><br />A batch of letters from me should be going out either tomorrow or on the 18th, depending if we get to the post office tomorrow or not. So some of you can expect letters soonish! Do all countries have reciprocal agreements with the US to deliver stuff that is sent? I mean Zambia charges us to pick up anything heavier than a letter, but they deliver letters for the US at least. How does that work?<br /><br />Ok we are off to the bus station. Love and holiday cheers, DougDoughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-12755164390891575602008-01-02T12:01:00.000+02:002008-01-02T14:23:48.672+02:00On the Edibility of Luffa Leaves and Other Subjects, Horticultural and OtherwiseHappy New Year! If Zambians ask you to give them New Year "peleniko new year", they are asking for a gift of money in the spirit of the season. I tried to ask some Zambians for new year but they wouldn't give me any. They should instead resort to Wassailing the rich.<br /><br />Anyone know if smooth luffa leaves are edible? I guess I just have to invent more challenging phrases for google to hunt on other than "edible leaves loofah". Don't worry I shall look it up. See, our garden is entirely grass (much to the envy of all suburban families in the US) and very tall (much to the frustration of the Neighbourhood Committees of the aforementioned suburbanites). However, there are 3 locations free of the insidious grass; 1. The plant nursery (one bed of 8) 2. The tree nursery (where we have baby tamarind, white sapote [delicious fruit similar to and surpassing the pawpaw], and an avocado growing) and 3. The luffa plant.<br /><br />The luffa is so crazy. It seems to be attempting to reach Mt. Olympus the way it is climbing. Attractive plant too. I suggest you all grow them in your backyard as they need little attention (but lots of area to climb) and produce biodegradable dish/bath scrubbers. Funny how those plastic puffballs are named after the natural ones. Anyway, it seems to be the garden's foremost success story the way it is growing. Also completely pest free. Yet it has no flowers (which are edible along with the immature fruit, which are kinda like cucumbers or zucchini) and thus no fruit. What it does have is a lot of leaves. Zambia has shown us that most cucurbit leaves are a good substitute for the more insect-plagued and tenderer plants like spinach etc. So the luffa plant would make a great food source if its leaves are edible. We don't really want to eat the leaves our our pumpkins in the field, cause we prefer a good yield of pumpkins to the leaves.<br /><br />Sorry to blab about that so much. Our field has a good bit of grass as well, but not so bad as the garden. Plus we weeded half of it recently. Most of the field plants have such big leaves that they are able to trump the grass for access to sunlight. The banana tree is supporting many leaves now, no doubt in preparation to provide us with a preponderance of bananas before rainy season ends. It also has produced a new sucker shoot which I hope to transplant. We already transplanted one bananas sucker and it's growing quite nicely among the wild amaranth (which has delicious leaves - relative of spinach and the larger-seeded "super-grain" quinoa).<br /><br />In other agricultural news, the internet told us how to "break" broodiness in chickens so they will stop trying to sit on invisible eggs and start laying again. You put them in an airy cage so that their undersides are cool. This initiates a change in hormones that puts them back into laying mode. It worked well for New Chicken - just 3 or 4 days in the "prison" (we try and let them out during the day until they try and sit on the laying area, and of course they get food and water). Fireball and Pocahontas went broody shortly after New Chicken finished. With them both caged though I think they kept eachother's bellies too warm, so it's taken longer.<br /><br />We got a cat! When Peter came for this Jatropha training we scheduled, he brought us a surprising and unsolicited cat. The training didn't happen because it absolutely poured rain. In Zambia rain is as good as 4 feet of snow in regards to meetings and school days. Peter drove us back from the school to our hut and put a box into my hands. I felt the box shifting and hissing at me. "Oh god" I thought, cause Carrie is allergic to cats. All was well though, we figured it could be mainly an outdoor cat. As soon as we let the cat out of the nearly literal bag, it ran into a dark corner and attempted to evade all contact. Peter said he had just been weaned from the mother (who is nearly wild) and is part Wild African Cat or Jennet or something. He had looked for the kitten to give us before he came but couldn't find it as the mother hides it every day. As he was driving for the meeting, he heard it meowing in the bed of his truck, so he boxed it up for us.<br /><br />He became 'tame' almost immediately though. Going from sitting on top of a shelf all day to sitting in our laps. He started using the litter box from day one amazingly. Carrie named him "Professor McTiddlywinks" or just "Professor" for short. He looks like a striped black/grey/white tabby. Generally I'm not a big cat fan, but the kitten is pretty cute. His main drawback is that he only operates in two modes: Attack and Sleep. If you try to play with him or pet him for any length of time, he will resort to clawing and biting your fingers. He likes to climb up people too, which is a painful ordeal if one isn't wearing full body denim or kevlar.<br /><br />Okay, back to the last post. I met the guy in Kabwe and he said he was powerless in regards to offering me a volunteer position. He claims I must apply in Serenje. So ridiculous. Serenje MOH told me I had to apply in Lusaka a long time ago, and that is when all the confusion and bureaucracy started. The guy who let me use his computer greatly admired my willingness to volunteer in 'such poor conditions' as a thatched roof house with no electricity or running water. He was also impressed with my face, as he complimented me at least 3 times on that; "Your face is just beautiful" etc. Since Zambians are a generous, frank, and kind people (and homosexuality is illegal), I imagine his compliment to be in the same vein as the American "I like your shoes".<br /> Damn, I have to meet Carrie at the Black Night for pizza now. Dunno if I will be able to finish the post. Ok, love everyone!Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-30154037702709870592007-12-18T16:42:00.000+02:002007-12-18T16:54:48.846+02:00Surprise blogWell a nice guy at Kabwe Ministry of Health has let me use his computer so I will now blog. Yesterday I got to Lusaka and was planning on going straight to Mpelembe today, but I changed my mind to check on the progress of my application here in Kabwe.<br /><br />I went to Lusaka to check on the status of my Visitor's permit. Good news is that I got it finally, bad news is it expires in about one month. They decided the expiration based on when I submitted my application at immigration, so my first 3 months are almost up. The next 3 months will cost me 1 million Kwacha or about 280 dollars. Cabipa sana. So I decided to come to Kabwe hoping to jab the MOH into further action with the desire to get a free work permit through them before I have to renew my Visitor's permit.<br /><br />I got a ride to Lusaka from our farmer friend Peter. We left at 2 am and arrived at 8 or so. Oops the guy has come so I gotta go.<br /><br />All is well!Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-7655686304209139152007-12-11T03:33:00.002+02:002007-12-11T03:59:21.809+02:00Ho ho ho… No SnowIf all goes according to plans I’ll be blogging twice this month! Don’t withhold your excitement. At the moment I am in Serenje at the Peace Corps house, where they have recently invented the internets. Carrie and I came in because we could get a free ride, and so we could use the internet and send some mail. If you’re lucky, you might get a letter from me before Christmas, but I don’t know if any of you are that lucky. Especially cause I only wrote less than half the letters I was intending to so far. The other portion will go out when I get to Lusaka around the 18th. I’m getting a free ride with the white farmer who lives near us, Peter, and like 200 sheep. I get to ride in the front though, unlike the sheep.<br />Ok to flesh out my last post. New Chicken has more character than the other chickens generally. She often came inside the hut and I trained her to fly straight up in the air to grab peanuts out of my hand. She also makes very different sounds from the other two. Unfortunately she came very ragged and with little chicken-flea-tick things. We plucked and bathed her and she was better than a shiny new penny. She began laying eggs almost immediately. Good sized too. Fireball was still broody this whole time. A week or so after getting New Chicken, she and Pocahontas also decided to get broody. Oh boy. Three lazy hens. Occasionally I would drag them out of the chicken house so the would get some food and exercise. Incidentally, we decided to let them sit on the 3 remaining eggs we had left in the hope of baby chickies. Put their broodyness to good use, you know? Well, they quickly knocked one egg out of the house. Crack. Then they sat on the other two just fine for a while. Carrie and I ‘candled’ them and could see mini chicks and blood vessels and such. About halfway through chick development they decided to oust these two eggs as well. Poultry infanticide, who knew? In their defense, they probably did it by accident as they like to fight over who gets to sit on the eggs by using their beaks to cuddle the eggs over to themselves. Probably lost control and fell out a gap.<br />Eventually Fireball and Pocahontas decided to stop being broody like good chickens. They started fending for food more and spending most of the time in the great outdoors. Shortly after this phase the chicken house stand collapsed due to wood borer infestation. It happened at night so the three poor chickens just stayed inside, clinging to the stick floor like nothing was wrong. We moved the platform and house to the ground. After a week of just eating (with many supplementary peanuts and millet to encourage egg production) the two chickens began to lay. They couldn’t lay in the chicken house because New Chicken was lording over the empty nest basket. So one day while Carrie was preparing to go for a run in the ungodly hours of the morning, when the sun can barely even drag itself out of bed, Pocahontas saunters in and starts fiddling around in the dark corners of the house. Carrie informed me of this and went for a run. After hearing many strange shifting and scratching I got up to inspect the situation. Lo and behold, there were Pocahontas and Fireball both sitting on top of the huge bag of charcoal. I left them in peace and was rewarded with the danger clucking signaling egg deposit. So every morning since we have had to open the door really early to let the chickens in to lay their eggs on the charcoal bag, which gets lower and lower to the ground every day. Some days I have to catch or trap the chickens and put them on the “nest” because they don’t get a-laying before the enemy neighbor rooster begins to herd them over to the neighbors house. New Chicken has been brooder forever, and she hardly ever gets up to eat – only if she hears sounds of the other two chickens being fed. She’s funny though out of the nest. If you approach her she puffs herself up as big as she can muster - looking exactly like a miniature turkey - and then slowly tries to evade you while clucking away. Whew, that’s the chicken situation report. From its length, you might surmise it’s my entire life here. I shall now seek to prove you wrong!<br />Freedom Day; Zambia! Zambia! Home of the brave! Or something like that. All national anthems sound the same except for France’s - which is all about driving out the invaders and watering the French fields with their blood. We biked over to our friend Justin’s new house, where he had brewed us up 2,000 liters of “wine” and Zambian beer. Wine here (outside of the expensive imported stuff in cities [Mom, John – they have Coteaux du Layon in the Capital!]) means water + sugar + yeast, and if you’re really going deluxe, also some tea bags. There are at least 2 or 3 types of home brew beer though. Chibuku, even commercially popular as the brand Shake Shake (advertising campaign equates drinking of Shake Shake with obtaining respect. Especially ironic since Shake Shake is the cheapest, worst, and most common beer) is made from cooked corn flour (mealie meal) sugar, yeast, and water. Katata, which is what we were treated to, is made from broken millet grains, sugar, yeast, water. When we got there we were urged to sample the wine (teabagless) and katata. From the first vile taste, I knew we were in for a good time. Justin luckily had suggested we bring sugar for adding to improve the taste, and boy did it ever. I liked the Katata the best, especially with all the millet rolling around to add texture. Whenever I finished my cup (which was too frequently) I just waltzed on over to the giant plastic drum and got me some more wine or katata. There was enough to drown in. But Justin had insisted we make 20 liters of each “at-y least-y”. In addition, Freedom Day marked the day when Justin began to run his own bar, so there were many more liters of katata.<br />After tasting the Dionysian goods, Justin said his family just happened to be over and would it be alright if they joined us (this was after many weeks of him reiterating “just four, you, me, Ba Carrie, and Brenda”[his wife]). We acquiesced. In come Justin’s cross-eyed and wild mother, Brenda’s mother, two other random ladies who I guess were “aunties”, and Justins sick [step?]son. They all arrayed themselves on the floor while us muzungus and Justin got chairs. Carrie would’ve been sitting on the ground too if she weren’t as white as the sun is bright. I felt kind of guilty, but I guess us three were the ones who financed the whole affair. We sat around communicating in our sad Bemba and drinking for a while, me having to pee every 10 minutes (which gave me the unfortunate view of all those maggots squirming in their icimbusu – we drop flaming grass and hot coals down ours to keep them at bay) and Justin attending to his new customers every 10 minutes. His wife naturally was slaving over a hot bunch of logs. Suddenly Justin’s mother declared it was time for she and Carrie to dance. At first I thought she meant me too, which I dreaded, not being nearly drunk enough for 80’s Night dance moves. No just she and Carrie. They were given extra chitenges to don, rolled up and tied about the waist. In Zambia one must never dance unless adorned with the rolled up dancing chitenge. I don’t know what consequences would befall a dancing scofflaw, but they would no doubt be dreadful. An empty water jug and high African voices provided the music as all the “cells” were in the tape player at Justin’s bar-insaka. To Carrie’s credit she danced just fine while she and I both tried not to laugh. After some dancing they sat down again and we talk and drank some more. BAM round two of dancing, this time all the women joined in singing and carrying on. Looks like I was all dressed up with nowhere to go.<br />Carrie and I hadn’t eaten lunch, lured so early by the promises of the tasty and mysterious “African Cake”. So we just kept sitting around, long past lunch time. Finally out comes a bowl with the “African Cake”. It appeared to be some mashed bunch of eggs and tomatoes. Justin explained it was oil, flour, salt, eggs, onion, and tomato. Not very fluffy or cake-like, as one might imagine. Well we were famished, so were extremely dismayed when Justin gave us a “side plate” (Zambians sometimes use a “side plate” when eating with guests so that the guests can scoop out some relish into a plate of their own instead of everyone dipping into the communal one. I don’t think it improves hygiene all that much, especially when preceded by the communal water-only handwashing bowl) we scooped what we thought was our fair share and wolfed it down. It was actually pretty good. [Sidenote. There are two categories of Zambian food: 1. Bland and reasonably ok for you. This is the vast majority of meals, mostly encompassing the staple corn meal mush – nshima – and the relishes which you dip your ball of nshima in. 2. Tasty and terrible for you. These are snacks like the long fried donuts with sugar-margarine cream down the center, or the fried cassava-wheat-corn flour sweet patties, or fritters, French fries (“chips”) etc. Everything good involves a lot of oil. ] “African Cake” fell into the second category. We enviously eyed the rest of the cake until Justin put it away saying that he and his wife already ate some in the insaka. Damn.<br />We sat, talked, and drank for a long stretch until I finally asked Justin if that was all we were having to eat, then finally he brought out some nshima with vegetable relish. Whew. Not tasty, but it fills you up. After eating, Justin’s mother declared another dancing session, this time with Justin and I thrown into the mix. I tied my chitenge dance roll about myself firmly, with the knot making a nice bunny tail for me. The singing began and I stuck out both my arms as I’d seen our neighbor’s drunk son do so many times and moved my ass a little. I was awesome. I think. Well, after dancing I was showered with much laughter and natotelas (thank you in Bemba). After Carrie and I were kinda drunk we said we were going home. But what’s this! A man selling the “golden syrup”! Honey! Justin brought him over and bought us a cup full to take home. As we were bidding farewell, Justin decided to inform us randomly of the privileges of his marital status. “Any time I want to kiss [gestures] – no mistake” “I want to go to the bedroom – no problem – no mistake”. Well I certainly hope Brenda feels the same way.<br />I mounted my untrusty steed, cup of honey and dead bees in one hand, and Carrie and I biked home. We immediately conked out upon arrival and slept. Carrie ended up getting really sick (too much alcohol? Food or drink contamination? We’ll never know) all night so that was a bummer. She would hardly even touch my homemade Suku-mufungo wine when I made it a week later after that.<br />Carrie and I built a solar dryer using plastic scraps, tape, medical tape, innertubes, pipe cleaners, and sticks. Quite the effort, but takes in rain so we can’t use it until we invent the solar dryer shelter. I nearly cut off my damn pinkie getting the sticks. I was sure the mangled saw cut was going to get infected, but I followed ‘Where there is no Doctor’s advice and dug out all the wood fragments with tweezers and kept it clean and dry. Now I just have a thick and tender scar. We successfully dried tomatoes before the rains came.<br />Sun sun go away come again another day. Every day we hope for rain. Mainly so we won’t have to water the garden, but also because it means a period where one can move around with minimal sweat. Well it finally has started to come. First it would rain in the evening or night for two days then 5 days of no rain. Increasingly though the rain means business. Yay! The best part is really seeing the chickens all wet. They look so sad.<br />After Freedom Day, I went over to Justin’s to learn how to make a Zambian tool handle. We had just bought a hoe-head from him. So he taught us[me] how to make a hoe handle. Baalisambilisha ine shani ukupanga umupini ulukaso. And, no, I didn’t study beforehand how to say that in Bemba. I just rolled it off the top of my head. I was quite interested as I love knowing all sorts of DIY stuff. This also had the appeal of craftsmanship, quality, and utility. Just like a good bike repair. We went into the woods looking for one of the 5 “proper” trees. Justin was looking for a Mulombwa (beautiful wood, tan with brown heartwood) the 3rd strongest, but soon gave up and found a suitable Mutondo (Brachystagia something, the most common tree type in Zambia). He dug down to expose part of the root and chopped it down there. We brought it back to his insaka and started chipping it down using the imbaso (mini hand adze thing). After getting the basic shape, he took the head out of the imbaso and we used it to plane the handle fairly smooth. The next day he built a big fire and we stuck the hoe head in, trapped in a log. After the head is red hot, we stab it into the handle where the root of the tree used to be. Repeat over and over. Then Justin melted some plastic around the hole to hold it in place. Chapwa! I was pretty proud overall and asked Justin about getting an axe head so I could make my axe handle.<br />Shortly thereafter, Carrie and I set about making a field in back of our hut. We went to learn from the headman how he grows his maize and pumpkins. The next day we dug 45 holes for a cucurbit-legume combo and 18 holes for a sweet corn-runner bean-squash combo. We did “conservation farming” where you don’t hoe and plant the whole field, but add compost to spaced holes or “stations” in which you plant. Hot hard work. The blisters still haven’t faded away completely. The next day we planted and hoped for rain. It didn’t rain for a bit, though it had been the day before we tilled the soil. Some dastardly animal dug up some of the squash seeds and ate them. Also dug up the corn, but left it laying there. So we had to replant a bit. Now the field is flourishing, except for a few holes where nothing came up for some reason. Gotta replant them again. Unfortunately the grass is also flourishing along with these iridescent green and orange beetles who love watermelon leaves. So lots of weeding and squishing. We planted sweet corn, 6 types of beans, 5 types of pumpkin, 3 types of cantaloupe, 2 types of watermelon, and peanuts. I tried to intercrop so no species would be right by its kin, but the math didn’t work out perfectly. I’m sure it’ll work out though. I also want to plant some non-sweet corn that he headman gave us and some other stuff. We also started a new nursery in the garden with tomatoes, eggplant, soybeans, okra, swiss chard, lettuce, cabbage, and beets. Most beds are empty and in need of serious hoeing in of weeds and compost before being ready for transplants. Always work to be done around here.<br />The mangoes are starting to ripen! We now eat like 3 mangoes a day and it’s just the beginning. They are smaller than the cultivated variety you can get in The States, but really good! Some trees even have ones that taste faintly of coconut (why are there no coconut trees in Zambia!?!?). There is a huge old mango tree in the left hand neighbor’s house (in which there are no neighbors) and the damn right hand neighbor’s kids keep shimmying up it and taking all the barely ripe mangoes every day. They have their own mango trees, but I guess they ravish those pretty quick. Especially since they don’t mind eating unripe mangoes. It’s quite frustrating though, as Carrie and I had been assuming that since we were the ones adjacent to this mango tree (which even overhangs our garden) it would be ours. Selfish, sure, especially since we have many mango trees we saved from the old slash and burn season. But we want to eat 5 mangoes a day each and have enough to make mango jam and dried mangoes! Sometimes kids will also try and steal from our mango trees when they think we aren’t looking. I came upon this one holding this long stick trying to knock some large green mangoes out of our tree. I just said “iwe!” meaning “kid” “hey” or “you”, and she was halfway to the Congo before the stick even hit the ground. I have no doubt that there will be many fewer mangoes when we get back to Mplembe tomorrow.<br />Many weeks ago we went to our neighborhood white farmer’s house. We hitched with our bikes there and biked 14 k into the bush. Hard and unpleasant riding. It was hot and my bike is a piece of crap made in China. The seat also broke so was jabbing into my rear. Peter was having a training day on Jatropha growing (this oily-seeded plant from which bio-diesel can be made) for some villages in the area. He’s working with this company “Oval Biofuels” to get rural farmers to plant these things and then sell the company their seeds for 10 years. We read the contract and it’s actually a really good deal once you convert into Kwacha, since the going price is based off of the price of diesel fuel. We now are distributing seed to people in Mpelembe and are facilitating a meeting about it next Saturday at the school. I think it’s a good opportunity for our subsistence farmers to make some badly needed cash and to make an alternative to non-renewable fossil fuels. Of course I would rather all the cars just get off the road in the first place. If they must run it might as well be on organic biodiesel though.<br />Anyway, after the Jatropha training was over (we were way late) we ate nshima (no relish because there was only goat relish) and talked to Rayd Kabango (his name no doubt was supposed to be Loyd, but Zambians are constantly naming their children english names they can’t pronounce) about doing an agriculture training in his village of Chalilo (not chililo, which means “funeral” and caused a lot of confusion for the headman who thought we were going to mourn). After lunch, all the Zambians went home on bikes and we privileged whities went back to Peter’s house. We set up out tent in his yard amongst the white turkeys, guinea fowl (talk about an odd bird), and chickens. His house is this tall, beautifully thatched building. He lives right near a small waterfall with a clean cold river peopled by yellow baboons on the other bank. We even got to swim in it! It was amazing. To disprove Christian fundamentalists and put flowers on Darwin’s grave, all you have to do is watch those funny baboons for about two minutes. They are so human-like, just furrier and they bark like dogs sort of. After swimming, we went into the orchard to get oranges, marvel at all the fruit trees, and stuff ourselves with strawberries. After eating anything mildly ripe we drank some whisky-screwdrivers and snacked on spiced peanuts. When the bugs got too bad we moved inside and drank fresh milk from Peter’s cows, fresh coffee from Peter’s trees, and had fresh butter from Peter’s fresh milk!!! Delicious! Less delicious was the ramen noodles we got in lieu of more nshima and goat (which the South Africans apparently eat every meal like Zambians [not the goat necessarily] but call mealie pap or something silly like that. It would seem that no one in sub-saharan Africa has taste-buds) For dessert I had an avocado with sugar and rusks (these things South Africans eat for every breakfast with their coffee, basically squares of stale sweet dense bread. Almost like biscotti, but not as tasty). The talk between Peter, his father, his friend (all from SA), their Oval Biofuels friend (from Zimbabwe), Carrie, and myself, mostly was interesting stuff about development in Africa. Unfortunately there was an unhealthy dose of racism thrown in from all those Boers. I tried my best to argue, but a lifetime of living in a racist culture was too much for them. They believe there is something fundamentally different about black people from white people. I tried to explain it’s entirely cultural to no avail.<br />The next morning we got up early had lots of coffee and rusks and buttered bread and set off on the long ride home. Before leaving Peter gave us two huge bags of macadamia nuts!!! We are still working on husking, shelling, and roasting them to this day. The ride back was awful since my seat post is too short so my legs cant exert their full magnificent power to propel me with appropriate ease up the road. It was also 12 k of awful bush path and then 50 k of hot roads with hills.<br />The neighbor kids chopped down this big old tree in the woods near our house just so they could get a liter’s worth of caterpillars to eat. Can you believe it? I tried to tell them it’s bad to cut down a tree for caterpillars and that they could just climb up to get them. Wouldn’t listen or my Bemba was too bad. Hope that one small meal was worth it. I won’t even mention the tiny little birds and shrews. Yes, I know they don’t have access to a lot of protein and meat cause they’re poor. But their lack of access to protein isn’t a foregone conclusion as we in the Western world may imagine. They could eat the eggs of their 4 or 5 hens instead of the more infrequent slaughtered chicken. Their parents could have planned better and still have peanuts stored up from the last rainy season. As for vegetables, they could have a garden if they wanted to. They’re just as, if not more, capable of farming and hauling well water as ourselves. The headman has a garden that grows just fine by the sweat of his brow in all seasons, there’s no reason they couldn’t also. We would have given them seeds gladly. Carrie gave them some tomato seedlings once and they did nothing with them. They could have planted citrus, guava, and papaya trees. I can’t say I have any idea why they don’t do all these things. Instead they beg. I’d like to assume the most reasonable, that they had a bad harvest last year, but that only explains half of it. All I can say is I sure am glad that they are making a huge field this year and planting all around their house for vegetables. I just hope they continue the garden past rainy season.<br />Some things more humorous involving the neighbors: Falling-down-pants-boy, who’s name we finally ascertained to be Patrick or “Patti” and who is frequently hovering about our porch asking for sugar(to make beer)/salt/sweeties/bub(bubble gum)/peanuts/etc, has acquired a new pair of shorts. These don’t fall down ever, oh no, they just don’t have a back to them at all. So whenever he runs around, there are his two little baby ass-cheeks. The best part though is he sometimes puts them on backwards and then you can’t help but think that there isn’t really any point to him wearing pants at all. Naturally he doesn’t think anything of our stifled laughter or that breeze that blows so easily through his shorts. Kalunga, a 16 or so old son of the neighbors, came back from wherever he goes (I think it was fishing with his younger brother Joshua who we like). He never understands anything we say in Bemba though pretends to while smiling his gigantic smile like the sun. He also frequently wants to borrow our bicycles “bwangu” (quick), then takes many hours to return. He also apparently was hired by Justin to wash dishes and help brew beer? Justin orders him around all the time “Iiiiiwe, endesha endesha” (kiiiid, hurry hurry). But the best thing about him is that he started wearing around this wire with this metal clip at the end that Carrie threw in our trash pit. He thinks it makes a right smart necklace. The neighbors hoard all the broken electronics though they don’t even have batteries. Truly one persons’ junk is another’s treasure. Even if there is no reason behind it.<br />Whenever there is a chickenhawk (or any bird for that matter large or small) the neighbors automatically perceive it as a threat to their whole flock (even when there are no chicks that could possibly be carried by such a bird). They have this particular call they make to scare it off, though it doesn’t seem to notice one way or the other. The kids go like this “Gruyere gruyere gruyere! Wooooooo! Ayayayayayaya! Ahhhhh! Woooo!” or if only the father Iron Mumba is home, he says “Ahhhhhhh! Iwe! Iwe! Ahhhh!”<br />I bet you all were thinking “boy, sometimes it seems like a tough life over there, but at least they don’t have those damn Jahovas Witnesses coming to their door”. Well you’re wrong. Twice! First it was some nicely-dressed old men on bicycles. I was perfectly nice, but didn’t accept their copies of Awake! since I had read all the ones they had before. Next it was our very own dear old French-speaking village carpenter Maurice dressed in a Hawaiian shirt with a friend! Well he had a new issue of Awake! in English, so I took it. If I was gonna be a Christian I have to say I’d be liable to pick the Jahovas Witnesses. Even though they say some crazy stuff, their little magazines are so informative and generally benevolent and accepting. Here’s a gem: “Imagine the joy at seeing loved ones resurrected from the grave!” I picture all these zombies lumbering around trying to hug eachother. Beautiful! What other religion is so dedicated and cares enough to have 2 monthly publications printed in Bemba and 20 other languages? There was also this article about this surfer who “found [his] hippie lifestyle unfulfilling” and ended up “finding something better than a ‘perfect wave’” in being a Jehovas Witness. Also, Carrie and I were over at the Headman’s place and they complimented us on our complexions (not the color, as they’ve readily noticed that we show dirt easy) and asked if we used any lotions or petroleum jelly or whatnot. We said no. Then out of nowhere the Headman declared that we “have the skin of Jehova”! We had no idea what he meant but nodded dutifully. Maybe because most depictions of Jesus make him white? Maybe some obscure passage in the bible talks about how soft Jesus’s cheeks were? I don’t know. We tried to explain that white people generally get a lot of pimples in adolescence and generally aren’t regarded as having good skin, and that it was especially unsuitable for sunny Africa. Shrug.<br />We finally made it to Kasanka National Park, which is only 40 k from us. We biked around a lot and camped at this nice campsite on the edge of a floodplain. It was generally very pretty and we got to see a vervet monkey and some more baboons all by ourselves. We also saw these unexciting antelope things called “Puku” that look exactly like deer, and maybe Situnga or Hartebeest or something. There are these stork-looking white birds that follow the Puku around everywhere – pretty funny. In the morning we woke up to the snorting of a Hippo, but were unable to find it in the tall grass by the river. Probably good cause otherwise we might be dead. In the evening, one of the friendly park managers who has one leg longer than the other and is always wearing a green jumpsuit brought us over to ‘Fibwe Hide’ which is this platform built way up in this huge tree with a good view of wildlife. There was no wildlife to be seen. Afterwards, as the night crept up we went into this field and literally millions of bats flew from the woods by the setting sun, over our heads, and into the other forest. It’s the annual fruit bat migration. They all come down to eat sukus. Sukus are pretty tasty so I don’t blame them. Yet like most Zambian fruit, it’s a lot of trouble to get any flesh off of them. At least they generally don’t have little worms- unlike the much more delicious mufungo.<br />We had a spectacular Thanksgiving feast! I bought cranberry sauce, potatoes, and squash in Lusaka. So we had: Soya piece turkey, glazed butternut squash, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, STUFFING!!!, and sweet potato pie. All was delicious save the soya piece turkey and sweet potato pie (sweet potatoes here aren’t like sweet potatoes in The States).<br />I finally finished the axe handle I was working on for many weeks on and off! Whew. I spent nearly an entire day and stayed up until 1 am shoving the hot axe head into the handle! It’s 1 am now. Dammit. This time I insisted on finding the best tree for the handle. No Brachystagia Julbernaria for me no siree! I first tried to set off into the woods with the knowledge gleaned from Justin and our ‘Know Your Trees!’ book on Zambia. I was after the Mulombwa aka Mukwa aka “African Mahogany” tree. I knew what to look for. Pinnate alternate leaves, hairy winged pods, furrowed bark. I even had some leaves in my pocket for reference an some drawings I did. All useless. I searched for literally hours in the woods behind the house, then all the way to the school until I finally recognized some. I gratefully cut one down after confirming the red sap that oozes when you cut it. But alas - the most important part, where the root meets the trunk, where the axe head would go, was partially rotted! I cut down another, same thing! I brought them back hoping to be able to fix them. The Headlady saw them and made fun of them saying they weren’t fit for anything. A day wasted. The next day I went to the Headman and asked for his assistance in finding a tree. He ranked Ndale the “Snake Bean Tree” as stronger than Mulombwa and Mutondo. But above even Ndale is the elusive Chewya! Chewya handles can last 5 or 6 years of hard use. He led me in the back of his house and chopped me an Ndale tree. Ha! He doesn’t know me well enough to know I’ve gotta do everything from scratch for it to be worthwhile for me. Also I wanted to find the Chewya. (Sidenote: I’m not cutting down magnificent trees, we’re talking about saplings from 4 to 10 cm in diameter) So I gave the Ndale he cut to Justin, since he needs a new axe handle. I went with the Headman’s son Wizzy to find a Chewya tree. Unfortunately he hardly knew what they looked like, so I settled for an Ndale and cut her down, much to my hands dismay. I even got blood on their axe handle. It was a lot thicker than it needed to be and being such a hard wood, dulled the imbaso a lot. Had to borrow our neighbor’s ibwe (sharpening stone from the river) wooowee, I can put an edge on that imbaso. I had the headman sharpen it once for me and he made it as dull as the sky is blue compared to me. Wizzy said I make it “too sharp”. No such thing when you’re working on Ndale I say. Anyway, got it down to the dark brown heartwood in places. Now it’s finished. It’s a good axe. Now that we have an axe and hoe, Justin’s wife declared in English “you’re a farmer now!”.<br />Oh this is interesting. Carrie just handed me the 2006 Report on the Global Aids Epidemic from the UN. It says 87.4% of Zambians live on less than $2 a day. From my old perspective I would have thought “those poor people! They must be starving!” Nowadays I think how much I wish I was in a situation where I could live on less than $2 a day like them. The book also says they make $890 a year. The stat is skewed too, because businessmen and government workers really rake in the cash, while most villagers make nothing or a little more. What do they even need that for? Once you’ve paid your $20 for a hoe head and axe head, what more do you need? Land is ancestrally inherited and free. If I was a Zambian, I could go up to the Headman and ask what land is not being used and cut down all the trees and setup a field for free. It’s great. As far as I can see, in terms of economics, the only thing that’s wrong is that the government isn’t spending enough on healthcare and education. I mean, there is mostly no economy to speak of, and that works fine! Unlike us in the U.S., people here are self-sufficient. They grow their food and build whatever they need. Ok they wear clothes we made now, but they were making clothes too before we came along. I know I’ve touched on this before, but the contrast is striking. The U.S. is sposed to be the land of individualism, yet there are few other places on the planet where one must so heavily rely on so many others flung across the globe for their daily bread. And ok, one might view it as a constructive web of interrelations and mutual reliance with our fellows, but that’s not how it is, we all know that. We’re completely alienated from our growers and manufacturers. I’ve never even been to the country my boxers were made. As you go about your daily routine, you rely on coal miners, engineers, technicians, truckers, and maintenance crews for the electricity that lights that bulb which was produced by miners, factory workers, truckers, and salespeople. You might brew some coffee with water thanks to sewage workers and coffee picked from a plantation in Vietnam or if you paid a bit more from a cooperative in Brazil by poor villagers trying to survive under newly imposed capitalism, then moved by truckers, air or sea captains, resold to processors, and resold to retailers, and bought by you. On and on through the day. As the Zambians go about their daily routine they rely on themselves, their family, and maybe a handful of other villagers (whom they know on a first name basis) at most. I guess it’s the alienation and inequality of Western civilization that really bugs me. We aren’t neighbors with the coffee growers, and they certainly don’t enjoy all of our luxuries. We live by being carried on their backs in sedan chairs.<br />Anyway, as I mentioned the chicken house in kaput. So Carrie and I asked Justin for some know-how and bought another length of bamboo. After studying other chicken houses we built a Zamchickenhouse of our own. It’s made of bamboo woven like a basket between stakes in a circle. We were having trouble with the roof until Wizzy showed us how to tie the sticks together better. Then Peg and Kalunga helped us thatch the roof (they hardly let us do anything which was disappointing). Finally Carrie and I chopped some bigger trees for the legs, and I got some more saplings for the crosspieces of the platform. Voila! It’s quite cute and rustic looking. Still no pictures of anything obviously as we are having issues transferring photos from cameras to computers.<br />We saw two chameleons this week! One at Justin’s which bit Carrie with its lack of teeth, and one just today trying to cross the path in Serenje. We kept the one today for a while and were nearly set to bring it back to Mpelembe as a pet. It didn’t even get mad and bite us when being handled. Cute little buggers. Not very good at changing colors other than various shades of green with a couple red/black/white spots. Very good at walking up things and moving their eyes all crazy. We felt bad for he creatures freedom though, so we let it go. Zambians think chameleons are poisonous and will club them to death, which explains the general lack of chameleons. That and their slowness and inability to really change color well.<br />Carrie already talked about the “hunting tigers” thing so I guess go read that story over there. Not fair that she got to it first. 2 am now. What dedication I am showing in bringing you tales of wonder and majesty!<br /><br />Thank yous!<br /><br />Dad! – Thanks for the truckload of books! No doubt the 2 lbs of chocolate will be reduced to negative lbs of chocolate in no time. So much chocolate! Yum. Also thanks for the toothpaste with which to counteract said chocolate’s effects on our teeth. Too bad I didn’t have all that iodine before, maybe my scar wouldn’t be so bad. I’m sure it’ll all come in handy. Thanks also for the Spotty updates. Really glad he is doing so well. We just ran out of tea too!<br /><br />Tony and Carrie! – What an unexpected and pleasant surprise your package was! I searched it twice over for the Cell bio textbook, but couldn’t find it. Postal service must have taken it. Or Jeff Bennet. As mentioned in that section about “Jahova Skin” I’m really filthy so thank you for the legacy of our dearly departed Dr. Bronner. I’ll definitely update you and Carrie about the organic vs. non organic garlic powder, as we use garlic powder a lot. The only whole garlic you can buy in a 200 km radius is this teeny tiny midget garlic that isn’t even worth peeling. Chipotle actually is a particularly perspicacious gift, as we have just discovered the miracle of refried beans! I never knew they were so easy to make! You just keep cooking the damn beans until you can mash them. Then we make sad, terrible corn tortillas to eat it with. One time I made tortilla chips; a lot of work, but tasty. Is this your favorite toothpaste? They need to get more black face langur monkies on the monkey police force ASAP down there in India. If I was Monkey-Sheriff, I’d monkey-deputize a posse to go round up those monkeys that killed that guy. I'm loving the Poisonwood Bible already! Thank you both!You two have a letter coming to you soon, so that’s where I shall reply to your inquiries. How exciting that you have a wedding date! Did you pick the bone china serving platters or the solid gold? Maybe you'll get an hoe handle for a wedding gift.<br /><br />John - Scuba diving! I want to do that. Glad things are going so well between you and your girlfriend! Hey read 'The Power Elite' - C. Wright Mills!<br /><br />Mom - Send me 100,000 Kwacha and I'll send you some Coteuax du Layon for Xmas! Kidding. Glad you are reading this! T'embrace<br /><br />Sarah! - How did you not know! Funny. I just sent you a letter assuming you weren't reading my blog. Funnier. So what is next after quitting grad school? I always knew you'd quit. I don't think you're cut out for boring research and an academic career. Fight the power.<br /><br />Love you all. Keep everything on hold until I get back. Especially you Tony and Carrie! Tony, you wrote 2007 in your letter and Carrie wrote 2008, so I'm hoping you both miswrote and you're actually getting married in 2009.<br /><br />Ok it's almost 4 o' clock, long post. Sorry for the typos. Night! Happy Thanksgiving!Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-15001203740262413862007-11-14T20:44:00.000+02:002007-11-14T20:56:21.177+02:00The 9 minute blogOk I only have 9 minutes until the net place closes. Excuse any typos.<br /><br />I found Carrie in Kabwe finally - Sorry to leave everyone back home on the edge of your collective seats.<br /><br />We got a new chicken who is aptly named "New Chicken", for lack of a fitting name. All the chickens have followed Fireball's lead for some god-forsaken reason. They all vie for a position on the nest to incubate the 2 eggs we left them to hatch. Sometimes 2 chickens will sit on the small nest. Must take a picture (side note: no pics because Carrie's card reader is broken, her mom is mailing her a new one).<br /><br />We celebrated Freedom Day here in Zambia, which basically consists of drinking, dancing, and some exiting (for Zambian cuisine) food. You could probably read about it in Carrie's blog, but my description (which will have to wait) will no doubt be much funnier.<br /><br />We are entering rainy season. Yay!!!! Heavy rains. Makes the solar dryer perform less than optimally; I don't know how we are going to be able to dry all these mangos we have growing.<br /><br />I've made (with help from our friend Justin) a hoe, and am in the drawn out process of personally producing an axe (isembe). It will be the creation I am most proud of in life.<br /><br />We visited "Bwana" Peter and got lots of goodies, coffee, milk, butter that he grew, and Rusks (biscutty thing from S.A.).<br /><br />We made a field!!! Maybe 1 lima or 3/4 lima (that's a measure of area). 5 different types of pumpkins, 3 cantaloupes, 2 watermelons, corn, 4 different types of beans.<br /><br />Oh god! Time!<br /><br />I need to thank people, but putting my self-interests first will list stuff I would love to have: Emilie - Bulk Nutritional Yeast Flakes! Anyone - Spearmint total care Tom's Of Maine toothpaste. Books on chickens?<br /><br />Dad, how is the new doggie? Everyone, how is life?? Mom, are you reading this? Everyone reading please put a comment to let me know how you are. I think of everyone in the States often and fondly! Love, DougDoughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-19372248323907448172007-10-16T09:18:00.000+02:002007-10-16T10:34:32.374+02:00Infernal ImmigrationIt's hot in Zambia. Really hot (kaba sana). Fortunately hot season will be coming to an end in a month or so with the coming of the rains. Or at least it will be hot with rain, I'm not sure how that works. It actually rained in Mpelembe a week or two ago. Quite the downpour. The roof leaked in 3 places, which is pretty good for an old thatched roof I think. Thunder and lightening, accompanied the rain, so it was very majestic. Best of all, I didn't have to water the garden for 2 days.<br /><br />So, I'm unexpectedly in Kabwe today. I went to Lusaka on Sunday (sans Carrie, to save money and because she was going to Kabwe for a library training on Tuesday) hoping to go to immigration to get my visitor's permit and to ministry of health to drop off a copy of my degree (thanks Dad) and check on the status of the purported volleys of letters, on Monday. Unfortunately I was mad to think that Zambian bureaucracy (slower than US bureaucracy for lack of internet in many places) would be able to get a letter sent through the 3 levels of hell all the way to Lusaka MOH headquarters. Today I will check on the status of Kabwe's letter which should have been forwarded to Serenje already - though that isn't the purpose of my visit. Serenje refuses to send a letter to Kabwe until they receive a letter from Kabwe. Laughable if my ass remaining in Zambia weren't on the line. They are also concerned with security issues. Am I a nice guy? Will I jab people with needles for no reason? Am I a criminal? No one here has the capability to do a background check so I don't know what all the fuss is about. Probably some guy who wants to freely donate his time to helping out a clinic isn't a spy or murderer.<br /><br />Anyway, back to my Lusaka travail. I stayed in a cheap - but nice - guesthouse Sunday night, after doing half of our grocery shopping. A South Korean travel writer named Sun asked if I wanted some soup, so he, I, and Sato - a Japanese student - all shared his Nigerian spicy vegetable soup he made. Very nice. It was neat to talk to two other travelers from totally different parts of the globe than myself. I talked to Sato more in the dorm, and he was shocked to learn that there are many Sushi restauraunts in the US and that I like it and tempura very much. He also didn't know people knew of the Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa outside of Japan. I in turn was shocked - actually just dissapointed - to hear that many people in Japan are McDonalds junkies. Apparently Japan has an eclectic assortment of food nationality options just like the States. Sun had met some North Koreans on the Chinese side of the border and says that they claimed North Korea isn't in as bad shape as the world believes. Although they did mention the lack of communication and news from the outside world. One might also ask why they escaped to China, but whatever. Monday morning I woke up and ate breakfast with my 2 fellow travelers and we were joined by an Indian man. Upon finding out that I was from the US, the Indian man went on and on about how bad they US is, primarily placing blame on GW Bush. Obviously I didn't leap to my country's defense and tried to get him to understand that he was preaching to the chior (with some difficulty, since I don't think India has that phrase). Anyway, I said people in the US aren't terrible, though not as friendly as Zambians, and that many of us are unhappy with our government. One thing he said, which I didn't agree with, is that our worst crime was killing Saddam. Maybe India venerates presidenthood too much, but I think the deaths of millions of innocent Iraqi children due to our sanctions and extensive bombing over the years was our worst crime. Oh well. He and Sun said that the US's former status and reputation has been extensively tarnished now in the eyes of the rest of the world. I don't know if we ever deserved such a reputation (remember the Phillipines, Panama, Iran-Contra, Slavery, Native Americans?).<br /><br />Anyway, after that I went to Lusaka immigration to get my visitor's permit. There I found out that I need a certified bank check to pay the 500,000 kwacha fee. Well I just strolled on down to the nearest bank and asked for one. No no no, you can't get a certified bank check (or cheque) without an account. Next bank, same response. Walked all across Lusaka to 7 different banks and all required that you open an account. Well, I thought to myself, it's a pain, but best to get this all over with. What might be required to open a bank account then? 2 passport sized photos blah blah blah and a work permit. Wait, what. I need a work permit to open a bank account to get a certified check, but I would need a certified check to get a work permit to open a bank account. A Catch-22 par excellence. I guess most employers pay for their employees work permits. I went back to immigration to ask if a certified check from Carrie would be ok and they said sure.<br /><br />So, Monday evening I walk, rediculously heavy pack and all, to the lay by on Great North Road and catch a minibus to Kabwe (which was cramped and took too long, why do I ever take minibusses between cities???). Got here when the sun was setting and asked a guesthouse we had stayed at before if they had a white woman staying there. Nope. Tried the next closest one, who was kind enough to call all the other guesthouses around town. All said no muzungu women named Carrie or failed to answer the phone. I figured the only thing left to do was to go to the guesthouses that didn't answer their phones. I got a cab to give me an ok price to check out the first one on the list of 8. No Carrie there. Checked probably 5 others before the cabbie got tired of driving me around and said he was going to have to drop me off. I asked for the cheapest guesthouse in town. He also wanted more money now for driving me for so long. I tried to play on sympathy and my purported lack of funds. Got him down to 50 pin (50,000 kwacha, 12 dollars) for driving me around for 1.5 hours. Ha! I still owe him 10 pin, cause I was trying to claim I had no more. Went into my room (35 pin), which really wasn't bad. Dingy and boring, but clean. With dissapointment, sorrow, frustration, and loneliness in my heart I set about writing in my journal. Suddenly a miserable epiphany: Remember when I said I got to Kabwe on Monday night? Also remember when I said Carrie was going to Kabwe on Tuesday? Wow, I felt like a complete idiot as I never before had in my life. Carrie was nowhere near Kabwe and here I was frantically scrambling to find out which guesthouse she was staying at here. Wasted 50 pin, 2 hours or more, and the time of the guesthouse people, the cabbie, and myself. Hahaha.<br /><br />Whew. Now I am going to wait at the bus station (where busses and most drivers would drop people off) at noon to try and run into Carrie. Hopefully I won't have to repeat the experience of last night.<br /><br />Anyway, what else has happened since my last post? Chicken house stand almost collapsed (termites? surely not because the branches I used weren't strong enough). Chickens started laying an egg a day each. I think it's because I started catching grasshoppers and locusts from the garden and feeding them in great quantity (sometimes 12 a day) to the chickens. There is much art in catching a grasshopper. You must move slowly, with yoga-like grace until smacking your hand down on the only mildly suspicious grasshopper. Kids next door continually raiding our trash pit for plastic bags with which to construct their football (soccer ball). It actually bounces just like a real one. It's impressive. Carrie has made an intercropped garden bed of her own. I hope it does well. We have some tiny cantaloupes and a different type of pumpkin forming. The other pumpkins, among 9 plants produced one medium pumpkin.<br /><br />Last week "my" chicken, Fireball went insane. She decided to get broody and sit on the one egg that we leave in the nest. Usually chickens only sit on a nest when they accumulate 10 or more eggs. I've tried lifting her off (with much squaking) and barring the coop, but she then just sits as close as possible to the nest outside the coop and spreads herself out as though she is nesting. She also lost many of the feathers on her chest and belly, which maybe is part of the brooding process. Carrie cut my hair and I cut Carrie's hair. Her hair is almost as short as mine used to be. It's sort of in a bob, to which she added (subtracted?) bangs. I think it looks pretty good, but she is not as enthusiastic about it. She wanted a short cut!<br /><br />Emilie - Thank you for the spices and books you sent!!! I have already finished the book on bees (very interesting), Hardboiled Wonderland and End of the World (awesome book), stumbled over some Foucault, and am halfway through Desert Solitaire. We are now cumining things like crazy. How are your spices so cheap at that coop?? Glad to hear things are very good in NYC with you<br /><br />Nonna - Thank you for the clippings, which are infinately more precious here in Zambia. I haven't recieved your package yet, though I imagine it is waiting for Carrie to pick it up at the Post Office in Serenje. Will probably get it when Carrie comes back to Mpelembe on Saturday. I think all my troubles this trip can be attributed to the fact that I forgot my St. Christopher's medal in the hut this time. Glad to hear you are reading one of my very favorite authors! Tell me what you think!<br /><br />Jamie - Thanks for posting! Get Sarah to read the blog. You'd be surprised, most of Carrie and my days are a far cry from exciting. It's different, true, but not wildly so.<br /><br />Ok I've used up a lot of internet time here at the BP station. Gotta go look up some recipes, raising stingless bees (who live in a post in our garden), how to dynamite moles, etc. Take care everyone.Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-54883036184026518722007-09-24T19:01:00.000+02:002007-09-24T20:13:08.264+02:00The beat goes onIn Lusaka again, much to my chagrin. We went to Serenje immigration again and were told that I can extend for a long period of time by applying for a visitors' permit in Lusaka. Carrie was going through Lusaka anyway to go to a training in Chipata, so I tagged along. Got here yesterday evening, fell asleep at the guesthouse then went out for some spectacular Indian food. Today we went to Ministry of Health again for the letter only to find that the guy hadn't even gotten to it in the intervening weeks. After waiting around for several hours I finally got to meet him, only to have him explain that I would have to tackle the issue from the bottom up (the exact opposite of what the people at the bottom of the hierarchy pyramid have been telling me). So first I need the Clinical Officer of Mpelembe clinic to write an offer of employment to the Serenje district head. Then the district head has to write to the medical head of Central province. Then the provincial head has to write to the man I have just spoken to. Then he can approve it. Completely illogical, especially when heard from the mouth of the man who makes the final decision. So I decided to not try and extend my visa expiration, in the hopes that I can get this work permit ironed out by October 21st, thus saving myself 500,000 Kwacha.<br /> Been traveling so much lately it's hard to keep track of what's going on. On the way back to Mpelembe from Serenje one day I nearly got stranded in Chalilo (30 km from Mpelembe). There I had my ear nearly talked off by a well meaning drunk guy. He wants Carrie and I to come to Chalilo to talk to people about how to improve their farming methods (saving seed, compost, etc.) and, he hoped, bring irrigation machinery?? Ha. Anyway, after stating all the points he wished us to discuss, he went on about how he must save his family name, all of the high status position he holds, and how he uses latex gloves to pick his tomotoes. The chief arrived at some point and was giving villagers some wood to burn. I couldn't meet him though, because all I had were some small oranges to offer and meeting him outside of his palace would have been a big social faux pas.<br /> On the way back to Serenje from Mpelembe I was explaining to some people that paying for sex is a bad practice as one could easily catch HIV from prostitutes, when one 12th grader asked in a doubtful tone "is HIV real?". When informed that yes, in fact it was real, and no, you probably won't catch it from silverware, he said he heard that they put HIV on all of the condoms at the condom factory. I was pretty depressed and horrified at the idea of a rumor like that going around in a country where 1 in 5 people have HIV/AIDS. I tried to tell him that the rumor is untrue, and that if he is going to be having sex that he should be using a condom.<br /> In the village all is well except for the Headman's daughter's insane screechings that went on for half an hour one night. When the Headman and his son came over to return a bike, they explained that she was "just washing her eyes - it's normal". The next day when we inquired again, the brother, Charles, provided an even more dubious explanation. She has a demon in her. Unfortunately they very much believe that this is the case. He went on to explain some angels' fall from grace according to the bible, and their present role in disturbing people. He cited how Peg sometimes "talks too much, like she's a little odd" and of course her late night eruption. Ultimately, I think it was a parent's disapproval of her biking alone to Chalilo (perhaps to visit a boy) that sparked the incident. Especially since she took off the next day to Chalilo. Charles also told us about witches and their lack of humanity; thus justifying actions like beating them or burning down their houses. It's a weird world.<br /> We also had a guest from Austria stay over one night. Incidentally, also the same night as the shrieking. His name was Christian (which led to much confusion among the Zambians "so he's a christian?" and "so he's travling to Mansa to go to church?") and he was traveling through Southern Africa to see the sights after having gotten his Master's degree. Pretty cool guy. It was nice to play host to a weary traveler, no doubt chocking up some credits to our Karma account. We even made pancakes with our own chicken's eggs (they were delicious and fluffy, but reduced vanilla-cinnamon-sugar-water is no substitute for real maple syrup [add that to my package wish list!]).<br /> As alluded to, our chickens are both laying eggs. More specifically at a rate of 1.02 eggs per day between the two of them. Usually small, creamy colored and sometimes speckled. We put (as neighbor lady insisted) a basket containing sand in the corner of the hen-house. They seem to like that. For a while they were laying at set times, now they lay randomly. Both chickens caught a cold, but have survived. A chicken with a cold is a pretty pathetic/hilarious thing. They sneeze and have a runny beak. Go on and try to imagine a chicken sneezing, you probably are right on the money. After seeing the neighbor's hen surrounded by a batallion of precious little chicks, we've decided to get yet another chicken, so that we can have enough eggs to eat and raise up some fluffballs of our own.<br /> There was another huge fire started in the "forest" this time. I watched it with that glazed fascination humans have always regarded fire until it started getting too close to the neighbor's property. I quickly jumped into the flammable fray with my fire suppression tree branch in hand, but was unable to save the roof of their pit latrine. At this point the Headman came by, not to help, but to point out that he had told the Mumba family that the firebreak must be 10 meters from the house. The neighbors and I managed to stave off the flame's wrath from encroaching upon the cooking shelter, house, and mango tree fortunately. The chickens got a feast though, as grasshoppers and all other manner of insect were driven from the forest and into their gullets by the fire.<br /> The new bed, or as Carrie calls it "[my] bed", in the garden is flourishing in its fully intercropped glory. Portuguese cabbage leaves as big as your head! Tomato plants growing as though they lived next to a nuclear reactor! Carrie attributes all of this permicultural plenitude to my frequent waterings. We'll see, since Peg is watering the garden at the moment instead of me (hope there are no incidents of demonic possession in the vicinity of the garden). The grasshoppers (as mentioned, newly driven by the blaze) are nibbling the cabbage leaves as fast as their little mandibles can move, but their efforts are overshadowed by the rate of leaf growth. I really have to get around to mulching things though, so that our persistent weeds are suppressed along with the rate of water loss from the soil.<br /> It's hot season now. It gets really hot, even early in the morning, and doesn't cool off much until late into the night. (Sarah, Jamie, are you even reading this!?) Unfortunately this is only the beginning. Fortunately, hot season seems to bring a lot of wind and some cloud cover to Mpelembe. It also brought a brief sprinkle of rain - to which Carrie exclaimed "oh no, the Zambians are going to think it's the apocalypse".<br /> I think I'll go to Chipata with Carrie. It'd be nice to see a new province and new town. Anyway that's all for now. Take care.Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-59632620897843431682007-09-03T10:35:00.000+02:002007-09-03T11:56:02.954+02:00Ubwafia 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.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">hardass</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">immigration</span> officer of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Serenje</span>. 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Kwacha</span> (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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ridiculous</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">necessary</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">rigmarole</span> just to volunteer.<br /><br />Carrie and I got to Lusaka yesterday, partially in a totally <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">bwana</span> fast and free ride with an accountant. This morning I went to the headquarters of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">MOH</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Committees</span> in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Mplembe</span>, who don't have an astonishing <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">hierarchy</span> and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">bureaucracy</span> to get a letter from.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">musamba</span> 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.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Kasolo</span> claims he has a solution to all of our mole woes which he will reveal upon our return. We recently made a new bed <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">permaculture</span> style - with all of the vegetables and fruits all mixed up with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">eachother</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">passionfruit</span> 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.<br /><br />I repaired my crappy bike so it's tolerably <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">rideable</span>. 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">neighbor</span>, Iron <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Mumba</span>, 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Muzungus</span> 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.<br /><br />We got a beehive built (badly) in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Serenje</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">unacceptable</span>. I think we'll get the carpenter in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Mplembe</span> to make new ones. Maybe the bees will be in there by the time we get back. Who knows.<br /><br />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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">mupundu</span> 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-<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">sustenance</span>. 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...<br /><br />My <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Bemba</span> vocab hasn't increased much as things have been too busy for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">bemba</span> 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 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Bemba</span> and some English. It was neat conversing in French, except I would always use awe and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">ee</span> instead of non and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">oui</span> by accident. You'd be proud of me Mom, I didn't screw up my French too much.<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />Tony, I wait on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">tenterhooks</span> for the 14 pounds of glory that is Molecular Biology of the Cell.<br />John, did you manage to get my account straightened out?<br /><br />I hope everyone is in good health and trucking along just fine. Much love, DougDoughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-29381031381955570482007-08-15T11:25:00.000+02:002007-08-15T11:58:43.790+02:00Oh yeahWell, it seems we are getting free transport later today with some ministry of education person, but we have some time to kill so I will post again.<br /><br />I ate some stuff from a baobab pod from the market, but have yet to see an actual baobab tree. Speaking of eating, if anyone wants to send anything, I could really use some cumin, but talk amongst yourselves to make sure I don't get 5 containers of cumin. Also spinach, marigold, basil, mint, and some nice heirloom cherry tomato seeds would be nice. If anyone wants to send me a copy of Emma Goldman's autobiography (preferably from a used bookstore or at least a non-corporate one) I'd like to finish that. Any good literature that isn't too dry. Maybe Michel Foucault on power or some Vonnegut books I haven't read. Again don't everyone send me things. You can use the comment section to communicate "dibs" on stuff. I'd say cumin and seeds are most high on the list. And remember to send everything addressed to Carrie. I haven't gotten my mail yet because we haven't been to the Serenje post office yet.<br /><br />My bemba is coming along pretty dandily I would say. I can say things that involve personal pronouns and verbs in past, present, and future tense ok. Like Nshalitemwa ukutapa amenshi (I don't like to draw water). It is hard to understand what people say though and my vocab is limited.<br /><br />Nshima isn't bad at all. Since you always eat it with a "relish" it can be tasty. There are also 4 different types: Corn (everyone's favorite, available as fluffy nutritionless 'breakfast meal' or whole kernel 'roller meal'), Sorghum, Finger Millet, and Cassava. My villagers are pretty poor so cannot afford fertilizer to grow corn most of the time. So they eat cassava nshima in the dry season (now) and some of the other kinds more during and after the rainy season. Carrie and I helped harvest some cassava with a handmade hoe which was kinda cool. Some kinds you can eat raw and it tastes a little like mild coconut and parsnips. Most they soak and pound into flour for nshima. Cassava nshima is very hard to make because it becomes really thick and mucilaginous rapidly upon cooking. For relish I make my world famous "Doug's World Famous Tomato Relish" which, incidentally, is not world famous. But it is delicious. Tomatoes, soya pieces (textured vegetable protein to Americans), onions, and vinegar. If you eat too much cassava nshima you get kinda sick feeling from all the residual cyanide. Hopefully we can buy some roller meal in Serenje on the way back.<br /><br />They also have these funny smaller bananas that taste in between a banana and a green apple. Some other weird things I have eaten: icikanda (made from the root of an orchid and peanuts, tastes and looks just like some sort of weird sausage-balogna), weird little fibrous nut things, unsweetened tamarind, fermented milk (which tastes like runny yoghurt), chibuku (fermented fried corn meal - awful).<br /><br />Ok everyone is leaving the internet. I will too. Much love, DougDoughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-4573421274554017512007-08-14T16:52:00.000+02:002007-08-14T17:34:06.606+02:00One of the 10 most polluted cities in the worldAhhh Kabwe. Don't worry it's only because of lead and other heavy metal contamination of the soil and water - Carrie and I brought water. I tagged along with Carrie and 2 other PCVs to Kabwe where they had a meeting with some education higher-ups. Kabwe is pretty neat, very different from Lusaka, but still very big. More open and nicer I think. They also have this mukuyu tree - the "meeting tree" - whose branches spread wider than any tree I have ever seen. It is very beautiful. The market is really big and Kabwe has a Shoprite (Western-style grocery store) where you can get things like oats and brown rice instead of corn meal and vegatables. So yeah, I sold out and we stocked up there. It's so funny to go through the market, because white people never go in there, so all eyes focus on you and you get lots of "hey my friend"s and "boy!". But people are delighted when you speak a little Bemba and warm quickly.<br /><br />After spending forever getting up to Serenje (which is the closest real town to our village) we stayed at the Peace Corps house. I bought a defective bicycle (the seller touted "it's made in China" as though it were a mark of quality) and had some hassle returning it. Then we went to Mkushi (a bigger town, farther away) to buy a mountain bike which is ok, except its innertubes are awful. Eventually we got up to Mpelembe (the village where I am living) and to the hut.<br /><br />The hut is very nice and spacious (for a mud brick hut). We have a kitchen, livingroom, bedroom and storage area. Outside we have a decent sized garden with all sorts of stuff (mostly stolen by mice and moles), a cooking shelter and an icimbusu (squat-over pit latrine; which really isn't very bad or difficult). Our yard is dirt and then weeds, which apparently we are supposed to sweep in a wavy pattern frequently. A usual day consists of eating leftovers for breakfast, watering the garden (takes forever as we have to draw our water from a well), doing dishes, Carrie teaching me to speak Bemba, biking to the borehole at the school for drinking water, hanging out, cooking over a brazier (now I can set fire to a brazier, just like a hippie), and going to bed at 8 or 9 pm. I can't work at the clinic until I apply for my work permit apparently, but they were very excited about the medical supplies "hydrogen peroxide! some of these things I have never seen before!", and very enthusiastic about me working with them.<br /><br />Life in the village is nice. Kinda how I think life should be. Everyone is very poor by our standards, yet everything is just fine. People grow their own food for the most part. There are no police anywhere nearby. Everyone is very nice to one another and there is a good sense of community. Rural Zambians are very quick to try and help you whenever they can. I mean obviously there are a lot of health problems and most people are getting a less than stellar education, but things are ok for everyone it seems.<br /><br />Some funny/interesting things in Zambia:<br /><br />A goat riding standing on the roof of a cab on a huge flatbed truck<br /><br />Most Zambian trucks and busses have names that are usually hilarious. The best - "Nazi Power".<br /><br />All the fresh milk is Zambia is actually just reconstituted powdered milk.<br /><br />The hotel clerk trying to write our names on the reciept "Bouglas Placia" and "Callio Paku"<br /><br />People wearing ludicrous clothing, ranging from Tupak with studded bling and World Wrestling Federation shirts to chitenges (like a dress-wrap thing) with an oscillating fan design, dress shirts covered in depictions of Saddam Hussein standing proud, and a little boy wearing a shirt that says "I <3 making boys cry" (which is especially rich because I think homosexuality is illegal here).<br /><br />The great umulilo (fire)! The headman just started setting fire to all the grass and scrub brush around his hut and ours without us realizing beforehand. We just saw a big fire up the road and ran over to check it out. One of the headmans sons declared "Douglas, you have come. Help me save my home". It wasn't really serious as they do this every year to help fertilize the soil (poorly). So Carrie, the headman and his children, the neighbors, and myself spent the night maintaining the fire in a smallish zone around our homes. It was exciting beating the burning grass with branches and running around shirtless. We even managed to save all of our mango trees. I guess ultimately we just cleared a fire barrier for when they start the really big fires.<br /><br />I guess that's about it for now. Tomorrow we head back to Serenje to pick up wood for a beehive and then back to Mpelembe. On our next trip on the 21st to renew my stay in Zambia, we will be buying a couple of bush chickens for eggs! Hope everyone is doing very well!<br /><br />Love, DougDoughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-27015416913150796272007-07-22T13:44:00.000+02:002007-07-22T13:49:17.375+02:00Made itHello everyone!<br /><br />I made it to Zambia alive. I'm in Lusaka now - it's pretty rad. Today we rode the minibusses all around because they kept misdirecting us as to where they were headed. Now we are at an American style mall to exchange money and use the internet. We might try to visit Carrie's homestay family later.<br /><br />The flight was so long! But luckily I had some people to talk to most of the way. The guesthouse we are staying at is hilarious. They only have water at completely random intervals. They only serve chinese food, but the noodles they usually import haven't been coming in so their choice of dishes is limited. They have a neat courtyard with dogs and a banana, orange, and papaya tree. Zambian plants are very beautiful and Lusaka is poor yet vibrant.<br /><br />That's all for now!Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855449328064507747.post-45673051872349206322007-07-16T22:39:00.000+02:002007-07-16T23:22:10.743+02:00Thoughts on going to Zambia<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I have 4 days left until I fly across the ocean to Zambia! I thought for my first post I would write down what I am looking forward to in Zambia and what I anticipate missing from the U.S.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Looking forward to<br /></span><ol style="font-family:verdana;"><li><span style="font-size:85%;">No <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">internets</span> to waste time on</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Tropical fruits</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Few cars</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">A simple life</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Working at something meaningful</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Living in an entirely different culture</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Gardening</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Keeping bees?</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Being with my love<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Not being a wage slave<br /></span></li></ol><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Going to miss</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><ol style="font-family:verdana;"><li><span style="font-size:85%;">All of my dearest friends</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">My family</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Running water</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Knowing the language</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Diverse foods</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Hot showers</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">The library</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Lack of parasites</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Low numbers of bugs and other pests</span></li><li><span style="font-size:85%;">Ability for affection in public</span></li></ol><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">That's all for now. Write me!!! It'll take a little over 2 weeks for letters each way. Don't address them to me. Have fun while I'm gone.</span></span>Doughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08322675839699973213noreply@blogger.com2