Friday, June 10, 2011

Ulupwa mu Zambia!!

The day has finally come, the anticipation is at its highest, in just three days on Monday July 13, 2011 the Simmons family will finally touch down in Zambia!! I am overwhelmed with excitement about their arrival as it will have been 11 months since I have seen them. I can’t wait to show them Zambia, a country that I have fallen in love with and continue to discover and explore everyday. I will also be lucky enough to experience parts of Zambia, which I haven’t been able to see yet, including my first Safari in South Luwangwa national park in Eastern province. After our four-day Safari we will head to Kalaba, my village for two days of “roughing it” (AKA reality to me). My village is ecstatic about their arrival and has planned a huge celebration where I am pretty sure they are preparing enough food to feed my entire village. Finally we will head to beautiful Livingstone and Victoria Falls to relax and soak up one of the seven natural wonders of the world.

As my family's arrival continued to get closer I started to think about all of the differences in American and Zambian culture. I decided to compile a small list of “advice and adjustments” that they might find useful when coming to the “real Africa”. It is quite a funny list to the outsider’s eye so I thought I would share it with you all.

Lusaka/Arrival:

  1. Talking about the airport, I will be there to pick you up and it will be near impossible to miss me. There is one gate, one terminal, and customs, passport control; security and baggage claim are all within one room. Welcome to Zambia!
  2. The cab drivers will try and charge us a “muzungu” (foreigner/white person) price. Just smile and let my Bemba skills go to use. This is when they come in hand the most. They will most likely cut the price in half when they realize you aren’t their average tourists.
  3. Lusaka (the capital of Zambia) is not a realistic view of Zambia. Most compare it with South Africa as every store, restaurant and amenity is from South Africa. Nonetheless it has restaurants, which we lack in Mansa (my provincial capital) and obviously in the village. Therefore I will be really excited to eat food, which you are used to consuming everyday in America. Just let me get excited and chuckle silently to yourselves when I change my mind of what to order 10 times because I am overwhelmed by the amount of choices.
  4. The reason we are only staying in Lusaka for a day is because there is nothing to do there but eat and shop so if you want to “see the sites” we will have to just wait until we get on Safari.

Village Life:

  1. When we arrive EVERYONE in my village is going to stare at you constantly and probably won’t stop the entire time you are there. This is because of a few reasons. First, we are arriving in a taxi, which is probably the only car they have seen all day. Second, we are white and we are many (as they say here in Zamlish). It is already an event when I arrive alone from a weekend in Mansa on my bike but now there will be four white people which is basically like having the Beatles, Lady Gaga and Brangelina show up in your town at the same time.
  2. There will be kids around my hut constantly. Even if you don’t see them they are like the children of the corn (literally hiding in the maize fields) or trees or bushes. They might be scared at first but eventually they will come out to play and they will no doubt melt your hearts instantly.
  3. EVERYONE is going to want to greet you. In Zambian culture greeting someone is one of the most important and respectful gestures you can give. You greet people at every point in the day, morning, afternoon and evening. So we will work on your Bemba skills before you get here and they will think its amazing and hilarious if you even attempt to greet them in their own language.
  4. They are going to call you fat. This is not because you are fat. They call me fat, they call my friend fat who barely weighs over 100 pounds, this is because it is a compliment to call you fat. It literally translates in Bemba, as “you look good or healthy”. This is the result of living in a 3rd world country where malnutrition is a very real issue. To call someone fat means they have enough food to support themselves and their families, which is a rarity in the village.
  5. My hut is very small, very very small. We will make it work but it is going to be tight. Just think of it as family bonding time.
  6. My village and I have been waiting for your arrival ever since I moved there in September. So enjoy all of the beauty that is Zambia and is the African bush as it is a view of Africa that few people truly get.

I think that is it for now. I will be sure to write another blog when our wonderful vacation is over. I can’t wait for all of the stories, jokes, and amazing experiences we are going to have together. Mwende Bwino (Travel Safely) and see you so soon!

Love to all of you back in the states and thank you so much for being so supportive this past year. Knowing I have such a strong support system near and far is something I value dearly. Love and miss to all of you!

Monday, June 6, 2011

Reality in May

I want to preface this post with a note. I love Zambia, Zambians, Peace Corps and the work I am doing here. However it is hard hard work that comes with a lot of emotional and physical difficulties. So this blog post isn't my usual peppy happy blog post but I don't want that to come off as a negative thing or have anyone think I still am not loving it here. I just think its important to share the reality that is living and working in a third world country. With that said the following blog was written in my hut over the past few weeks and I have transferred it to my computer. Therefore it is read kind of as a mix of a journal entry and blog post. I hope you all enjoy...

Some of you may have noticed that I skipped my monthly blog in May. The reason for this wasn't because I was particulary busy or was on vacation, it was because May was a hard month. It was a month that I wasn't sure I wanted to share with my blogging world. However now that May has passed and we are onto a new month I have decided I think it is important to blog about May. All of my previous blogs have been of my adventures, experience and lessons learned in the village. May was a learning month but in a much harder and different way.

I
returned from vacation at the beginning of May after being away from my village for 3 weeks. It always takes me a day or two to get back into the groove of village life; the constant Bemba, being constantly watched but also kind of lonely. However this time there was additional hardships which came in the form of funerals.First let me back track and say that in April the day before I was about to leave for Camp Glow and my subsequent vacation there was a funeral next door.
In Zambia you know a person had died when you start to hear wailing. Wailing is the only way to describe the noise that comes through my hut however it seems more than wailing to me when I hear it. It seems like women loudly yelling out their hearts, souls and tears for the person they have lost. It is the truest expression of grief I have seen in my 24 years in this world.
So the day before I left I was cooking lunch like I do everyday for my Zambian counterpart and I. I was in my insaka (a kind of open gazebo) and started to hear the wailing. At first many times it is hard to tell where the loss of life has occurred or who it is affecting as people come from surrounding villages wailing as the walk from kilometres away. However I asked one of my children and they informed me it was my neighbours granddaughter who had passed. My heart dropped as her two granddaughters are two of my favorite kids. However I soon found out it was a granddaughter from another daughter of hers who lives on the village over. I did not know this little one. But the second I could take a breath of relief I just kept thinking it could have easily been one of my little ones.
The child mortality rate in Zambia is one of it's biggest problems. Children die daily from curable illnesses such as malaria, diarrhoea, and malnutrition. I know this not just from living here but from being a health volunteer who reads the statistics and articles about it everyday nonetheless who sees it daily at my clinic. However this never makes the reality any easier. On my way out the next morning I stopped by my neighbours early in the morning to offer some salt and saladi - cooking oil, as that is what is customary when someone is grieving. I wanted to sit and sing with them and the over 100 people who had slept outside and in their yard that night but truthfully I wasn't comfortable enough yet and so I biked off into town, hoping it would all he better when I returned.
I returned in May. My second day in the village it started again. Wailing. Constant, all encompassing wailing. This time it was the mother of one of the girls in my youth group. I couldn't get a clear reason for her death - a common issue here. Some said she fell off her roof, others said she started coughing blood ( a possibility that she has TB but since there is stigma surrounding TB as it is often an opportunistic infection related to HIV many don't seek treatment). Either way his time i was ready and really wanted to go to the funeral, especially as I had just been with the girl the day before. So I went. Women were wailing, people were singing and talking. It was a Sunday so they combined the church service with the funeral. Here it is traditional to leave the body out in the open so people can pay respects and wail over it until it is buried later in the day. In the middle of the service a few of the bamayos - (village women) that I knew tapped me on the arm and pointed to my arm hair. It was a chilly day so my arm hair was standing up which they thought was hilarious. Zambians don't have much body hair so seeing mine put them on a tizzy. It was a nice break in the service. I left the service early - as they can go on all day- and went back to my hut to reflect and cook some food. Although the funeral was incredibly sad I still felt a bit lucky. I hadn't really known this women although I m sure I had waved to her many times, I couldn't place her exactly and felt lucky that once again I had been one step away from the true grief.
Then Tuesday May 17 came where I wasn't so lucky. I was in Mansa doing some work for my my training and was getting ready to head back to my village. It was early in the morning probably around 06:00 and I got a call and text message from my best friend emanual in the village.
From this point forward I am just going to copy and paste my journal entry from that day. The grammer is horrible, sentences disjointed but it is the truest description of what happened and how I felt. It is very personal to me but at the same time feel its important to share..... I titled it grief that day and just started writing.

I think grief and grieving is such an interesting emotion. Today Ba Emma and Stella’s first born one month old daughter, Florence passed away. They will never know why as Zambia’s health care system isn’t up to par to diagnose anything other than malaria and a headache outside of the main hospitals in town that nobody can afford. I was suppose to meet her next week. I kept meaning to give emma baby blankets and onesies that my dad sent but I forgot. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had given them to him. But then would that have made it harder for him? To have a pink blanket and onesie with no little girl to go into it. I mean I am sure they have clothes and blankets that she was wrapped in but for some reason I feel like it would have been harder if it was something I gave to him. But I still wish I could have given it to him.

The only type of grieving I have seen in Zambia is at funerals in the village. I have only been to two. One during community entry when my bamaayos friend passed away fromhigh BP- blood pressue”. It was more of a cultural experience at that time. I was taking in the wailing, the waiting, the singing, the following of the cast. It was very sad of course but I was so detached at that point that it didn’t hit me too hard. The second funeral was the one I went to in Kalaba. It was for one of my youth’s mothers. I I felt included when I was invited to the funeral as it was the first I was invited to in my village. This one hit a bit closer to home. It was my village, my neighbors, the wailing could be heard from my house and I had had a meeting with the youth a day before and had laughed and pushed through brush with the daughter. Still, it wasn’t like this.

This one was raw. Emanual was my first and still best friend in the village. Maybe it is because his English is good, maybe it is because for the first few months we were both bachelors living on our own, maybe it is because he is an outsider from Chipata (Eastern Province) like I am from America. For whatever reason we have stayed close friends for the past 7 months here. He has been there when I needed help finding things in the village, would feed me even when he has no money to feed him and his new baby and when Stella came opened her up to me just like we were the three musketeers. This wasn’t a perfect pregnancy. It was an accident. Stella still has one year left of school and when I found out she was pregnant I was FURIOUS at Emma. HE IS A YOUTH, he sells condoms in his shop, how could this happen!? She only had one year of school left, she was a smart girl, she has been through so much in her life and still beat the odds by making it to high school. But she was pregnant and that was not going to change. So then I started worrying she wasn’t eating enough, working too hard. She was my first pregnant friend and she was Zambian which is a completely different pregnant culture than Americans. I had no idea what to do but was just worried. Then the baby girl came into their lives.. Flo.

I found out while all of the crazy riots where going on in Mansa. I was worried because I knew they were planning on going to Senama clinic which is close to where the riots started. Luckily I found out it was ok they delivered at central clinic and mom and baby were healthy. Now it was time to plan a visit. But first I had a bunch of funerals in my village and started getting busy with the NHC planning. So my plan was to visit her during PEPFAR training at the end of May. I would be here for a week and I could give them the baby clothes then. Then came today..

Got a phone call and text which I assumed was Brendan (my ride) telling me about when he was going to pick me up which was instead Emanual saying his precious baby daughter had passed away early this morning. I called immediately. He sounded devastated on the verge of tears. I lost it when I got off the phone. I called my mom in the middle of the night American time. I needed to talk to someone. She was wonderful per usual and calmed me down and talked to me for as long as I wanted. Then I wanted to run, to get out. So I ran. Then I went over in the afternoon. I expected wailing like usual but found out since the baby was so young that the tradition is different and they bury them right away. So instead it was more like a wake where you go and just visit. I sat there as they told me the story of baby Flo and how sick she got. They tried to take her to the clinic but they couldn’t help. So then they resorted to traditional medicine which I have no idea what they even gave them, but like Emma said, they had no other option? I would have done the same. As other people came, Stella moved closer to me. Eventually we were just holding hands as I watched tears stream down her face and could physically feel the pain radiating off of her. It was one of the hardest moments I have ever been through. No words had to be spoken. Just holding her hand, she wouldn’t let go and neither would I. Eventually I had to go, more people were coming and I needed to get back. I told them both how sorry I was again and left. Stella is 17, Emma is 26, they lost a baby today and I don’t know how they are dealing. I do know that all I can do is try and be there for them as I know they would be for me. They are my family as I am there’s.