Peace Corps Zambia.... Chapwa (Done)

I have been thinking about writing this blog for a few months now. What would my last blog in Zambia look like? How could I sum up everything I have experienced, learned, witnessed in one entry? How could I make it as powerful and emotional as I am feeling right now, with one week left in the country which has become my home over the past 27 months? How could I explain the bittersweet feelings of leaving my Zambian home and going back to my American home? I realize I can’t, I will never be able to because a large part of myself doesn’t even understand it. Instead, I am just going to write and see what the finished product is. Apologies in advanced if it’s jumbled, confusing and not well written, but if nothing else hopefully it is a view of what one Peace Corps Volunteer out of 9,000 throughout the world is going through.

It’s over. I made it. I finished. One chapter ends, another one begins. For the past two years I have been through so many ups and downs, good days, horrible days. Hours where I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else or doing anything else. Minutes that I wish would go faster and watch each second go by hoping the pain of boredom would pass by. Sometimes I forget that there was life before Zambia, before Peace Corps. It seems like this is and will always be my life. Biking on the dusty pot holed road to my beautiful village of Kalaba. Being greeted by bundles of the cutest (and dirtiest) children in the world, all begging for the ball to play with, but first asking to fetch my water, as they know that you must work before you play. Coming to the provincial house in Mansa, drinking a cold beer and exchanging stories with my “fellow volunteers” or as I refer to them as, my family, about our villages. “It’s so hot” “When will the rain end” “Let’s fill up the kiddy pool to get away from that hot African sun” “Casey, you want to lay out”, “Bob, where are you biking to today?” “Tiff let’s go on an adventure”. These people are my family. We have shared experiences that I could never have imagined or anticipated. In the worst situations, they always seem to make me laugh, see the light at the end of the tunnel, and encourage me to start fresh the next day. We have gone through deaths in America and Zambia, fires in our communities, near-death transport experiences, frustrations in our work and celebrations when things worked out the right way. I would not have been able to get through these two years without them. They have been my support and will continue to be as we all transition into this next part of our lives. We call it the “real world” a lot of times but I have never experienced more “Reality” than living in rural Zambia.

Then there was the goodbye to my village. Crying in my hut with my counterpart, so that his wife and children didn’t see him show this emotion that is usually reserved for death. Having my kids linger until the sun was gone and they couldn’t see anymore (or they could but I couldn’t). Having my favorite three-year-old keep repeating “Chabipa sana ba Kel, Chabipa” (Too bad Kelsey, its very bad). Crying in my bed, which after two years on a foam mattress has a dip in the middle and allowed me to wake up with a sore back for the last year. Giving clothes from America, pencils, socks, anything I could find in my hut they would take. The rope that held my hammock, like gold to a 10 year old who only has one change of clothes and whose idea of “toys” consist of a leftover alcohol packet that her alcoholic father drinks every day, all day. It wasn’t all sad however; there were times when I felt peace. Peace that I had survived these two years in a crazy beautiful environment. Peace that I attempted and tried to make a difference, even if only in my counterpart’s life.

 My goal was to have an impact in one life, and I think with Shaderick Mwansa I can walk away feeling accomplished in that goal. However what I didn’t anticipate was the impact and changes he would have on my life. He is one of the best men I have met in my life, “my older brother” he would refer to himself as when talking to others. He biked 24k at least 3 days a week for 2 years. He never complained, He never even mentioned he lived 12 k away until I first went to his house after I had been in my village for a month. He is someone that will always be in my heart and that I will think of constantly. He was a sponge of information during my two years. We would talk about saving money, and then he opened a small shop to save money for his 6 children to go to school. We would talk about the importance of nutrition for children and he would build a garden. We talked about issues of Malaria, he made sure every one of his children slept under a net. It is people like him who will change this world.

Development. Oy. I kind of hate the word while simultaneously looking at graduate programs with the exact word in the title. It can be so backwards. Giving, giving, money from America, Europe, South America. It’s not money what the people in my village need. It’s the confidence to know that they don’t need outside money. They are the most creative, innovative and intelligent people I have ever met. However they have been told they are “poor, stupid Africans” for way too long that a majority of them believe it. “We can’t do it without America, we are African”. If they only knew there own potential. If only people would give them a chance. It is something I struggle with daily and whose solution I have yet to come up with. At the same time I see Peace Corps as just the beginning of my journey.

Peace Corps. Two years. Wow, that’s a long time, “Don’t you miss America, don’t you miss being clean, Internet, TV, good food, dairy, good roads, a car.  You hitchhike? Isn’t that dangerous?” Yes Peace Corps is two years. However if there is anything I have taken at the end of my service it is that two years is not a long time. It barely scratches the surface. There have been people working in development, in Zambia, in countries around the world for 40, 50 years. I only have two under my belt. It’s a good start but I have a long way to go, so much more to learn. I don’t know what the future will bring, school, jobs, more travel. Who knows? Living in Zambia has allowed me to not know and still have the confidence to move forward. Zambia, it has been more than I could have ever imagined and an experience I will carry with me every minute of every day. Natasha Natasha Sana Mukwai (thank you so much).

Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on my blogs. Like I said they have never been made to be a reflection of Peace Corps as a whole or anything other than what is in my mind when I put the pen to the paper, or my hands to the keyboard. I will finish my Peace Corps Service this Thursday September 20, 2012 by ringing a tire ring and become a RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). Then it’s off to Tanzania, Zanzibar for a week on the beach with some fellow PCVs and then to Vietnam to visit dear friends Natalie and Alex who I haven’t seen since starting my service. Will try and keep everyone updated with pictures along the way but this will be my last Zambia blog. Thanks again for everything, hope if nothing else you have gotten a glimpse into my life for the past two years.

Mushaile Bwino. Stay well. Kelsey, Bupe, Simmons. 

Simple Pleasures

**Written in Kalaba Village, May 6, 2012**

I think one of the best things about living in a village is that it makes you notice simple pleasures. When people ask me what I did this past weekend I could really say is Laundry and Paperwork. However the things I noticed that made it a great weekend in the village are smaller and to some may seem inconsequential. For example in my mind yesterday I spent a good part of the two with my two favorite kids, Agnes and Ngandwe. We spent a good part of the day in my hut on a hunt for a scary hairy spider that I found when cleaning under my bed (a chore that I try to avoid at all costs). When I was telling this story to my parents their reaction was “Aren’t you used to spiders by now” and most things of the creepy crawler distinction I am used to. I can handle wall spiders, biting ants, lizards, rats and even small snakes but this thing was tarantula looking and I was not going at it alone. So after moving of my furniture, lots of squealing (mostly on my part, not on the 10 and 12 year olds part) Agnes stabbed the spider with a small stick and again a 10 year old was my hero. That adventure was the highlight of my Saturday. That paired with playing with bubbles with my kids after the hunt had concluded. I think it was a quote from Knocked Up when Paul Rudd says, “ I wished I loved anything as much as my kids love bubbles” Well I love watching my kids love bubbles. I would do it for hours if I didn’t get light headed from the loss of oxygen it takes to blow the bubbles. I am sure someone in America has probably made up an invention that doesn’t require breathing for bubbles to fly away but we are in Zambia and all we have is me for now.

That brings “Sunday Fun Day” or me to Sunday as some refer to it in my previous life. Again not “eventful” by most peoples standards but pretty perfect by mine. I went on a beautiful run past my favorite dambo that looks like every beautiful picture you have ever seen of Africa but happens to be in my backyard. Then I treated myself to breakfast burritos (I must say my tortilla making skills have gotten quite good). The rest of the day was mostly spent reading and doing paperwork for this Malaria Net project. However it ended with my kids drawing on my porch and then two cute girls playing a laughing game with each other on my porch for hours. Just listening to them laugh at nothing was enough to make anyone smile. Now it’s the end of my weekend and I get to write this journal entry while listening to “new” (at least by PC standards) country music that my neighbor gave me and watch the sun turn from the brightest yellow to a light orange and finally the most beautiful pink. Two years ago when I arrived in the village I would be counting down the hours until the weekend was over so my American Monday workweek could start. Of course there are still remnants of that neurosis left, but very little. The longer I am here the more I enjoy the simple pleasures especially because as I write this entry my time here is slowly ticking away. However for today, right now, I just get to watch the Zambian sunset and listen to little girls’ laughter. I honestly can’t imagine a better Sunday. 

Namibia!!

If I had to describe Namibia in one word it would be sand, or sidewalks. Ok so I guess I had to describe it in two words. But let’s back up a bit and start from the beginning.

Over this past Easter/Passover Vacation myself and 5 of my closest friends decided to venture out of Zambia to our neighbors to the South, Namibia! However first we had to get there. We started from Luapula and did our normal day of hitch hiking down to the capital Lusaka. From Lusaka we rested for a day (hitch hiking is surprisingly tiring) and then got on a bus to Livingstone where the famous Victoria Falls can be found. However we weren’t even able to get in the falls this time because we arrived in Livingstone around 3 pm and we were suppose to get on a bus to the border down at 1 am.  So we stayed up or tried to keep each other up and headed to the bus in the middle of the night. We waited. And waited. And waited. Then we were told the bus is going to be 3 hours late and we weren’t having any of that. We had to get our vacation started! So we convinced a man with a nice large van to take us to the border (sounds much sketchier in America thinking. Think Zambia. Totally normal to get in a strangers truck and let them drive you through the night to the border). We arrived at the border and slept in this nice mans van until the border opened at sunrise. Then we got stuck behind THREE bus loads of teachers coming from Zambia at immigration and lets just say it got hectic. However after some interesting discussions we made it to the other side! Immediately it was clean. The road was paved, the building was clean, people formed LINES, it was like going into another universe. It was officially vacation. But we were still quite a bit away. So then we found a mini bus, which also was the nicest mini bus I have ever been on, and were on our way again, only took another 17 hours on that mini bus to arrive in Windhoek. So it ended up taking us 4 days to get to Windhoek but let me tell you, it was worth EVERY MINUTE!

Windhoek, as the majority of Namibia that I saw was something straight out of a European postcard. Namibia was a german colony and so there are still a LOT of germans and german influence everywhere you look. My friend Katie and I went on the run the first day and just couldn’t believe what we saw. Number one we hadn’t seen sidewalks in two years and number two where were all the people? It seemed shockingly quiet and serene for a capital city. Then we realized that’s because there are only 2.1 million people living in a pretty massive country. However even though we all knew this fact we still couldn’t seem to get over it the entire trip. But then our vacation had officially started and it was off to do what we do best and rarely get the chance to do, eat, drink and shop! We immediately gorged ourselves on delicious seafood and draft beer while shopping for some goodies for the trip. Windhoek was beautiful but we really were itching to see the Ocean. I hadn’t seen it in two years and I was nearly about to burst. So the next day we headed to Swakopmund, the coast!!

Swakopmund was the cleanest, nicest beach town I have ever been to and I have been to my fair amount of beaches. It had a beautiful boardwalk that went down miles along the beach, the streets were swept (sidewalks again of course) and there seemed to be no trash anywhere! Swakopmund is not only known for its beautiful beach but also it’s the extreme sporting. The first day we arrived we decided to go and check out the dunes. Namibia is known for its incredible sand dunes and it didn’t disappoint. They were absolutely beautiful dunes that we just sat on all day taking up the view of the ocean. The desert backs straight up to the Ocean and its one of the most spectacular views I have ever seen. It honestly felt like you were in Arabian nights. You took it in and it was one of those moments where I really thought life couldn’t get any better.  The next day we decided to do it up and go ATVing.  Most of us had never been so we were all looking forward to it and we were not disappointed. We ATV’d all throughout the dunes for an hour and a half and I can honestly say it was some of the most fun I have ever had. It was the mixture of a roller coaster and bumper cars. It rocked. The next day was just as amazing as it was time for Sand boarding or should I say sand sledding? My friend Natalie was the only one among us brave enough and experienced enough to actually sand board. The rest of us got to basically ride down these huge dunes on a made up sled that was a waxed down. It was so much fun and we got up to 60 km/hr on some of the fastest dunes! It was also a pretty ridiculous workout because as fun as it was to sled down the huge dunes, once at the bottom there was only one way back up and that was you walking in the deep heavy sand!  Again we were able to spend the day on the beautiful dunes and what more could we have asked for. Swakopmund was everything I could have asked for. It was serene, majestic and just a lot of fun. Sadly, our time was running out and it was time to go back to Windhoek for one more good beer and better meal.

Luckily this time our journey back would only take three days rather than four, but one included 24 hours on a bus. However at this point, we can basically travel on anything so the bus was a pleasure! How do I sum up my time in Namibia? Well I guess I just attempted to but there isn’t enough time in the day to really go through it all. Although I must say with all of the great activities, food, beer, sidewalks, etc, what really made this trip incredible were the people I was traveling with. It was an amazing group of 5 girls that came to Zambia at different times but all have this connection that is undeniable. For me and two of my friends it was our last vacation as PCV’s for my friends Mollie and Nia it was her first. However the time we spent there traveling, exploring and enjoying was some of the best time I have had in my service. I love Zambia and even more so I love the work that I do here and everything I have gained from it. However every once in a while it is nice to get out and treat yourself to a sidewalk and some sand. 

Quarter Century Village Bday

It’s official. I am twenty-five, a quarter century old, my mid-twenties, or as I like to call it, my prime. Part of me still feels like I am 21 but when I think about where I was when I was 21 I retract my statement and push it to 22 and then I continue to do that same process until I get to 25. Twenty five I guess is kind of a big deal because any five year mark is 15, 20, 25, 30, oh my! I know the question that is on everyone’s mind, how did I spend my big 2-5? In the perfect way, surrounded by people I love in a place called home.

Last year I had wanted to spend my birthday in my village with my best friend Tiffany, my kids and lots of rain. However one of those inevitable workshops came up last minute so it was spent in our provincial house instead. It was wonderful and everyone treated me like a queen but part of me missed my village on my special day.

This year I was set on having a village birthday and even better I have gained two more amazing close friends that have come in the past year (that’s one of the cool parts of PC with every group that leaves, another one comes). So my closest PC neighbor Katie, my first friend in country, Tiffany and my newest friend, Mollie made the long trek out to Kalaba bringing lots of treats with them.

My birthday was perfect in every way. The morning started with Tiff (who is from Cali) taking me back to my southern roots by making biscuits and eggs. Then there were some intense games of Rummy and scrabble with wonderful phone calls from friends and family in the states intermittent throughout the day. The “party” started around 14:00 (might sound early but consider that we were also sleeping by 21:00) with my friends passing out party hats and blowers to my kids and me (the kids are still blowing those horns two days later and will be until they can blow no more). We took a wonderful walk to my dambo, which is one of those vast expanses that define Zambian beauty. After some birthday pictures, the rest of the day was spent dancing with my kids, teaching them American dances and mostly reverting back to my 5 year old inner child. The night finished with a delicious Mexican feast prepared by all (but mostly Tiffany) and blowing out candles on a cake Katie made me that morning. After some perfect cards, incredible presents and an arousing game of banana grams, we called it a night.

I didn’t have electricity or running water for my birthday. I didn’t go to a bar or club like I would have in the States (although the girls were kind enough to bike out some wine from town) but I was surrounded by people who I have grown with in one way or another over these past 20 months and have become my family here. This will be my last birthday in Zambia and writing that down is hard and brings up a mixture of emotions that I can’t put into words. However wherever I am on my 26, 36, and 50^th birthday I will always look back on my 25^th as one of the best. Surrounded by the bare necessities, but feeling like the most loved girl in the world.

Adventures of a Muzungu

First I want to apologize for not writing for a while. I have still been writing but the internet at our provincial house has been out for months so I have to post these at an internet cafe in town. This blog was actually written in January right after I got back from the States. Hope you enjoy!

This weekend I went on an adventure. It’s been a little over two weeks since I returned from the land of plenty and I am happy to say I am back to my dirty Peace Corps ways. My friend convinced me if I didn’t wash my hair for 3 weeks my thick curly hair of my past would return to its “natural state” . I am at week 2 and can comfortable say I look like a wet rat. But hey, when else will I be able to get away with looking like I constantly just bathed while simultaneously being filthy ever again? Anyway, lets get back to my adventure.

My friend Matt has been inviting me to his village for a while now and a few months ago he set off and found a bush path from his site to mine. However there was one difference to the usual bush paths that us, PCV’s find between our sites, this one involves a boat! You have to cross Mansa river to get from my village to Matt’s. So Friday morning I set off ready to bike and boat my way to Matt’s. We figured it’s about 30k (2-2/12 hour bike), which is a pretty standard distance for us bike-loving hippies. The journey there was quite lovely. Especially because I found out my counterparts village was about half way. I stopped at his for a delicious home cooked meal and a visit with any favorite namesake (his youngest is named after me and was born shortly after I arrived). It is amazing to see how much she has grown. It’s been two months since I’ve seen her and she is walking like a mad woman now! She is a year and 2 months and is turning into a real person right in front of my eyes. I realized on this last visit that she is the first person I have ever seen progress from birth to now and it’s a pretty amazing process. She will be one of the hardest to leave in September. However again I digress, back to my adventure…

After I was full on Nshima, Ba Shaderick informed me that the river was only about 1 kilometer from his house so he escorted me there where we found a nice young man who was also crossing and therefore would become my gondola operator and best friend. Mulenga (my new best friend) I learned was visiting his parents on the other side of the river where he also attends school. Mulenga and I “board” the large canoe where both our bikes and us fit comfortably and Mulenga “paddles” me across (and by paddle I mean dig a large stick into the muddy water and push us across, while standing, hence the gondola reference). The boat ride can only be described as incredible (probably because Mulenga was doing all of the work). We chatted, I enjoyed the beautiful lily pads and vast nothingness that defines the African bush, and we arrived safely on the other side 20 minutes later. From there I just kept asking people the name of Matt’s village and if I was going the right way and they graciously kept helping. About an hour later I was in Matt’s “sub-boma” (a string of shops that isn’t a quite a town but where you can find basics like sugar, salt and my favorite, rolls). Matt met me there and then showed me the way to his village about 12k away. I made it!! However the story only really starts here. Matt’s village was nice. We made a delicious pasta dinner with fresh basil from his garden (he has inspired me to make a garden purely for basil) and chatted about everything Peace Corps. The next day we were lucky enough to be joined by our friend Bob who came with eggs for breakfast (eggs plus rolls plus basil, what more could a girl want!). We had a wonderful breakfast and then I decided to get back on the “road” aka bush path. Matt has told me there was a short cut from his village to mine on another bush path so I decided to try that way. Adventure weekend, why not?

I was off again.. Matt told me I would pass a chicken co-op on my way and just to ask the way from there. Therefore when I came upon a large structure in the middle of nowhere filled with chickens, I knew I was headed in the right direction. What Matt failed to mention (probably bc he came to my site during dry season) was this short cut was VERY wet and muddy which makes biking slightly more difficult. Anyway, about an hour and a pound of mud later I arrived at the river. I made it.. kind of.. There was one problem, there was nobody there to man the boat (where are you now Mulenga?) and the boat was 30% filled with water. Yes, this is what I call adventure, I look around and there is NOBODY for as far as the eye can see. Hmm. Decision time. Let’s put those PC “life skills” to use. I remembered a few huts a little far back where I’m sure I can find somebody to help. I back peddled a little and came up to a very old Zambian woman with her children and tell her my problem. She sends me with a little boy to find the headman who is in charge of the boat. We get to the headman’s house and his wife says he is in the field but will send a kid to get him in her typical Zambian way she offers me a seat and we chat. She has 8 children, 7 girls and 1 boy and currently her girl is next to me petting a dead rat (I try not to gag). Eventually the headman comes and says he will paddle me across. Hallelujah! We get to the boat and he buckets out most of the water but I notice a small leak where water is still coming out. He assures me its fine but to make my America neurotic self feel better I continue heaving buckets of water out while he paddles me. This time there are also three other boys with their bikes (so 5 people, 4 bikes, ¼ of water) makes the boat ride not quite as lovely as my previous ride but still an experience. We make it to the other side and an hour and a half later I arrive in Kalaba. Tired, sun burnt and slightly dehydrated but I made it home. Oh and I forgot to mention I had promised my closest PC neighbor I would bike to her site for dinner. So it was time to chug water, bathe the mud off me and shove a cliff bar down my throat (thanks for those mom) and I was on my bike again. Luckily this bike is only 10k (about 45 minutes) away. Well of course dark clouds and a fierce windstorm come out of nowhere just to test how much my legs could take. Luckily the rain held off and I finally arrived to a delicious batch of chili, cornbread and Mango cobbler. It’s wonderful having a neighbor who can cook!! Thank you for that meal Jerrica, you are a life savor. We had a lovely evening and this morning the wind and rain cooperated and I got back to my village safe and sound.

This weekend I probably tried to squeeze a little too much adventure in 2 days. However I’ve got to say I enjoyed every second of it. It’s these little adventures that remind me why I love this country so much. Smiling faces greeting me in every village, new friends made in a short boat ride and PC friends who are just as crazy and dirty as me. Peace Corps, it really is the best.

Waku

Waku is what we here in Luapula land refer to America as when we are speaking about it. Waku doesn’t actually mean America in bemba, it means “from far” but in our bemba/peace corps slang it has come to be known as America, that land we are so “far from”. As some of you know I spent the last three weeks in Waku. It was an amazing three weeks that I had been thinking about since the beginning of my service. However it was also a learning experience for me as everything seems to be throughout my Peace Corps service.

Throughout my three weeks I visited four states ( Virginia, North Carolina, Georgia and New York) and dozens and dozens of friends from all different parts of my life. I felt so lucky and blessed that so many people made such an effort to see me. I got to see my cousins which I usually only see once every three years at our family reunions ( that includes you Kevin Kokal, I told you I would give you a shout out), I got to see old high school friends that live all over the states but who have still become my family ( love you ladies), I also got to see old college roommates, study abroad friends, as well as people who I went abroad with to Israel in 2005 and hadn’t seen since. It really was like I was taking a blast into the last 10 years of my life. It was wonderful seeing everyone and again thank you everyone who came from near or far to visit. It meant the world to me. So now that I have written the most broad thank you note ever written, lets move on to the infamous “reverse culture shock” which I anticipated and experienced while home.

A common question while I was in the States was “ How are you doing? Does this feel weird? What is the most different or hardest thing to adjust to?”. All are valid questions but are hard to answer with one word or even one sentence. Therefore I am going to revert back to the "list technique" which I have used so often in my blogs. So here are the list of the top 5 things which were the most obvious culture shocks in my three weeks in America after being in Zambia for a 18 months. Note, these are my observations that I don't think are necessarily good or bad but different from Zambia.

1. Iphone, Ipads, Ipods, America is ruled by Apple and by “I”. When I left the states the Iphone was present as was the blackberry, android, flip phone and various other types of cellular devices. When I came back it was Iphone nation. One of my friends had a blackberry and people shunned her like she was living in the 19^th century. I understand and see the appeal of the iphone very much, however I think it has made people less social and more “I” centered. Its not a negative or a positive, just a difference that was immediately apparent to me. I just hope that as this “I” revolution continues people continue to take time to put down their “I” devices and take in the beauty that is human interaction, experience and adventure, because I think sometimes the ease and “apps” which the iphone provides takes that scary yet useful unknown out of our lives.

2. DRIVING!! I got to drive while I was home and it was incredible. I turned the music up, put the windows down ( just a smidge because it was cold) and just drove. Although I loved driving, I did begin to miss the fresh air. I tried to explain to people that in Zambia I live outside. Yes I live in a mud hut but let’s be honest, it’s a mud hut. It is basically outside. I cook all my meals outside, I bathe outside, I use the bathroom outside and when I have to get from one place to another its by biking or walking, again outside. So although I tried to get out for a run or walk everyday I still felt a little stuffed by the perfectly heated cars, houses and restaurants. The day I got back to Zambia it was in the high 80’s and I went to the house where I was staying that didn’t have air conditioning or fans. It was almost a relief to be uncomfortable by the natural weather. I know I might regret this in a few months when the rains are pouring down and the humidity is unbearable, but for now, I like my uncomfortable weather.

3. OPTIONS. America has more options in every facet of its existence than I remembered. The first week I was in town I drove to a local CVS to find face wash. I stood in the isle for 45 minutes trying to figure out which one I should buy. Do I need pore reducer, foam wash, acne cream, total face wash, scented wash, etc. I just want some soap for my face!?! I became overwhelmed quickly and left the store, face wash had to be bought another day. This same thing would happen whenever I went to restaurants. To preface, we have one “restaurant” in Mansa which contains fried chicken and chicken pies, so to go to a restaurant with 100 choices of which way you want your salad prepared is slightly overwhelming. I usually just went with old classics or whatever the person next to me was ordering. It is exhausting making that many choices!

4. FAST PACE AMERICA- Although I loved every minute of my time in the states I am exhausted!! I am at my provincial house currently about to go back to my village and have slept for 10 hours each night. Although I didn’t “do” that much in America the amount of things that everyone tried to fit in their day seemed exhausting to me. Lets compare a day in the village to a day in America. A day in the village: Wake up, go on a run, eat breaktfast, bathe, read, have a meeting, cook lunch, read, wash dishes, sleep. A day in America: Wake up, Run, Shower, Go to breakfast with friend 1, go to target to get unnecessary yet wonderful accessory, stop at the bank on the way to take out money, drop off dry cleaning on the way to meet Family member 1 for lunch, go to doctors appointment, meet friend 2 for coffee, go home and take an hour to get ready for dinner with family member 2 and 3, then meet friend 3, 4, 5 for drinks after dinner. Don’t get me wrong, being able to see this many people that I love in a day is something that I will be forever grateful for, but can you see the difference? Even if it is just eating or getting a cup of coffee Americans don’t just “hang out” anymore. There must be an activity, going to a movie, or shopping, or eating or drinking. In my hut I might read for 4 hours a day, when I come into the provincial house we might watch a movie but mostly sit outside just talking about nothing ( mostly because there is nowhere to get a bite to eat or drink). I noticed in America I was always doing something when sometimes I just wanted to be still.

5. Marriage, babies, engagements oh my!! I am so thankful I was able to meet two little new additions to my family ( Hayden and Dylan) while I was home. I was also able to meet new boyfriends, wives and significant others that I had been waiting to meet for some time. It was wonderful. However this theme of marriage, babies, engagements seemed to be present in every city I visited or friend I talked to. People were either getting engaged, wanting to get engaged, tired of hearing about engagements, going to 5 weddings in June, sick of weddings, wanting to be in a wedding, etc. Again, I hope this doesn’t sound negative it was just a difference that I found since I had left the states. I understand I am 25 and this is the new reality. However I guess I spend so much time in Zambia explaining to people why I am NOT married or NOT engaged or NOT with child that it just came as a shock that it was the topic of conversation with so many different groups of people. It’s obvious to me why it was a shock as one of the main messages and topics of health education I focus on is delaying early marriage and early pregnancy ( as it is common to see a 16 year old married and pregnant and therefore dropping out of school at an early age), so I guess I just didn’t expect to talk about it as much with my peers who are living such completely different lives.

I want to be honest and say this blog has been really hard for me to write. I don’t want to come off as negative towards America or condescending or patronizing in any light. I know where I live and how I live my life currently is drastically different than the majority of the people I know. I know I went from living in a third world country to visiting one of the richest countries in the world. I know that the culture shock would have eventually worn off if I had stayed long enough and it will wear off when I come back later this year. I just felt like it was important to acknowledge and share my experience as I have since starting my journey of Peace Corps a year and a half ago. Even though going back to the states was going “home” I felt at the end of my trip that I was also going back “home” to Zambia. I think you can have multiple homes throughout this world and I think depending on what your doing or how long you’ve been there your comfort level at those homes can vary. Currently I feel most at “home” in Zambia. With my lack of electricity, dirty peace corps volunteers and fresh humid air. I know my home will shift back to the states soon enough, but for now I am content where I am.

I can’t finish this blog without thanking my parents for everything they did for me over the past 3 weeks. Mom, I hope you can get some rest and take care of yourself as I know you were taking care of me every second I was home. You couldn’t have made it more perfect, I enjoyed every minute of my time with you and hope you know how much I appreciate everything. Dad, I know you took off work and made it your priority to be with me as much as possible. Thank you. ( B- I didn’t forget about you, thanks for spending the most time either of us have spent in Greensboro in years with me. It made my homecoming that much sweeter).

Hope everyone had a Happy New Year and are looking forward to what 2012 will bring, because I know I am.

America.. here I come?

**This blog was written November 30,2011 the last night in my village before I am gone for a month, I will be in Lusaka (the capital) for a workshop for a week and a half before I fly to America on December 14, I won't return to Zambia until January 5th. It will be the longest I have been away from Zambia and my village since starting Peace Corps 16 months ago. So apologies in advance if it is a bit over dramatic. The village does that to you sometimes.***

I am sitting here in my hut, watching a huge rainstorm that has been building all day over my little village. I just cooked my counterpart our last lunch together for a month, I just packed up all of my clothes under my bed in suitcases ( so my various little rodent friends won't eat them while I'm gone) and although I am leaving my village tomorrow , right now America couldn't seem further away.

I have been counting down this day for months, marking my calendar as the months went by and thinking of all the things that await me at home, but now that the day has come my emotions are mixed. Of course I am so excited to go home, sleep in a bed that doesn't have a rat living above it, eat food without having to substitute dairy products for fake yellow cheese, and to see my family and friends. However part of me will remain here. Part of me will stay with my kids as they draw on my porch ( which is what is happening currently as I write). Part of me will stay with my PC family as they travel to surrounding countries to celebrate the new year. Part of me will stay in my village reading in my hammock and listening to my kids giggle and dance outside my door.

It has been a year and a half since I have left this continent and a year since I have left Zambia (I went to Malawi last new years). It's a weird feeling that is hard to describe even as I try. For example, a baby was just dropped on my porch by one of my iwes. In America this would probably be considered neglect by the parents of said child ( her name is Emma and I have attached a picture), as the iwe in charge of this baby is only 10 years old. However here, it all works. I love that I don't know who emma's mom is and probably won't know as she is probably a women passing through to collect caterpillars ( it is caterpillar season here in Kalaba and people come from all over Zambia to collect them). But for now Emma and I are playing and bonding and getting along quite splendidly and this is normal.

These are the things I worry about going back to the states. I'm worried I'm going to try and hold any baby found anywhere. Grocery store, gas station, restaurant, I will probably try and hold them . Secondly my "famous" status will go on reprieve for the first time since arriving. When I go running, to town or just outside of my house I won't have children screaming my name and calling after me. In an interview with former President Bill Clinton, I heard him say one of the weirdest things to adjust to after finishing his presidency was that they stopped playing a song every time he walked into a room. I feel you Bill.

But with all of the weird changes and social norms I am sure to break, I think I will survive in the end. I'm sure to offend strangers by staring at them blankly ( a social norm I have become accustomed to) or wearing something that was " so 2009" ( which is the last winter I was home). However even with all of it, I can hardly wait. To see my family and friends even for a few short days, weeks, or hours, is worth breaking every rule in the book. So get ready, because here I come!

First Rain

**This blog was written September 30, 2011 as a journal entry in my village**

Yesterday was Rosh Hashanah, the beginning of the Jewish New Year for Jews around the world. Today we had our first rain in Zambia, the official mark to the end of dry season. Although seemingly different, both symbolize a beginning. Rosh Hashanah is a time where we are suppose to look back and think about our past year. We are suppose to think back on things we did wrong, sins committed and decisions we hope to learn from. We are also suppose to look at the parts we did right; prideful things, ways we have grown and changed throughout the past year. Rainy season, or the first rain, is similar to Rosh Hashanah in a lot of ways. It's a clean start, everything has been burned (my yard was just burned last night-the scariest/coolest thing I have ever seen) and people are ready and waiting to plant again. It's a new season, maybe a chance to plant something you have never planted before, for Ba Shaderick that will be watermelon, for others maybe cabbage. For Zambians just like Jews and all Americans really, the timing of Rosh Hashanah, is the calm before the storm. For Zambians, it is hot season. A time to rest and try to survive the immense heat which has appropriately been named "Suicide Month". For Americans October it a time to enjoy the cool weather, the new football season where every team still has a fighting chance, and halloween where everyone gets to revert back to childhood and just have a night for dress up.

Next comes November. For Zambians this marks the beginning of rainy season because when and only when the rains begin can they start planting. Everyday from 04:00 am to 07:00 am they will all be in their fields planting. Being precise with every seed is crucial for a good crop. As that one head of cabbage, or row of maize could feed their family for a week later in the year. They will timelessly plant and hope that the rain will continue to fall. For with every drop, their harvest will improve.

For Americans November means one thing, Thanksgiving. Although many (mostly men, no offense) don't know this, mothers across America will start planning, cooking and preparing for Thanksgiving the first day of November. Whether it is deciding which family to visit, where to have it or who will attend, there is always something to do. November 1st, start your engines. It takes a whole months to plan Thanksgiving because after Thanksgiving (and for some literally the day after) Christmas begins. Lights start going up, presents start being bought , holiday cards being sent out, the list never ends. This falls true for Zambians as well. December is also a crucial month for rain as January will be when the first crops start trickling out of the ground. December is also when the children get out of school here, although at the beginning of the month, rather than in the end like in America. It is scheduled this way so fathers have more hands in the field, while women have more kids in the kitchen. However this is where things start to differ drastically.

The end of December in America means gorging yourself. Gorging on Christmas dinners, festive holiday drinks and work parties galore. It's a time where you keep telling yourself you will start that new diet at the first of the year. In a lot of ways December means excess in America. Excess food, drink, presents and cheer. In Zambia, December means hunger. It marks the beginning of "hunger season". A time where crops from last year are running low and crops from this year haven't come up yet. It's a time where children will go a little hungrier, mothers more warn out and fathers less prideful. It's a month where families will go a whole day with just one meal and patiently wait for the night to fall. Although this is partially the families and farmers faults as the opposite of hunger season is waste season. Food sustainability is a big problem in Zambia and you will see many children in April (when crops are plenty) throwing maize meal at each other as a game or feeding the whole village while they should be saving it for later in the year (like December). Whatever the reason, December is not an easy month for most Zambians.

The longer I am here the more I notice the similarities and differences in my two worlds. On one hand we are all the same, mothers worrying, fathers working and children playing. On the other hand, like when it comes to December, we are worlds apart.

Mothers-Education-Dance, just a few thoughts from the village

So this blog post is a little different than my previous ones. Instead of writing one long blog about a certain event, thought or experience, I have put together three separate journal entries that I wrote during different times in my village. They are just thoughts and observations taken at different times throughout the last month. So here I go, hope everyone enjoys.

Bamaayos (Mothers/Women)

As I sit here reading, waiting for my participants to finish their tests, I am amazed. Bamaayos, women in Zambia, are incredible. They sit through their trainings with babies on their backs, having to get up and leave the room every time they start crying. They learn and take notes as their babies’ breastfeed on their laps. Then, when the big final test comes a child gets sick and throws up over her mother's lap. The mom looks frantic, trying to take care of her sick girl and move her paper out of the way of her child's vomit, all the while still trying to take her test. She calms the child, makes sure she is ok, put her back on her lap and whips out a breast for her to breastfeed on. Now it's finally back to test time. Bamaayos- the strongest people on earth.

Education

With all of the problems that are talked about with the American school system, and I agree with a lot of them, it's nothing compared to here. I just finished going around to all of my zones and giving Post Tests to make sure they had been trained properly as an NHC. At every one the question would have to be asked, " who doesn't know how to read and write". Remember the test that was given was written in Bemba so the people who don't know how to read or write are illiterate in their own language. At every single one of my 14 zones, at least two or three out of 15 and sometimes even topping off at half the group would be illiterate. When my counterpart would ask the question (only so he would know who to take outside and verbally give the test to) the few people almost always women would shyly raise their hands and giggle in embarrassment. I would always try to flash them a reassuring smile trying to tell them without speaking that I was so proud of them. They just sat through a 3-day training where their only learning tool was to listen. They are doing this voluntarily, for no money, only to help their community who has failed in giving them a proper education. So maybe that's why they are so brave and strong. Maybe they are trying to give the education they were deprived of to their children, grand children and great grand children. Education. The longer I am here the more I am convinced it is the key to the future of this country. With better education Zambia could grow into the successful country it's meant to be. However like all things, it's so much easier said than done.

Dancing

Why don't we dance after meetings or trainings in America? I think I might try to start a revolution when I get back to America. After every single one of my NHC trainings that I have visited over the past two weeks, we have always ended with singing and dancing. They are celebrating being finished with the training, being given this gift of education and a chance to help their community. Plus they just love to dance. Think about it, it could revolutionize the work place. After every meeting or long conference call, everyone gets up and sings and dances. It would lift worker's moral, get people moving a bit (maybe a small step in the fight against obesity), and its just a little extra fun in your day. It will probably be years until I have a "proper office job" (sorry mom and dad) but when I do, I am dancing.

This American Life.. but not

**This blog was written a few weeks ago in the village**

This past week, I was back in America, kind of. Before you start writing the hate e-mails, I wasn’t actually in America or else I would have obviously called all of you prepping you for my arrival and all of the wonderful food we would eat and drink we would drink. However I was back in America in the sense that for the first time in 12 months, I had a schedule. I got up around 6:00 am, I went for a run (although it was through the African bush with little children chasing me), I took a shower (or bucket bath in the cold mornings looking up at the massive Zambian sky), I got dressed (in chitenge and tank top), made breakfast (used the leftover coals from heating my water to heat water to make oatmeal) and then went to work at 8:30(walked 5 minutes to my clinic) and came home around 16:30 (walked the 5 minutes back to my house), immediately got into my pajamas, listened to the news and went to bed (around 20:00/8:00 pm). So OK it wasn’t EXACTLY like America, but like I said, it was the closest I have gotten to being there in over a year.

Why did I have this unusual schedule when my normal one usually consists of one meeting a day and cleaning, cooking, and doing other chores the rest of the day? Because I finally held my NHC Training of Trainers!! So now you are probably asking, what the heck does that mean? It is a bit confusing but I will try to explain it in the easiest way possible. An NHC is a Neighborhood Health Committee. The rural health center, which I am connected with, contains a catchment area of 14 “zones” AKA collection of villages, each which has their own NHC. The job of an NHC is to give health education to the community, do small projects to raise money for a health post where the clinic comes once a month to give immunizations to children under 5 and be the general link between the village and the Rural Health Center. These NHC’s are crucial as they are only link between the village and any health education what so ever.

When I first got to my village in September of last year I started going around to visit all of these NHC’s and soon realized that although they were “formed” none of them were functioning. They didn’t know the jobs of an NHC and weren’t educated on any of the six health thrusts of Zambia (which include HIV/AIDS, Tuberculosis, Malaria, Reproductive Health, Nutrition, and Water and Sanitation.). These health thrusts are the top issues in Zambia’s health care system and what I was trained to teach about in the village. However this information wasn’t getting to the villagers through their NHC’s, which is why I decided to focus on it as my first big project.

Now it might sound crazy but I have basically been working towards this training since I got to my village. It took 3 months to just bike and visit all 14 of my zones during my community entry. Then I had to apply for a grant in order to get enough supplies, food, etc, to hold this training. Then I had to wait for the grant to come through and put a schedule together comprising of different facilitators throughout my RHC and the District Health Office who could come and help me to train. The way in which I decided to organize it was to have Training of Trainers where we picked two people from each zone to come to training for five days. They were trained on the six health thrusts of Zambia as well as exactly what an NHC is and why it is so important. After this five day training they are to go back to their zones and each train their own NHC. This is what is happening as we speak. Then over the next few weeks I will be traveling to each of the zones and checking to make sure the trainings actually happened, giving a post test to verify that the proper information was given and then give certificates of completion (which are a really big deal in Zambia). Whew. Did you stay with me throughout that?

Anyway, so the training went really well and I am thrilled that it did. Everyone showed up on time, they participated and seemed to be learning a lot. It was one of those moments where I truly appreciated Peace Corps and the work I am able to do here. Just watching them learn and really feeling like this would make a difference, even in a few peoples lives, was one of the most rewarding feelings I have had in Zambia. Also, this past weekend I hosted new volunteers in my village and decided to take them to one of the NHC trainings, which was happening. I want to preface this with the fact that I wasn’t planning on going to any of the trainings until the last day when they had worked out all of the kinks. However this was the first day and I was extremely nervous that they wouldn’t be prepared, or nobody would show up or the whole thing would be a bust. I was happily surprised. They were there, they were prepared and the training seemed to be going extremely well. I really did feel like a proud mother. I know not all of my NHC’s will be this great and after this not all of them will be as active as I want, but with everything here even if half end up being successful I will consider it a success.

I hope you all could keep up with that crazy explanation. It really is hard to explain what we do here sometimes. Either way you hopefully got a small idea of what I do here and why I love the work so much. It has officially been a year since I landed in Zambia and the amount I have learned about myself, my work and my village is amazing to me. I truly do learn something new everyday, as cliché as that sounds. So its one year down and one to go, I can’t wait to see what this next year brings.

P.S. the picture at the top of the post is the last day after we had finished the Training of Trainers. Felt like a proud bamaayo ( mother).

Dream or Reality? Family Vacation 2011

The day came and the day has gone, Simmons family vacation 2011 is officially over. I can say without a doubt in my mind it was the vacation of a lifetime for all involved. We ate, we drank, we flew in small plans, we saw lions mating, we relaxed next to one of the wonders of the world, and we really did it all. So let me not get ahead of myself, let’s start from the beginning.

As I mentioned in my last blog post my father, mother and brother all flew into Zambia on June 13, 2011. I greeted them at the airport and it was immediately as if no time had gone by at all, that is why I love family. My Dad and brother were already making fun of my mother for a comment she made on the last flight, she was rolling her eyes and holding me hand (I think relieved to have another girl in the mix after being the only one for a year) and I was just smiling and taking it all in. We spent their first day in Lusaka, doing a little bit of walking around but mostly just talking and trying to catch up on a year of missed one on one time. That night they got to meet their first of many PCV’s (Peace Corps Volunteers). My friends Ashley, Brooks and Angela all went out to dinner with them and everyone got along famously- not that I was surprised as PCV’s are some of the best people I have ever met and my family is also quite easily liked. So we drank and ate at a restaurant which is rarely visited because of our “Peace Corps Salaries” AKA we are broke, and had a great time. The next day I got to show them the famous “Manda Hill” Zambia’s one and only shopping mall and then we were off to Mfuwe!!

They boarded their fourth flight in two days and I boarded my first in over a year. After hitching to Eastern province last December on my way to Malawi (a 5-hour hitch in a really good ride we got lucky to get), we were in Mfuwe in less than an hour flight; this is where my dream state began. Getting somewhere in Zambia in less than 5 hours of standing by the side of the road, meeting and greeting strangers and taking sometimes questionable transport, this couldn’t be real!? We arrived in Mfuwe and were taken then on a four-hour ride through South Luwangwa Park in order to get to our Bush Camp. Instantly after getting into the camp we were seeing Zebra, Impala, Elephants, Oh my! It was incredible and everyone got their first view into what our Safari was going to look like. When we finally arrived at our camp it was pretty late at night, maybe 20:00 (8:00 pm) and I just figured that since it was so late we would probably not have dinner and just crawl straight into bed—silly peace corps mentality. No, instead we were greeted with hot chocolates by the staff and a man asking what time we would like dinner, as it was already ready, we said 15 minutes and it was ready in 15 minutes. Not just dinner but a 3-course meal of the best food I have had in my entire life. Dream state was continuing and getting even more vivid. Maybe this was a Malaria prophylaxis dream; they are usually pretty outlandish and vivid. Definitely had to be the prophylaxis. So then we continued to be pampered and see incredible animals for four days. The mornings we would wake up early and be out on Safari by 6:30 and back by 10:30. Then we would have an early lunch/brunch with incredible food that was all made from scratch on site- I ate my weight in whatever they gave me, after this vacation it was back to rice and stir-fry for another year. Then we would have a Siesta from around noon until 16:00/4:00pm. This was wonderful as it was the heat of the day so we could read in the shade, nap in our incredible beds, and shower in our outdoor shower while watching a herd of buffalo go by and just relax. We would usually set out on another drive in the afternoon for our night drives which were amazing. We would drive for a while until right when the sun went down when they would stop at some absolutely magnificent spot where we would have “Sundowners” or cocktails as the sun went down. Then it was off for another hour or so of driving where our drivers could spot a tiny chameleon in a tree with their spotlight, which looked like a leaf to the naked eye. Incredible. So after our wonderful Safari was over it was time for “the real Africa”, village life.

We were first welcomed in Mansa by some more PCV’s who were sweet enough to make my family a welcome sign and clean up our often cluttered provincial house. After a quick tour of Mansa (not so much to see) it was off to the village! Seven of us packed into a small car and off we went. The Village was wonderful. I am not going to lie I was a little concerned about this part of the trip as we were going from one extreme to another and I have heard some horror stories of parents crying every night they are in their child’s village, wondering what their crazy child is thinking, etc. However the Simmons clan did fabulous! We cooked them a delicious stir-fry the first night and hung out and got them acquainted with peeing in a hole in the ground, using candles and headlamps when the sun went down and of course playing with my children. The next day the village took over. It was father’s day so we cooked my Dad some delicious pancakes for breakfast and just hung out a little while. Then it was off to the festivities! We went over and took a short tour of my clinic and then started watching all of the Bamaayos (women in the village) cook every dish I have ever heard of and some I hadn’t even tasted yet. They cooked for hours and we watched for a short while before the drumming began. Then the drumming began and that’s when things started getting crowded. I think the majority of my village was in the surroundings within 5 minutes? This seemed more normal to me, back to reality, I was famous again and everyone was staring. Dream state went on a reprieve for a short while. Then the traditional dancing started and it never stopped. It was wonderful, my youth sang welcome songs, the whole community got up to dance and my family got to see what a traditional Bemba dance looked like. Obviously at the end they wanted us to get up and dance so thankfully my fellow PCV’s aren’t so timid, so we all got up and showed the village the skills we had learned in the past year. I must say they are still talking to me about it and I am sure will be until the day I leave Zambia. Then it was time to feast. As my parents looked a little dubious about the meal, eating with your hands and what this mush in front of them was, my brother dug right in. I was impressed by his nshima eating skills. A lot of people think it’s an acquired taste but he put down a good amount. As for myself and my PCV’s it was like Christmas—Chicken (never ever get in the village because its too expensive), all types of ifishashi ( ifisashi is any vegetable which they mix with pounded groundnuts making kind of a “creamed spinach” type of dish) and fresh fish (we usually only get to eat the dried tiny fish), it was wonderful!! The rest of the afternoon we just laid in our Nshima Coma’s- often can’t move after eating so much Nshima, and my family got their last play time in with my iwes.

The next morning it was back to the dream state. We left my village at 6:00 am and were in Livingstone by 14:00. This would usually be at least a three-day trip for me. One day biking into Mansa and getting my things, then hitching to Lusaka which on a good day you can get there in less than 12 hours and then another day of hitching to Livingstone. I was dreaming again. We spent the next four days relaxing, eating more delicious meals and seeing the amazing Victoria Falls. We also had a few adventures which included Bungee jumping with my brother while my parents very daringly watched from a café overlooking the gorge we were jumping into with a cord tied to our feet, as well as riding elephants on our last day through the river and into the sunset.

Before I knew it the adventure I had been waiting on for so long was over. I was waking up from the most amazing dream of my life. Except it wasn’t a dream, it really happened. I know this may seem like an obvious statement but I have to keep writing it out to remind myself that it’s true. It was a wonderful vacation with the people I love the most in the world. I got to laugh, joke, talk, discuss, debate and explore with them. All of the things I am lucky enough to do with my Peace Corps family now but that I will always miss doing with my real family. As the trip came to a close I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel, saying goodbye again for another long period of time. Although it was hard I felt shockingly content after the last hugs and kisses were given. I have lived in Zambia for a year now and it really has become my home. I have an amazing support system in my fellow PCV’s and my fellow villagers, I have a hut that feels like home and a country which I can’t seem to breathe in quick enough. The vacation was incredible and something I will remember for the rest of my life, but so is my Peace Corps service and that in of itself will always make me want to wake up from a dream.

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 3^rd 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!

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 from “ high 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.