Where I've been lately

Body: Sunrise on Easter Island.

In a cold, dark moment before the sun rose over the Pacific, I had them all to myself. All fifteen Moai, basking in the white light of a nearly full moon that was high in the sky directly behind me. We were early, my travel companions were out of sight, out of mind. I was alone.

How on earth did I end up here?

Was I supposed to revere these ancient statues, full of mana and the sweat of thousands of Rapa Nui that toiled to carve and drag them to the coast? Was this supposed to be a spiritual moment? I wasn’t so sure.

I stopped thinking about it. The sun rose, just like it does everyday.

But this time, I was watching.


Head: “But why, in Africa, has it come to this?”

Even to begin to answer that question you need time, so much time, dead time. Time has to hang heavy on you. You need to be stuck, bored, and to watch: to watch not attentively, eager to prove or disprove a lively hypothesis, but listlessly, with your eyes roving and your mind empty, and nothing to do. Only then do truths begin to swim into vision.

- Matthew Parris on Ethiopia

This is not the type of work you can simply think your way out of. In fact, thinking too much might lead you astray. This, in part, is the problem with a lot of development efforts: It’s simply too easy to get disconnected, to theorize and strategize and intellectualize everything until it is almost completely irrelevant.

As the Parris quote suggests, this work takes time. It’s hard and frustrating and thankless and complicated and challenging beyond belief. But it’s also incredibly important. It’s definitely worth trying, and there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.

But if I’m going to continue to do this, I want to do right by it. Think BIG but start small, stay connected, and try as best as possible to keep it real. This is my commitment.

Heart: She’s gone.

In the early stages the disease, she reverted back to what I think was the happiest time in her life, her days as a young girl studying to be a teacher at Ramanathan College in Sri Lanka. She’d chatter away about her friends, smiling, laughing. Though there was never a flicker of recognition, I’d laugh with her and take solace in the fact that at least now she was wholly happy.

She wasn’t always happy. She was quiet; she kept what was more than her fair share of tragedy locked up inside. She bore heartache that is completely beyond my comprehension. She suffered a great deal of loss…she suffered so that I would never have to. For this, I will always be grateful.


I’m writing this post from Toronto. I’m happy to just BE with everyone, to go through the ceremonial motions, the crying and the laughing. She would be glad we laughed together.

I've also been forced to stop and think about what tradition really means to me. This is the hardest kind of thing to articulate, so I will just say this: I love, hate, and respect it all at once, but I don’t really understand it, and that might be ok.

If religion is the opium of the people, tradition is an even more sinister analgesic, simply because it rarely appears sinister. If religion is a tight band, a throbbing vein and a needle, tradition if a far homelier concoction: poppy seeds ground into tea; a sweet cocoa drink laced with cocaine; the kind of thing your grandmother might have made.

- Excerpt from White Teeth, by Zadie Smith

On balance.

I am trying with difficulty to make sense of the cumulative effect of all my recent experiences, to balance the various forces pulling at me and try as best I can to, well, do the right thing.

I was lucky to meet and receive some words of wisdom from James Orbinksi in January. I think he would be loathe to call what he gave us that day “advice”, but it stuck in my brain regardless of his intention.

He said that your success always depends on the success of others, that it’s important to genuinely understand the people around you, to be attentive to the people you are with.

Meaning is in the living, not simply in the thinking or the feeling. And it seems to me that living well is mostly about loving well.

– Brother Benedict quoted in An Imperfect Offering, by James Orbinksi

And so, this just might be the stuff life is made of. Life isn’t something that’s going to happen sometime in the future, it’s happening right now. Self-evident, I know, but it’s easy to forget this simple truth when you are busy busy busy. There is a lot to balance and it might never make sense and fit into a nice little box you can point an arrow to. But this is it – and I’m thankful for every little bit.

thulasy

What is she doing??

The short answer.

At the beginning of October, I started my second placement with Engineers Without Borders. This time around, I’m partnered with International Development Enterprises (IDE). Their mission: To increase the income of small holder farmers through the production and sale of high value crops, namely vegetables. How do they do it? The gist is this:

Farmer
+ Training (in vegetable growing)
+ Access (to micro-credit, inputs, and irrigation)
+ Opportunities (to sell their vegetables at a fair price)

= Rural Household with $

This is an easy thing to write in a proposal (1+1=2, right?), but it is actually an incredibly difficult thing to do in practice. It involves taking an approach that is radically different from those taken in typical agricultural projects.

This is all about business. Nothing is given away for free. Everything is accessed for full price through the private sector. Easy peasy? Not quite. The agricultural sector in Zambia is very under-developed and poorly functioning. It tends to exploit or completely exclude small holder farmers. Small holders can’t make money from farming, and if they do, not fairly.

There is a lack of confidence in the system. But because of this, there exists an opportunity for NGOs, like IDE, to act as honest brokers to help create a functional market in which small holders can fairly participate.

What am I doing? My mandate is to build the capacity of IDE’s field staff to better facilitate market linkages. Disregard the jargon and read on.

The long answer.

My work with IDE has me abuzz with new thoughts on development and (gasp!) even some hope. Yay! Gone are the days of thinly veiled cynical melancholy. I’m excited all over again! This time, though, I’m a bit hardened, a bit more realistic, and perhaps even a little contentious. Watch out!

What am I so excited about? Simply put, it’s about the people.

“Well, Thulasy, if it wasn’t always about the people, what was it about??” Good question.

I spent my first 14 months overseas trying to define this problem of poverty for myself and coming up with some reasonable solutions to it. It was about ideas and how those ideas relate to people, mostly village farmers. What did I learn?

I learned that there are a lot of smart people out there coming up with some pretty ingenious solutions to the ginormous, multi-dimensional, infinitely complex problem that is poverty.

The main challenge, however, is not really in finding the perfect solution, per se, but in actually applying a good-enough solution to the real world. In development-speak, we call this “implementation”.

Unfortunately, it’s not as easy as just givin’r and gettin’r done.

When it all,
all falls down.
I’m tellin’ you all,
it all falls down.

– Lauryn Hill, The Mystery of Iniquity

Markets and trust.

Local field workers are at the front lines of development projects. They are the ones who are ultimately responsible for translating those great ideas - seeming panaceas for poverty - into meaningful impact.

Problem is, big time donors, who are wildly excited about the great-idea-of-the-moment, expect big time results from these field workers, not just by now, but by yesterday.

Expectations like that cannot be met in the blink of an eye. This project may be about getting more money down to farmers, but it takes a lot of time and concerted effort to get money to flow in a system that is completely devoid of any semblance of trust.

Functional markets are built on trust. Think about it: You implicitly trust that you’ll get the perfect non-fat, extra-hot, half-sweet venti chai latte from the stranger behind the counter mere seconds after you order it (at least I do). The barista, in turn, trusts that you will front the cash before you indulge in your afternoon pick-me-up.

Small holder farmers, however, have never been able to trust seed suppliers to offer reliable products and services, and vegetable buyers have never been able to trust small holders to supply a reasonable quantity and quality of produce. There is zero institutional trust.

[L]ow income societies have less trust than rich societies….What is important is the radius of trust. Do you trust only the members of your immediate family? Or does the circle widen to include your extended family, or your clan, or your village, or your ethnic group, or all the way to strangers? In a low-trust society, you trust your friends and family, but nobody else.

– William Easterly, White Man’s Burden

“And you’re excited about…?”

Luckily, field staff are excellent trust builders, particularly with farmers. But the role of field staff is changing. They’re responsible for more than just the farmers. They’re responsible for transforming the tenuous (or oft-times non-existent) relationships between farmers and private sector actors (like seed suppliers and vegetable buyers) into healthy, mutually beneficial ones.

I’m here to help the field staff take on this new mandate. I’m responsible for designing and rolling out a tailored, long-term training program for field staff to improve their ability to build these relationships. This is exciting for two reasons:

1) I have a growing hypothesis that investing in good people will improve the implementation process (and, by extension, the impact-generating process) far more than simply pumping more great ideas or money into the system. This will be a great chance to test this hypothesis and hopefully demonstrate success.

2) I am particularly psyched to be working with the up and coming generation of development workers, young Zambian folks like myself, who are unsatisfied with current approaches and are willing to try new things. Many of them are incredibly intelligent and capable but they just need a bit of a boost (training and practice in the short term, coaching over the long term) to take it to the next level.

I’ve spent the past few weeks visiting all of IDE’s 6 field offices, getting to know the field staff, their work, and their challenges. I spent my first placement in Zambia trying to understand and empathize with small holder farmers, and now, I find myself doing the same with field staff.

It’s important for me to consider them as whole human beings - just like myself, just like anyone in Canada - to understand their aspirations, their limitations, and how we can work together to achieve the goals of the project.

It’s always been about people.

This time, the people are just different.

T :)

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Order your 2009 wall calendar and holiday cards from EWB, and help us build a world of opportunity. / Commandez votre calendrier 2009 et vos cartes des fêtes d’ISF, et aidez nous à bâtir un monde d’opportunités.

Visit / visitez le www.ewb.ca/holidays.

Choose your own moralizing pitch

I know this is a cop out. I know I owe you all a post about what I'm doing right now, and I promise, it's on the way! Just so you know, I'm working with International Development Enterprises (IDE) on their Gates Foundation funded Rural Prosperity Initiative in Zambia. More to come, but you can peruse their website while you wait: http://www.ideorg.org/

In the meantime, I wanted to share this, an article I wrote for Dalhousie's Gazette/Sextant newspaper. Much love to Graham Lettner for pushing me to write something that says all the things that usually go unsaid.

T :)

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Choose your own moralizing pitch

Today, I wandered into the market in search of a lady selling roasted peanuts.

When I lived in Kalomo, small town Zambia, I knew exactly where to find the ladies hawking their little bags of salty goodness. I also knew with 96% certainty that the nuts were grown locally – so a hard-working small scale farmer got a cut, the struggling market lady got a cut, and I gots me some peanuts. It felt like I was having a bit of direct impact in this world.

But now I'm in big city Zambia. Lusaka. The market has lots to offer but no roasted peanut ladies. So I headed to the grocery store and found some roasted peanuts at the counter. The not-so-impressive label stamped on the not-so-fancy plastic bag said these nuts were grown, roasted, and packaged in Mongu, Zambia.

“Locally grown, locally processed. I’m going to buy local. That seems like a good thing to do.” But before I could pat myself on the back, I hesitated:

Did a village farmer grow these nuts? Probably.
Was the farmer given a fair price for the nuts? Maybe.
Is the processing company good to their workers? Gulp.

I was suddenly reminded of the anxiety I’d feel back in the supermarket in Canada. How could I know that farmers half way around the world were getting a good deal? Now, here I am, in country, and I still don’t know for sure!

This is where you, kind reader, roll your eyes into the back of your head and think, “Buy the peanuts already, you self-righteous, melodramatic hack. While you’re at it, take that patronizing bleeding heart of yours and shove it up your…”

I’m aware that you’re aware of the food crisis. The energy, financial, and climate crises. You’re likely tired of the barrage of pleas to eat less meat or buy a Prius. Plant a tree. Exercise. Talk to old people. I’m not trying to convince you of any of this. Here is where you get to choose your own adventure:

Go to A) if you want to hear a didactic rant about why you should think more about your food.

Go to B) if you want to hear why I bought the packaged peanuts.

A) The world is going to hell in a hand basket, and you – YOU – should care more about it. You should be worried about where your food comes from, how the environment and people get hurt all along the way. You should be worried about the long term effects of fertilizers and pesticides on your pituitary gland. Or those of your unborn children.

Maybe you should consider that 100-mile diet. Or maybe you should think about the farmers in nowheresville Zambia that would rather get something from YOU than nothing. Think about sweat shops. Think about the bird flu. Think about bird flu inoculated terrorist bombs. Think about whatever it takes to make you ACT, because let’s face it, if we don’t act soon, Chernobyl won’t look all that bad.

B) I bought the peanuts. I bought them because this isn’t an either-or kind of thing. It isn’t about thinking global and acting local, about being guilty or being noble. This isn’t about us and them and it.

I bought the peanuts because I had a hankering for them. And when I bought them, I appreciated the work of the farmers, processors, and transporters that brought them to me, and how those people have as much a right to make a living as I do.

At some point you have to put your stake in the ground and say, “I think I’m ok with this.” This world is wrought with complexities beyond my comprehension. I don’t claim to have answers.

All I know is that change is possible as long as good, sensible people around the world (like you) are allowed to make decisions not from fear or anxiety but from prudence and sincerity.

Or maybe we should just buy Fair Trade. It’s easier.

For the past year, Thulasy has been working to increase the participation of small scale farmers in fair and sustainable agricultural markets in Zambia.

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If that's given you some food for thought, these might too:

Farmer in Chief

Britain on a Plate

And if you're in Edmonton on November 12th, you might be interested in attending an event at City Hall regarding Food Sustainability for the Edmonton Region. Email Debbie Hubbard at: dreidt@telus.net for the deets.

Vacation: NAMIBIA!

Road-trippin' in the desert...can make you a little crazy

Namibia's #1 attraction: Sand. Watch out!

Sunrise from the top of Dune 45

Wee little me!

Laura and I basking in the gloriousness

Powder soft sand

Razor sharp colours

Meet a member of the desert ecosystem

Deadvlei ...or Dali painting?

Sossusvlei in a word: Otherwordly

DIY sandboarding does NOT work

This sandstorm nearly destroyed me; sadly, it took my camera

Me in a tree, my favorite place to be

T :)

A walk, a hurried walk.

Inspired by a scene from Amelie...


[She] has a strange feeling of absolute harmony. It’s a perfect moment. Soft, light…a scent in the air, the quiet murmur of the city. She breathes deeply. Life is simple and clear. A surge of love, an urge to help mankind comes over her…

The weather is getting warmer, it’s HOT hot. Dry and dusty.

Can you smell that? The air is filled with smoke and fire…

Farmers are burning the grasses to coax a bit of new growth.

The jacarandas are starting to bloom.

The president died.

“No! I don’t want to go to Mtendere!”

But I do want some of those gorgeous red tomatoes across the road.

Alas, there are no more avocados…

But look! The mango trees are starting to flower!

The price of gas is rising so quickly…

The taxis drivers are either ripping me off or are in the red.

Little girls squeal, big girls sing Alicia Keys.

That woman just scorned my sandals…admittedly, they are falling apart.

I’m parched.

The sky is so big and blue. It is like this everyday. It reminds me of home.

Sometimes, it seems that things change slowly…

I should cut my hair.

And yet, the times, they are a changing…

The mosquitoes are back…

And soon, so will the rains.

We’ll have a new president or prime minister, wherever we are.

Friends are leaving (farewell, Nina).

But babies are born…

Hilda’s girl is Nkomana (meaning happiness).

And families grow…

Tangson’s granddaughter is Sudha (named after Amma).

I will be leaving sorghum and Kalomo soon, but it’s hard to let go.

As I reflect on what Zambia is right now, I can’t help but think…

(pause)

(pause)

I can’t wait for those mangoes.

I will leave you here,

I should heat water for a bath now.

T :)

Who is responsible for "development?"

Big city living.

I haven’t been in Kalomo for the better part of the last couple months. I’ve been working from the head office in Zambia’s capital, Lusaka, on a variety of higher level activities – a mid-term assessment of the project, year planning, and a market research study.

While the hustle and bustle of the big city makes Lusaka one of my least favorite places in Zambia, I must admit that it does have a lot to offer. Lusaka is a (relatively) thriving metropolis that offers many luxuries that are simply not found in Kalomo – a wider variety of consumer products, fantastic restaurants, even a movie theater (where I was able to join in on the global frenzy that is Dark Knight!)

And it just so happened that my time in Lusaka coincided with what might very well be one of the city’s biggest events – the annual agriculture and commercial show.


The event is kind of like Zambia’s version of the Calgary Stampede (without as much debauchery…well, maybe a little). It’s a time when the government, the private sector, and civil society all come together to show off and share their work with each other and the general public. It’s a fun event, full of excitement and optimism.

A promising picture of development?

The theme of this year’s show was “Growth in Diversity”. Organizations from all across the development board proudly displayed the fruits of their labour – plenty of positive, feel good stories. It all sounded so great, if this were one’s first experience in Zambia, they would surely think, “Hey, this country is on the move!”

Perhaps that’s true. But I couldn’t help but feel uneasy about the disconnect between the positive stories and the realties I’ve seen on the ground, away from Lusaka, out in the villages surrounding Kalomo. Here are a few examples:

This fertilized and treadle pump irrigated garden looks like a dream compared to the tiny bucket fed plots the farmers in the village painstakingly tend to. With the price of fertilizer sky high and a chronic lack of water in the Southern Province, is this a realistic picture of development?

Since the lack of robust, locally suitable seed varieties is a major challenge for small scale farmers in Zambia, this stand boasting several sorghum seed varieties looked promising. But how many of these varieties will actually leave the research station and reach the farmers that need them?


There are lots of important messages in this poster…but would they make sense to a villager? To what kind of villager? My supervisor put it well when he said, “Not all villagers are farmers, and not all poor people can be business people.”

The realities in the field are so far removed from the spectacle of the trade show, the relatively wealthy urban centre of Lusaka, and even the 3rd floor of an NGO’s head office. Why the disconnect? Is there value in telling the feel-good story?

The proof is in the people.

So I’m not trying to be cynical. There is value in telling the feel-good stories. There is value in marketing positive pictures. What makes this acceptable, to me at least, are the amazing people behind the stories who are actually trying to make things happen.

I met a number of exceedingly competent and capable Zambians at the show, people who are genuinely excited about seeing and making “Growth in Diversity” happen. Of all the conversations I had, it was a chance meeting with one extraordinary woman that put a perma-smile on my somewhat skeptical face.

Nina and I went out of our way to check out Sylva Food Solutions because we had heard that, in addition to providing food services, they were working with small scale farmers to preserve traditional vegetables and other forest products using solar driers. I knew nothing more than this and entered the stand with curiosity.


I was impressed by the quality and variety of the dried products they were purveying. Wanting to learn more about the company, I picked up a pamphlet only to learn that this was no ordinary business venture. Sylva Food Solutions was started by a most entrepreneurial woman, one Mrs. Sylvia Banda. The extraordinary growth and success of her business had attracted the attention and recognition of the African Business Awards, which put her in the top 6 of all African business women!

“This is pretty cool,” I thought to myself as I looked up from the pamphlet to see none other than Mrs. Banda herself walking into the room. I had to talk to this lady! So I sidled up to her and stuck out my hand, “Mrs. Banda, if you have a moment, I’d love to hear your story.” Though she was likely one of the busiest people at the show, she took a great deal of time with Nina and me to explain her rise from humble beginnings.


The one of 7 daughters of a large village family, Mrs. Banda’s enterprising nature was evident from a very young age. At primary school, she sold fritters to her classmates. At secondary school she tailored outfits for girls attending school dances. At college, she cooked and sold traditional meals from her dorm. “I believe in my hands,” she told us. I believe in her hands too.

An unabashedly shrewd business woman, Mrs. Banda is a shining example of what entrepreneurialism really means, the different forms “development” can take, and the positive impact one individual can have (even if only driven by self-interest).

Down and out or on the up and up?

The development world is full of a lot of doom and gloom, cynicism and gravitas. Years and years of trying have led to very little movement forward. Zambia sits at number 165 (out of 177) on the Human Development Index, which puts it among the 22 least developed countries in the world, all of which can found in Africa.

What will it take to move forward? Who is responsible for it?

There are on-going debates that pit the merits of the public sector versus the private, the collective action of civil society versus the onus of the individual. The current development wave puts the burden on poor people themselves who, once “empowered”, will not only work their own way out of poverty but will build the nation while they’re at it.

I feel the debates skirt the crux of the matter…I’m of the belief that it will require the effort of good people doing good work everywhere in the system:

NGOs who will improve access to technologies, like treadle pumps, to those who both need and want them;

Governments who create pro-poor seed policies so that village farmers can demand and buy the seed they need; and,

Entrepreneurs, like Mrs. Banda, who not only make their own way in the world, but provide products and create jobs for many more.

One thing’s for sure, this ain’t gonna to be easy:

If there is a formula [for development], it is ten per cent foreign inspiration and 90 per cent domestic perspiration. – Michael Edwards, “Future Positive”

Needless to say, I left the show feeling much more energized than when I entered. I’d like to attribute my new found energy to those people whose perspiration I commend. But there’s an outside chance it was just a sugar rush!

Lots of love,

T :)

BTW, I've changed the comments settings (finally!) to allow people to comment without creating an account. So feel free to comment away!

You are what you share

Writer’s block.

Almost one year ago, I was packing my bags in Edmonton in preparation for this wild journey. I was getting ready for one month of intense but fun-tastic pre-departure training in Toronto, and I was in giddy anticipation of what was awaiting me in Zambia…

Now, one year later, I’ve been doing some serious reflection about the time that’s passed oh so quickly. My reflective head-space, and a timely (and lovely) visit with my parents, pulled me up – waaaaaay up – from the day-to-day of the project and allowed me to take a much needed look around (and a welcome breath of fresh Capetonian air!) It also, unfortunately, brought on a crippling case of writer’s block, hence my long silence. What was so crippling?

On safari (and hiatus) with Amma and Appa

There was just so much on my mind and so much in my heart that couldn’t possibly put into words. The increasingly somber tone of my posts worried me, as they both accurately described the internal challenges I was battling but inaccurately implied that I was no longer excited or having any fun.

During this time, I also read a book that introduced me to an idea that I suppose I’ve always intuited but never really put into practice. The idea – You are what you share. How very true. This blog was my attempt to share my experience in Zambia with my friends and family.

But I think I could have done better…my desire to fully immerse myself in Zambian life, my insecurity in writing and sharing with a wide audience, and not least of all, my lack of access to a speedy internet connection, all impeded my ability to share.

Sharing anyone??
(I wish I could’ve shared this
hand-shelled-roasted-pounded-whew
peanut butter with you!)

But since, as some of you know, I’ve decided to say on for another year, I’ve taken on a personal commitment to share more and share better. In doing this, I’m hoping to take advantage of all that Web 2.0 has to offer (internet allowing!) I’ve started by adding an RSS feed for my blog, including some social bookmarking links at the bottom of each post, and (gasp!) joining Facebook (feel free to ridicule me…but I still stand by all previous Facebook related sentiments!)

In the spirit of sharing (errr...self promotion?), here are links to a couple of articles I helped write:

Bright Ideas EWB-ISG Canada's e-newsletter May 2008:
The unpredictability of development

APEGGA's The PEGG June 2008:
EWB Builds Sorghum Crop in Zambia

As for this post, I will share some fun photos I should’ve shared a long ago.

Cooking with Ba George

I've mentioned my co-worker and friend George's mad story telling skillz in a previous post. Little did I know that he had some more mad skillz up his sleeve...

What follows is a play-by-play of an eventful morning I spent with George, as he shared with me his passion for cookery and horticulture.

George may seem like an everyday, ordinary Zambian guy...but George likes doing what no other Zambian guy likes doing...

George LOVES to cook!

After discovering this about George, I did what any other disbelieving person would do...I invited myself over for lunch. I needed evidence.

Worried that the program would be canceled due to a power outage, I tentatively entered George's yard only the find him already busy tending to some beans (my favorite!) on a charcoal stove.

He was NOT going to let me down.

George jumped up and immediately started with what I soon realized was a tutorial.

He started by deftly cutting a pumpkin into bite-size pieces, readied it for some solid steaming, then moved onto his personal favorite, kalembula (sweet potato leaves).

George says the key to preparing kalembula is to dry the leaves in the sun before frying them in a little bit of cooking oil.

"Zambian women have forgotten how to cook traditional meals," George explains, "They think cooking means cooking oil!"

"Most daughters just do what their mothers do, they add the tomatoes at the end. But I found that it makes the dish too watery, so I started adding them in the middle, so that the water boils off."

"Even after telling my wife this, she still doesn't know why my kalembula is better than hers!"

George's comments provide an insight to the strict norms that guide Zambia's food culture. People rarely stray from what's always been done, let alone experiment and innovate.

George, however, is far from normal.

When George was young, he spent hours toiling away in his uncle's garden. This was where he learned how to plant okra and beans, how to cultivate pumpkins and sweet potatoes, how to nurture tomatoes and onions.

He LOVES gardening.

"It requires dedication, passion, and ingenuity," he says as he shows off his most prized item...a young pumpkin with sprawling leaves that are often used in cooking.

George moved onto to the chicken next, which he had seasoned and left to dry in the sun before deep frying to perfection.

It soon became time to prepare the nshima, the thick porridge made of maize flour that is the core of every meal.

George showed me how to avoid making lumpy nshima. "This is important," he says, "to impressive the in-laws."Apparently lumpy nshima does not show well.

Before I knew it, it was time to eat the feast!

On the menu: Nshima with beans, kalembula, and fried chicken

For dessert: Steamed pumpkin and baked potato served with gooseberry jam

As we sat down to enjoy the fruits of George's labour, he told me how his aspiration is to own a restaurant, where he can serve traditional meals made with garden-fresh ingredients.

In his spare time, he wants to write. His dream is to see his stories, the ones I LOVE to hear, in print.

I think George is a rare individual, not just here in Zambia, but anywhere really. And I consider myself lucky to have him as one of my friends. He's living proof that you are what you share, for George will always be what he's shared with me - a dedicated gardener, a passionate chef, and a riveting story-teller.

T :)