A pixie named Leroy.
A friend of mine and I went on one of those post-high-school backpacking-around-Europe misadventures back in 2001. In Munich, we befriended a bunch of Irish folk who were squatting at the Big Tent hostel…which is exactly as its name suggests. After a night of campfire sing-a-longs and indulging in bevies as the Irish are wont to do, our new friend Connor claimed to have seen a pixie in the bushes. “I saw a pixie named Leroy,” he boasted, stating this without a hint of sarcasm but as a clear, conscious, and absolute truth.
A pixie named Leroy, eh?
Maybe it was the moonlight. Maybe it was the Irish. Maybe it was the Jager.
Or maybe…
I never did meet the pixie named Leroy. I often derided myself for not being able to suspend my disbelief…why is it that I allow myself to automatically deny the inexplicable? Have I completely lost my sense of imagination?
Last month, however, I saw something that reawakened my imagination. I saw a moonbow – yes, a moonbow – over the Victoria Falls during the last full moon. Lunar rainbows are a spectacular phenomenon to behold. All you need is a big waterfall. Check. A big moon. Check. And a big night sky. Check.
Viewing it with a few close friends certainly helps, as does an irreverent attitude towards getting drenched.
We ran through the spray of the Falls in darkness, chasing moonbows as if they were pixies, trying to touch them with our fingers and toes (one of us claimed to do so…she said it felt like crystals). We screamed at the top of our lungs, giddy from enchantment (but also ridiculously cold from the Fall’s spray). We marveled at the beautiful circle in the sky as its light fractured into a spectrum of colour, made sparkles of the billowing mist, and all the while, lifted our spirits.
“Why Bother?”
I must admit, I’ve had a pretty rough last couple of months. I lost a lot of my gusto. Pffft. Gone. A few of my previous posts have alluded to the frustrations I’ve been feeling with development work. My oh my is it hard. It tests your faith, faith being a word with laden meaning in these parts. My faith in the realization of a better world has certainly been tested. In fact, it was almost broken.
In low moments like that, one hesitantly allows the big question to creep in, “Why bother?” A recent article in the NY Times with that exact title articulated this feeling of hopelessness quite well. In the context of the ever-mounting environmental challenges our world is facing, the author observed this of Al Gore’s suggestion that we all change our light bulbs:
The immense disproportion between the magnitude of the problem Gore had described and the puniness of what he was asking us to do about it was enough to sink your heart.
Sink your heart indeed.
But that’s just in the first paragraph. The author goes on to provide a compelling argument as to why, exactly, we should bother. Now, I’m personally not one to be motivated by big, empty statements like, “Every little bit counts” and was worried the article would go down that same, worn, futile path. I’m also not one to respond positively to the militant shouts of activists that pass judgment on and make unreasonable demands of us lay folk. Thankfully, he did neither.
What I appreciated about his thesis, which is for us all to start gardening, is not the technical merits of the act itself – such as reducing your carbon footprint, saving money on food, reducing household waste through composting, or losing weight by exercising – but his emphasis on the “habits of mind” that come from a “solution that begets other solutions”.
At least in this one corner of your yard and life, you will have begun to heal the split between what you think and what you do, to commingle your identities as consumer and producer and citizen… The single greatest lesson the garden teaches is that our relationship to the planet need not be zero-sum, and that as long as the sun still shines and people still can plan and plant, think and do, we can, if we bother to try, find ways to provide for ourselves without diminishing the world.
When in doubt, go to the village.
Ndatebula mapopwe, ndagama inhombe, ndapanga garden…
(I harvested maize, I milked the cows, I made a garden…)
Ulapeja!
(You are lying!)
Nchobeni!
(Really!)
Coincidentally, (or perhaps not, as I tend to lead myself around in self-referential circles) I found myself in a garden shortly after reading this article.
I was down and out and in desperate need of a pick-me-up, and there’s no better place for that than in the village. In the village, you say? Yes, in the village.
Whyson, my co-worker, says that when outsiders see images of village life or drive through in roaring white land-cruisers, they say, “Oh, these people are suffering.” Yes, one cannot deny that there is a fair bit of suffering in rural Zambia. But what visitors fail to see, Whyson says, “is that these people are living.”
There are a lot of lessons to be learned in the village, many of which fall into those “habits of mind” the author described in the Times article. Waking when the sun rose, sweeping the ground, harvesting the maize crop, milking the cows (and making tea with it 5 minutes later), watering the garden, bicycling to see the relatives, greeting everyone we passed, heating water for a bath, and sleeping when the sun set.
I worked very hard alongside my hosts, trying my best to keep up and realizing all along that not only have my muscles atrophied from under-use but so has my mind. The abundant world in which I was raised has actually limited my ability to conceive of what is possible, of what my body is capable of, of the elegance in simplicity.
There is so much we can do.
At the end of the moonbow…
Romanticizing life in the village is clearly not going to move any of us any further ahead.
I didn’t fail to notice the queue at the doctor-less clinic; the bare foot children walking over 7 km to go to school; the piles of dead trees used for fuel; and, the fields and fields and fields of maize and sorghum destroyed by a season that saw a drought follow a flood.
I could’ve easily let these things turn my bad mood into a more worrisome cynicism, but luckily, my cathartic release at seeing a moonbow (!!) did much to heal my soul, assuage my doubts, and spark my imagination.
It allowed me to open my eyes to more than the obvious…to the amazing community network that has been built up around the clinic; the earnestness of the school children to get that oh so valuable education; the sparing and careful use of fire wood because of its high costs (time and energy to collect it); and, the delicateness that is our relationship with the earth.
Sometimes you have to act as if acting will make a difference, even when you can’t prove that it will.
I still don’t know if Connor really saw a pixie. I’m also not quite sure I can explain what kind of spell I was under when I felt what can only be described as Joy at Victoria Falls. But I do know that in all the complexities of this world, there is a lot of room for the inexplicable. And if I’m ok with that, I can also hope to one day discover a pot of good things at the end of the moonbow.
T :)
(Note: I purposefully omitted photos from this post to spark your imagination. "What does a moonbow look like?" That's the same as asking, "What does a better world look like?"...just close your eyes...)
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Friday, April 4, 2008
The Story of Muzya
At a loss for words.
There are plenty of words swimming around in my head. Important words…community, trust, cooperation, solidarity, respect, pride, love…and yet, I simply cannot find the words to tell this particular story.
So what follows is a simplified (and some may say romanticized) version of the story I want to tell.
It’s about the amazing community of Muzya.
Once upon a time…
Not so long ago, there was hunger in the Southern Province.
Another year, another drought.
There was no maize. When there’s no maize, there’s no food.
But when there’s no food, there’s always chiholehole – food aid.
Food aid is important. Food aid is necessary. Well…food aid is necessary sometimes.
Other times it destroys people. It destroys their ability, nay, their desire, to feed themselves.
Chronic drought begets chronic food aid...chronic food aid begets dependency, and dependency leaves people…wanting.
Farmers and observers.
In rural Zambia, you will find farmers, and you will find observers.
Farmers farm. Observers watch…and wait…and follow…slooooooowly.
In Muzya, you will only find farmers.
But the farmers in Muzya have not been spared from drought. They have suffered deeply.
And yet…
They have not let it – or the food aid that followed it – destroy them.
In Muzya, you find that rare blend…that elusive, intangible, yet unmistakable quality of a community that every development project dreams of working with…
Muzya has social capital.
What is social capital?
Dictionary definitions don’t seem to suffice with this one. Again, I can’t seem to find the words. But there are a lot of words. These are some of my favorites:
In Muzya, you find…
An authentic sense of cooperation.
A genuine desire to learn.
A genuine desire to make things better.
Friends and families and acquaintances working side by side…
For themselves and for each other.
And from all this, given the right conditions, you find…
SUCCESS
Why does this matter?
Many development projects are designed around the assumption that people can be banded together to cooperate towards ends that are seemingly beneficial to all.
They assume social capital can be institutionalized.
Taught. Learned. Forced. Imposed.
I’m not sure how much confidence I have in this assumption, for among all the communities we’re working in, Muzya is the only one I can safely say is succeeding.
And my hunch is that they’re succeeding because they came after us instead of us coming after them.
You see, Muzya was never meant to be part of this project.
They were never identified from our “assessments” as being a “strong” community group.
They came of out of nowhere, not only demanding our attention but proving themselves worthy of participation.
They grew sorghum and they even out grew our selected communities!
They demanded more sorghum seed. They said they were willing to buy it.
They demanded a contract with the sorghum buyer. They said they were able to meet the targets.
And in a year heavy rainfall, when all seems to be lost, where farmers all over the province are reporting significant crop failure, where even commercial farmers aren’t harvesting sorghum…
Muzya’s harvest will be plentiful.
How do you make or find more Muzya’s?
This is the hard part.
So many rural communities are suffering from not only drought, but also deep mistrust and jealousy and apathy.
Is it possible to just get everyone to play together?
Methinks not.
Or maybe we’re just not thinking about it in the best way. Maybe there is another way to meet the same end. Maybe we need to change the way things are done…or maybe we need to change the way we think about the way things are done.
This development business keeps throwing me curve balls. I’m fighting hard to stay in the game, but while I swing and miss, the practice will hopefully serve me well one day.
In the meantime, I will learn as much as I can from the people of Muzya. For they have the hard part figured out. Given the right opportunities, I’m sure they’ll hit them out of the park.
T :)
There are plenty of words swimming around in my head. Important words…community, trust, cooperation, solidarity, respect, pride, love…and yet, I simply cannot find the words to tell this particular story.
So what follows is a simplified (and some may say romanticized) version of the story I want to tell.
It’s about the amazing community of Muzya.
Once upon a time…
Not so long ago, there was hunger in the Southern Province.
Another year, another drought.
There was no maize. When there’s no maize, there’s no food.
But when there’s no food, there’s always chiholehole – food aid.
Food aid is important. Food aid is necessary. Well…food aid is necessary sometimes.
Other times it destroys people. It destroys their ability, nay, their desire, to feed themselves.
Chronic drought begets chronic food aid...chronic food aid begets dependency, and dependency leaves people…wanting.
Farmers and observers.
In rural Zambia, you will find farmers, and you will find observers.
Farmers farm. Observers watch…and wait…and follow…slooooooowly.
In Muzya, you will only find farmers.
But the farmers in Muzya have not been spared from drought. They have suffered deeply.
And yet…
They have not let it – or the food aid that followed it – destroy them.
In Muzya, you find that rare blend…that elusive, intangible, yet unmistakable quality of a community that every development project dreams of working with…
Muzya has social capital.
What is social capital?
Dictionary definitions don’t seem to suffice with this one. Again, I can’t seem to find the words. But there are a lot of words. These are some of my favorites:
In Muzya, you find…
An authentic sense of cooperation.
A genuine desire to learn.
A genuine desire to make things better.
Friends and families and acquaintances working side by side…
For themselves and for each other.
And from all this, given the right conditions, you find…
SUCCESS
Why does this matter?
Many development projects are designed around the assumption that people can be banded together to cooperate towards ends that are seemingly beneficial to all.
They assume social capital can be institutionalized.
Taught. Learned. Forced. Imposed.
I’m not sure how much confidence I have in this assumption, for among all the communities we’re working in, Muzya is the only one I can safely say is succeeding.
And my hunch is that they’re succeeding because they came after us instead of us coming after them.
You see, Muzya was never meant to be part of this project.
They were never identified from our “assessments” as being a “strong” community group.
They came of out of nowhere, not only demanding our attention but proving themselves worthy of participation.
They grew sorghum and they even out grew our selected communities!
They demanded more sorghum seed. They said they were willing to buy it.
They demanded a contract with the sorghum buyer. They said they were able to meet the targets.
And in a year heavy rainfall, when all seems to be lost, where farmers all over the province are reporting significant crop failure, where even commercial farmers aren’t harvesting sorghum…
Muzya’s harvest will be plentiful.
How do you make or find more Muzya’s?
This is the hard part.
So many rural communities are suffering from not only drought, but also deep mistrust and jealousy and apathy.
Is it possible to just get everyone to play together?
Methinks not.
Or maybe we’re just not thinking about it in the best way. Maybe there is another way to meet the same end. Maybe we need to change the way things are done…or maybe we need to change the way we think about the way things are done.
This development business keeps throwing me curve balls. I’m fighting hard to stay in the game, but while I swing and miss, the practice will hopefully serve me well one day.
In the meantime, I will learn as much as I can from the people of Muzya. For they have the hard part figured out. Given the right opportunities, I’m sure they’ll hit them out of the park.
T :)
Monday, March 3, 2008
An unabashed 10!
Sharing happiness (scores).
Despite the somber tone of the previous post, I can assure you that the fun wheel is still a’turnin’ for me in Zambia. Life here continues to make me smile on a daily basis. And the reason I’m still smiling (borderline dopey grinning!) is because of my deep appreciation of the things that are keeping me emotionally healthy and happy. When the project gets me down, it’s my home community that brings me back up.
Every quarter, all the EWB volunteers in Zambia and Malawi get together for retreats where we reconnect, share experiences, work on a number of exciting development challenges, and of course, have a ridiculous amount of fun. These retreats give us an opportunity to step back from the day-to-day of our placements and take a broader more objective look at our work and our lives. Last weekend, we met in Zambia, along the Lower Zambezi.
We begin each retreat with a round of updates: Each volunteer stands in front of the group and describes their current situation with respect to their 1) Project, 2) Partner Organization, 3) Home Life, 4) Impact, and 5) Overall Self. After describing them, we’re asked attach a happiness score (on a scale of 1 to 10) to each. Obviously there is no standard scale with which to measure “happiness”, but simply asking someone how happy something is making them is a surprisingly great way gauge it.
For the most part, volunteers are very happy. It’s rare to see happiness scores below 5, but it’s equally rare to see a happiness scores higher than an 8. When considering my own scores, I didn’t have to think twice about what I’d rate my Home Life. Without any hesitation, I threw down a big ole 10! This post is all about why I love my home life oh so much.
Life on a farm.
The advantages of living on a farm are many: the fresh air, the quiet serenity, the big family community feel, the simplicity. But one of the things people like most about living on a farm is that food is plentiful, if the season is favorable and you’re lucky, of course! And we’ve been pretty lucky (so far) this year (fingers crossed!)
We have a massive mango orchard here at the farm, planted back when white farmers ruled this roost. Mango season has ended (something I’m still mourning), but back when all the mangoes were just ripening on the branch, it became urgently apparent that we must raid the orchard. We ran amongst the trees and scrambled up their excessively climbable branches (is it possible that evolution has naturally selected for mango trees with excessively climbable branches?)
While one hand was throwing mangoes in a sack, the other was greedily feeding them straight off the tree and into my mouth. We gorged on what can only be described as succulent gifts from god. We couldn’t help ourselves. It was wonderful…until that night, of course, when our tum-tums suffered from the gluttony that was the raid. But it was worth it. Everyone needs to raid a mango orchard at least once in their lives. Mmmmm, I can’t wait for the oranges to be ready!
Me in a mango tree
We started harvesting fresh maize from the garden in early January. There are two ways to enjoy these hearty cobs – either roasting them or boiling them. And boil and roast we did! For the whole month, I would come home from work to find a cob (or four!) waiting for me. I came to enjoy chewing on these not for their yum factor (they are not as sweet or soft as corn on the cob back in Canada) but for the social factor.
We would huddle around an open fire, roasting the maize beside the hot coals, preparing tea in a pot on top, and laughing about something or other. This family loves to laugh. And to this day, my favorite moments at the farm happen under a clear star filled sky, beside a warm fire, as the lightening of distant storms flash all around us, and we sit, smiling and chewing.
Cob on the coals
About one hundred days after we planted them in mid November, the Irish potatoes are now ready to be harvested. There are piles of potatoes everywhere I turn in the house! We sell the big ones to the local market where they fetch a pretty penny. The rest are for the family, for home consumption. We have chips for breakfast, we have boiled potatoes for lunch, we even have potatoes with nshima and relish for supper.
I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so many potatoes on a daily basis, nor have I appreciated them as much. Potatoes are a treat for most Zambians, and I think this family’s potato gorge fest is driven by the fact that we’re incredibly lucky to have so many around.
Pile o' potatoes!
Nyarai cools one down
Friends I can count on (and laugh with!)
Sylvia is my closest friend here in Zambia. Unlike other friendships I’ve made here, ours is not one of convenience but one of substance. I can speak to her just as I would with any of my close friends in Canada. No filters. No tip-toeing. No holds bar. She is my sounding board, and I’ve become hers. It’s wonderful.
We also make fun of each other quite openly, which is the sign of any healthy friendship! I’ve recently felt free enough to ask her if there’s anything I do that the family thinks is completely ridiculous. I haven’t been able to pry any really good stuff out of her (she’s not a mean person), but apparently I have a strange laugh, so she says the family is often laughing at my laughing, not at my funny stories. Haha! I also tend to go, “Mmm hmm, mmm hmm” a lot when listening to someone speak. I never noticed this before, but the baby did and has fully adopted it in her repertoire of pre-speaking gibberish.
Sylvia would kill me if she knew I posted this one
“Simon!!” “Moto?” Simon, one of my host brothers, should be blamed for causing me to laugh so hard (and apparently strangely). Simon is a proper Zambian comedian. He’s always got a clever little smile on his face and something funny to say. Our love of laughter has made our friendship a fun one. But he’s also a sweetheart who helps me with my Tonga lessons (in exchange for help with his English lessons) and shares with me his precious cobs of roasted maize.
While riding our bicycles home to the farm one day, Simon decided to give me a Tonga name. He named me “Cholwe” (pronounced Jol-way). It means “lucky”. Many people have tried to give me a Tonga name while I’ve been here, but none of them stuck. That’s probably because they didn’t mean as much to me as Simon does.
From left to right: Peter, Sandra, Simon
(of course), Twaambo, and Benzu
At work, I’ve made an unlikely friendship with our office administrator George. George has become my official story teller. He tells me long, animated, and often hilarious stories all the time. He first started telling me about animals because he loves them so much. And each story begins with a fact.
“FACT: Dogs can smell in a 10km radius.”
“FACT: Hyenas can be domesticated like dogs.”
“FACT: Badgers will attack if provoked despite their inferior size.”
The stories have since become more elaborate and grand in scope but no less amusing.
“FACT: You can have all the qualities in the world, but if you don’t have etiquette, you can’t dine with the Queen.”
“FACT: Tailors, watch repair men, shoe repair men, and the bus stop boys cannot be trusted.”
I nearly die laughing during each of his stories, as I’m genuinely swept away in his wit and wild gesticulation. I’ve always been a sucker for the excessive use of onomatopoeia: “Kakakakakaka! Qua, qua, qua! Chweeeee! Chweeeee!”
The wonderfulness of Kalomo, in general.
Perhaps I’m looking at life through rose-coloured glasses, but I really do like the sleepy small town of Kalomo. There’s not much going on. It has no particular aesthetic appeal. It’s described by some as just being a big village. But I don’t know, there’s something here I just like.
Perhaps it’s the yummy whole wheat buns Mrs. Mainza makes just for me on special order, out of her home and at no charge. Whole wheat bread is hard to find in general and is non-existent in Kalomo. But I pick up whole wheat flour whenever I go to big towns like Livingstone or Lusaka. And she uses it to make me and my host family her famous “John Cena’s”, named so because they’re BIG.
Maybe it’s the Saturdays I spend at my friend Hilda’s place. She doesn’t have much to speak of in terms of material possessions, but she has the biggest, warmest heart, and a zest for life. I spend many a Saturday at her place, sitting under the shade of a tree and drinking her perfect cibwantu, a milky sort of drink made with ground maize. We are rarely alone as friends and family come by to visit. And we are rarely hungry, as Hilda and her sisters generously feed everyone that comes by.
Feast a Hilda’s - note my lumpily made
sorghum nshima on the far left
Or maybe it’s my recent discovery of a commercial farm just outside town that has a small cheese factory that makes gouda. Gouda! In Kalomo! It’s absurd. Zambians don’t really eat a lot of cheese, so it simply can’t be found. If I now see potatoes as a treat, you can only imagine what a treat cheese is…especially gourmet gouda! I procured a 2kg wheel of cheese for the EWB retreat so that my fellow muzungus could share in this most amazing of discoveries.
I guess all these things comprise the great community I’m a part of here. I don’t see community as simply being a group of people who happen to live in the same place. My personal definition of community is that it’s a group of people who live in the same place and are connected together in a particular point in time.
Community is something you can create for yourself if you make it a priority. But community changes as people flow in and out and as the place itself evolves. Therefore it’s not something to pine for (from the past) or hope for (in the future), it is something you must continuously cultivate and make sure to enjoy in this moment, as it will surely change in the next.
So maybe Kalomo isn't the land of milk and honey (gouda and John Cenas, maybe), but right now, it sure is good to me.
Thulasy :)
Despite the somber tone of the previous post, I can assure you that the fun wheel is still a’turnin’ for me in Zambia. Life here continues to make me smile on a daily basis. And the reason I’m still smiling (borderline dopey grinning!) is because of my deep appreciation of the things that are keeping me emotionally healthy and happy. When the project gets me down, it’s my home community that brings me back up.
Every quarter, all the EWB volunteers in Zambia and Malawi get together for retreats where we reconnect, share experiences, work on a number of exciting development challenges, and of course, have a ridiculous amount of fun. These retreats give us an opportunity to step back from the day-to-day of our placements and take a broader more objective look at our work and our lives. Last weekend, we met in Zambia, along the Lower Zambezi.
We begin each retreat with a round of updates: Each volunteer stands in front of the group and describes their current situation with respect to their 1) Project, 2) Partner Organization, 3) Home Life, 4) Impact, and 5) Overall Self. After describing them, we’re asked attach a happiness score (on a scale of 1 to 10) to each. Obviously there is no standard scale with which to measure “happiness”, but simply asking someone how happy something is making them is a surprisingly great way gauge it.
For the most part, volunteers are very happy. It’s rare to see happiness scores below 5, but it’s equally rare to see a happiness scores higher than an 8. When considering my own scores, I didn’t have to think twice about what I’d rate my Home Life. Without any hesitation, I threw down a big ole 10! This post is all about why I love my home life oh so much.
Life on a farm.
The advantages of living on a farm are many: the fresh air, the quiet serenity, the big family community feel, the simplicity. But one of the things people like most about living on a farm is that food is plentiful, if the season is favorable and you’re lucky, of course! And we’ve been pretty lucky (so far) this year (fingers crossed!)
We have a massive mango orchard here at the farm, planted back when white farmers ruled this roost. Mango season has ended (something I’m still mourning), but back when all the mangoes were just ripening on the branch, it became urgently apparent that we must raid the orchard. We ran amongst the trees and scrambled up their excessively climbable branches (is it possible that evolution has naturally selected for mango trees with excessively climbable branches?)
While one hand was throwing mangoes in a sack, the other was greedily feeding them straight off the tree and into my mouth. We gorged on what can only be described as succulent gifts from god. We couldn’t help ourselves. It was wonderful…until that night, of course, when our tum-tums suffered from the gluttony that was the raid. But it was worth it. Everyone needs to raid a mango orchard at least once in their lives. Mmmmm, I can’t wait for the oranges to be ready!
Me in a mango treeWe started harvesting fresh maize from the garden in early January. There are two ways to enjoy these hearty cobs – either roasting them or boiling them. And boil and roast we did! For the whole month, I would come home from work to find a cob (or four!) waiting for me. I came to enjoy chewing on these not for their yum factor (they are not as sweet or soft as corn on the cob back in Canada) but for the social factor.
We would huddle around an open fire, roasting the maize beside the hot coals, preparing tea in a pot on top, and laughing about something or other. This family loves to laugh. And to this day, my favorite moments at the farm happen under a clear star filled sky, beside a warm fire, as the lightening of distant storms flash all around us, and we sit, smiling and chewing.
Cob on the coalsAbout one hundred days after we planted them in mid November, the Irish potatoes are now ready to be harvested. There are piles of potatoes everywhere I turn in the house! We sell the big ones to the local market where they fetch a pretty penny. The rest are for the family, for home consumption. We have chips for breakfast, we have boiled potatoes for lunch, we even have potatoes with nshima and relish for supper.
I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so many potatoes on a daily basis, nor have I appreciated them as much. Potatoes are a treat for most Zambians, and I think this family’s potato gorge fest is driven by the fact that we’re incredibly lucky to have so many around.
Pile o' potatoes!
Nyarai cools one downFriends I can count on (and laugh with!)
Sylvia is my closest friend here in Zambia. Unlike other friendships I’ve made here, ours is not one of convenience but one of substance. I can speak to her just as I would with any of my close friends in Canada. No filters. No tip-toeing. No holds bar. She is my sounding board, and I’ve become hers. It’s wonderful.
We also make fun of each other quite openly, which is the sign of any healthy friendship! I’ve recently felt free enough to ask her if there’s anything I do that the family thinks is completely ridiculous. I haven’t been able to pry any really good stuff out of her (she’s not a mean person), but apparently I have a strange laugh, so she says the family is often laughing at my laughing, not at my funny stories. Haha! I also tend to go, “Mmm hmm, mmm hmm” a lot when listening to someone speak. I never noticed this before, but the baby did and has fully adopted it in her repertoire of pre-speaking gibberish.
Sylvia would kill me if she knew I posted this one“Simon!!” “Moto?” Simon, one of my host brothers, should be blamed for causing me to laugh so hard (and apparently strangely). Simon is a proper Zambian comedian. He’s always got a clever little smile on his face and something funny to say. Our love of laughter has made our friendship a fun one. But he’s also a sweetheart who helps me with my Tonga lessons (in exchange for help with his English lessons) and shares with me his precious cobs of roasted maize.
While riding our bicycles home to the farm one day, Simon decided to give me a Tonga name. He named me “Cholwe” (pronounced Jol-way). It means “lucky”. Many people have tried to give me a Tonga name while I’ve been here, but none of them stuck. That’s probably because they didn’t mean as much to me as Simon does.
From left to right: Peter, Sandra, Simon(of course), Twaambo, and Benzu
At work, I’ve made an unlikely friendship with our office administrator George. George has become my official story teller. He tells me long, animated, and often hilarious stories all the time. He first started telling me about animals because he loves them so much. And each story begins with a fact.
“FACT: Dogs can smell in a 10km radius.”
“FACT: Hyenas can be domesticated like dogs.”
“FACT: Badgers will attack if provoked despite their inferior size.”
The stories have since become more elaborate and grand in scope but no less amusing.
“FACT: You can have all the qualities in the world, but if you don’t have etiquette, you can’t dine with the Queen.”
“FACT: Tailors, watch repair men, shoe repair men, and the bus stop boys cannot be trusted.”
I nearly die laughing during each of his stories, as I’m genuinely swept away in his wit and wild gesticulation. I’ve always been a sucker for the excessive use of onomatopoeia: “Kakakakakaka! Qua, qua, qua! Chweeeee! Chweeeee!”
The wonderfulness of Kalomo, in general.
Perhaps I’m looking at life through rose-coloured glasses, but I really do like the sleepy small town of Kalomo. There’s not much going on. It has no particular aesthetic appeal. It’s described by some as just being a big village. But I don’t know, there’s something here I just like.
Perhaps it’s the yummy whole wheat buns Mrs. Mainza makes just for me on special order, out of her home and at no charge. Whole wheat bread is hard to find in general and is non-existent in Kalomo. But I pick up whole wheat flour whenever I go to big towns like Livingstone or Lusaka. And she uses it to make me and my host family her famous “John Cena’s”, named so because they’re BIG.
Maybe it’s the Saturdays I spend at my friend Hilda’s place. She doesn’t have much to speak of in terms of material possessions, but she has the biggest, warmest heart, and a zest for life. I spend many a Saturday at her place, sitting under the shade of a tree and drinking her perfect cibwantu, a milky sort of drink made with ground maize. We are rarely alone as friends and family come by to visit. And we are rarely hungry, as Hilda and her sisters generously feed everyone that comes by.
Feast a Hilda’s - note my lumpily madesorghum nshima on the far left
Or maybe it’s my recent discovery of a commercial farm just outside town that has a small cheese factory that makes gouda. Gouda! In Kalomo! It’s absurd. Zambians don’t really eat a lot of cheese, so it simply can’t be found. If I now see potatoes as a treat, you can only imagine what a treat cheese is…especially gourmet gouda! I procured a 2kg wheel of cheese for the EWB retreat so that my fellow muzungus could share in this most amazing of discoveries.
I guess all these things comprise the great community I’m a part of here. I don’t see community as simply being a group of people who happen to live in the same place. My personal definition of community is that it’s a group of people who live in the same place and are connected together in a particular point in time.
Community is something you can create for yourself if you make it a priority. But community changes as people flow in and out and as the place itself evolves. Therefore it’s not something to pine for (from the past) or hope for (in the future), it is something you must continuously cultivate and make sure to enjoy in this moment, as it will surely change in the next.
So maybe Kalomo isn't the land of milk and honey (gouda and John Cenas, maybe), but right now, it sure is good to me.
Thulasy :)
Friday, February 1, 2008
: ( --> : )
05:45
I woke just as the sun was rising, groggy from the previous day’s 2 hour ride on the back of a transport truck piled with maize, fertilizer, and people. It was a rough ride, but I made it: I was in Sipatunyana, in the home of Tangson Sialanga, 45 km away from Kalomo town.
I walked outside and found his 2 wives sweeping the ground between the village huts. I offered to help – they giggled – I insisted – and they gave in. It was the least I could do. They were going to host me for the weekend, as Tangson, a contact farmer for the sorghum project, and I were going to venture deep into the village to find us some sorghum.
In the village
My unwavering optimism is being tested.
The last few weeks have been frustrating. The rainy season has made it incredibly difficult to get into the field and see how sorghum is doing with the unusually heavy rainfall we’ve been receiving. There have been reports of widespread flooding in neighbouring districts. The power keeps going in and out. And my excitement about the project waxes and wanes, which is healthy, I think…but is nevertheless de-motivating in the lulls.
I have many frustrations. I fear that sorghum won’t demonstrate itself because of the heavy rainfall…that the cooperatives won’t meet their contracts…that we’re holding on too tightly… that the project is not going to be sustainable (when do we let go of the bicycle seat?)
My fears notwithstanding, I was hopeful as the project team was riled up to do some innovative things – to try some crazy ideas! But our hands are ever tied by donor conditions. “Failure” is not allowed in development, not by the standards for “success” that are set by donors. Ironically, it is the process of taking risks, failing, and eventually succeeding that ensures sustainability. This seems to be lost on most donors…or maybe it’s just politics.
In any case, I feel that by not taking risks, the project is doomed to fail. Is this the fate of every development project – you get to a point where you say, “Does this really mean anything?”
09:00
The skies were ambiguous. It was either going to pour all day, or we were going to get sporadic showers interspersed with sunshine. It was hard to say. Regardless, we had a program. After stuffing our guts with maize porridge made with busika, a bitter wild fruit, Tangson and I set off on bicycles to visit our sorghum farmers.
Things got off to a dismal start. Farmers had planted half their sorghum seed around mid December as a test to see if it would weather the heavy rains. And while germination was great, their young plants were, as they feared, hammered by rain. Sandy soils were leached of nutrients. The plants turned yellow and are stunted. Farmers gave up and plowed their first lot back in and planted their remaining seed.
Gulp. 50% loss. I was not encouraged.
Mvula ipati, mapenzi mapati
The real drivers of development.
If you worked for an international NGO, and I told you I could find people with over 15 years of experience in development work and various agricultural activities, an intimate understanding of the local context, an energetic and pragmatic attitude towards their work, and a natural and genuine leadership style, you’d probably want me to hire them ASAP. And you’d likely give them a sizeable salary for their efforts too.
But what if I told you that they only have a grade 7 education? That they probably live in the same conditions as that of the intended beneficiaries? That they have likely been on the receiving end of aid more often than not?
Tangson with, I kid you not, Gender and Focus
“In the world of international development, too much is being asked of civil society; pausing only to do the washing up on their way to their fourth meeting of the week, poor people (which usually means women) are now expected to organize social services, govern their communities, evaluate projects, solve the unemployment problems, and save the environment. But most poor people are too busy making a living to do these things and most of the time others are too lazy.” – Michael Edwards, Future Positive
These people can be found in every village you visit. As Edwards’ quote suggests, it’s often the same people, those leaders who tend to emerge naturally, who take on the responsibility of driving development projects on the ground. Whether they do it out of genuine altruism or a sense of obligation or for the power and status is beside the point. The point is that they do it, and they do it for free. How can I expect them to work so hard for something that I’m not even certain will work?
14:30
Tangson and I covered A LOT of ground that morning. He wanted to show me a selection of fields from all over the vast village. But we only managed to see 2 (!) farmers before 14:30.
Waiting out the rain
The wives of Edward, the second farmer, kindly offered us some hot maize porridge with pumpkin before we left. I, weary and drenched, was happy to receive the piping hot bowl of pumpkiny yum. Having “filled up with diesel”, as Tangson said, we headed off to our next farmer.
It wasn’t until we left Edward’s that I realized how profound his family’s gesture was – it is hunger season in the Kalomo District. CARE was here last weekend distributing food aid to the community’s most vulnerable households. And in a time of scarcity, I was generously offered some of the little that they had. Now that’s hospitality.
On change, learning, and persistence.
Change – Yes, I am idealistic, and yes, I’m borderline insolent about it. I believe change is possible. However, as I venture further into a world that is full of uncertainty, I can see that change isn’t easy. But even though creating change takes time, things are changing all the time. In that, there is a great deal of hope.
“Our growing expectation and aspiration for change is itself the engine of change. ‘Development’ is nothing if not change.” – Eric Dudley
Learning – So, I must continue to learn. Learning is the only way out of this mess. Learning is all we can and thus must do. We can’t always be sure that what we’re doing will be “successful” or “right”, but we can be sure that we’ll learn from what happens and move on.
“If we are to have any hope of success we require an approach of constructive humility.” – Dudley
Persistence – And while we must believe that change is possible and learn from all our attempts to create it, we must never stop trying…
“Progress is not achieved by those who wring their hands with worried uncertainty and yet we have every reason to believe that we should be uncertain. The greatest leaders, whether in politics, the military, business, or science, are those who manage the paradox of confident action tempered by profound doubt.” - Dudley
…21:47
From Edward’s, we rode on to Kennedy Meleki’s place. He is a contact farmer responsible for 40 farmers who are scattered over a very large area. His field and that of his brother’s, Richard, were very promising. Healthy, knee high sorghum! I smiled and said, “Maila mabotu! (nice sorghum!) Ah, Kennedy, you’ve made me very happy today.”
Richard's sorghum!
But he said he could show me more, if I was up for a ride that would take us even deeper into the bush. I looked at Tangson and the answer was obvious, “Tiye! Let’s go!”
I had thought the previous few hours of riding was rough, but this was getting ridiculous. We pushed our bikes barefoot through mud, waded through streams, climbed up rocky hills, and veered down barely-there paths. A motorcycle or 4 wheel drive wouldn’t have taken us to where we were going. But I was enjoying it…I was getting my mountain biking fix, albeit on a one-speed, no-brakes, pedal-less farmer bicycle. Needless to say, the downhill bits were particularly terrifying :)
We waded through numerous streams
We rode through uninhabited bush for an hour and a half before finding what I had hoped to see all day…a field full of sorghum that was taller than me! The three of us were giddy with excitement, our persistence had paid off.
Yay!!
This particular family has grown sorghum before, but they were also lucky enough to have fertile, stony soils on a field that sloped, thereby minimizing the leaching and erosive effects of the heavy rainfall. From what I saw, they are going to have a bountiful sorghum harvest.
To put a cherry on top of what had become a great day, the skies cleared as we walked down to see the Kalomo River. We had rode very far today, but we weren’t tired at all, we were all grinning from ear to ear.
Mulonga Kalomo
The family wouldn’t let us leave without eating, so we “ate like soldiers”, filling our tanks with nshima, vegetables, and what I like to call village lattes, hot, sweet tea made with fresh milk. The sun was setting as we said goodbye, knowing that we had a good 2 hour journey in the dark ahead of us.
But I wasn’t too concerned. I didn’t even feel the ache in my muscles or the cuts on my feet. I could barely see Tangson’s white shirt in front of me, as the night was lit only by the fire flies that flickered around us (and the distant beacon of a Cel-Tel tower that marked our three-quarters of the way home point).
I think I was smiling the whole way. Though my frustrations about the project still stand, they’ve been tempered by my sense of hope. Yes, some of the farmers won’t harvest a lot of sorghum, but some of them will. The cooperatives can still meet their targets. There are people like Tangson and Kennedy who want to see it succeed. So this thing we’re trying to do…there’s a chance it just might work after all.
T :)
I woke just as the sun was rising, groggy from the previous day’s 2 hour ride on the back of a transport truck piled with maize, fertilizer, and people. It was a rough ride, but I made it: I was in Sipatunyana, in the home of Tangson Sialanga, 45 km away from Kalomo town.
I walked outside and found his 2 wives sweeping the ground between the village huts. I offered to help – they giggled – I insisted – and they gave in. It was the least I could do. They were going to host me for the weekend, as Tangson, a contact farmer for the sorghum project, and I were going to venture deep into the village to find us some sorghum.
In the villageMy unwavering optimism is being tested.
The last few weeks have been frustrating. The rainy season has made it incredibly difficult to get into the field and see how sorghum is doing with the unusually heavy rainfall we’ve been receiving. There have been reports of widespread flooding in neighbouring districts. The power keeps going in and out. And my excitement about the project waxes and wanes, which is healthy, I think…but is nevertheless de-motivating in the lulls.
I have many frustrations. I fear that sorghum won’t demonstrate itself because of the heavy rainfall…that the cooperatives won’t meet their contracts…that we’re holding on too tightly… that the project is not going to be sustainable (when do we let go of the bicycle seat?)
My fears notwithstanding, I was hopeful as the project team was riled up to do some innovative things – to try some crazy ideas! But our hands are ever tied by donor conditions. “Failure” is not allowed in development, not by the standards for “success” that are set by donors. Ironically, it is the process of taking risks, failing, and eventually succeeding that ensures sustainability. This seems to be lost on most donors…or maybe it’s just politics.
In any case, I feel that by not taking risks, the project is doomed to fail. Is this the fate of every development project – you get to a point where you say, “Does this really mean anything?”
09:00
The skies were ambiguous. It was either going to pour all day, or we were going to get sporadic showers interspersed with sunshine. It was hard to say. Regardless, we had a program. After stuffing our guts with maize porridge made with busika, a bitter wild fruit, Tangson and I set off on bicycles to visit our sorghum farmers.
Things got off to a dismal start. Farmers had planted half their sorghum seed around mid December as a test to see if it would weather the heavy rains. And while germination was great, their young plants were, as they feared, hammered by rain. Sandy soils were leached of nutrients. The plants turned yellow and are stunted. Farmers gave up and plowed their first lot back in and planted their remaining seed.
Gulp. 50% loss. I was not encouraged.
Mvula ipati, mapenzi mapati…roughly translated, mo’ rain-y, mo’ problems
The real drivers of development.
If you worked for an international NGO, and I told you I could find people with over 15 years of experience in development work and various agricultural activities, an intimate understanding of the local context, an energetic and pragmatic attitude towards their work, and a natural and genuine leadership style, you’d probably want me to hire them ASAP. And you’d likely give them a sizeable salary for their efforts too.
But what if I told you that they only have a grade 7 education? That they probably live in the same conditions as that of the intended beneficiaries? That they have likely been on the receiving end of aid more often than not?
Tangson with, I kid you not, Gender and Focus“In the world of international development, too much is being asked of civil society; pausing only to do the washing up on their way to their fourth meeting of the week, poor people (which usually means women) are now expected to organize social services, govern their communities, evaluate projects, solve the unemployment problems, and save the environment. But most poor people are too busy making a living to do these things and most of the time others are too lazy.” – Michael Edwards, Future Positive
These people can be found in every village you visit. As Edwards’ quote suggests, it’s often the same people, those leaders who tend to emerge naturally, who take on the responsibility of driving development projects on the ground. Whether they do it out of genuine altruism or a sense of obligation or for the power and status is beside the point. The point is that they do it, and they do it for free. How can I expect them to work so hard for something that I’m not even certain will work?
14:30
Tangson and I covered A LOT of ground that morning. He wanted to show me a selection of fields from all over the vast village. But we only managed to see 2 (!) farmers before 14:30.
Waiting out the rainThe wives of Edward, the second farmer, kindly offered us some hot maize porridge with pumpkin before we left. I, weary and drenched, was happy to receive the piping hot bowl of pumpkiny yum. Having “filled up with diesel”, as Tangson said, we headed off to our next farmer.
It wasn’t until we left Edward’s that I realized how profound his family’s gesture was – it is hunger season in the Kalomo District. CARE was here last weekend distributing food aid to the community’s most vulnerable households. And in a time of scarcity, I was generously offered some of the little that they had. Now that’s hospitality.
On change, learning, and persistence.
Change – Yes, I am idealistic, and yes, I’m borderline insolent about it. I believe change is possible. However, as I venture further into a world that is full of uncertainty, I can see that change isn’t easy. But even though creating change takes time, things are changing all the time. In that, there is a great deal of hope.
“Our growing expectation and aspiration for change is itself the engine of change. ‘Development’ is nothing if not change.” – Eric Dudley
Learning – So, I must continue to learn. Learning is the only way out of this mess. Learning is all we can and thus must do. We can’t always be sure that what we’re doing will be “successful” or “right”, but we can be sure that we’ll learn from what happens and move on.
“If we are to have any hope of success we require an approach of constructive humility.” – Dudley
Persistence – And while we must believe that change is possible and learn from all our attempts to create it, we must never stop trying…
“Progress is not achieved by those who wring their hands with worried uncertainty and yet we have every reason to believe that we should be uncertain. The greatest leaders, whether in politics, the military, business, or science, are those who manage the paradox of confident action tempered by profound doubt.” - Dudley
…21:47
From Edward’s, we rode on to Kennedy Meleki’s place. He is a contact farmer responsible for 40 farmers who are scattered over a very large area. His field and that of his brother’s, Richard, were very promising. Healthy, knee high sorghum! I smiled and said, “Maila mabotu! (nice sorghum!) Ah, Kennedy, you’ve made me very happy today.”
Richard's sorghum!But he said he could show me more, if I was up for a ride that would take us even deeper into the bush. I looked at Tangson and the answer was obvious, “Tiye! Let’s go!”
I had thought the previous few hours of riding was rough, but this was getting ridiculous. We pushed our bikes barefoot through mud, waded through streams, climbed up rocky hills, and veered down barely-there paths. A motorcycle or 4 wheel drive wouldn’t have taken us to where we were going. But I was enjoying it…I was getting my mountain biking fix, albeit on a one-speed, no-brakes, pedal-less farmer bicycle. Needless to say, the downhill bits were particularly terrifying :)
We waded through numerous streamsWe rode through uninhabited bush for an hour and a half before finding what I had hoped to see all day…a field full of sorghum that was taller than me! The three of us were giddy with excitement, our persistence had paid off.
Yay!!To put a cherry on top of what had become a great day, the skies cleared as we walked down to see the Kalomo River. We had rode very far today, but we weren’t tired at all, we were all grinning from ear to ear.
Mulonga KalomoBut I wasn’t too concerned. I didn’t even feel the ache in my muscles or the cuts on my feet. I could barely see Tangson’s white shirt in front of me, as the night was lit only by the fire flies that flickered around us (and the distant beacon of a Cel-Tel tower that marked our three-quarters of the way home point).
I think I was smiling the whole way. Though my frustrations about the project still stand, they’ve been tempered by my sense of hope. Yes, some of the farmers won’t harvest a lot of sorghum, but some of them will. The cooperatives can still meet their targets. There are people like Tangson and Kennedy who want to see it succeed. So this thing we’re trying to do…there’s a chance it just might work after all.
T :)
Friday, January 4, 2008
What I learned in Zanzibar of all places
Christmas in Kalomo
I must admit, I felt a bit guilty about taking a vacation over the Christmas break. It didn’t feel a whole lot like Christmas here, and most Zambians don’t do anything very special around this time anyways – refer to my travel buddy Ka-Hay’s excellent blog post about this (I was lucky enough to see this Zambian Santa in the flesh!) It’s not that people don’t want to do anything special or go anywhere special, it’s that they simply cannot afford to do so.
I had wanted to spend some quality Christmas fun-time with my host family before I went on my trip. But try as I might to tactfully probe about the family’s plans for Christmas, I was met with ambivalent responses. And I can see why. Having something as simple as a nice Christmas meal is an extreme luxury that this family of 15+ doesn’t have the means for. Feeling that the holiday season was going to pass unnoticed but wanting to do something special, I decided to throw a party for the family. I enlisted the help of my host sisters to organize a meal of their choice, and all it took was $50 to feed the family to the gills!
No nshima tonight: Fried chicken, macaroni,
boiled potatoes, coleslaw, scones, popcorn, and pop...
mmm, mmm, carb-a-licious!
After the meal, I surprised them all with a gift courtesy of my parents in Canada: some printed photographs I had taken of the farm, a box of Belgian chocolates, calendars with scenes from Canada, and loads of Canada flag pins and tattoos. The gift from my parents was a REAL treat for my family, so on behalf of all of them, thank you Amma and Appa for your thoughtfulness.
It was a great surprise!
We had a great time eating, laughing, dancing…mostly laughing at me dancing. I am incredibly grateful to this family for taking me in and making me feel at home. So I couldn’t help but feel bad that I would be heading off to Zanzibar the next day, a place many of them will never get the chance to visit. I was also worried that an indulgent vacation would snap me out of a reality I’ve been working so hard to try and understand.
I know, I know, I can’t let the guilt get to me. Guilt of that kind will only paralyze me and undermine the work I’m trying to do here. And while I’m here to learn and understand, I believe there is opportunity to do just that almost anywhere. So I bid farewell to my host family and headed off to Zanzibar in search of some sand, sun, and revelations!
The magicalness of Zanzibar
We started our journey to the magical and mysterious island of Zanzibar quite fittingly on the train from Zambia to Dar es Salaam. That train ride was…sigh…wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I don’t think I can fully articulate how amazingly wonderful it was. So here are some pics that unfortunately don’t do it justice.
Note: I failed to photograph the unicorns I saw, but I can assure you that there were many ;)
I hadn’t done a lot of research on Zanzibar before I left but was more than happy to explore it with no expectations. Situated off the coast of Tanzania, it is a beautiful island filled with the influences of its African, Arab, and Asian neighbours. Although it is a haven for tourists from around the world, it has preserved its old world charm, and I immediately fell in love.
Beaches smeaches, it’s all about the people.
After exploring Stone Town for a couple days, we headed to the amazing beaches of the North Coast for some serious relaxing (like we weren’t doing enough of that already…did I mention how wonderful the train was??) The blindingly white beaches and pristine turquoise waters did not disappoint. But surprisingly, that’s not what made this trip so memorable.
I'm not trying to make you all jealous...really
As the blazing sun started to set one night, we started up an impromptu volleyball game on the beach. Within no time, we had attracted a motley crew of tourists, locals, and children to join what became a competitive tourney for the coveted King’s Court. There’s nothing like a little sport to bring people together.
After the game and a well deserved shower (to get the sand out of my ears), we joined our fellow teammates for some drinks on the beach. This was not your ordinary group of tourists. These people hailed from all over the world, but they are all working in Africa on development and relief in some capacity or another…humanitarian work in Darfur, education in Tanzania and South Africa, with the UN in Liberia…
…‘the humanitarian international, a trans-national elite of relief workers, civil servants, academics and others’ which has grown to be a powerful and controversial force in defining approaches to emergency intervention
– Alex de Waal quoted in Michael Edwards’ “Future Positive”
Others that don’t necessarily fit with the above definition but are no less important in describing the global influences in Africa are those that work in the private sector for multinational corporations and the like. These people are quickly realizing that Africa’s market potential should not be underestimated.
Ask anyone where they were from and what they do and you’d invariably get a response that starts with, “Well, it’s a little complicated…” Born in one place, raised in another, and working all over, these people are multicultural and multilingual, intelligent and experienced, thoughtful and convention-defying. Unfortunately, development workers, particularly ex-pats, don’t have the best of reputations over here (hence the ‘controversial’ part of de Waal’s quote), but these people didn’t fit the stereotype.
Our conversations were spirited and diverse, covering topics including development, economics, politics, conflict, culture, and human behaviour. What blew me away about these people were not their breadth and depth of experience (which was, of course, impressive) but their insightful and compassionate musings about the world in which they work...or I should say “we” work. They are thinking about “what’s possible”, as Ka-Hay likes to put it, instead of what’s impossible. Optimistic and earnest, these people gave me a snap-shot into a global community that is thinking about the world in a new and exciting way.
The stories they shared highlighted two very important things to me:
1) I have A LOT to learn. Being here only 5 months so far makes me a relative newby who has only scratched the surface of development work. It seems my understanding of international development deepens exponentially with each day that I am here. While this is all well and good, my goal now is to focus and formalize this learning from feeling into critical thinking.
2) Although I have a lot to learn, I have an incredible opportunity to learn perhaps some of the most important things from where I’m currently positioned with EWB and CARE – field realities. Staying connected to these realities is so very important. What’s really happening on the ground? What incentives really drive people to “develop”? Why is “development” really not working? These are the questions I ask myself all the time.
And so, the learning curve continues on…onwards and upwards.
What a vacation should be.
Any glorious beach vacation leaves people feeling well rested and relaxed. But this one has left me completely reinvigorated, ready to get back into field, talk to farmers, ask my burning questions, and test my development hypotheses. And it’s taken me full circle as I’m also very excited to get back to my host family. It seems within the last month or so that I’ve been welcomed even further into the family than I was before – I thought I was in, but now I’m really in. And that feels great. The guilt is gone, and I’m looking forward to getting to know them even better and allowing them to get to know me.
Driving this sense of reinvigoration is the encouraging knowledge that there are people the world over thinking about big ideas and acting to create big change. And I’m not just talking about the folks I met in Zanzibar, I include all of you in this group of people – your thoughtful and heartfelt responses to my blog posts and emails inspire me to write more and push me to think harder. I never ever get the sense that I’m in this alone, and I’d like to thank all of you for that.
I can’t believe it is January, a point that kept dawning on me on my long non-train-ugly-bus-misadventure back to Zambia. But the 30+ hour journey back did nothing to diminish my energy, I’m gung-ho ready and pumped to rock out the new year, and I hope you all are too!
Thulasy :)
PS: Credit should be given to Ka-Hay and her mad photography skills for the beautiful pics!
I must admit, I felt a bit guilty about taking a vacation over the Christmas break. It didn’t feel a whole lot like Christmas here, and most Zambians don’t do anything very special around this time anyways – refer to my travel buddy Ka-Hay’s excellent blog post about this (I was lucky enough to see this Zambian Santa in the flesh!) It’s not that people don’t want to do anything special or go anywhere special, it’s that they simply cannot afford to do so.
I had wanted to spend some quality Christmas fun-time with my host family before I went on my trip. But try as I might to tactfully probe about the family’s plans for Christmas, I was met with ambivalent responses. And I can see why. Having something as simple as a nice Christmas meal is an extreme luxury that this family of 15+ doesn’t have the means for. Feeling that the holiday season was going to pass unnoticed but wanting to do something special, I decided to throw a party for the family. I enlisted the help of my host sisters to organize a meal of their choice, and all it took was $50 to feed the family to the gills!
No nshima tonight: Fried chicken, macaroni,boiled potatoes, coleslaw, scones, popcorn, and pop...
mmm, mmm, carb-a-licious!
After the meal, I surprised them all with a gift courtesy of my parents in Canada: some printed photographs I had taken of the farm, a box of Belgian chocolates, calendars with scenes from Canada, and loads of Canada flag pins and tattoos. The gift from my parents was a REAL treat for my family, so on behalf of all of them, thank you Amma and Appa for your thoughtfulness.
It was a great surprise!We had a great time eating, laughing, dancing…mostly laughing at me dancing. I am incredibly grateful to this family for taking me in and making me feel at home. So I couldn’t help but feel bad that I would be heading off to Zanzibar the next day, a place many of them will never get the chance to visit. I was also worried that an indulgent vacation would snap me out of a reality I’ve been working so hard to try and understand.
I know, I know, I can’t let the guilt get to me. Guilt of that kind will only paralyze me and undermine the work I’m trying to do here. And while I’m here to learn and understand, I believe there is opportunity to do just that almost anywhere. So I bid farewell to my host family and headed off to Zanzibar in search of some sand, sun, and revelations!
The magicalness of Zanzibar
We started our journey to the magical and mysterious island of Zanzibar quite fittingly on the train from Zambia to Dar es Salaam. That train ride was…sigh…wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I don’t think I can fully articulate how amazingly wonderful it was. So here are some pics that unfortunately don’t do it justice.
Note: I failed to photograph the unicorns I saw, but I can assure you that there were many ;)
I hadn’t done a lot of research on Zanzibar before I left but was more than happy to explore it with no expectations. Situated off the coast of Tanzania, it is a beautiful island filled with the influences of its African, Arab, and Asian neighbours. Although it is a haven for tourists from around the world, it has preserved its old world charm, and I immediately fell in love.
Beaches smeaches, it’s all about the people.
After exploring Stone Town for a couple days, we headed to the amazing beaches of the North Coast for some serious relaxing (like we weren’t doing enough of that already…did I mention how wonderful the train was??) The blindingly white beaches and pristine turquoise waters did not disappoint. But surprisingly, that’s not what made this trip so memorable.
I'm not trying to make you all jealous...reallyAs the blazing sun started to set one night, we started up an impromptu volleyball game on the beach. Within no time, we had attracted a motley crew of tourists, locals, and children to join what became a competitive tourney for the coveted King’s Court. There’s nothing like a little sport to bring people together.
After the game and a well deserved shower (to get the sand out of my ears), we joined our fellow teammates for some drinks on the beach. This was not your ordinary group of tourists. These people hailed from all over the world, but they are all working in Africa on development and relief in some capacity or another…humanitarian work in Darfur, education in Tanzania and South Africa, with the UN in Liberia…
…‘the humanitarian international, a trans-national elite of relief workers, civil servants, academics and others’ which has grown to be a powerful and controversial force in defining approaches to emergency intervention
– Alex de Waal quoted in Michael Edwards’ “Future Positive”
Others that don’t necessarily fit with the above definition but are no less important in describing the global influences in Africa are those that work in the private sector for multinational corporations and the like. These people are quickly realizing that Africa’s market potential should not be underestimated.
Ask anyone where they were from and what they do and you’d invariably get a response that starts with, “Well, it’s a little complicated…” Born in one place, raised in another, and working all over, these people are multicultural and multilingual, intelligent and experienced, thoughtful and convention-defying. Unfortunately, development workers, particularly ex-pats, don’t have the best of reputations over here (hence the ‘controversial’ part of de Waal’s quote), but these people didn’t fit the stereotype.
Our conversations were spirited and diverse, covering topics including development, economics, politics, conflict, culture, and human behaviour. What blew me away about these people were not their breadth and depth of experience (which was, of course, impressive) but their insightful and compassionate musings about the world in which they work...or I should say “we” work. They are thinking about “what’s possible”, as Ka-Hay likes to put it, instead of what’s impossible. Optimistic and earnest, these people gave me a snap-shot into a global community that is thinking about the world in a new and exciting way.
The stories they shared highlighted two very important things to me:
1) I have A LOT to learn. Being here only 5 months so far makes me a relative newby who has only scratched the surface of development work. It seems my understanding of international development deepens exponentially with each day that I am here. While this is all well and good, my goal now is to focus and formalize this learning from feeling into critical thinking.
2) Although I have a lot to learn, I have an incredible opportunity to learn perhaps some of the most important things from where I’m currently positioned with EWB and CARE – field realities. Staying connected to these realities is so very important. What’s really happening on the ground? What incentives really drive people to “develop”? Why is “development” really not working? These are the questions I ask myself all the time.
And so, the learning curve continues on…onwards and upwards.
What a vacation should be.
Any glorious beach vacation leaves people feeling well rested and relaxed. But this one has left me completely reinvigorated, ready to get back into field, talk to farmers, ask my burning questions, and test my development hypotheses. And it’s taken me full circle as I’m also very excited to get back to my host family. It seems within the last month or so that I’ve been welcomed even further into the family than I was before – I thought I was in, but now I’m really in. And that feels great. The guilt is gone, and I’m looking forward to getting to know them even better and allowing them to get to know me.
Driving this sense of reinvigoration is the encouraging knowledge that there are people the world over thinking about big ideas and acting to create big change. And I’m not just talking about the folks I met in Zanzibar, I include all of you in this group of people – your thoughtful and heartfelt responses to my blog posts and emails inspire me to write more and push me to think harder. I never ever get the sense that I’m in this alone, and I’d like to thank all of you for that.
I can’t believe it is January, a point that kept dawning on me on my long non-train-ugly-bus-misadventure back to Zambia. But the 30+ hour journey back did nothing to diminish my energy, I’m gung-ho ready and pumped to rock out the new year, and I hope you all are too!
Thulasy :)
PS: Credit should be given to Ka-Hay and her mad photography skills for the beautiful pics!
Thursday, November 29, 2007
What makes a good "change agent"?
Who’s the boss?!
The chairman of one of the grower cooperatives involved in the sorghum project came to visit me today. He wanted more copies of the Sorghum Production pamphlet we had put together for the farmers. We chatted for a couple of minutes about the rains and how farmers are starting to plant. And just before leaving, he said to me, “You are our boss!” I was floored. “I most certainly am NOT your boss!” I thought.
Whyson and I have been working incredibly hard to de-emphasize the role CARE is playing in this project. The goal is to create a sustainable sorghum market in Zambia via local players. We partner with strong cooperatives in the district and let them lead the project – they are the bosses. Not CARE. Not Whyson. And certainly not me!
I often wonder how the cooperatives and farmers really perceive me. I mostly feel like a “glorified Vanna White”, as Nina put it (though I do hope I’m adding more value than just being flip-chart holding eye candy!) No matter how hard I try, I will always be different. And sometimes, this difference creates a weird dynamic between the farmers and me, as was made apparent by the chairman who had no qualms calling me his boss.
Pretty much all the field workers at CARE are Zambian. They speak the local languages that I’m desperately trying to pick up. They understand cultural nuances that fly way over my head. They can relate to the farmers on a more genuine level, or at least, that’s what I think. Then there are the leaders within the communities themselves that understand their own challenges better than I ever will and are probably the best people to lead the change we’re intending. So I wonder…am I the best person to be doing this job? What makes a good change agent anyways?
My co-worker, Nchobeni, and I out in the field
“Come And Receive Empowerment!”
Empowerment is a popular development buzzword. Every project out here is trying to “empower” something or other – women, children, vulnerable farmers, their chickens…the word is so over used that it has lost its important meaning. Even the intended beneficiaries of this “empowerment” aren’t impressed by it anymore. A clever farmer in Sikaunzwe jokingly said CARE stood for “Come And Receive Empowerment”. (CARE was an acronym at one time, but it definitely wasn’t this one!)
I can see where he’s coming from. CARE’s reputation for handing things out – food aid, bed nets, free seed, etc – precedes them wherever they go, so it’s not a stretch to imagine farmers lining up to receive “empowerment”. This picture is made even more comical/scary when it’s me, a foreigner, handing it out…yikes!
All joking aside, this is actually quite a serious issue. This sorghum project, amongst others that CARE is undertaking, is not about hand outs. It’s about improving rural livelihoods by facilitating a sustainable agricultural market. We’re encouraging entrepreneurialism at both the farmer and cooperative levels through sorghum, our commodity of choice. Our underlying assumption is that we can create this “behaviour change” by demonstrating that growing sorghum as a cash crop will improve food security and increase household income.
Whyson speaking to a group of women farmers
Positive Deviance.
There are many ways to approach creating behaviour change within a community. A popular line of thinking is based on positive deviance. The basic principle behind this is that finding small, successful but “deviant” practices that are already working in a community and amplifying them creates more permanent change than importing solutions from the outside in. In other words, a local change agent leading a locally made solution creates lasting behaviour change.
In our production training sessions, we tried to identify these positive deviants, or “teachers amongst us”, as Whyson likes to call them. Instead of a top down, lecture style learning session, we broke the farmers into small groups and gave them some questions to answer about sorghum production methods. We allowed them to discuss the answers amongst themselves and then present their findings to the whole group.
A small group engaged in discussion
about sorghum production methods.
A lively conversation ensued that highlighted the good practices of farmers who had experience growing sorghum. This led into even more interesting discussions about agricultural marketing, which highlighted the practices of farmers who know how to do business. We left each session feeling confident that the activity had not only identified positive deviants but allowed other people to engage them in fruitful discussions. They weren’t learning from us, they were (and hopefully still are) learning from each other.
A group compiling best practices.
Social Marketing.
Another way of approaching behaviour change is through social marketing. Social marketing aims to bring about social change using concepts from commercial marketing. The ultimate objective is to influence action. Though I won’t go into details about the theory behind social marketing, there are a couple important points to consider. One is that the intended change should be a credible answer to the actual frustrations being experienced by the target audience. Another point is that understanding the audience perception is critical and almost more important than reality.
So the questions we much ask ourselves include:
- What are the farmers in the Southern Province unhappy about?
- Does our project address those dissatisfactions?
- And how do they perceive our project and the change it intends to create?
In answering the first, it is fair to say that most farmers in the Southern Province are extremely dissatisfied with growing maize. It fails to meet expectations, year after year, as erractic rainfall and localized droughts reduce yields. But maize is the only marketable crop for farmers (the government is the buyer), so they keep growing it even though payment times can be incredibly drawn out (some farmers have yet to be paid almost 6 months after harvest!) It’s a catch 22 that keeps rural households food insecure and low on cash. Sorghum, with its drought tolerance and available market can address these dissatisfactions.
So what about their perception of the project? Mr. Muleya, another cooperative chairman, says NGO’s come in all the time to promote different crops. He says villagers listen very carefully to see if there is “life” in the project before buying in. That “life” usually comes in the form of an available market. His village has tried growing tobacco, paprika, soy beans, and even castor oil seeds, all in hopes of accessing that ever elusive market. But all those projects failed because, from what I understand, the markets never materialized.
Mr. Muleya beside a wonderful masuku fruit tree
I wonder, though, whether my very presence as a foreigner brings “life” to a project. I’m very aware of the fact that Mr. Muleya’s answers are going to be slightly – no, very – distorted because he’s talking to me. But this is not the first time I got this feeling.
The sorghum project has had an EWB volunteer attached to it from its inception, and I wonder whether part of its success is due to our very presence as foreigners. I wonder if we bring some sort of sparkle-factor that villagers perceive to be attractive or exciting. Perhaps we lend a credible voice to the project because we, as foreigners, are perceived to be honest, straightforward, and, realistically or not, more intelligent. At worst, our presence brings out a sense of fearful respect, vestige of years of colonial rule and imposed development projects, that motivates people to buy in. It’s entirely possible.
Fair game.
Within the context of marketing, I think this is fair game. When was the last time you bought a product just because some snazzy celebrity endorsed it? Or because a smart salesman convinced you? Or because someone you respected a great deal told you to? Is this not the same thing? Right, wrong, or straight out manipulative, I feel that having a foreigner on a project like this definitely helps adoption.
But there are some drawbacks. Contrary to a positive deviance approach, this can be like imposing a solution from the outside with a big assumption that it’s the right solution. To be honest, I’m beginning to feel a little evangelical about sorghum! I do believe it’s the right solution, but that’s a judgement call this project has made.
I also definitely don’t feel comfortable being the reason farmers are adopting the crop – especially if it is out of fear. I don’t think this is the case most of the time, but when a chairman calls me his boss, I begin to wonder. Because of this feeling, I’ve been keeping my direct interaction with farmers to a minimum. I would love to spend most of my days out in the fields with the farmers, learning more about their livelihoods and breaking down stereotypes about foreigners. But I can’t do it as much as I’d like to for fear of distorting the project.
When I do spend time in the field, my honesty and enthusiasm appears to be well-received, which does much to build trust. And at the end of the day, this is what counts most. I’m beginning to feel that genuine excitement is a critical part of being an effective change agent, no matter where you’re from. Excitement is contagious, so I’m going to continue to spread the (sorghum) love!
Feelin' the love!
Hugs to you all!
Thulasy :)
The chairman of one of the grower cooperatives involved in the sorghum project came to visit me today. He wanted more copies of the Sorghum Production pamphlet we had put together for the farmers. We chatted for a couple of minutes about the rains and how farmers are starting to plant. And just before leaving, he said to me, “You are our boss!” I was floored. “I most certainly am NOT your boss!” I thought.
Whyson and I have been working incredibly hard to de-emphasize the role CARE is playing in this project. The goal is to create a sustainable sorghum market in Zambia via local players. We partner with strong cooperatives in the district and let them lead the project – they are the bosses. Not CARE. Not Whyson. And certainly not me!
I often wonder how the cooperatives and farmers really perceive me. I mostly feel like a “glorified Vanna White”, as Nina put it (though I do hope I’m adding more value than just being flip-chart holding eye candy!) No matter how hard I try, I will always be different. And sometimes, this difference creates a weird dynamic between the farmers and me, as was made apparent by the chairman who had no qualms calling me his boss.
Pretty much all the field workers at CARE are Zambian. They speak the local languages that I’m desperately trying to pick up. They understand cultural nuances that fly way over my head. They can relate to the farmers on a more genuine level, or at least, that’s what I think. Then there are the leaders within the communities themselves that understand their own challenges better than I ever will and are probably the best people to lead the change we’re intending. So I wonder…am I the best person to be doing this job? What makes a good change agent anyways?
My co-worker, Nchobeni, and I out in the field“Come And Receive Empowerment!”
Empowerment is a popular development buzzword. Every project out here is trying to “empower” something or other – women, children, vulnerable farmers, their chickens…the word is so over used that it has lost its important meaning. Even the intended beneficiaries of this “empowerment” aren’t impressed by it anymore. A clever farmer in Sikaunzwe jokingly said CARE stood for “Come And Receive Empowerment”. (CARE was an acronym at one time, but it definitely wasn’t this one!)
I can see where he’s coming from. CARE’s reputation for handing things out – food aid, bed nets, free seed, etc – precedes them wherever they go, so it’s not a stretch to imagine farmers lining up to receive “empowerment”. This picture is made even more comical/scary when it’s me, a foreigner, handing it out…yikes!
All joking aside, this is actually quite a serious issue. This sorghum project, amongst others that CARE is undertaking, is not about hand outs. It’s about improving rural livelihoods by facilitating a sustainable agricultural market. We’re encouraging entrepreneurialism at both the farmer and cooperative levels through sorghum, our commodity of choice. Our underlying assumption is that we can create this “behaviour change” by demonstrating that growing sorghum as a cash crop will improve food security and increase household income.
Whyson speaking to a group of women farmersPositive Deviance.
There are many ways to approach creating behaviour change within a community. A popular line of thinking is based on positive deviance. The basic principle behind this is that finding small, successful but “deviant” practices that are already working in a community and amplifying them creates more permanent change than importing solutions from the outside in. In other words, a local change agent leading a locally made solution creates lasting behaviour change.
In our production training sessions, we tried to identify these positive deviants, or “teachers amongst us”, as Whyson likes to call them. Instead of a top down, lecture style learning session, we broke the farmers into small groups and gave them some questions to answer about sorghum production methods. We allowed them to discuss the answers amongst themselves and then present their findings to the whole group.
A small group engaged in discussionabout sorghum production methods.
A lively conversation ensued that highlighted the good practices of farmers who had experience growing sorghum. This led into even more interesting discussions about agricultural marketing, which highlighted the practices of farmers who know how to do business. We left each session feeling confident that the activity had not only identified positive deviants but allowed other people to engage them in fruitful discussions. They weren’t learning from us, they were (and hopefully still are) learning from each other.
A group compiling best practices.Social Marketing.
Another way of approaching behaviour change is through social marketing. Social marketing aims to bring about social change using concepts from commercial marketing. The ultimate objective is to influence action. Though I won’t go into details about the theory behind social marketing, there are a couple important points to consider. One is that the intended change should be a credible answer to the actual frustrations being experienced by the target audience. Another point is that understanding the audience perception is critical and almost more important than reality.
So the questions we much ask ourselves include:
- What are the farmers in the Southern Province unhappy about?
- Does our project address those dissatisfactions?
- And how do they perceive our project and the change it intends to create?
In answering the first, it is fair to say that most farmers in the Southern Province are extremely dissatisfied with growing maize. It fails to meet expectations, year after year, as erractic rainfall and localized droughts reduce yields. But maize is the only marketable crop for farmers (the government is the buyer), so they keep growing it even though payment times can be incredibly drawn out (some farmers have yet to be paid almost 6 months after harvest!) It’s a catch 22 that keeps rural households food insecure and low on cash. Sorghum, with its drought tolerance and available market can address these dissatisfactions.
So what about their perception of the project? Mr. Muleya, another cooperative chairman, says NGO’s come in all the time to promote different crops. He says villagers listen very carefully to see if there is “life” in the project before buying in. That “life” usually comes in the form of an available market. His village has tried growing tobacco, paprika, soy beans, and even castor oil seeds, all in hopes of accessing that ever elusive market. But all those projects failed because, from what I understand, the markets never materialized.
Mr. Muleya beside a wonderful masuku fruit treeI wonder, though, whether my very presence as a foreigner brings “life” to a project. I’m very aware of the fact that Mr. Muleya’s answers are going to be slightly – no, very – distorted because he’s talking to me. But this is not the first time I got this feeling.
The sorghum project has had an EWB volunteer attached to it from its inception, and I wonder whether part of its success is due to our very presence as foreigners. I wonder if we bring some sort of sparkle-factor that villagers perceive to be attractive or exciting. Perhaps we lend a credible voice to the project because we, as foreigners, are perceived to be honest, straightforward, and, realistically or not, more intelligent. At worst, our presence brings out a sense of fearful respect, vestige of years of colonial rule and imposed development projects, that motivates people to buy in. It’s entirely possible.
Fair game.
Within the context of marketing, I think this is fair game. When was the last time you bought a product just because some snazzy celebrity endorsed it? Or because a smart salesman convinced you? Or because someone you respected a great deal told you to? Is this not the same thing? Right, wrong, or straight out manipulative, I feel that having a foreigner on a project like this definitely helps adoption.
But there are some drawbacks. Contrary to a positive deviance approach, this can be like imposing a solution from the outside with a big assumption that it’s the right solution. To be honest, I’m beginning to feel a little evangelical about sorghum! I do believe it’s the right solution, but that’s a judgement call this project has made.
I also definitely don’t feel comfortable being the reason farmers are adopting the crop – especially if it is out of fear. I don’t think this is the case most of the time, but when a chairman calls me his boss, I begin to wonder. Because of this feeling, I’ve been keeping my direct interaction with farmers to a minimum. I would love to spend most of my days out in the fields with the farmers, learning more about their livelihoods and breaking down stereotypes about foreigners. But I can’t do it as much as I’d like to for fear of distorting the project.
When I do spend time in the field, my honesty and enthusiasm appears to be well-received, which does much to build trust. And at the end of the day, this is what counts most. I’m beginning to feel that genuine excitement is a critical part of being an effective change agent, no matter where you’re from. Excitement is contagious, so I’m going to continue to spread the (sorghum) love!
Feelin' the love!Hugs to you all!
Thulasy :)
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
These are a few of my favorite things...
Comfort vs discomfort.
I distinctly remember how I felt when the plane landed the first time I came to Zambia in 2004...”Oh my goodness! I’m in AFRICA!” I was wide-eyed and giddy with excitement. My senses were overloaded. My emotions swung between the extremes of joy and sadness, gratitude and anger, and inspiration and frustration with all that I saw and experienced. It was a time of learning and great personal growth. And in the end, I left Zambia with a strong sense of hope for the future and a feeling that I would return, though I didn’t know when.
Now I’m back, and while I still marvel at the world around me, my reaction has not been as strong as it was the first time I came. Cramming myself into a sliver of space in a crowded, rickety minibus is no longer an adventure but simply a way to get around. Eating nshima with “interesting” relishes (like cow tongue, which I had for the first time the other day) is not a special event but a normal, everyday activity. Using the local greetings isn’t a self-deprecating act of hilarity but just an expected and respectful way to say Hello. I am feeling very comfortable here...and at first, this worried me. I was afraid that I was losing my sense of wonder. Why wasn’t I feeling anything as strongly as I did before? Was I not being present? Was it possible that I was I feeling too comfortable??
I’ve since realized that there is nothing wrong with this sense of comfort. Far from being a sign of cultural stagnation, it’s actually a sign that I’m getting into the real stuff of life here in Zambia. Instead of being struck over the head by the big things, it’s the sum of all the little things that keep my sense of wonder alive and well. So I thought it would be fun to share with you all those little things that make me smile everyday.
Home life.
I now live on a farm, the Gold Acres farm, 7km outside the town of Kalomo. I live with a Tonga family 15 people strong, and they are the most wonderful host family I could ask for. We live in an old farm house, remnants of white farmers from years gone by, and although it’s a little run down, it’s perfect for this family. Mr. Mwiinga, my host father, is the manager of the local abbatoir. Beatrice, his first wife (Tonga’s are traditionally polygamist), is a seamstress with a very big heart. Then there’s a swath of children, some of whom are orphaned cousins, and there are always guests, members of the extended family (3 aunts at the moment). And I mustn’t forget to mention the cattle, chickens, dogs, and cat (Chelsea, named after the football club) that roam the property all day long.
Welcome home!
Jr. and Namwiinga in front of the house and
beside my primary method of transportation
This is a farming family. Although they rent the farm and manage the owner’s cattle, they are allowed to plant their own crops for sale and consumption. We will soon be planting maize, potatoes, tomatoes, and hopefully sorghum in anticipation of the upcoming rainy season. But for the time being, they irrigate a small garden plot for home consumption, and I LOVE eating fresh veggies everyday.
My 12 year old host sister, Twaambo,
in front of the garden and bore hole
I’ve been particularly lucky to find a good friend in Sylvia, the eldest in the family. She has a daughter, Nyarai, who has just turned 1 year old. Like a lot of the small children here in Zambia, Nyarai was very uncertain of my presence. She would furrow her brow and give me a disconcerting stare, as if to say, “I don’t know about you...” The look is priceless. Fortunately, she is now used to having me around, and I’ve taught her to give high fives and makes blubbering noises with her mouth. We’re tight.
Left to right: Baby Nyrai, Sylvia, Lenley (back),
Yvonne, friend I don't know, and Twaambo
That's the look...oh, she's so not sure of me...
The fields of Zambia are filled with good intentions gone wrong – unused wells and pumps, solar panel systems that have fallen into disrepair, and of course, tonnes of broken down, rusted out, stripped down tractors. They’re everywhere. And each time I see one, I’m reminded that handing out seemingly useful technologies may not be the best way to improve people’s lives, no matter how good the intentions are. But they do serve one good purpose – they can make great lawn ornaments.
Best lawn ornament ever
Town life.
I use my bicycle to get into and out of town for work everyday and spend most of my time on the weekends there too. My favorite places in town are the ones where people go to talk, have a chat, and shoot the shit with friends.
Beatrice’s shop is in the heart of the market, and she and her cohort Sarah host a constant flow of patrons and visitors. Beatrice is an excellent seamstress and spends her days making beautiful chitenge suits (blouses and skirts made of colourful African fabrics) for the ladies of Kalomo.
Sarah in the foreground and Beatrice,
chatting up a storm, behind the counter
Judy’s house is where I get the low down on what’s really happening in Kalomo. Judy is Mr. Mwiinga’s 2nd wife. She’s a talker...the kind of lady you want to be friends with but also the type you never want to be foes with. Between talking to Beatrice, Judy, and their daughters, I’m getting a glimpse into the fascinating world of polygamy. I could (and may, in the future) dedicate an entire blog entry to this subject, but for now, all I can say is that it’s kinda cool most of the time, kinda frustrating some of the time, and crazy confusing for me almost all of the time. I still have a lot to learn.
Judy and the girls
Life life.
Then there are a plethora of little random things that I love seeing everyday.
There’s the beautiful jacaranda tree, whose purple flowers bring life to the dry, dust swept landscape of the dry season.
Stunning tree on my ride to work
There’s a moringa tree in our farm yard. This, in itself, is rather un-extraordinary. BUT, it’s pretty humorous to me. Amma has been cooking the fruit of the moringa trees in her traditional Sri Lankan stew for years and years, but I never knew how they grew or what they looked like in the wild. I actually never really thought about it. Just another reminder of how disconnected I am from the food I eat.
Moringa trees...who knew?
African bubble gum is a fruit-like thing that grows on trees in our farm yard. You basically crack them open, take out the seeds, and chew the sweet, gooey segments into a pulp, which you then spit out. Chewing these is favorite pre-supper activity for my family. And they’re pretty tasty too.
Crack 'em open and chow down
Deleli, or okra, comes in two forms in Zambia: the pod form (which can be found in Canadian supermarkets as well) and the wild form. The wild form can be found in the hinterland behind the farm house. So every once in awhile, the ladies go out to pick the wild okra. We go out in the evenings, when the sun is setting and it’s cool. I love going out, picking them, and immediately cooking them into a yummy, albeit gooey, relish.
Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to pick we go!
And in the middle of no where...
...we find them
A lot of people in Zambia cook over fire or charcoal stoves because they don’t have power and/or electric stoves. One day, my friend Hilda said we would be baking cakes, but I had no idea how we were going to do this without an oven. When I inquired, she simply said, “Fire on top, fire on bottom.” I had no idea what she was talking about until I saw it. It’s brilliant! And the cakes were delicious.
Fire on top, fire on bottom baking
Green cakes for a treat
As with most things, there is, of course, balance.
I’d be lying if I said everything was hunky dory over here. I can safely say that yes, 98% of the time, things are hunky dory (whatever that really means). And the rest of the time, well...
I’ve had my fair share of “Arg! I’m so irritated!!” moments. These mostly happen when I’m exhausted. Too tired to listen to and learn Tonga, too tired to humour the people who call out to me at the market, too tired to explain that one lump is plenty nshima for me, too tired to laugh when being laughed at for whatever strange thing it is that I’m doing, too tired to push myself to learn more and be thoughtful...these moments are very rare, but sometimes, there’s only so much putting-myself-out-there I can do without getting any reciprocation.
I’m more than happy to get to know people and their culture, but I see cultural integration as a two-way street – I get to know you, you get to know me. It’s just that the getting-to-know-me part is hard to do. It requires a special sort of friendship with a lot of trust and understanding. I may be on my way to getting this with my host sister Sylvia but not with anyone else quite yet. And that’s ok. Because most of the time, I’m over-the-top happy about being here, experiencing amazing things, doing work that I love doing, and being able to share it with all my family and friends back home.
Thulasy :)
I distinctly remember how I felt when the plane landed the first time I came to Zambia in 2004...”Oh my goodness! I’m in AFRICA!” I was wide-eyed and giddy with excitement. My senses were overloaded. My emotions swung between the extremes of joy and sadness, gratitude and anger, and inspiration and frustration with all that I saw and experienced. It was a time of learning and great personal growth. And in the end, I left Zambia with a strong sense of hope for the future and a feeling that I would return, though I didn’t know when.
Now I’m back, and while I still marvel at the world around me, my reaction has not been as strong as it was the first time I came. Cramming myself into a sliver of space in a crowded, rickety minibus is no longer an adventure but simply a way to get around. Eating nshima with “interesting” relishes (like cow tongue, which I had for the first time the other day) is not a special event but a normal, everyday activity. Using the local greetings isn’t a self-deprecating act of hilarity but just an expected and respectful way to say Hello. I am feeling very comfortable here...and at first, this worried me. I was afraid that I was losing my sense of wonder. Why wasn’t I feeling anything as strongly as I did before? Was I not being present? Was it possible that I was I feeling too comfortable??
I’ve since realized that there is nothing wrong with this sense of comfort. Far from being a sign of cultural stagnation, it’s actually a sign that I’m getting into the real stuff of life here in Zambia. Instead of being struck over the head by the big things, it’s the sum of all the little things that keep my sense of wonder alive and well. So I thought it would be fun to share with you all those little things that make me smile everyday.
Home life.
I now live on a farm, the Gold Acres farm, 7km outside the town of Kalomo. I live with a Tonga family 15 people strong, and they are the most wonderful host family I could ask for. We live in an old farm house, remnants of white farmers from years gone by, and although it’s a little run down, it’s perfect for this family. Mr. Mwiinga, my host father, is the manager of the local abbatoir. Beatrice, his first wife (Tonga’s are traditionally polygamist), is a seamstress with a very big heart. Then there’s a swath of children, some of whom are orphaned cousins, and there are always guests, members of the extended family (3 aunts at the moment). And I mustn’t forget to mention the cattle, chickens, dogs, and cat (Chelsea, named after the football club) that roam the property all day long.
Welcome home!
Jr. and Namwiinga in front of the house andbeside my primary method of transportation
This is a farming family. Although they rent the farm and manage the owner’s cattle, they are allowed to plant their own crops for sale and consumption. We will soon be planting maize, potatoes, tomatoes, and hopefully sorghum in anticipation of the upcoming rainy season. But for the time being, they irrigate a small garden plot for home consumption, and I LOVE eating fresh veggies everyday.
My 12 year old host sister, Twaambo,in front of the garden and bore hole
I’ve been particularly lucky to find a good friend in Sylvia, the eldest in the family. She has a daughter, Nyarai, who has just turned 1 year old. Like a lot of the small children here in Zambia, Nyarai was very uncertain of my presence. She would furrow her brow and give me a disconcerting stare, as if to say, “I don’t know about you...” The look is priceless. Fortunately, she is now used to having me around, and I’ve taught her to give high fives and makes blubbering noises with her mouth. We’re tight.
Left to right: Baby Nyrai, Sylvia, Lenley (back),Yvonne, friend I don't know, and Twaambo
That's the look...oh, she's so not sure of me...The fields of Zambia are filled with good intentions gone wrong – unused wells and pumps, solar panel systems that have fallen into disrepair, and of course, tonnes of broken down, rusted out, stripped down tractors. They’re everywhere. And each time I see one, I’m reminded that handing out seemingly useful technologies may not be the best way to improve people’s lives, no matter how good the intentions are. But they do serve one good purpose – they can make great lawn ornaments.
Best lawn ornament everTown life.
I use my bicycle to get into and out of town for work everyday and spend most of my time on the weekends there too. My favorite places in town are the ones where people go to talk, have a chat, and shoot the shit with friends.
Beatrice’s shop is in the heart of the market, and she and her cohort Sarah host a constant flow of patrons and visitors. Beatrice is an excellent seamstress and spends her days making beautiful chitenge suits (blouses and skirts made of colourful African fabrics) for the ladies of Kalomo.
Sarah in the foreground and Beatrice,chatting up a storm, behind the counter
Judy’s house is where I get the low down on what’s really happening in Kalomo. Judy is Mr. Mwiinga’s 2nd wife. She’s a talker...the kind of lady you want to be friends with but also the type you never want to be foes with. Between talking to Beatrice, Judy, and their daughters, I’m getting a glimpse into the fascinating world of polygamy. I could (and may, in the future) dedicate an entire blog entry to this subject, but for now, all I can say is that it’s kinda cool most of the time, kinda frustrating some of the time, and crazy confusing for me almost all of the time. I still have a lot to learn.
Judy and the girlsLife life.
Then there are a plethora of little random things that I love seeing everyday.
There’s the beautiful jacaranda tree, whose purple flowers bring life to the dry, dust swept landscape of the dry season.
Stunning tree on my ride to workThere’s a moringa tree in our farm yard. This, in itself, is rather un-extraordinary. BUT, it’s pretty humorous to me. Amma has been cooking the fruit of the moringa trees in her traditional Sri Lankan stew for years and years, but I never knew how they grew or what they looked like in the wild. I actually never really thought about it. Just another reminder of how disconnected I am from the food I eat.
Moringa trees...who knew?African bubble gum is a fruit-like thing that grows on trees in our farm yard. You basically crack them open, take out the seeds, and chew the sweet, gooey segments into a pulp, which you then spit out. Chewing these is favorite pre-supper activity for my family. And they’re pretty tasty too.
Crack 'em open and chow downDeleli, or okra, comes in two forms in Zambia: the pod form (which can be found in Canadian supermarkets as well) and the wild form. The wild form can be found in the hinterland behind the farm house. So every once in awhile, the ladies go out to pick the wild okra. We go out in the evenings, when the sun is setting and it’s cool. I love going out, picking them, and immediately cooking them into a yummy, albeit gooey, relish.
Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to pick we go!
And in the middle of no where...
...we find themA lot of people in Zambia cook over fire or charcoal stoves because they don’t have power and/or electric stoves. One day, my friend Hilda said we would be baking cakes, but I had no idea how we were going to do this without an oven. When I inquired, she simply said, “Fire on top, fire on bottom.” I had no idea what she was talking about until I saw it. It’s brilliant! And the cakes were delicious.
Fire on top, fire on bottom baking
Green cakes for a treatAs with most things, there is, of course, balance.
I’d be lying if I said everything was hunky dory over here. I can safely say that yes, 98% of the time, things are hunky dory (whatever that really means). And the rest of the time, well...
I’ve had my fair share of “Arg! I’m so irritated!!” moments. These mostly happen when I’m exhausted. Too tired to listen to and learn Tonga, too tired to humour the people who call out to me at the market, too tired to explain that one lump is plenty nshima for me, too tired to laugh when being laughed at for whatever strange thing it is that I’m doing, too tired to push myself to learn more and be thoughtful...these moments are very rare, but sometimes, there’s only so much putting-myself-out-there I can do without getting any reciprocation.
I’m more than happy to get to know people and their culture, but I see cultural integration as a two-way street – I get to know you, you get to know me. It’s just that the getting-to-know-me part is hard to do. It requires a special sort of friendship with a lot of trust and understanding. I may be on my way to getting this with my host sister Sylvia but not with anyone else quite yet. And that’s ok. Because most of the time, I’m over-the-top happy about being here, experiencing amazing things, doing work that I love doing, and being able to share it with all my family and friends back home.
Thulasy :)
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