City of paradox

Living in Lusaka is an ongoing adventure of opposites leaving you at times frustrated and entertained at the same time. There seems to be a “rush to wait, wait to rush” mentality –with more waiting than rushing.

For example, people rush to get to know you and set up a meeting only to come late.

Then there is the common “friend” who pages you to build the friendship, i.e. hanging up before you answer so he or she does not pay the call charges. Over here, via calling cards you pay for calls you make, not the ones you receive. There is no monthly plan. The pay as you call model gets expensive, and is no way to build a friendship if you are always the one calling back.

Then there’s the perplexity of the minibus, where the difference between the vehicle and a plane is that one gets airtime. Minibuses adhere to the principal of Priceline.com, where an empty seat is loss income. So they rush to key stops to beat other minibuses in reaching potential passengers, then bargain to sell seats. So as passengers, we wait, negotiate, and wait.

Then there’s the service industry, where there’s little service –but delivered with a disarming smile. In 20 minutes friendly associates will build your expectations for a positive transaction only to tell you the printer is broken, there are no batteries, or tickets are sold out. Almost like telling my Tonga language teacher my dog ate my homework.

Finally, in a country where tourism is top priority, visitor visa extensions are as bureaucratic as they come. Perhaps because jobs are difficult to find in the private sector, the government hires many able bodied (vs. able minded) citizens so they can practice passing work through the beauracratic Zambian channel. The sheer quantity of officers may be the excuse for not having a computer system. Just stamps. Zambian immigration has a stamp for everything. For work visas, study visas, visitor visas, and probably one for bathroom breaks. My guess is because stamps are cheap, hard to duplicate, look official, and in the case of the bathroom –a pain in the ass.

Granted, bureaucracy is everywhere (it took me years to get my greencard in the States). But what’s charming about Zambian bureaucracy is the man/woman in uniform. They happily accept they have no clue why they do an act and do it with pleasure, no less, and no more beyond the call of duty. An officer would be most happy to toy with their personal cell ringtones whilst they give you direction on whom to see (when you where previously instructed by another officer to see them).

Think of the system similar to that of calling department of Homeland Security, or your local phone company, except every time you need to press, 1 or 2 or 3, you have a live Zambian giving you instructions in a British accent blended with tribal flair: “Yes, I approve the visitor visa extensions, but I cannot stamp yours. You must go report to the officer in room 205 so he can bring you to 115, see if you are a real person, call the head immigration chief, and if he is not thirsty, he will send you down to me so you can tell me you went to all those rooms and I will stamp your passport only if I get this ringtone programmed properly in my cell. Oh yes. If you come after 16:45 hrs, I will be gone.” To give the officers credit, knock off time is strict, punctual, and observed.

I guess they should get a stamp for that.



Speaking of irony: the USD, pound and euro has dropped by 35% within the last month because the government has released their reserves of foreign exchange currency into the market, they also claim foreign debt has been canceled, and they met the Millenium Development Goals set by the World Bank. Here's the ironic part: Zambia wants to increase tourism, yet they make foreign currency tank in value. Other African countries have not depreciated any foreign currency at such an alarming rate. Despite the Kwacha growing in strength, retail stores have not lowered their prices but increased them to make even higher profits. Daylight robbery occurs even when pickpockets are not on the streets. And there's only one real explanation to the growth in Kwacha strength: Presidential elections are around the corner in 2006.

Mwanawasa is the current President. In my angst, I have made a poster like the above image and placed it around banks in the city.

A Working Day

In many ways being in Africa makes me think of what it must be like in Jamaica- palm trees, fresh fruit, sultry breezes and people with beautiful accents encouraging you to slow down and rest a while… or longer. Jamaican stereotypes aside (I don’t know where the heck they came from as I have never been there!), trying to get something done in Africa- from booking flights, to getting something repaired to photocopying- can really slow you down and force you to rest a while. Generally, there will be a lot of paperwork and consultation with people in various uniforms… most of whom turn out to be visitors just like yourself but who, because they are wearing their work uniform, and lend an officiating air to the long deliberations about just what to do.

One day, I went to the National Archives to do some research. I requested a particular set of documents and happily sat down in the air conditioning (only 80 degrees rather than the 97 degrees outside) to wait for the documents.

After about 20 minutes, I did a little follow up:
--Did they have my request?
--Yes, madam.
--They were processing it.
--Yes, madam.
--Would it be much longer?
--No madam (ah, the politeness of it all!).

I returned with renewed good will to the air-conditioned library room… for another 30 minutes. Then I did more follow up.
--Were they getting the documents?
--Yes, madam, but the room is dark.
--Dark?
--Yes, madam so it is hard to find the document files because it is pitch black in that room and we have no torch.
--Why is it dark?
--There are no lights. But we are getting them and you are welcome to sit and relax in the library, madam, while we get these documents.
I decided to use another tactic- talking to someone else. I pretended I needed to use the toilet as a pretense of escaping into the ‘Staff Only’ area to find another person to talk to. I soon found Wendy.
--Hello, madam.
--Good morning, madam.
--May I ask you a question?
--Yes madam, you are welcome. (You are welcome to do just about everything in Zambia- another example of the politeness of the English spoken here).
--I have been waiting for my documents for an hour- do you know anything about this?
--Yes, the room is dark.
--Yes I have heard this. Why is it dark?
--There are no lights.
--It must be difficult for you all to do your work without lights.
--Yes, madam. It is difficult.
--Why are there no lights in a place where you need to read?
--The lights in that room go out when there is a storm (Please note here, dear reader, that it is the rainy season so there is a storm every other day, sometimes even two or three times in one day).
--Can they be turned on?
--Yes, they are just turning them on now (another note on Zambian English- ‘just’ is misleading because everything is ‘just’ being done, with the implication for us that it will be finished soon and the implication in Zambian English, well, I don’t think there is one as people ‘just’ use this word all the time.)
--How long will it take to turn on the lights?
--It will just be soon. You are welcome to sit down and wait in the library.
--Yes, thank you, I will be waiting.

Luckily, I had the computer so I was able to write the blog entry on Jackie and Billy. Another hour passed. I did more follow up with Wendy who was so far the most informative as I had learned from her what the problem was (the lights were out) and why (the storm).
--Hi Wendy. I am still waiting for those documents and it has been two hours.
--Yes, madam. I am very sorry for this problem. They are seeking a janitor from one of the other government offices to come and replace the florescent light bulbs. But he must do this in the dark as we have no torch.
--Oh, that must be difficult. (In my head: How many Zambian bureaucrats does it take to change a light bulb? Answer: With this task, it is futile to count either the bureaucrats or the hours on their time cards.)
--Yes, but they will just finish soon.
--Yes, surely they just will. I will wait in the library.
--Yes, madam, you are welcome to.

So I ‘just’ waited another hour while they ‘just’ replaced the light bulbs. Then, more follow up:
--Hi Wendy, it has been three hours and I know that these working conditions are difficult for you and your co-workers but I could have used this time for some other work.
--Yes, it is just difficult and we are sorry for the inconvenience.
--Yes, thank you. I think I will leave and do work elsewhere and return in the afternoon.
--Yes, you are welcome to do so.
--Yes (in my head, ‘no shit’). I will try to come again in the afternoon.
--Yes, just come then. You will find us here. (In my head: I would rather find you fixing the lights in the annex building).
--Yes, thank you. I will return soon.
--Thank you, madam.
--Thank you, Wendy.

So I leave, breathing very hard and with the blood pounding in my ears because I am so frustrated that no one was willing to just be honest and say ‘this might take a while’. I decided I will go to the National Map Office to purchase good maps of the areas of Zambia where I will be doing my research:
--Good morning, madam.
--Good morning, madam.
--I am interested in maps. Do you have a listing of the maps you sell here?
--Yes, madam.
--Uh, well, may I see it?
--Yes, you are welcome to see it.
--Ok, where is it?
--It is there.
--It is where?
--It is just there. (In my head: of course it is ‘just’ there, but where is ‘just’ there?)

I turn around and scan the room. Maps rolled up fill every shelf behind the counter. It looks like chaos. I later learn that it is well systemized but not labeled. I finally note several maps of Zambia, each breaking up the country into different sized grids. I ask if they have copies of maps for my regions of study in the mid-sized scale:
--Which one do you want?
--Well, this one for example.
--We don’t have that one.
--Oh, ok, how about this one? And how much do they cost?
--We don’t have that one. They cost 20,000 to 30,000 kwacha per map ($5-7).
--And this one?
--We don’t have that one.
--Which ones do you have?
--The ones without an ‘x’ in the box.

There is literally only one box out of about 40 boxes without an ‘x’. It is for the most remote part of southwest Zambia and covers more of Namibia than Zambia.
--So you only have this one.
--Yes, right now we only have that one.
--What about the bigger scale maps- these three here?
--We don’t have those either.
--Do you know when you will get more copies of these maps?
--No, I don’t know when.
--Could it be in, say, three months or even within a year? (I have purposely suggested such an outrageous timeframe to avoid disappointment that they will not have copies before I leave Lusaka.)
--No, I don’t know. We have not had these maps for over 10 years.
--10 years! Then what maps do you have to sell?
--We have some tourist maps and the very smallest scale maps. (In my head: I would need about 60 of the smallest scale maps to adequately cover my research area).
--Ok, so there are no maps here that I need.
--Yes, madam.
--So is there any other place to buy such maps?
--No, this is the National Map Office.
--Without most of its maps.
--Yes, madam.
--So I cannot get maps.
--Yes, you can get maps. (In my head: HUH?)
--But you are out of them.
--You can just (‘just’!) order them to be printed for you for 150,000 kwacha (about $50 per map).
--That is expensive.
--Yes, that is expensive.
--Is there anything else that can be done?
--You can order a digital copy of the map on a CD.
--Ahhh… how much is that?
--That is 50,000 kwacha.
--That is not so expensive.
--No it is not so expensive. (Note to Jere LaPlatney: does this qualify as a ‘repto’? It seems to me that ‘repto’ing is a large part of the linguistic exchange pattern of Zambian English).
--So, thank you for telling me how I can get the maps. (In my head: why can’t people in Zambia offer information rather than having someone ask questions until they gather the information they need? Where are the skills of assessing a customer’s problem and then doing a little problem solving? Is this a cultural thing? Then again, it really just seems to be bureaucrats who do this and not, for example, our friends during our exchanges with them).
--You are welcome to buy maps.
--Yes, thank you. It is interesting that the government does not keep up its stock but I suppose the profit is better if they charge for each printing.
--Yes, it is just better.
--I will think about the maps and come back some time.

I decided that I would hurry over to immigration to top off my fantastic morning. I enter the building and go to the room where they process my study permit. It is the day I was told to pick up the study permit. As I enter, I am happy to see that my file is open on the desk and a woman is writing on some forms- looks promising and productive. We exchange the typical lengthy greetings as I certainly don’t want to be impolite to someone with such power over my future!
--You must be happy to see your permit being processed.
--Yes, madam, thank you. What day should I pick it up?
--You can just come back Thursday (two days hence).
--Thank you.

I eat lunch, return to the archives and am able to go through the documents I requested that morning. They contain nothing useful for my research but I dutifully check them off the list of colonial documents I need to read through in the archives.

Flash Forward: I return to immigration on Friday… only to be told to return on Monday. I return that following Tuesday first thing in the morning (9 AM) only to learn that they will not open until 9:30AM). I sit on a bench and wait with other people. We talk and synchronize our watches and at 9:28AM take turns going up to the office to ask if they are open yet, thus avoiding any single one of us seeming to be an annoyance. Finally, at 9:36AM we are let in. I ask about my Study Permit and am told to go downstairs to pick it up. I also ask about Sean’s immigration status:
--I am not a student but a researcher and I would like my husband to be able to stay during my research.
--Yes, madam.
--How do we do this? (Note, reader, that this is the third time I have asked this of the immigration officials and I continue to ask because I always get a different answer. The day I get one of those answers repeated is the day I will take that action.)
--You will need a Temporary Permit.
--How long can this last?
--It can just last for three months.
--(In my head: Reformulate the question, Kate). So, is it renewable after the three months?
--Yes, but there is another 1 million kwacha fee.
--But the initial permit is 2 million kwacha. That is expensive.
--Yes, it is expensive.
--I will be here until October and my husband is my dependent- a line item on the budget from my funding agency. How can he stay for the whole length of time?
--He cannot stay because he is only allowed 90 days in the country as a visitor per year and then can apply for a Temporary Permit and perhaps renew that permit.
--(In my head: ok, Kate ask again): But, then, what do you normally do for people like me who are researchers. We are not given Work Permits so we cannot get Visas for our spouses that last the length of our Permit and you instead give us Study Permits as if we are students and you say that students cannot support their spouses’ applications for a visa. So what do you do for researchers because our status is ambiguous?
--How long will you be here? What is the date you will really really leave?
--(In my head: I will actually be fleeing the country the minute I finish strangling your neck): I will absolutely leave by October 31, 2006.
--Ok, sometimes they can make a Temporary Permit last longer than the three months.
--Without renewing it?
--Without renewing it.
--Ok, can I have the form to apply for a Temporary Permit?
--There are no forms.
--You have no copies of the forms here in the Head Immigration Office of the Ministry of Home Affairs of the Republic of Zambia? (of course, the Map office has no maps).
--You just need a letter requesting the Temporary Permit.
--Do you need anything else?
--A bank certified check for 2 million kwacha, 2 photos and passport copies and a copy of your study permit.
--And a letter showing my research budget includeing my spouse as my dependent?
--Yes, and that.
--And a letter from my embassy confirming that he is sponsored and that they request that your office approve the permit?
--Yes, and that.
--And a TB test showing negative for TB?
--Yes, and that.
--Thank you, madam. (In my head: Wow, I could apply for a job here!)

Having heard yet another answer for Sean’s immigration status, I decide to stop asking about it because I actually like the answer this time. I decided to get the embassy to put some pressure on the immigration office as this often works wonders. I go down to get my study permit. Some 30 stamps, embossings, and signatures later, I am sent to go get a photocopy made down the hall. I do so and return the copy. I must now go back upstairs to a different office to get my passport stamped. More stamps and embossings and signatures. I ask:
--So, I can now just take this with my passport when I leave and reenter the country.
--Yes, madam.
--And that is all?
--Yes, that is all.
--And I don’t need to do anything else, just carry this with me.
--Yes, carry it with you.
--Ok, good because I will be in and out of the country quite frequently.
--Yes, so you must go to the immigration office downtown and get an exit permit each time before you leave.
--Oh, ok. (Glad I asked three times). How much is this permit?
--5,000 kwacha, madam ($1-2).
--Ok, thank you.
--Yes, you are welcome to Zambia. Thank you. Next!

I leave, exhausted by all the waiting. Bureaucracy is slow and tedious in the least relaxing way and this attitude seems to permeate many aspects of life here in Zambia.

Then again, there is nothing like the fast rush of an African market to make your head spin. When money flows, so does service. Go figure.

Security: The glass is netted on the other side

An interesting comment from Ryan McCannell, a USAID officer on other countries' perspective on the American threat, and the effective “form and function” of Dutch architecture:

"On the subject of security, I forgot to mention the most memorable thing that happened to me during my whole stay in Lusaka (next to diggin' in the dirt with you, Sean). I went to the Dutch Embassy, two doors down from the U.S. embassy, for a meeting with the political officer on donor coordination efforts in the democracy and governance field. Blah blah. Anyway, they have an interior courtyard with a glass-covered roof, creating a sort of atrium in the center of the staff area of the embassy - very clever and Dutch - they're always reclaiming extra space through ingenuity and blocky furniture.... Anyway, it wasn't until I was on my way out that I noticed they had rigged up an elaborate net a few feet under the glass, high above where we were on the ground floor. I jokingly asked if they had a trapeze routine during embassy receptions, and the guy chuckled but then said ~ No, that's to keep the glass from falling on us if it shatters... because, after all, you know what our biggest security threat is here.... (Pause while we all guess) - That's right: their proximity to the US Embassy! So think about this - some Dutch security expert came in and went through the trouble of installing a net, so that when our embassy gets blown sky high, THE GLASS WON'T HAPPEN TO FALL ON THE DUTCH PEOPLE standing around inside that courtyard! How freakish is that!?!"

The Zambian Way

Statistics indicate the average life expectancy for a Zambian is 35 years old. 99% of the population is black African in origin, and 1% are mostly of people of European or Indian origin. Zambia’s population stands at about 10.5 million. About 30% of Zambians have HIV. Approximately 46% of Zambia’s population is under 15 years old. And according to a source at The Post (Zambia’s only independent newspaper) about 35% of all Zambians are literate. One million people live in Lusaka, Zambia’s capital city.

What statistics don’t tell you is the warmth, and friendliness of the typical Zambian. Blessed with a circumstance that requires, finding the best deals at local markets, using public transport, walking or riding our bikes, we find ourselves enjoying the smiles, greetings, and curiosity of the locals. I would never have been able to enjoy the "broken English" discussions with the bike repairmen on the street corner if I never pedaled to the store (nor would I have learned handy improvised bike repair). The minibuses always provide entertainment in the sense that there is always catchy Zambian music playing (a blend of hip hop and Bob Marley) and a diverse clientele to people watch while packed like sardines.

I have been hobbling around on crutches for the past week from fracturing the base of my 5th metatarsal in a rugby game (translated, my right foot is broken). Despite being in much discomfort, Zambians have always lifted my grumpy disposition with friendly greetings, asking me what happened, telling me they’d pray for my quick recovery. It’s amazing, Zambian strangers telling me they’d put in a word to the lord for me –gestures you’d never expect in Chicago or America's suburbia. Acts of kindness aren’t exclusive to foreigners, they extend from one Zambian to another too.

Simply put, Zambians have always been pleased to assist where they can, keen to help us learn about their country and are always interested in our lifestyle and what brought us here.

Living in America, and obeying my parents "not to talk to strangers" whilst growing up, I've been conditioned to suspect any act of kindness from a stranger as a hustle. Zambians are reversing this belief. Granted, my guard is still up for the casual pickpocket, petty theft, or deft con. But the sentry has become a series or screen doors, not the Great Wall of China.

It’s taken me about a month to get use to the friendliness of Zambians and to master the three-part Zambian handshake. I have noticed that they are rarely as rushed as Americans (perhaps another reason for Zambian Maybe Time). Greetings are longer and leisurely from the handshake to the actual content coming from the mouth or heart. What we would consider polite in America would be considered rude, such as the following conversation:

Sean: Hello.
Zambian: Hello.
Sean: Where can I find the bus stop?

Instead, in Zambia, a conversation has to take the extra step to show you really “care” about whom you are talking to. If you do not know the person, you must ask how they are doing, answer how you are doing, comment on how they are doing, perhaps comment about the weather. Smile. Then, ask what you need to ask.

It’s a different story if you know the person. The conversation becomes a verbal journey, further maturation of one’s patience...before a destination, the answer, is reached:

Sean: Hi Billy!
Billy: Hello Sean!
(Handshake takes place here)
Sean: How are you?
Billy: Very good my friend. And how are you doing?
Sean: Fine. Fine, thank you.
Billy: And your wife?
Sean: She is in the archives, doing well.
Billy: That is wonderful. Tell her I send my best wishes.
Sean: Thanks. I will. (But I never remember –but Zambians actually do)
Billy: Your foot looks better. I hope you get off the crutches soon.
Sean: Thank you. I hope so too… Billy, I was wondering, can you…
Billy: Ahh, I hope it rains soon. The drought has been too long.
Sean: Yes, it’s bad. Very dry. Billy can…
Billy: What did you do to your hair? You cut it all off?
Sean: Yes. It’s been hot. Plus it makes me look more like Tiger Woods so Muzungus invite me to play at the Lusaka Club. Hey, I was wondering…
Billy: Ahhh yes. The sun is hot today. There is no tiger in the woods here? We only have hyena in the bush.
Sean: (sigh) Nevermind.
Billy: In Zambia, we never, nevermind. We always mind. Especially our friends.
Sean: Yeah, O.K… thanks Billy. About our meeting…
Billy: Meeting? Ahh…My sister will be visiting from the village. Will you meet her?
Sean: Yes, I can. But can…
Billy: My mother is coming too. Can you and your wife meet her?
Sean: Yes, but can…
Billy: My brother is coming too…blah, blah, blah.
And so the small talk continues till I find out his whole family and a cow is coming from the village before I can ask if I could reschedule a meeting with the Habitat for Humanity crew for another day.

In retrospect, conversational journeys nine times out of ten are insightful. You learn about the existence of sisters, mothers, brothers and cows. And chances are, you always get the meeting rescheduled.

12/1

What Have We Done for Them Lately?

One of the most gratifying and surprising discoveries of our trip has been learning about the kind of work that Zambians do to help Zambians. Let me begin by saying- they do a lot, I mean A LOT- which flies directly in the face of arguments claiming that the only way Africa will develop (or the jobless in America will get jobs or the homeless get homes etc) is when the people learn to help themselves. I guess the point is that clearly, both systemic reform of the (global) economy (ie, the system of rules in which you try to get a job or a home or develop your country) and the commitment of “disadvantaged” people are both necessary. More on global reform later… back to the real stars of this blog entry, Zambians.

In particular, we are both impressed by two of our friends. One is graduating from the University of Zambia this December with extremely high grades and a major in Psychology. Jacqueline is 26, smart, funny, informed, and a single mother of a beautiful 5-year-old boy. Despite the difficulties of single parenthood, she has gotten through school and is looking for a job… and looking… and looking. Jackie has very little chance of finding a job or having any income for the 14-18 months, despite the fact that she is smart and qualified enough to go to grad school in the US- even to apply for a Rhodes Scholarship at Oxford (not that she had even considered or been told of these options)! She explains that her only chance at a job is with the government as a teacher in a secondary school or community college, a job for which she will train for 6 weeks after graduation. She will hear whether she has been hired after 8-12 months, report to her post and then wait another 3-6 months to be put on the payroll. In the meantime, she keeps herself busy raising her son, studying for final exams, preparing for her teacher training and volunteering. Jackie primarily volunteers as an AIDS testing counselor, although she has also volunteered as a teacher and with the homeless and orphans. At the AIDS clinic, her job is to talk to people when they decide they may want to get tested for AIDS, help them make that decision, and then counsel them when they get the results- positive or negative. From the stories she shares, this is a pretty grueling process and a very demanding job- especially for a volunteer.

(We’ll get back to Jackie’s stories and more general attitudes about AIDS in another blog entry because awareness of this pandemic has colored many of the exchanges we have had with the majority of you both before and during our trip. We’ve been asking a lot of questions and in our next blog entry, we figured we’d share our findings.)

I commented to Sean before we left that he would find plenty to do in Africa because NGOs are as common on the continent as McDonalds or Burger King in the US (or, if you live in Chicago, as common as Walgreens and CVS). There is literally one on every corner- and usually a few more than that. NGOs are non-governmental organizations that do humanitarian work, usually on a non-profit basis, across the world… this is a surprisingly large sector of the global workforce, especially when you count volunteers. A few examples include Habitat for Humanity or Doctors without Borders. Many NGOs are small and work at a very local level with a small community of people. These ubiquitous NGOs are staffed by both paid ex-pats with some kind of specialized skills or qualifications and locals- usually on a volunteer basis.

When we arrived and Sean began to probe around for some volunteer work with local NGOs he met Billy. Billy is 24, and a university graduate. He lives in Lusaka and spends almost all of his time working for multiple NGOs - mostly on a volunteer basis. Let me repeat that. He spends his time not looking for ways to make an extra thousand kwacha or two (25-50 cents- remember, the kwacha was equal to the GB pound only 41 years ago and now it is 7600 kwacha to the pound!!) but spends it doing work with Habitat for Humanity, screening applicants and organizing financial backers for the builds. He also works doing the very hard manual labor of building the cinder block homes- the ones that Sean talks about that the volunteers from local businesses and embassies don’t quite get done in their annual half day of volunteer work. Billy also gets paid a small wage helping to organize a new NGO that works with orphans (and streetkids who bust in on the events), building relationships and skillsets to help them reintegrate into society. Billy basically lives hand to mouth, staying with family and paying for some food, but when he has extra time, he shares it with others who he considers worse off than himself because they don’t have family to live with or a home to stay in.

In the US, Billy, as a worker living a hand to mouth existence, would be eligible for programs run by NGOs who help such people have the chance to finish high school or technical training and get ahead, save for the American dream of a small home or even for retirement or access to medical care. Jackie would be eligible for special scholarships and internships and would probably find a job. They would also be eligible for government programs. But here, they both choose to be on the side that gives. The amazing part is that there seems to be a whole youth movement oriented towards volunteering- a kind of “national service by choice” among those in their 20s who are unable to get a job. They expect themselves and others to spend a large proportion of their work hours helping people in their community.

Sean and I talk about Billy and Jackie a lot and we are impressed. I spend my time researching- reconstructing the history of an African community because I have the time and skill and members of that community have neither. Supposedly, I am preserving the culture of a people who are not able to do it themselves. Winning a $33K government grant forces the US government to invest that much more into the Zambian economy- and it is a lot more because it is helping each research assistant get through another few months. But this dissertation will help me get a job and its publication will help me get a raise, so I get more out of it than any African who ancestors were those who actually created the world I am trying to recreate. Perhaps what I am able to contribute is a sense of respect for the people I am learning from during my research. In my research, I don’t treat them as victims or the needy; I am the needy student and they are the teacher and they are tickled pink that some random American wants to learn about their specialized knowledge. In fact, they feel that it is entirely appropriate that Americans should know the history, culture and language of a small African tribe- after all, as they remind me, they know the history, culture and language of my tribe. In fact, most Zambians know more about US geography, economy and history than many of my freshman at Northwestern University.

Sean works side by side with Billy a few days a week. He is also creating a short documentary film for Habitat to use to woo new donors and volunteers. I suppose it will go on his CV, but the real benefit stays here as a new home for another family- or for several more families. Billy will make sure of that.

When people like Jackie and Billy ask about canceling The Debt and providing AIDS funds that are not linked to promoting abstinence but also condom use, etc., I think that they are justified in asking what we’ve done for them lately because they are doing a heck of a lot with what little they have.
· $100 will feed 100+ orphans and street children a meal at one of the sessions Sean and Billy work at (Action for Children).
· $12 will provide ARVs (medications) for a month for an HIV positive person.
· $4000 will build a new house with Habitat for Humanity.
· $4 will buy a mosquito net to prevent malaria for the life of the net. Then again, $2 will buy the medicine necessary to cure malaria. But people don’t have the extra cash laying around for such expenses- medicine, food, housing.
When Billy or Jackie tell us these things, tell us these low costs, tell us how the volunteer workers mean that there is no overhead, you can understand why there are so many NGOs that function here and make a difference.

But with all this effort, all this energy, there must be other reasons that Africa remains undeveloped; it certainly can’t just be that people here don’t care or won’t change. It can’t just be corrupt politicians because there are court cases everyday in the news, in which politicians are being prosecuted by the Anti-Corruption Coalition (just ask Sean who has a habit of stopping by the High Court of the Republic of Zambia… for directions- so embarrassing!) The cause must be complicated and it must have something to do with a long history of economies oriented towards exporting raw goods and importing manufactured goods made with their own raw goods in Western countries; it must have something to do with “fair-weather fair trade policies” (like the US government keeping corn and wheat prices low by subsidizing US farmers and US farming corporations- prices so low even an African farmer, if he could get his crops to the US, could not live off the profit- but, hurrah for the South American cotton farmers who took the US to the World Trade Organization, which found the US guilty of inhibiting free trade!); it must have something to do with debt because most third-world governments have been spending more in loan interest payments TO rich countries than they have been receiving in loans to develop FROM rich countries- yes, that is the rich countries profiting off the poor ones (probably not the original intention and hence the movement for debt relief that gathered force in 2001).

Jackie and Billy are up against a lot. What have we done for them lately? Well, we shared what little we have done (Sean certainly more than me!). Maybe you don’t work 30 hours a week helping the poor in Africa like Jackie and Billy (and sometimes Sean) do. Maybe you don’t donate money unless there is a movement for a specific need like tsunamis and hurricanes. After all, it is pretty hard to give to a cause that is constant and seemingly impenetrable like AIDS and malaria and homelessness- it feels like you are just throwing money out the window even though you are saving a life. Anyway, should Africa feature on the radar screen of an average American’s set of interests and concerns? Who gets to decide how Africa is portrayed- Africans? NGOs soliciting donations in advertisements? Media? Or ignorance.

All that aside, you certainly did make it through this very long entry and maybe learned something you didn’t know before- about Africa or about mundane things like buying bread and drinking fair trade coffee. More importantly, maybe it gave you hope that by the choices and actions of her people, Africa is not the Hopeless Continent, or even a Dark one.

And maybe that inspired you to realize the incredible power of your own choices and actions. That is to say, when you learn about these Zambians who, by our standards, have nothing but do so much, don’t you suddenly feel like you can do a lot?

Action for Children

Part of my Zambian volunteer experience has been committed to an NGO (non-governmental organization) called Action for Children. The objective is to “empower orphans with skills so they can be integrated back into the community and have a positive influence.”

Since the program is in its infancy (started in September by a generous American who has depleted her savings and is headed back to the States to seek funding), volunteers conduct regular events to get to know the kids from an orphanage (ages range from 10-22) so to be able to advise on the needs/skill development of each kid. Once the needs are determined, the kids will go to a transitional center (being built now) where they will develop the skills and mindset to help them succeed in the community.

One event that I have been involved with is the Sunday Session. For three hours we interact with the youths by playing basketball, football (soccer or “footy” as they call it), or drawing. At the end of the session, we provide food for the kids. Feeding time is the most physical part. Word has gotten around among the street orphans (not part of the program) about the Sunday Session and often they come stealing the food from the orphans (from the orphanage for whom the program is for).

Photo: Footy

The street orphans are hungry and usually have not eaten since work in the city cut off on Friday, so they become very aggressive and try to intimidate orphans who have two slices of bread and a sugary drink (yes, that’s all the program can afford for the 70 orphans). I’ve noticed the volunteers are pretty deft at getting physical, but not reckless in keeping order. Honestly, I still have trouble telling the difference between who’s street and who’s from the orphanage. So I usually hang back and just make sure no one gets too roughed up. The goal of the Sunday Session is to interact with the kids, build trust, and thus help them help themselves when they go to the transitional center. All the orphans I’ve talked to say the session is the highlight of their week.

Photo: Treats after a hard session of Footy

The kids have always been very respectful, kind, and thankful to all the volunteers. They have taken a particular interest in me because I am the only Asian volunteer. Often they pinch my skin (I guess to see if it’s really yellow), ask me if I know Kung Fu, and if Singapore is in China. Seems like stereotypes don’t change regardless if you are talking to an orphan in Zambia or an American teen. I often draw the orphans’ maps and point to countries and capital cities around the world so they get a sense of where Africa is in relation to Singapore and the U.S. They all want to come back with me to the States and claim they will be the next 50 cent. Most of them can break dance like Michael –they just can’t afford the white glove. Finally, I tell them I don’t do Kung Fu. Little do they know I am a grandmaster of the school of Two-Fisted Fiery Dragon.

HeeYa! (Insert Kung Fu kick here)

An eye-opening experience was when a kid was admiring my beat-up Timex Ironman watch. He was touching it like he wanted to take it. Most of these orphans are on the streets during part of the day after classes at the orphanage and return at night (they are considered the lucky ones, the street kids sleep on the sidewalks). Anyways, being the paranoid expatriate about pickpockets, I was watching the kid. When he asked me where I got the watch, I told him it was a gift from my mother. He then looked very serious and disarmed me with his reply: “You parents alive? Must be nicing. You are blessed.”

In making up a white lie to protect my watch and seem too poor to buy one myself, he made me realize the inherent richness of my life. Moments like this are why I keep coming back to the sessions.

During the sessions usually I play a little footy (I suck) but always find myself wrapping things up at the basketball court. One of the more disturbing experiences happened off the court. Last week, I was playing basketball with some kids when there were two 12 year olds wrestling behind a dumpster. Another volunteer and I went to break it up when we realized someone was really getting hurt. The one that ran away was carrying a water bottle with him. At first I was confused why the volunteer was yelling at the kid to drop the bottle. Things became clearer when the volunteer explained it was petrol mixed with glue in the bottle, and the kids were fighting to get high. Since then, I’ve noticed many kids on the street sniffing from the water bottles (and yes, I’ve had to sample it so I could write about it). The odor is quite addictive (really does smell good, almost like petrol at the gas station), but the physical reaction to inhalation is similar to a deep breath of bleach –it suffocates your nasal passage, scrunches your eyes, and strangles your throat. Now, as an educated volunteer I’m constantly on patrol at the Sunday Sessions to confiscate water bottles from the orphans participating in the games. I don’t think they are aware of the physical consequences of their habit. It’s a tiresome attempt to remove another threat so they can live longer than their parents did.

All the orphans have lost their parents to unnatural causes: about 60% of the orphans have lost their parents to AIDS. Malaria, cholera, typhoid, and TB make up the remaining mix. It’s sad when you think about it, aside from HIV, almost all of the unnatural causes of death could be eradicated with decent medical care and prevention like we have in the west.

AIDS is another story. A whole generation is being wiped out by AIDS (grandparents and kids are left). The national average is a third of Zambians have HIV. So to look at it conservatively, about a third of all people’s hands I shake here have HIV. In the cities it’s higher, for example, in the National University of Zambia where we take our language classes, HIV is carried by 70% of the student body. Obviously, everyone in the developed world knows the dangers of HIV and AIDS and is aware that Africa has the highest infection rate of any continent. Politicians, entertainers, and concerts like Live 8 remind us of that, but living here makes it so much more real. Seeing just the tip of the HIV/AIDS iceberg here makes me realize what a joke the Bush administration is concerning its Aid for Africa initiative. For a government or NGO to qualify for the funds, they have to preach abstinence rather than condom use. Now tell me how’s that for stupid and realistic. It cries “Bush Born Again Christian.” And speaking of Christian, Zambia is big on that and has qualified for a lot of funding –as long as they promised to preach abstinence among the youth (who laugh at that initiative). Good luck telling a sexually charged teen, 20, or 30 year old to be intimate with God and not another human being that’s not their life partner.

For their sake, I hope they choose latex vs. an early Amen.

11/17/2005

SETTLED IN… AGAIN

It has been only three and a half weeks, but we have already settled into some kind of schedule: I work through the mornings, spending the afternoons doing emails, working at home, marketing with Sean and watching the occasional movie (in a “stadium-seating” movie theatre no less!- a South African company). We have Citonga language lessons once or twice and week and have slowly built up a set of friends we spend time with in the evenings and on the weekends- provided it doesn’t conflict with our viewing of Isidingo, a South African TV drama.

Isidingo is a far cry from Desperate Housewives but it has sex, scandal, murder and all the rest… with editing, sound, and all the rest. As we have come to learn, most African TV shows are probably filmed with one guy holding a camcorder. So, Isidingo is kind of our daily dose of “western” entertainment.

Our TV watching also includes the local national news broadcast, dubbed “Mwanawasa News” because President Mwanawasa’s most incidental activities (sneezes, tooth-brushing, etc.) are prominently featured on this state-owned channel (there is also a private channel and a Christian channel- we have also heard that many folks have satellite TV but have not lived anywhere yet where we could enjoy this luxury).

Which brings me to our new “digs”- we moved out of our old apartment due to some problems with maintenance etc. and are now eternally indebted to our Zambian friend at the embassy. She has warmly opened her house to us for a short-term rental (hard to find in Lusaka) while she is on an extended business trip in Washington DC. We share the home with her young 4 1/2 year old son and his nanny and enjoy the company of a steady stream of relatives who pop in for varying lengths of time- so far, a new relative has appeared each day! The son is sweet and loving and really likes it when I pretend to be his brother/sister/mother/father—anything but the “Auntie” that I am in the family dynamics! The flip side is that he has trouble entertaining himself and it can be hard to do work when he is always nagging to play. This will probably work itself out in time. At least Sean is his favorite- which buys me some peaceful moments and encourages Sean to get away from the house for long periods of time!

Photo: Kwame the Terror

Our place is in a neighborhood with many Indians- so we are currently listening to the fireworks of the end of Diwali (festival of light). The local Indian restaurant is fantastic- $5.50 for all you can eat! Doesn’t hurt that the beer (which Sean has deemed to be far better than American beer –but the hangover is on par) is pretty cheap there, too.

So, all in all, we are happy and I am more productive because I don’t spend all day at home waiting for plumbers and electricians who never show up.

Our visits to immigration are another story….. to be told when they are a distant memory, not a fresh daily annoyance.

11/17/2005

TELLING OFF THE YOUNGSTERS

Here is a rather random excerpt from the archives at the University of Zambia that struck me as rather amusing. A very old man, recorded in the 1970s, relates to the researchers how he became rich from his hard work at fishing and reinvestment of fishing profits in cattle. He is speaking in front of some of his young relatives, who he chides for their laziness and drunkenness. Like good young men, they accept his insults, rather than be disrespectful and disagree. In the middle of the interview, the young men start telling the researcher how things used to be done, interrupting the elder and generally making the gathering of information difficult! [A sign of things to come when I head out into the village to do my own interviews??] It concludes with a satisfying session of male bragging. If nothing else, it gives you a sense of what I spend my days reading (trying to glean data about languages and food economies) and also what I will spend my days doing when we start going out to the villages.

Key to Speakers:
E= Elder, Mr. Mapulanga, who often refers to himself in his speech
YM= One of several young men present
R= researcher doing the interview

E: “This is what I did when I began spearing fish. I did this, young ones, that whenever I went out I came back empty handed. They were saying that I did not know fishing. Most of those days, I was coming back empty handed. I caught nothing. One day I caught five tens, after catching five tens, I brought them home and they cut them open and cleaned them. Eee, on another day I went out and caught two hundred, in a place I do not know. Eee, one time I traded and bought one cow. Yes, and on another day, I bought another cow, that’s how I began. Yes, this fish can bring riches, young ones, if one handles it well once can become rich. Yes that is how I began- from catching fish. It can bring plenty of riches. What you do these days, you only drink beer, it is bad. You of these days, when you get money, you only finish it on beer. It is really for beer. It is for beer, yes, we, when we began first worked very hard yes that is how we suffered for this name.”

YM: “Just as you said, Mapulanga, we young ones play cards only. It is for beer as you said- that’s where the money finishes. That’s where it finishes. That’s were it finishes father, on beer, these days, if you are not careful, you will be suffering and you will be dying without seeing anything at all. Eee, the things I am telling you today young ones, are the true things.”

E: “This money, Mapulanga, money it is no longer money whether one has ten pound notes [reference to colonial era currency], if he takes one pound out, that’s all, he has finished it. He has finished it! He has finished it! Do you think I am lying when I talk like that?”

YM: “No father, it is not… lying. We young ones…, no, you probably got rich long ago.”

E: “We of long ago were going well, you of these days, you- you only walk about [i.e. don’t work, just loaf around]. Ee, that how you walk, you of these days. You will see nothing at all. That is true you have spoken truly. My inlaw Josai are you listening?”

YM: “I have heard.”

E: “What is it that Mapulanga has said?”

YM: “What the old man has spoken is true, we only go drinking beer, whether you get two tens of pounds- you only finish it.”

E: “Ee, he speaks truly this Mapulanga.”

YM: “That is all the news I know.”

YM: “He was killing very little fish, killing little fish and he was preserving them, but we if you get then pounds, it is for beer only, it goes for beer or cards and it is finished, you talk well Mapulanga. The ancients were doing well.”

E: “We were doing well long ago.”

YM: “You speak well Mapulanga, I have also appreciated it, me who is Josai Moonga. You have spoken well, Mapulanga.”

E: “We suffered young ones, we suffered terribly and on certain occasions it made us sleep in this sand, in mud, in Namulamfwe all over, we suffered in all these rivers in Chizubo, yes, in Chigaga, in Mainde, all these are the rivers that we caught fish, spearing one by one, sometimes you finished a hundred. That is how we were spearing them, when ever it enters you speakr one by one by one and you put it into the canoe until you make up a hundred.”

R: “In what where you spearing them?”

E: “In yes, Nampongwe, the same one.”

R: “How did you see them in the water?”

E: “They were visible in the water- we were covering.”

YM: “What were you covering?”

YM: “Really Josai, it is dead there.”

YM: “A blanket, spreading it over the water. Spreading it over a mat, then you go under its shade so that you spear one by one and put it in the boat, you spear one by one and you put in the boat.”

R: ”Are they visible in the water?”

YM: “The fish are also visible.”

R: “Where is the blanket and the mat resting?”

YM: “It rests on sticks, you make them criss-cross on supports. Then you put a mat, over it you put a blanket, then you can see under the water.”

R: “So you can see through the water then?”

YM: “Then you kneel.”

E: ‘That, Josai, must be it because when we look in water, what prevents us from seeing the fish is the sun. Yes, once you cut off the glare of the sun, the fish become visible. I think that is the reasoning they used. Do you think Josai we of these days can do that?”

YM: “Aaa none can do that. I also believe that this thing can happen, if you are in a canoe and happen to look under the canoe you find that anything that passess there you will be able to see it—when the glare of the sun is cut off by the canoe. Hmmm, you can see everything under water.”

E: “Don’t you know that bird that does like this (demonstrating). The reason why that bird does that, why it covers itself is to do the same as the old Mapulanda used to do- the Katembo of Nakooze. Yes of Nakooze yes in the village of the old man of Haatembo, the people who pull canoes. Yes that is where we end, father, we are the one who is Mapulanga Nakooze, who lives in Haatembo, he is Mapulanga Nakooze- of those rich people. My other name is Mbeza, the doer of things.”

YM: “He is the doer of things.”

E: “I am Shankombo- I am Kupola, I am Shikongwa Makondo (he who can not be frightened in battles).”

YM: “He who went to the western side of Bweengwa.”

E: “Me who reached the western side of Bweengwa.”

YM: “Yes, that’s where we end, me who is speaking, I am Dimas of Museka- I am Dimas Kambalanje.”

YM: “Of Museka- where they laugh at table!”

SO, WHY ARE WE HERE?

We’ve been getting this question a lot. A lot of you know that I am working on my PhD in History (specifically, African history) at Northwestern University in Chicago. The short answer is that to produce new knowledge about African history, you have to go to Africa (would you expect good archives, museums, and interviewees about the American Cherokee Indians in Tokyo???).

To be more specific, my dissertation is about ancient food systems and their impact on the political economy over the course of 3000 years (1000 BC to 1800 AD) in the region of South Central Africa (Zambia, northern Botswana and the Caprivi Strip area of Namibia). Let me restate that: I am producing information to recover a history that was never recorded. This history is about how people over the last several thousand years in Africa drew on wild animals, fruits, nuts, grains, and medicines to try to exert some control over politics in communities whose economies supposedly focused on farming domestic plants and animals. Scholars have ignored how people used wild resources to support families, gain political followings, summon powerful spirits and other forms of affecting change and that is precisely what I am researching.



Now, if you have made it this far, you might have already wondered about sources- Africa doesn’t have written records that stretch back 3000 years (save for Egypt). I look at archaeology and work by other people who have reconstructed the history of the climate in this region. But my main source of historical evidence is vocabulary. That is to say, I collect lists of Africans’ words for political institutions, foods, tools, medicines, etc in many different but related languages. When I have all these words, I compare them across languages. Because these languages are related (much like French, Spanish, Italian, Romanian, Portuguese, etc.), I can trace how far back in the family tree of these languages a word (and, presumably, its referent object or idea) was invented. Basically, I am writing history by reconstructing dead languages (like reconstructing Latin from the languages listed above- although, Latin was recorded so this is not necessary). Then, if I can reconstruct a word to a point in the language family tree (at a historical moment when a particular ancestral language existed), I can make historical arguments about people inheriting that word, inventing it or borrowing it from a neighboring language. This is called historical linguistics- the writing of history from word histories traced back through the language family tree of a set of related languages.

Ok, lesson over.

-Kate

Itinerary

October 20 - January: Based in Lusaka with trips to nearby villages
February - Gaborone, Botswana
March- Choma and Livingstone areas of Zambia
April- Livingstone area with trips to local villages
May- Windhoek, Namibia
June- September Katima Mulilo and Caprivi Strip area of Namibia (closest airport: Livinstone, Zambia)