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.

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