The New Year

Happy New Year!

This post has been late. I wasn't sure what to write or if I even needed to write anything. In November I visited America for Thanksgiving and decided to stay in the states instead of returning to Zambia. So the big news, I resigned from Peace Corps and am now living in the states. Needless to say, it has been a whirlwind and slightly frightening as I had expected to have a job lined up when I returned and to know where I was living and what I'd be doing. While I know where I'll be living (near Washington DC), I am officially unemployed. Not knowing what happens next is unnerving. I usually have a plan to follow and something to do but now I'm just applying for jobs and waiting to hear back.

In other news though, I'm getting a puppy with my boyfriend! We should be picking her up within the next 2 weeks. Yesterday we visited the breeder (we're getting a wire haired pointing griffon) thinking we would pick out our pup. Yeah, right! Instead we ended up playing with four puppies and thinking each one would be the one for us. Now it depends on the results of the temperament/behavior tests. We narrowed it down to two female puppies, one tubby thing with a ring on it's tail and spot on its' back and one darker girl with a spot on her shoulder. Look for pictures on facebook if we're friends!

I am excited for the next phase in my life. I'd like to continue posting stories from Zambia but when you're not experiencing it everyday it's more difficult to write about. While I miss Zambia, I do not regret staying in the states. It was the best decision for me. I will always have fond memories of my village and the people I knew there and will hopefully see them again in the future.

Farewell, Zambia!

Seasons

For all of you readers out there who like hearing about the weather, this is the post for you! Zambia is in the southern hemisphere which means the seasons are opposite those in the northern hemisphere (for example, the United States). Zambia's seasons are difficult to compare to those in the states but this is how I think of the seasons here:

May - August : winter
September - November : summer
November - March : spring
April - May : fall

Right now, October, is the peak of hot season. It's when temperatures are highest throughout the country. It's also dry season which us typically from April/May to November. This means that it won't rain during this period. Most of the vegetation during dry season turns brown and dies. There are some trees though that actually sprout leaves and produce fruit.
The rainy season usually begins in November. When the rains finally arrive I consider this spring because everything starts to turn green and it rains a lot, similar to spring in the states. Rainy season is when planting occurs. The livestock are particularly happy and fat at this time, too because of all of the fresh grass. During dry season they grow thin due to a lack of food from burning, etc. Temperatures are still hot during midday but they're tolerable, unlike now when there are days when all you can do is lie on the floor and sweat while hoping for the temperature to drop (hint: it usually doesn't and you end up tossing and turning in a pool of your own sweat).

During April or May the rains finish and temperatures drop. July is the coldest month. There are mornings when I can see my breath and wear multiple layers and slippers. Many days are overcast and windy. Zambians don't like cold season and to be fair, there are a lot more funerals during this time of year. Whether or not they're weather related I'm not sure.

So, that's a brief rundown of my experience with Zambia's seasons. I'm not a fan of hot season and tend to become grumpy and unpleasant because of the heat but cold season is nice. Too bad it's so short. It'd be fine with me if cold season lasted right up until rainy season began!

Zambian Nuptials

On Saturday, I attended my second Zambian wedding. Although the women who invited me (I have no idea how they were related to the bride or groom) told me to arrive around noon, my host Mom and I showed up round 1600hrs, just in time for all of the action (my Mom’s sense of Zamtime is perfect as we never wait long for events to start, even if in my American mind I cringe at being late and would have arrived at noon and waited 4 hours for things to kick off).

As always, my host mom herded me to the very front of the crowd (a position I hate as I’m typically forced into dancing or some other type of amusement for the masses) where I was made to sit in the very front with the bridal party. I didn’t even know who was getting married, only that it was the brother of a friend of mine. My host Mom sat down beside me and we waited for the wedding to begin as people danced and others snapped photos. There is always much dancing at a Zambian wedding and everyone knows how to shake that thang, even the 3 year olds!

Soon the crowds parted and the bridesmaids and groomsmen entered. As in the US, they are paired up. Everyone does a synchronized dance which is a shuffling and kicking type of thing. After dancing for a few minutes, they sit down and are handed softies to drink. Even in 100°F weather the men wear full suits. The guys also love to wear sunglasses, a very popular accessory, it makes them look cool.

Next the bride and groom enter with their best man and matron of honor (in the states this is the maid of  honor. We also have a matron but she’s typically married). The bride ducks her head and stares at her feet. She isn’t allowed to smile or dance or do anything on her own. If her veil needs arranged or her dress needs pulled up someone else does it. Anyway, they make their way to a table and sit behind it. There is always a person sitting with them with a pen and notebook to record the gifts and money that is given.

Now the real fun begins and my favorite part of any Zambian wedding. It’s cake time! But, before the bride and groom can cut the cake (the bride must have her matron cover her hand and guide it to cut the cake), the knife girl must appear. KNIFE GIRL. That is her traditional name. Knife Girl is usually a 7 or 8 year old girl given the knife to cut the cake. Everyone starts cheering as she comes out and dances. Yep, she dances in front of the crowd with a knife. At this wedding a boy accompanied her and they both danced. This continues for about 10 minutes and onlookers can come up and give them tips. Knife Girl then dances up to the table and presents the knife to the bride and groom. The cake is brought out and the teeny-tiniest pieces ever are cut. The bride and groom’s immediate family members then line up and are offered pieces of cake by the kneeling bride and groom. The bridal party then is given a few pieces that they pass out to lucky people in the crowd (I got a piece!).

That typically concludes the ceremony. After that everyone eats food or dances or chats. Grass structures are constructed as food courts. There’s a bucket of cibwantu, the traditional maize drink in Tongaland, and then a bucket for washing your hands before and after eating. Once you enter, one of the groom’s female family members brings you some nshima and meat. There’s usually beef and chicken served at weddings. There are also hundreds of people. Imagine cooking full meals for 500+ people. It’s crazy.

Weddings are huge celebrations in the village. They happen after the maize harvest is sold since this is when families have the most money and can afford a wedding. Everyone has fun, except for the bride who must remain downcast. It’s said that if the bride doesn’t cry tears of sorrow at her wedding she’s going to be an awful wife and possibly promiscuous. The party rages throughout the night and people come and go as they wish. It’s a good time to chat with people you might not see often.

Here are some pictures from the wedding.

My Archenemy

It all started back in July 2014. My garden was planted. There were tiny radishes, beets, onions, carrots, turnips, and beans. I'd lovingly tended to the baby plants, ensuring their fragile roots were protected from the sun by a thick layer of mulch, gingerly plucking any weeds that could possibly compete with the vegetables, and diligently watering each day since the root systems of the new plants was still shallow. I'd even found a reliable boy to continue watering while I took a holiday.

I've had my garden since community entry last year. There's a sturdy fence that has withstood goats constantly scratching their flanks on it and I periodically knock termite tunnels from the poles. It has served me well these past 12 months.

Until...

I returned from my vacation. I arrived home after dark and contained my excitement over what my garden looked like since it was to late to check. How large would all of those tiny plants now be?! I might be able to start harvesting greens! Having a garden is essential for me as it's difficult to find veg in my village. There are about 2 weeks of every month where I eat only rice, soya pieces, and tomatoes. This is because u have to purchase various vegetables and leafy greens during my bimonthly trips to town. Attempting to keep vegetables for 2 weeks without refrigeration typically leads to spoiled vegetables. So, I eat with i purchase within a week then wait another before heading back to town.

Okay, enough background, let's return to the story. The night I returned to Nalube Village, I didn't check my garden. Even the next morning I waited until my chores were finished and I was ready to water. What I found was a garden in disarray. The compost pile had been scattered to the four corners of the garden. The raised beds that weren't in production, the ones I was preparing for planting, had all of the topsoil scattered as well and were now level beds. There were potholes. There were feathers. There were scratch marks in the dirt. And the plants I'd tended with such care and vigilance were demolished. All of the beets, carrots, and onions were gone, their remains unable to be found. The leaves of the other plants were gone, picked clean except for a few spindly stems. There were 2 bean plants remaining. That was all.

In my absence the chickens had stormed the fence, determined to breach it's sturdy walls to discover what treasures were inside. I imagined roosters and hens ramming the fence and repeatedly attempting to flap high enough to hop over. And they had  succeeded. I pinpointed the most determined chickens, two hens that hadn't forgotten what spoils and riches they had reaped from inside the fence. I'd chased them several times away or out of the garden.

A few days after my return and after my disappointment had abated, my brother and I set about making the fence chicken-proof. We spent a few hours cutting and collecting branches covered in thorns and carefully adding them to the top of the fence. That evening a hen attempted to gain entrance. She flapped to the top only to realize what changes had occurred. I watched happily as she sqwaked and flapped and failed to enter. The thorns had worked! I could begin to repair and replant my garden. There was even time to replant some of the cold crops. I even put another bed into production.

Then, I discovered an egg inside the garden and a cream-colored hen clucking and pacing around the outside of the fence. For three days we battled. Each day I would find another egg and set about stacking the thorns higher and chasing her with a stick every
chance I could. Luckily she was more interested in laying eggs than digging for grubs. I found a small entrance she'd made at the base of the fence, a tent-shaped hole in the grass. I closed it with sticks dug into the ground. On the third morning I caught her. Tucking her under my arm, I carried her to my host mom who proceeded to pluck her flight feathers. Finally, the hen settled for laying eggs outside the fence instead of inside the garden. I thought I had won.

A few weeks later, after more seeds had germinated,
I fell ill. I asked my host mom to water the plants while I went to the Peace Corps office to recover. And when I returned, I found the garden once again destroyed. A sneaky hen had entered on the very day of my return and happily scratched, pecked, and preened in all of the garden beds. I'd assumed she'd gotten in through an improperly closed gate as it's tricky to close all of the gaps and takes some maneuvering.

This brings us to August 18th, 2014. I'd been home over a week and not a single chicken had entered or
even tried to enter the garden. I'd replanted yet again and had small cabbages, kale, and beans. I went to visit my family at my normal time in the afternoon to talk about rabbits. That very morning I had added ash to the beds for termite control and learned about a local plant to use for making natural pesticides. Everything had been fine. In fact, the only chicken I had seen all day was a speckled hen with a toupee and three chicks. I walked with my mom home talking about trees and termites. She continued to the borehole and I continued home. I heard some flapping, a few clucks, and saw a cream-colored hen perched atop the fence. While I'd been visiting my family she'd had a grand old time destroying my garden. Again. My garden, gone again.

It's time to fortify the fence. The plan: gather more thorns and add two additional feet to the height. If this doesn't work, I'll cede my garden to the cream-colored hen, my archenemy.

Update: while collecting thorns the hen struck again. This time though, she was still in the garden when my host brother and I returned. We caught her. She is one of two cream-colored hens and her feathers were still intact. We took her to my host mom who plucked her feathers none to gently. We'll still fortify the fence and hope the trouble is over.

Don't Worry, Ma

Lately, many people have been asking me about the ebola outbreaks. They're worried about the virus spreading to Zambia. While distance isn't any guarantee against the spread of this disease, I wanted to give some perspective.

Let's start with the fact that Africa is a continent. While the country of Zambia is only the size of Texas, Africa can comfortably contain the United States, China, Europe, India, and Japan. The United States can fit within the continent 3 times. Hopefully this gives you an idea of scale and size. Here's a commonly used graphic for you (courtesy of josipdasovic.wordpress.com).

Now, with this scale in mind, the Ebola outbreak is in west Africa in the countries of Guinea, Liberia, and Sierra Leone. I'm in southern Africa. While our neighbors in the DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) have had outbreaks in the past, Zambia has never experienced one. Additionally, the government is contemplating steps to prevent the entrance of the disease.

While anything is possible, I wanted to reassure those of you who may be worried about the possibility of Ebola in Zambia that right now the reported cases are thousands of miles away and the Zambian government (and I'm sure Peace Corps) are  monitoring the situation.

To end, here's another graphic for you from a fellow PCV in Zambia.

Peace Corps Cravings

Sometimes when you're tucked into your hut for the night, you'll get a craving for something sweet. Now, since you can't just run out to store and grab a tub of ice cream and you're back-up stash of chocolate is probably gone by this time (hey, it's difficult to ration things, even when you know you won't be in town for another 2 weeks), what do you do? I typically crave chocolate. Here are the various ways I cope in a mostly chocolate-less existence.

1) Fight the cravings (if you can't get something and don't have it, it's a lot easier to quit or control yourself since the physical item is unavailable).

2) Eat everything else you can get your hands on that doesn't need to be cooked.

3) Scoop out a few spoonfuls of Blueband margarine, add a few cups of icing sugar, beat and consume. Yum!

Peace Corps survival secrets.

TP, TP Anyone?

During training, all of the trainees are dependent on their host family for everything - food, toiletries, etc. There isn't much time or kwacha for shopping.

One day, I ran out of toilet paper. My host mom had given it to me periodically and on a regular basis before this. Too embarrassed to ask her for more and thinking she must not have any, I spent the afternoon walking around Yudah village. Bowel movements are taboo to mention in Zambia (even if it is a favorite topic of conversation for volunteers) so I was uneasy asking for such a thing as that used to wipe butts. Ducking into all of the tiny tuck shops, I shyly asked each one for toilet paper. To my dismay, there was none to be found.

I wandered over to my friend and neighbors house, Terri, and told her about my quest and the inconvenient result. We laughed and she gave me a few squares from her stash. Stuffing the precious pieces into my sports bra, I went home.

The next day I recounted the story to the other trainees, laughing and turning bright red. This is Zambia, what can you do but tell your friends and laugh at situations like that.

After dinner that night, my mother emerged from the kids room holding 2 rolls of toilet paper. Word must have gotten back to her that her white child had been desperately peeking into shops up and down the road asking for tissue!