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!

Things That Worry Me While I'm Biking

    The main mode of transportation for volunteers in Zambia is a mountain bike. Whenever I go to town, I cycle the 8 kilometers to the paved road then catch a ride. Biking 8 kilometers takes me about 45 minutes. Within these 45  minutes, there are a number of things that I'm focused on, mainly things that worry me while on my bike that could ruin a bike ride or day. These things are, in order of importance:

1) Cow patties - if you're unlucky, you'll roll right through a fresh one resulting in your legs and torso, and sometimes even your face, being splattered with cow feces. If you're having a really bad day, you may have even been biking with your mouth open and a few specks or chunks ended up in there. Cow patties are by far the thing that causes me to be on alert and dodge and weave.

2) Biking with your mouth open - anything can end up in there. Even if you don't hit a pile of cow manure, you might swallow a fly or gnat.

3) Snakes - there's not much you can do if you come upon a snake in the path. The best strategy, lift your legs and hope it moves and doesn't strike at you.

4) Sticks that look like snakes - see #3.

5) Ditches - I can't steer so there's always a possibility of me ending up head over handlebars in a ditch. Sometimes the path is a narrow little trail beside a ditch. These make  me extra anxious.

6) Sand - riding through sand is the easiest time to wreck (minus being on a path alongside a ravine). The sand slows you down and makes you feel like you have no control. To combat this you have to go fast and attempt to keep your wheels straight but this makes it seem like you're even more likely to wreck. It's a delicate balance.

7) Low-hanging branches - self-explanatory.

8) Loose rocks - I'll always hit the one loose rock in the road which jerks my wheels one way or another and makes me scramble to maintain control. Maybe this happens because I can't steer and we tend to veer towards the things we're focused on. I'm always focused on that rock trying not to hit it.

9) Large rocks - again, I always end up steering right for them. They're like magnets for me and my bike.

10) Flies and gnats - they end up in your mouth or continually try to land on your face. Annoying.

11) COW PATTIES.

Tales from the Bush: Part 1 - Dinner and a Murder

I'd been in my village only a handful of days when I had my first evening visitor. Typically you don't receive guests after dark in Zambia, but this guy didn't care about cultural customs. Unfortunately this got him killed.

When night falls I become much more wary and paranoid while at my house. This is a result of the possibility of meeting some of my more testy and unpleasant neighbors under the cover of darkness such as a variety of venomous snakes, camel spiders, feral dogs, etc.

So, as I was cooking dinner on one of my first nights in the village, I heard a chewing sound coming from the floor of my cikuta. The noise continued until a small hole began to appear. Neither the cat nor dog were disturbed by this. I, on the other hand, was.
Inching my way closer to the slowly expanding hole, I shined my flashlight into. Immediately I saw a round eye with a small, black pupil. Of course I thought snake since one of my biggest worries about living in the African bush is encountering one of these reptilian neighbors at night in my yard.

When under this assumption what is the first thing any sane person does? Well, my first reaction was to sprint to my house, grab a long stick, Leatherman, and some string and begin making a makeshift spear.

I marched outside, ready to face my "guest." I stretched out my arms, gripping the spear, and jabbed tentatively into the hole. After the first strike, the blade at the end of the stick came loose, wiggling back and forth, no longer firmly attached. A few more pokes and misses with the spear and I decided to be brave. Unlashing the Leatherman, I crept towards the hole. Making a last, mighty attack, Stabbing one more time, I began widening the hole to confront whatever creature awaited.

I spied my nemesis. Using the tip of the knife, I scooped my mangled guest from the hole. I had just defended myself, to the death, against a dung beetle. Feeling silly and a little sad, I gently laid out the beast that had caused me so much worry that evening. Now, instead of allowing my preconceived notions if Africa - that danger and vipers and warlords are lurking in every dark evening - I now patiently wait to determine what might be making that sound and even help those little dung beetles chewing through my floor to emerge.

Tales from the Bush

There are so many little things that happen here that I fail to write about because to me these events are just part of being in Zambia. In the course of writing letters though, I realized that maybe these silly stories might actually be entertaining to those of you in the states. So, I've decided to start a series of blogs titled "Tales from the Bush." I hope you enjoy them.

Convenience

My church in the states is doing a Lenten study called A Place at the Table. Participants are challenged to address the issues of consumerism, consumption, and over indulgence and in the process to share what we have with those in the developing world. During the week, members are asked to eat a diet similar to what someone in the less developed areas of the world would eat on a daily basis. The money saved will then be used to fund projects in these areas with a focus on access to clean water.
     I loved that my church family was doing this study and asked to be a part of it through doing the readings and providing what little insight I may have from Zambia. Today's lesson really hit home for me. It tackled convenience and boy oh boy have I learned what this word means since being in Zambia. It means having what you want when you want it in the fastest and easiest manner. In a way, it means being spoiled. I've also learned that I took convenience for granted when I was in the states. I now appreciate what this word truly means and I no longer take it for granted.
     Zambia is a wonderful place. There is a cultural richness I haven't experienced anywhere else. The care and friendliness that people show one another is astounding. The joy that comes with merely sitting with someone and chatting is unmatched - it is people-focused and laughter filled. Everyone shares what they have and offers help where they can.
     Zambia is also a country still in development. With that comes certain hindrances to convenience. Towns are typically small and filled with tiny, family run shops with a few chains present. And while grocery stores in Lusaka and Livingstone are fairly well stocked, that same store in my town and others like it probably aren't. It may be out of cheese, fruit and/or vegetables, spices, meat, coffee, or ice cream for months. I haven't seen granola (my favorite breakfast food in my grocery store for a year.) You never know what will be available when you make your monthly or bi-weekly trip to town. It can be rather frustrating, and inconvenient, when, on one of these rare trips, there are no apples or carrots or powdered milk. But even in this I am spoiled, a privileged shopper because I can afford to shop at a Spar or Shoprite (the local grocery store chains). So, even though I may be upset when Spar has no cheese, to put things in perspective, the majority of Zambians I know have never tasted cheese.
     When I first arrived in my village, it was fun to duck into the little shops looking for what I needed or just to explore. With time and the unique sport of catching public transport to get to my nearest town though, sometimes I just wanted a one-stop shopping center. In America there are stores where you can buy everything you need from groceries to clothes to auto parts. Chances are you can even walk into a more specialized store, like Home Depot, and still find everything you need for your weekend construction project. I mention this because recently I co-facilitated an Appropriate Technology workshop and must have visited a dozen different shops tucked away all around town to find all of the materials that were needed.
    There are do many other "convenient " things I could talk about that we take for granted in the states - paved roads, cell phone plans, hobbies - but I think the point is clear. We really do take convenience for granted.
     Zambia has given me a new appreciation for what convenience is. Next time I walk into a Home Depot, Food Lion, or Target I will think how amazing it is that I don't have to visit 12 more stores before I'm finished with my shopping. Hopefully being here also makes me a more conscientious consumer and reminds me that for some families convenience means having to shell peanuts you harvested from your own field so you can eat dinner tonight.

Fields of Gold

I don’t normally do this but I was so impressed by the size of these fields and the amount of labor involved in maintaining them that I’m posting a picture. It’s not that I’m against pictures or anything but they always throw off the text by ruining the alignment and it also takes a lot of time to upload a picture.

This is one of my host Mom’s groundnut (nyemu in Tonga) fields (and this is my Mom!). She has multiple fields, larger than the one depicted, about a 30-45 minute walk from the house. She proudly gave me a tour of this field a few weeks ago and I can’t even describe how much respect I have for Zambians.

This field may not look huge. Coming from Indiana, where the fields stretch as far as the eye can see. But, when you begin to think about how the fields are prepared, planted and maintained, who wouldn’t be impressed and astonished? Preparation and the first weeding is done (in Southern) using oxen to plow and cultivate. This process typically takes a few weeks. After that, it’s all manpower. Everyday from now until April, farmers will  spend in their fields, hoeing row after row of weeds. They’ll also continue planting things like sweet potatoes until mid-March

.

Now, take another look at the photo. Imagine having about 5 more fields this size or larger that you manage and maintain using only your hoe and the strength of your back and arms. It’s incredible.

I was also impressed by the diversity in my Mom’s field. Interspersed with the groundnuts are a few rows of sweet potatoes, sprinkled here and there are squash plants and okra.  My Mom has a right to be proud. She’s dedicated a lot of time and energy to her fields. The process of planting a field doesn’t begin and end merely with the planting of a few seeds. It is a process that takes an entire year and many, many steps. From harvesting to drying to storing seeds to preparing fields, planting and weeding it is something that can be seen in daily life throughout the year. I’m starting to realize that I can learn a lot from my community. Things like dedication and hard work, about building your life on the land. I thought I was placed here to teach people improved methods of agriculture. What I’ve experienced and learned is that instead, I am the one learning techniques that I hope to bring back to America and improve my home garden and fields.

The Cycle of Peace Corps

            During training, PC covers what they term “The Cycle of Vulnerability and Adjustment.” There are graphs and tables to help you chart the various cycles throughout your service. I shrugged it off and chased my own thoughts down the rabbit hole when the topic was presented on numerous powerpoint slides. Yeah, training was difficult but I thought everything would be great once I got to my village. I’d be on my own schedule, teaching people, integrating into the community, learning the language (piece of cake!), and sailing through my 27 months of service on gleeful wings of rainbow joy. Or so I thought.

            Recently, I dug up those handouts on the cycle of vulnerability. And, you know what? It’s pretty spot on. I'm in my 12^th month of service, labelled “Acceptance.” This is when your mid-service crisis strikes. You are struggling to fit in, reflecting on your failures, becoming withdrawn and disappointed, attempting to overcome loneliness, and becoming lackadaisical in the pursuit of work.

            Reflecting on this, I’d say PC is pretty close to the mark. Lately, I’ve definitely been struggling with being here, with feelings of ineffectiveness and uselessness in my village. Almost like I’m merely existing here and not being a productive, contributing member of society. I don’t have a lot of contact with other volunteers so looking at graphs and tables reassures me that others are experiencing this same thing (PC had to acquire these statistics and information somewhere, right?) Even if I feel like I’m a terrible volunteer and that I’ll never accomplish anything during my service, at least I’m not alone in these feelings and thoughts.

            The life of a PCV isn’t easy. It’s really tough. We struggle with keeping our spirits up when, for the tenth time in a week we’ve been told we don’t know Tonga/Bemba/Nyanja/other random African language or that we don’t visit our neighbor/headman/school/village that’s 20 kilometers away enough.

            But, looking back at the graph, it suggest that PCVs will begin to feel normal between months 11-15 and that the pace at which projects occur will increase. And for every forced smile in response to not sweeping your yard correctly there are twice that many genuine smiles. So, since PC has seemed to be right on target for each stage of the vulnerability cycle, I’ll trust that they’re right about the whole normality feeling kicking in soon and ride out the storm of my mid-service crisis knowing that it happens to everyone. Even those who though their wings would always be dry and lifted towards the skies.

Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World)

           Internationally, women in many countries do not experience the same freedoms and liberties as women in the United States do. In some instances, women still can’t own land, ask a man on a date, control household money, or decide when they want to marry and start a family. In Southern Province, the land of the Tonga’s, many women is even 2^nd, 3^rd, or 4^th wives. It is common to be told by a man upon the first meeting that he loves you, wants to marry you, or wants you to give him a child. Men are expected to pay a dowry to be allowed to marry. If this isn’t paid in full even after marriage, a woman will be told to return to her parents until it is covered. Many times during conversations where I’m explaining about Peace Corps and the work of the organization and my project and that I’m here alone, people exclaim, “And your husband gave you permission?!”

            As a way to empower and encourage respect of women, PCVs around the world host Camp G.L.O.W (Girls Leading Our World). GLOW is an attempt to instill a sense of self-worth in young girls, to encourage them to respect themselves and their bodies, and teach life skills.  We do this through organizing something like a summer camp for girls between the ages of 11-15 and inviting community counterparts to attend sessions as well.

            In December 2013, volunteers in Southern Province sponsored a camp. For one week we dedicated our time to mentoring 16 girls and 8 counterparts. We covered topics such as self-esteem by providing profiles of successful women like Oprah and Joyce Banda, the president of Malawi. Girls wrote positive things about themselves on flower petals and pasted them in journals that they were encouraged to write in so that they could be reminded of the good characteristics and qualities they possess. The girls also learned about budgeting, healthy ways to respond to peer pressure, healthy relationships, and sexual health. They participated in arts and crafts such as making friendship bracelets as well as doing team-building activities.

            Through programs like GLOW, volunteers touch the lives of young women in their communities. They’re exposing them to ideas and topics that are often avoided because they’re uncomfortable. They’re attempting to raise the next generation of young women into confident, self-respecting teens and adults. In my mind, children are the real way that change is going to happen. Whether it’s worldwide or in a small African village, children are the key to change, development, and to a country that is filled with strong, independent, and creative individuals. It also brings about the topic of the importance of women in society and can lead to mutual respect between genders and within communities and households. A girl who has expectations, confidence, and knows how she wants to be perceived and function within a community can be a strong driving force behind change and development. Lets support our girls as they navigate the obstacle course that is teendom and encourage a sense of pride in being a woman!

The Camp GLOW Song by Amanda Eilefson

Girls are strong

Girls are smart

Girls have big hearts

Oh yeah!

Girls leading our world

Girls leading our world

Two Americans Final Account of Rafting the Zambezi

Over the holidays I had a visitor from the states! Over the course of their stay we went to a few local markets, ate at some tasty restaurants in Lusaka, stayed in my village for Christmas, and went to Zambia's number one tourist destination, Livingstone. While everything we did was pretty fun and definitely a new experience for Ryan, the most outrageous and crazy thing we did was white water rafting on the Zambezi River. I've had numerous volunteers say it is one of the best things they've done in Zambia. Perhaps for those adrenaline junkies, this was an awesome experience. For me and Ryan it was slightly (really?) terrifying and we were glad 1) we only went for half a day and 2) when it was over. Before even signing up I was hesitant. I’ve been rafting once in the states and really enjoyed it but water isn’t my favorite element and I don’t find digging a paddle into foaming, raging water and hanging onto a raft for dear life very relaxing. Ryan is slightly more experienced than me when it comes to white water rafting and was really looking forward to it so it became our one big splurge during his visit.

Rafting on the Zambezi River is considered to be the best one-day white water rafting trips in the world (http://www.zambezi.com/content/white_water_rafting_the_zambezi_river).I didn't know this at the time or else I never would have done it. But ignorance can be a great enabler.

Now most of the time when you go rafting the guides tell you there is a chance you might end up in the water due to your raft flipping or you falling out because of a large wave. A chance, let me stress this, a chance that if your group can’t synchronize or you hit a rapid wrong you might end up in some rough water. When we arrived at the office we were told that we would definitely end up in the water. After being outfitted with helmets and huge life vests we headed to Victoria Falls National Park to begin our half day adventure.

Boiling Pot, just below Victoria Falls, was a churning, raging mess of water. The rafting company was throwing us right into it from the beginning as Boiling Pot is a class 4/5 rapid (classes range from 1 to 6 , 6 being un-runnable). Steeling myself for the worst, I climbed into my raft with the guide, Enoch, Ryan, a family from San Francisco, and a couple from Australia. Let the fun times begin.

With the first attempt at Boiling Pot, everyone except Enoch, me, and the daughter of the SF couple, ended up in the river. The next attempt found Ryan in the water with a dislocated knee (luckily it popped back in by itself but that didn’t really mean it was completely pain-free and hunky dory). At times, throughout the course of the next 8 rapids (we skipped #9 as the water was to rough and high) all we could do was duck down in the raft and hold on for dear life so as not to be thrown into the rapids. Our crew made it through almost all of the rapids without any mishaps, even the one where there was a 5-8 meter drop, until we hit rapid #7, Gulliver’s Travels. Our entire raft flipped, tossing everyone into the river. There’s never been any point in my life where I thought I was close to death but when I ended up in the Zambezi on this rapid I truly thought I was going to drown. All I could do was hold on to the rope that was attached to the raft and fight as best I could from being dragged under the water. Sometimes I’d end up under the raft. At other times I was being dragged like a ragdoll alongside of it. Even when the raft threw me against some rocks I couldn’t do anything but hold on. Letting go for me was unthinkable as I thought I would surely be a goner. When I finally surfaced in slightly calmer water, I was hyperventilating (perhaps having a panic attack?), trying to catch my breath. The guide must have realized I was starting to panic because he dragged me onto the raft and told me to hold on (nope, we weren’t done with Gulliver’s Travels yet). I thought I was scared during my time in the water when we finally reached a calm patch, Ryan was not in the raft. I couldn’t spot him anywhere. With no idea where he was or if he was okay, I tried reining in my panic and questions and stop myself from thinking I was going to see a body floating in the pool where things like paddles were accumulating. After the next rapid our crew regrouped and Ryan was re-united with our small watercraft.

For the last 2 rapids we stayed in the raft and finished the trip with a sigh of relief, happy to be back on solid ground. Although we had quite a trek out of the Batoka Gorge, it was good to be off of the water. While this gave Ryan and I a good story to awe friends and relatives with, we both agreed to never do such a thing again. At least we also signed up for the sunset cruise.