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.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Monday, August 4, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
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!
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!
Sunday, May 11, 2014
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.
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.
Monday, May 5, 2014
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.
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.
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