The Finer Points of Life

I feel like my previous entries have focused mostly on my major events/problems/accomplishments here in Zambia, at the expense of describing all the little everyday adjustments that we PCVs have had to make in order to adapt to a Zambian lifestyle. Thus I've started to compile a list of little tips, tricks, and cultural observations that hopefully will help round out the picture of how everyday life gets along here in Zambia:

• When trying to light your charcoal cooking braizure in the rainy season, a little kerosene goes a long ways. Sometimes you can also find dried grass and twigs underneath big trees. If you want to get really creative you can put mashed up peanut shells and melted candle wax into an old egg carton. Or you can just buy fire starters from Shop-Rite.
  
  
• After getting the braizure started, you have to swing it around to give it air and really get it burning. Just be sure to wear flip flops when you do so. Wnen the inevitable happens and a small coal falls down your footwear, if they take you longer than 0.3 seconds to remove, then you're gonna be in for a major ouchie.
  
  
• Trying to keep a white t-shirt white when you're washing by hand in a bucket is one of the more difficult and time-intensive chores you will ever attempt. Thus the key to hand-washing clothes is just to never get them dirty in the first place. Corollary to this rule: there is a BIG difference between what IS dirty and what LOOKS dirty - hence the reason why olive and khaki are such amazing clothing colors here.
  
  
• If you have a problem with bats squatting in your house for the night, just use a candle - works like a charm! Put it in the middle of the floor to avoid any fire hazard, and let it burn all night for two consecutive nights. They hate the light, so they'll find another place to roost!
  
  
• When hunting mice, rats, and kasekeseke in your house, DON'T reach for just any wooden spoon. As eight such rodents have already discovered, the umwiinko (the flat-sided wooden spoon used for stirring nshima, among other things) is 21.5" and 3/4 lb of dexterity, accuracy, and pure annhiliation for all things squeaky and four-legged. It's SAD for those mice - singularly assured destruction.
  
  
• When biking in the village there are no posted speed limits. But if you pass by someone's house before you can say "Mwashibuka shani na imwe?", you are probably going too fast, and people will begin to wonder what's so important that you don't have time to greet them properly, which is bad for your precious reputation. Bike at such speeds only in times of emergency (or in your neighboring PCV's village :-) ).
  
  
• At church, there are MAJOR brownie points to be earned by dancing to the music. Everyone expects people to dance, though few actually dance themselves (yay double standard!), but since you're already the weirdest person in town, you have nothing to lose by sticking your neck out!
  
  
• On funeral days, you should greet everyone "Mwacuuleni mukwai" - "how are you suffering?" Doesn't matter how far away they live or now close they were to the person who passed away
  
  
• When someone asks where you're going, it's considered a perfectly acceptable answer to point in the direction you're heading and say "There!".
  
  
• BaMaayo Magic I: How village mothers manage to clean the bottoms of their pots, how they cook two-gallon pots full of perfectly lumpless nshima, how they carry 40L of water on their heads, and how they manage to find people selling tomato/onion/cabbage are mysteries I have no hope of cracking.
  
  
• BaMaayo Magic II: The speed of information travel increases significantly when the airwaves are unencumbered by cell phones, radios, broadband, and other newfangled electronic wizardry. If something noteworthy happens 25km away, every mother in the village will know within the hour, guaranteed, without even leaving the comfort of their front porch.
  
  
• Any of your parent's siblings are considered to be your parents as well, and thus are free to punish you, admonish you, and dish out chores as they see fit.
  
  
• Do remember what your Chieftainess looks like, so that you aren't always the last one to kneel down when you meet her on the street (By the way, Chieftainship succession rules are pretty neat: the "crown prince" so to speak is not the Chief's eldest son as with Western Cultures, but rather the eldest son of the Chief's eldest sister).

Rockin the Village Life (cont.)

I'm also really beginning to enjoy all the biking I'm doing. Since I'm 50km from the nearest paved road (there are none in my district), 20km from the nearest vehicle, and since the train only comes on Saturdays, I pretty much rely on my Peace Corps-issued Trek 3700 to get me everywhere. Which is amazing, since biking on all the bumpy, windy bush paths is way more exhilarating than biking the streets of Ann Arbor. I've also been out on some longer trips: to Kasama (85km), and to my nearest PCV neighbors, Jocelyn (20km) and Christine (90km). Saturdays are my exploring days (ukushinguluka in Bemba - "Just circling around"), where I pick a small mountain off in the distance, or a village on the map, and try to go find it. Haven't really been that successful, but it's been a great time explaining the concept of exploring to the bewildered locals.

My village "roads"- either impossible narrow or muddy from the rains, but always fun to bike!

Not all's rosy in Chandaweyaya, though. Besides the lack of mechanized transportation, the food's pretty hit or miss as well. The hits include making peanut butter (its incredibly simple - I don't know why people don't do it back home!), giant bundles of bananas, and the mangoes that are about to come into season. The misses include things like whole fish (*eaten* whole, not just served whole), caterpillars (the little ones are actually alright, but do we have to eat the big black spiky ones too???), and pretty much anything made from dried cassava flour. And in addition to spotty food, I'm fighting off an invasion of bad-mannered, give-an-inch-take-a-mile little kids. They don't ever leave my house. They constantly and repeatedly ask me for everything I own. Every time I do something nice like take their picture, play soccer, cook fritters, or make paper airplanes for them, they all really enjoy it, but i just end up fueling the "Gimme Gimme Gimme" and the "Let's go crowd around Ba Michael while he cooks his meal because we're bored and maybe he'll give us something" fires".

Photographing the kids - don't be fooled by their innocent and fun-loving appearance

But somewhere amidst all this socializing, biking, eating, and chasing away little kids, I'm actually doing some work as well. I've done a bunch of "Community Entry" activities like community mapping, daily activities schedules, and needs assessments, all designed to help me get to know the community members and drive out their strengths, goals, and desires. From these activities I've found a project trying to research methods of making peanut oil (since everyone grows groundnuts, nobody can sell them; but everyone does buy lots of cooking oil). I've also started to teach fish farming lessons to several local farmers. Most of the farmers speak no English, so I've been teaching primarily in Bemba. This is where Ba Elias, my neighbor and Peace Corps - assigned work counterpart, has really begun to shine. We have spent enough time together that he really understands how I speak Bemba. Even when the other farmers are confused by my Bemba wording, Ba Elias usually understands what I was trying to say and is able to re-explain it ("What he's really trying to say in Bemba is ____").

My counterpart, Ba Elias, and footballer friend Ba Isaac, dodging crocs on the Chambeshi


Finishing the Community Mapping activity in my nsaka

The fish ponds of Ba Elias

Ba Elias is also displaying an ever-increasing flair for sarcasm. One day, when I returned from a Chandaweyaya Agricultural Committee meeting, I wanted to confirm that his name was on the all-important Farmer's Register. When I ask him he simply laughs and replies in nearly perfect English "Are you kidding me? I MADE the Farmer's Register! I'm the first name on the list!" (turns out he was the former Chairman of the C.A.C., but I don't know where he learned to say "Are you kidding me?"). I'm fairly certain that after two years, Ba Elias will be not only the most knowledgeable fish farmer in the land, but also the best user of sarcastic English slang expressions. Now that's what I call development!

Rockin the Village Life

Life in Chandaweyaya continues much as it has for generations: People gather at the local watering holes to wash clothes and chit chat, the men head out into the fields to get their maize and groundnut crops planted before the drenching rains arrive, and everyone gathers in the nsaka in the evenings for dinner and merriment. Except lately there's been this funky white kid set up shop over that side, he dresses really oddly, makes lumpy nshima, looks like he's wearing a wig, and he's running around all over the place telling people they should start farming fish. Worst part is he says he isn't leaving for two years...

Grand Central Station - abandoned but surrounded by well-manicured flowering bushes

The funky white kid with a wig that hasn't been trimmed since late June

Just kidding - it isn't like that at all over here (though some people still do believe I'm wearing a wig)! I'm two months into my three-month community entry, and things are going extremely welll. My village is like a giant, 5000 person family - everyone knows everyone, everyone lives nearby each other, nobody has any qualms about walking through someone's yard or lending out their belongings. We are a very close-knit village, even by Zambian standards. When I go to the market and pass by 30 households along the way, I'm greeted by name by no less than 30 households' worth of people! And when they all pass by my house on their way to the fields (which they do en masse - I can meet most everyone in the village just sitting on my porch), we greet each other again just for kicks!

The view of Chandaweyaya from atop Keyaya Hill

I've also fit in some enlightening conversations about America and American cultural holidays with my neighbors. For example, my neighbors all know now that Obama does NOT rule over the entirety of North and South America, that not everyone is a farmer in the U.S., and that people still feel full even when they don't eat nshima for dinner. They can point out Michigan on the map, and some can even use their hand to point out Kalamazoo! They have a particular interest in holidays: I've told them how kids dress up, run around and collect sweeties for Halloween, and how Thanksgiving is our big harvest celebration (their eyes lit up when I described a turkey as being like a 7kg chicken, and they promptly inquired as to how they could obtain them here in Chandaweyaya).

My neighbors

My favorite place to chat, though, is the house of Ba Emmanuel and Ba Rosemary. They are two of the most accepting and witty people I've met in the village; instead of concentrating on all my stuff like most people, they are more interested in learning about our holidays and traditions, which is a welcome relief. To give you an idea of their fun-loving nature: when I first met them I accidentally called the wife "Ba Rosie" as I couldn't quite remember her name. She immediately burst out laughing, and ever since has been calling me "Ba Mikey". So of course Ba Emmanuel jumped into the action, and we are now "Ba Manny, Ba Rosie, and Ba Mikey!" And just to ice the cake, I show up one day in a nice fish-themed citenge shirt, only to find that Ba Rosie is wearing the exact same citenge wrapped around her head! Even in Africa people still have wardrobe coordination issues!

Ba Rosie and our matching outfits!! Though teaching kids to use a camera is really hard here.

<---- New mailing address!

Since I'm going to be in Kasama far more frequently than Lusaka, I've got a new mailing address:

Michael Krautmann /PCV
Peace Corps
P.O. Box 410374
Kasama, Zambia

Nganda Yandi (My Home)

--October 4, 2009--

Well, folks, I made it! After a 12-hour Land Rover ride to Kasama, and from there an 80km journey through what has been dubbed "The Worst Road in Northern Province," I finally arrived at my village of Chandaweyaya (or Keyaya, depending on your preference for long words) on September 29.

My home, complete with brick-lined driveway!

Despite its seclusion it is really a busy place. There are about 5000 people in the Chandaweyaya catchment area, spread out over 11 smaller villages. We have a stop on the Kapiri -> Dar es Salaam railway, and a fairly substantial maize storehouse for all the surrounding area. The area lies on a couple of beautiful dambo valleys, which drain into the nearby Chambeshi River. Unfortunately the Chambeshi I'm told is "infested" with crocs and hippos. Also, the school is fairly large, and the head teachers all seem like genuinely friendly and competent fellows.

The front porch

Inside the living room (sorry 'bout the Stuff Piles)


The 'busu and the bathing shelter

My house itself is truly a testament to Zambian resourcefulness. Except for the cement on my floor and the plastic lining my roof (both extraneous luxuries provided by the Peace Corps), everything used to build the house came from the earth less than 100 yards away. Bricks are made from anthill clay and fired, mortared together with more anthill clay. The roof is supported by wooden beams, and is made of grass that was cut from the field across the street. The floor (until the cement came) was made of stamped earth, and veneered with still more anthill clay. Everything is tied together using strips of super-supple bark from a few species of trees in my yard. Even the paint used for my house: white, yellow, orange, grey, and black, is all distilled from nearby soil. Thes amazing thing is that it's a LEGITIMATELY nice house too! A sofa, coffee table, and a few posters on the wall should make it as comfortable as any apartment I've lived in at school. Everything's great - except for the cell phone reception. I have to climb the 30-foot antill outside my house to get even a bar of service, and I have to hike 2km to the school to get enough reception to talk.

Mt. Reception, the anthill outside my house where I can get a bit of service


The view from atop Mt. Reception

My Nsaka (basically an outdoor living room)

But the best part is that the villagers are all extremely friendly and extremely happy to have a volunteer. I'm the first Peace Corps volunteer (and probably the first white guy) ever to live in their community, so there's surely going to be some serious cultural exchange (like gift-giving for example: I found out the hard way that Zambians don't open gifts in public when I bought Cokes for myself and my counterpart and he promptly shoved both of them into his bag, returning the empty bottles with much gratitude the next day).
For the first few months my job is simply to ride around and get to know the area and the people. So that's all I've been up to so far. The community, however already has plans for me to lead an English study group and to teach a few grades at the local school (and play goalie on their championship caliber inter-village football team, a task I'm not sure I'm up for). In short, I think Chandaweyaya should be a pretty nice place to set up shop for the next two years!

PCT --> PCV!

--September 25, 2009--


The day we've all been waiting for has finally come - the day when we all shave/bathe for the first time in five weeks, don our most ridiculous citenge outfits, and officially make the plunge from Peace Corps Trainees to Peace Corps Volunteers!

Starting the morning off with fine dress and hearty laughter

The Northern Province Crew

Our swearing-in ceremony, held this morning at the house of the U.S. Ambassador, was quite the festive and emotional affair. I couldn't believe how well everyone cleaned up! We all had spent the past couple of weeks frantically trying to get our citenge outfits tailored, so it was a real treat to see how well everyone's turned out (I kept it close to home with a Maize and Blue citenge shirt). I also got to give a speech in Bemba during the ceremony, on behalf of all the Bemba students, which was intended to be serious but somehow ended up being raucously funny (I'm not sure I'll ever find out why)! In general, the day was full with lots of congratulating, photographing, joking, hugging, and laughing. It's hard to believe that only nine weeks ago we were all seated nervously and awkwardly in the conference room of the D.C. Holiday Inn as perfect strangers. Now it's like we're family. When some of the existing volunteers come back to Chongwe for training, THEY'RE the ones who are all nervous and awkward as they try to decipher our relationships and nicknames and inside jokes.

Ba Sikota, our training manager, making an appearance in traditional Lozi dress


Practicing for our speeches!


Delivering the speech!

But at the same time the laughter, hugs and pictures all carried a bittersweet tinge. We all knew that the intensity, intimacy, and proximity that forged such tight friendships is about to come to a close when we get shipped out to our respective provinces tomorrow. It's just now hitting home that nine weeks is far too short a time to really get to know someone, and far too short a time to spend amongst such good company. And what's more, we're all going to be together again for only four more weeks over the next two years. Of course the friendships will still remain, and we'll still be able to visit each other at site. But without electricity, internet, transportation, or reliable cell phone reception, planning such outings is going to be a slow and laborious process. We're probably not going to get to visit everyone we want to. So while Swear-In day was outrageously enjoyable and memorable, it also marks a rather abrupt separation from the comfort, friendship, and immediate support of our fellow trainees.

Our aquaculture trainers, "Big P" and "Scorpion"


My language class with Ba Whiteson, our teacher

Culture Day - American Style

--September 23, 2009--


Today marks an exciting and nostalgic first for me: the first day since my arrival in Zambia that I actually felt like I was back in America. Such a monumental occurrence came on Culture Day- a Peace Corps Zambia tradition where the normal roles are reversed and the volunteers cook American food for the host families.

Preparing for the feast (I made about 40kg of fruit salad and helped flip tortillas)

Any kind of event where 40 people are teaming together to cook food for 250 people is bound to be interesting. But there was something extra special about this Culture Day; it was like we'd managed to carve out a little chunk of America and ship it over. Maybe it was all the hubbub and confusion that inevitably cropped up, so reminiscent of college life and so foreign here in Zambia. Maybe it was the good ol' American food: fajitas, jambalaya, caesar salad, no-bake cookies. But I think what reminded me most about America was standing outside barbecueing chicken and flipping tortillas with an LSU, a Tennessee, and a Michigan State alum and a diehard Cal fan, talking smack about the coming weekend's football games. That right there is the America I know and love, and for one day we had a taste of it here in Zambia!

My host mom and dad - excited that they don't have to do the cooking!

A Good One's Gone Away

--September 20, 2009--



She wears a broad, beaming smile as a near-permanent fixture upon her face, and exudes such a genuine sense of warmth and kindness that even a culturally awkward chap like myself cannot help but feel comfortable around her. She understands the thoughts and frustrations of a Bemba student even better than our professionally-trained Bemba teachers. And her motivation and perseverence are unsurpassed. Even these past couple of weeks, when she was visibly sick, she managed to show off her pearly whites every now-and-then. Oh and by the way she cooks the best pot of nshima in Chongwe district.

But yesterday the Lord decided he couldn't wait any longer to get his paws on such prodigious talent.

I came home from class yesterday to find that my host Auntie, Ba Justina, had died somewhat unexpectedly from a tumor in her abdomen. I had known that she was ill - after all, that was the only reason she was living here in Chongwe with my host family. But I was still surprised at how fast her condition must have deteriorated. She's been to Lusaka several times for treatment, but for some reason her surgery kept getting delayed (I could speculate why, but that would only lead me on a useless rant about the Zambian [lack of a] healthcare system). Suffice it to say I think her condition was treatable, which makes this mourning all the more frustrating.

But what's also been surprising is the Zambian way of mourning their dead. The whole community has responded - there must have been 40 people there yesterday - but no one seems to be overly sad or concerned. All the women sit inside, laughing and chatting. All the men sit around the fire and talk politics and football like they're at a tailgate. I can tell that deep down inside, many of them are grieving, especially my host father. He smiles a little more faintly and stops laughing a little more quickly than usual, but it seems that Zambian culture does not permit him to express this grief.

Per Peace Corps policy, I have been pulled from my home to ease the burden on my host family, so I'm now staying at our school, in the dorms where our trainers live. I'm expecting to go back tomorrow, but we're going to be moving out pretty soon anyways. I certainly didn't expected my homestay to end on such a somber note.

Zambia in just Four Words

--September 3, 2009--


A tip of the cap to the HIA folks back home for sparking this conversation, and to the rest of my Northern Province crew for turning it into a vibrant discussion / eight-hour-long brainstorming session as we sat crammed in a Land Rover on our way up to Kasama (by the way we are getting exponentially better at cramming into Land Rovers - our new records are 14 people inside and nine bicycles on top!!). So I share with you now the highly-refined and oft-amended fruits of our discussion: four words that capture our experience in Zambia thus far.

1. Citenge: Because this traditional African clothing epitomizes both the resourcefulness and the colorful nature of the Zambian people. When all is said and done, the citenge is really nothing more than a towel-sized sheet of fabric. But Zambians use them for just about everything imaginable: A dress, a skirt, something to wrap around your dress/skirt while cooking, carrying babies on your back, carrying water on your head, shielding your head from the sun, backpack, curtain, towel, tablecloth, doormat, coffee filter, etc etc etc. Not only are they insanely versatile, but they also come in the most insane array of colors and patterns imaginable. And one is not truly a Zambian unless he/she is wearing the most insanely-colored citenge money can buy.

2. Celestial: Because of the powerful African sun, which has an uncanny ability to turn the bone-chilling, 50-degree coldness of my early-morning language sessions into the sweltering bake-fest that is my 13:00 bike ride to aquaculture class. Because of the moon, so bright that I can officially walk, play soccer, and even read outside without luminary assistance. And because for once in my life I can actually see the Milky Way cutting a bright white swath from one horizon to the other.

3. Ancestral: Because everything about this landscape just feels so...evolutionarily well-adjusted. The ridges and valleys here are extremely subtle - yet wide - so despite the seeming flatness you can often see for miles. The savannah grasses are thick but only chest-high, so they seldom impede your vision (unless you stop to tie your shoe, in which case you can't see more than three feet). And between the grass and the sticky clay soil you can build just about anything. It just makes so much sense why our ape ancestors decided to stand up and use their eyes and hands. After living in the savannah and walking the bush paths around our school, it's finally hit home: here in Zambia I'm a human in his natural habitat.

4. Ubwali: The Bemba word for nshima, because no list would be complete without this Zambian staple food. The people of Zambia believe that their nshima gives them strength which no other food can provide. In fact, many Zambians believe they haven't really eaten until they've eaten nshima. And the manner in which nshima is eaten - using hands instead of utensils, and served in one big community bowl - speaks to the openness, warmth, and family-centered mentality of the Zambian people.



In other news, our second site visit is going by in a blur. I got to teach my first fish-farming lesson (about different types of fish here in Zambia) to a local co-operative of about 40 people or so. We also took a really interesting hike out to some 2000-year old, pre-Bantu rock paintings near Kasama. Another day we had a rather exciting encounter with a drunk Zambian policeman who was wielding his AK-47 more casually than a kid with a cap gun! Most importantly, though, I'm having a great time with a bunch of the other Northern Province volunteers - my family for the next two years!

On the Great North Road to Kasama with a fully-loaded cruiser

The new Northern Province aquaculture volunteers: Mo, John, myself, and Christine



One of those wide sweeping valleys I was talking about


Biking on the bush path during second site visit

Sporting our leafy greens!

I'm going to Northern Province!!!

Just got my official site posting, and I'm headed to a site just northeast of Kasama in Northern Province. I'll be the first Peace Corps volunteer ever at that site (no pressure or anything!), and I'm leaving tomorrow (the 30th) to head up to Kasama for a week and a half. I'll let you know more when I get back!

Training Time

-- August 23rd, 2009 --

Life here in Zambia just keeps on trucking at breakneck pace. Two days after returning from our first site visit we were assigned to a language group (I’ll be learning Bemba!) and taken to live with our host families, where we will stay until the end of September. I’ll never forget the incredible nervousness, excitement, and anticipation we all experienced on that first night of homestay. A group of us - John, Leah, Angela, MaryEllen, Ashley, and I - were stuffed into the back of a Land Rover (again…), rehearsing our simple Bemba greeting more intensely than we’ve ever rehearsed anything in our lives! One-by-one the volunteers all said their anxious goodbyes, hopped out of the Land Rover and into the welcoming arms of their host family, anxiously reciting the aforementioned greeting to much smiles and applause. And just like that they were gone, disappearing into the sunset as we continued to the next volunteer’s house. It was at once a sad and exciting time - sad that our amazing Group of 42 was finally being separated, but exciting in that we each could look forward to our own unique homestay experience.

My new home at Ba Enock and Ba Robina's place

And for these past couple of weeks my homestay family has been absolutely incredible. My host father is 65 years young (and by young I mean not-a-single-grey-hair-on-his-head young), a retired Army contractor who is originally from Copperbelt province. My mother, also from Copperbelt Province, is the quintessential family matriarch - the one who really runs the show around this place. She has a quick and hearty laugh, and despite my dire warnings she has showed no qualms about entrusting me with the family cooking from time to time. I also have a host auntie who has been a truly unexpected blessing. She is in town only because she is sick (she’s waiting for surgery in Lusaka) but she is all smiles all the time. Every day she eagerly and patiently helps me through my often-futile attempts at constructing full Bemba sentences, and to her persistence I owe much of my current vocabulary. I also have a pair of teenage host brothers who are football-crazed maniacs, a trio of host sisters who love to play cards, and a whole gaggle of young kids, most of whom are probably not actually related to my family.

My host aunt, Justina, and Joshua, one of the chitlins around the house

Making nshima!

Our Peace Corps training here in Chongwe has been pretty intense thus far, but also incredibly rewarding. Every morning I meet with three other volunteers and a language trainer to learn Bemba for four hours straight. Learning language for four hours per day is quite mentally taxing, but boy is it effective! I’ve studied Spanish for five years and Chinese for two-and-a-half, and yet I think after these nine weeks of training I will be more proficient in Bemba than I ever was in those other languages.


After Bemba class I typically eat lunch with my host family and then bike eight or nine kilometers down the road (unpaved of course) to get to my technical fish-farming sessions. We do all sorts of crazy fish-farming activities in these sessions: we’ve measured and staked out a pond for construction, transported small fingerlings by bike for 13km, held fish-food-finding competitions, and actually harvested a local farmer’s pond. In the coming weeks we will perform a second, more serious harvest, which we may get a chance to sell in the local Chongwe market!








Looking forward, everyone here is holding their breath for next Thursday (the 27th), which is when we find out exactly which site we will be going to. As a Bemba speaker I know I will be going to either Central, Northern, or Luapula Province, but I’m still waiting on the specific details. And during the first week of Septembe we will go on a second, more extended site visit that will include a two-day stay at my site-to-be. So in two-weeks time I will be able to tell you all about the place in which I will be living for the next two years! But until then, stay well and enjoy those last few days of summer back in the States!

Field trip to Copperbelt Province

-- July 29, 2009 --

WOW! The Peace Corps certainly doesn’t waste any time getting our feet wet! After only four days in Zambia, the trainers split us up into small groups and sent us out into the bush to live with a current volunteer for a few days. What an adventure! My group of six trainees (plus our Host Volunteer, a driver, a stowaway Training leader, and luggage/food for everyone) all got stuffed into a single Land Rover for a ten-hour drive out to Copperbelt Province, where we received a brief but enlightening taste of life as a PC-Zambia volunteer.

Tight squeeze in the back of the Land Rover

Living conditions here are pretty spartan - I can see why Zambia has a reputation as the Peace Corps' most remote outpost. Volunteers live as one of the villagers, which usually means a small thatched-roof, mud-brick hut with no electricity or running water, using a pit latrine, cooking over an open charcoal fire, and taking bucket baths with water drawn from a well. Our site visit was no different.

Camping outside our host volunteer's mud-brick hut

THE 'BUSU!!! (short for 'icimbusu', the Bemba word for toilet)

But despite all the conveniences of my technologically superior Western upbringing, it's been surprisingly easy to adapt to this new Zambian lifestyle. In fact, the slower pace and lack of technology has in many ways been quite rewarding. Waking and sleeping with the daylight hours just feels so much more natural than those 1am college nights. And after a hard day's work under the scorching African sun, I actually really look forward to a crisp, refreshing, beneath-the-stars bucket bath. I've found that a book reads just a little bit better when its words are flickering in the candlelight, and I’m still discovering new possibilities in the world of one-pot cooking. I must admit I’m even becoming a fan of squat toilets (The genius of their design is that only the bottoms of your shoes ever touch anything dirty - imagine the wonders this could do at those appallingly-filthy gas station bathrooms back home)!

The highlight of our trip, however, was the day we spent meeting some of our host volunteer’s fish farmers. He made a point to introduce us to both his “good” and “bad” farmers, and the contrast was eye-opening. At one extreme was the farmer who designed and built his own two ponds, maintained them perfectly, and even developed his own farm integration system to irrigate his crops with excess fish-pond water (super-fertilized fish pond water works wonders on a maize crop). With the extra money he earned he’s managed to build a new house and put his kids through school. He also developed an appreciation for reading and wants to start a local library.

Checking out the local fish ponds!

On the other extreme was the farming co-op, which in theory wanted to have fish ponds but was unwilling to put in the work necessary to build and maintain the ponds. Instead they spend their time trying to secure free handouts, supplies, and labor from passing non-profit organizations. In the short term they benefit greatly from all those free goodies, but once the donors leave they are back in the same hole they've always been in. This co-op farmers had developed such a dependency on foreign aid that they'd lost sight of their own ability to generate income through hard work and an open mind. It was very disappointing to witness, but it’s a big problem here in Sub-Saharan Africa, where there are a ton of aid organizations spending a ton of money, but relatively few groups who have the skills and perseverence (emphasis on perseverance!) necessary to turn that money into truly sustainable improvements in the lives of Africans. That's why I'm in Peace Corps :-)