Thursday, October 8, 2009

<---- 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 communit
y 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!