Thursday, April 29, 2010

Life In Technicolor

First, a quick explanation...no internet usage until now besides internet phone. Posts should be more regular from now on.

Second, some notes on the blog. I want to make something that is informative to people who know me and entertaining for everyone. I will stay honest in all my posts and promise to report the truth and not rumors, heresay, and exagerations (all of which are extremely common in Peace Corp). Finally...I am naming every blog post after a song that I am currently listening too. The song, if listened to, will hopefully provide further insight into the goings on of my life. Today's song is Life In Technicolor II by Coldplay.



Now for my first African post...ready?



I look down at my feet for a quick status check on my well being. What appears to be a dark, robust tan covering my feet can quickly be exposed for what it really is with a quick rub. Beads of dirt fall of in endless layers only to expose red spots from any number of bugs, ants, mosquitos, creeping eruption (yes, that is the real name for a parasite that invades human's feet here in Africa), and others. Today, the dark clay comes off easily and only a few visible bug bites appear, I must be doing something right. With such a positive check up, I feel renewed for a new day. A warm bucket bath, a quick meal, some tea, and a warm laugh from my homestay Bamayo (mother) has rapidly become habit and one that continues to provide suprising comfort. Blessing, my little sister, seems in a bad mood today. She is seven and her bad moods rarely last more than an hour. By lunch, she will be fine but now she has a scowl on her face that could puncture sheet metal. I ask her whats wrong, as I always do, and as always, she doesn't understand. She doesn't speak english, nor I, Nyanja or Lunda, her two languages. I seem to feel she gets the point and lets a small smile crack through, if only to let me know that an enthusiastic greeting will still be coming at lunch. Katherine, my hutmate, tries some impromptu funny faces in hopes of cheering her up, but her attempts fall on deaf ears.

From the hut next to ours, our families' home, we hear a bellowing, "Ble!!!"

"Ma!?" replies Blessing who quickly disappears into the house. Her chores need to be done and on this, Katherine and I feel the pressing need to actually leave for morning classes. Both of us have quickly adopted "Africa Time" a concept that may just be the reason for slow development in Africa but may also be their greatest contribution to the world. Punctuality is an unheard of quality here as there is rarely not enough time. You come, you go, you arrive, you depart, you get focused, you get distracted...all without the slightest concern of time. Despite their repeated requests for the peace corp trainees to become entirely "culturally integrated", Peace Corp fights our transition into "Africa Time", for obvious reasons. But on this morning, Kat and I being fifteen minutes late will go entirely unnoticed. We have language class first, taught by a Zambian by the name of Golden. He was raised in this structure of time so our tardiness is as regular as seeing two Starbucks on the same block. He is in his early 50's and his name is fitting. He is never short a smile or a moment of levity, even in the most intense days of language class. We are friends with no concern to age, race, nationality, or culture...just friends. He also is an incredible language instructor. He speaks six languages and is extremely fluent at Kizungu (English). He also, luckily, speaks KiKaonde, the language I will be speaking for the next two years. Not many speak KiKaonde so to hear a friendly "Byepi Mwane!?" each morning motivates me for the next four hours. Our language classes are every morning, for four hours, with just me, the instructor and two others, one being Kat. Despite the motivation, the friendship and source of distraction found in Katherine, four hours can be extremely brutal. We are not meeting in a classroom, or even a room, we meet in a shed. A literal shed. Crumbling brick with a sheet metal roof. It is the only place near by to protect us from the daily rains of rainy season. So we endure. Three words that I repeat often in my mind...so we endure. We endure for the next four hours with the promise of steaming Nshima prepared freshly by our Bamayo waiting for us at home. Like (American) clockwork, our lunch is waiting...

Nshima (pronounced InShima) is made from crushed maize, boiled with water until extremely thick. Think grits, with the consistency of mashed potatoes. It is wonderful and served with every meal. A Zambian could eat two steaks, a full potato, and an ice cream sundae, but if Nshima is not served, the Zambian will state that he "has not eaten yet". It is served with a "relish" or maybe even two. A relish is defined as anything served with Nshima. Chicken, eggs, chibwabwa (pumpkin leaves), sausage, catepillars, kapenta (small, dried anchovies), or any other locally grown item could be a "relish". I make the next statement with zero hyperbole, Kat and I's Bamayo is the best cook in Zambia. Lunch is always a highlight of the day and some of the slower days, might even accompany a nap.

Blessing is back to normal now and drops all that she was doing to run across the compound to give us furious hugs. She sits with us the entire meal, always mocking the way we eat Nshima, the way we say thank you, and just our general tone of voice. Her "American" impression is spot on. I revenge such mocking by teaching her fun phrases in English such as "I am weird", her new favorite thing to say. Before we know it, despite the temptation of Africa Time, it is time for Kat and I to head to the training center for our evening "technical training". This could consist of sessions on modern teaching methodology, Zambian education standards and traditions, or anything else. Today it involves being bussed to a local school to teach a class. Despite our complete and utter ignorance to the academic level of the children, their place in the books, or even their names, we teach. We teach to a classroom of shocked children staring at a Zoo animal they have only read about in books. Hushed laughter and amazement follows every word out of our mouths. We are not merely strangers, we are the strangest looking strangers these children have ever seen. On this particular day, I feel as if my lesson on perimeter and circumference was an epic failure. 'They didn't learn a thing' I think. But this exercise was not for the children, but for us, and in that way, it was a huge success. We build confidence with every lesson. We meet new contacts in the villages. But most importantly, we endure.

On a normal day, by 17 (Zambia operates on a 24 clock, so 5 O'clock to Staters) we are free to go. This day, a social gathering is being planned at Aaron's Lodge, a bar only 8 km away in nearby Chongwe. Many find this distance too daunting after a tiring day but Katherine and I are in desperate need of a beer and to see our friends in the other training group. Thirty seconds standing on the dirt road outside of the training center is all it takes for us to get hitch from a Ministry of Education official in a Bwana (Zambian word for "baller") Land Cruiser. They pick us up and agree to give us a free ride. This could be due to kindness or mere curiousity to seeing Muzungu (white people) hitching on the road. We arrive at Aaron's to a roar from our friends. I have known these people for two months but already, they are family. This usual excitement from our friends is all I need to feel at home.

After a short conversation with Moses, the bartender, and a purchased beer (5,000 Kwacha, roughly 1 dollar), I find myself, like always sitting with Bart, Ken, Katherine, Anna, Laura, Taylor, and others. My new friends. We rarely talk about Peace Corp. Rather, we clear our minds with ridiculous scenerarios, stories from past lives, and plans of leading revolutionary coups in the neighboring Congo (Ken and Adam's Fun Land will be its new name). I feel as if these people have been around for ever. Sadly, these rare social gathers are always too short. Traveling in darkness is dangerous and avoided at all costs. Cars to hitch with are less frequent, and the unlit roads provide for some extremely perilous biking. Kat and I leave shortly before dark to find a flatbed pick up truck turning onto our dirt road. Like always, the drivers are happy to let Kat and I jump on. We sit on the bed with a few Zambians, some goats, and a chicken or two, all of which have huge smiles on their faces (ok, maybe not the goats and chickens). We drive down our rutted out, damaged dirt road, towards a steaming plate of Nshima and the most beautiful sunset we have ever seen. Each day's sunset beats the last. I look at Kat and notice she is looking down at her feet, I do the same. Extremely dirty, with a myriad of new bug bites. Once again having taken my own home check up, I can't help but feel that I am doing something right.
Dinner, cards with our brother Ozzy, and some time in my book follow. Kat and I talk through our walls for a few minutes before the exhaustion of the day catches up to us. I lay down and put in my iPod. I put on Life in Technicolor and drift asleep thinking, 'I can't help but feel I am doing something right.'

- Adam

I love and miss you all! Check the facebook for pictures which should be up now and for my new address. Write and you will be written! (you probably will be anyways)

2 comments:

  1. Haha this is awesome. I look forward to continue to read these.

    Get ready for nshima after nshima plate. I promise, it never ends

    Let me know if you have anymmore questions about Zambia, and I would get down to Victoria Falls if you get a chance

    ReplyDelete
  2. Ken and Adam's funland? That will be an interesting new Congo! hahaha.

    And yay for African time...Americans should learn how to relax.

    Your adventures sound awesome, im looking forward to reading more!

    ps. I will write you soon, but by the time it gets to you, i will probably have moved (back to htown for the summer).

    ReplyDelete