Grilse

Grilse (n)- a salmon that has returned to freshwater after a single year at sea

First day back in the village after a month! I think this is a sort of turning point in my service. Reiterating thoughts I shared with family- I know I’m not totally happy here. At least, not as happy as I am at home or with my loved ones. I’m not as comfortable and not as healthy, physically or mentally. I know these things and I am going to choose to stay.

 That’s essentially the point of Peace Corps: to be somewhere radically different, to break from the comfort and ease of our known lives, and to try and serve the community in which we are placed. In this last aim, I will try my best. If, after two years, it is hard to see any difference, so be it. I will know I have tried, stayed committed, and followed through. This conviction will make a difference to me. So far, at every wrong turn I think about quitting, even if in a small part. Not an option. Needing medical or psychiatric care would be a different story; I acknowledge that. I’m in my seventh month, ¼ of the way through, and I have things to do! 

This is me being tough. 

All that said, today and yesterday were rough. I rode back to my village in the dusty heat and was warmly welcomed by my host family, which I loved. Anxious to try out my repeater, I plugged it in, turned it on, and…nothing on my phone. That was quite a blow. Mice (or worse) ate through a bottle of hair conditioner, some seed packets, one of my food bins, and pooped/nested in my clothes. Streams of ants (three different ones, to be precise) were in my doorway, by my bed, and around my water filter. The oil pourer I bought in South Africa is too small for any bottle I have. And! Someone stole my malaria medication while I was traveling. I have no idea when, as I didn’t check to see if it was there on my trip. I also lost a malachite heart pendant I bought at the Sunday market in Lusaka. I’m trying not to read into symbolism there.

On the positive side, my new shampoo makes my hair smell like honey. My angel of a host mom cleaned my house, washed my rugs, and planted my garden with tomatoes, beans, and rape (canola in American English). Apparently the pigs came and ate everything again. Some basil, mint, wusi, and tomatoes escaped. I taught my host brother Weston about mint and basil today.

Ataata has apparently been building toilets and educating about sanitation in Kaswaswa, Kafweko, and Ikongo (nearby villages), which is amazing. However, that, plus the work being done on their new house, means no cement or thatching repairs for me. I really can’t complain though and it honestly doesn’t bother me much. There is still time before rainy season. The hot season is upon us- I’m in pajama shorts for the first time since arriving. There are many noisy insects and they all seem to be thirsty. Plus, it’s very smoky. Thankfully I have apparently recovered from whatever nastiness was afflicting us at Camp TREE.

I dug a berm and one full bed in my garden today, plus some retention holes. It was nice to do physical labor but I could feel my weakness. My hands trembled still hours after I rested. The heat and sun made me pink, glistening, and light-headed. My neighbor Sid has said before it’s clear Zambians are more physically suited to this environment, while we are not. Let’s hope the garden goes better this time around. 

5 September 2017

Iracund

Iracund (adj)- having a tendency to be easily angered

I have been pervasively angry this week. Any way you could spin it: surly, disagreeable, isolated (and self-isolating), hormonal, curse-ridden, and sad. Disappointed, perhaps more accurately.

I usually contend it is better for one's happiness to count blessings, not grievances, but I think it I will try removing them from my mind by putting them here. I think what's happening is an amassed cohort of small frustrations is coalesced into one tumultuous thunderstorm in my head. I would really like to discharge some of its electricity before I leave for IST tomorrow, in order to help feel excited about returning a month from now. Here are my current frustrations:

-no network at home, plus feelings of discomfort/ridicule using the network on the hill
-terrible roads and sand -> less than functional bicycle
-back, knee, and wrist pain from bad roads, more physical labor than I'm used to, and bad sleep
-terrible skin here being publicly called out by Zambians- not so great for the self-esteem
-so hard to eat well here! My poor garden was ransacked and fresh fruits and vegetables are so hard to come by this time of year. I feel I'm not taking care of what I put in my body
-teachers at the school seem thankless, slow, not keeping time, don't spell particularly well, and seemingly don't teach!
-students not responding to my questions and saying they understand, when they clearly do not, in both English and Lunda
-people not coming to the meetings they specifically asked for. Lateness is fine by me, but just not coming with no notice or explanation frustrates me so much
-not having done any fish farming work
-cultural and linguistic isolation. I can't think of any way to beat the nighttime loneliness here. Books and music only go so far
- the bushfires
-how almost no one seems to understand my Lunda
-missing Stephen and family
-the f*ing flies. Writing that, I felt my blood pressure rise. Also, why I am swearing so much recently? In the past, my cursing is a direct influence of the people around me. No one here is cursing, not in English anyways. Is it just this cumulative frustration oozing out in explosive vulgarities?

I'm not sure whether or not this helped. Between this, the yoga from earlier, and the tea I'm drinking, I feel better.

27 July 2017

Inanity

Inanity (n)- a nonsensible remark or action

A tour of the spiders in my house:
Friend. Friend is the largest and first named of my arachnid co-dwellers. If Friend’s body, unshelled peanut sized, were in the middle of my hand, its legs would extend over the edges of my palm. I realized how uneasy the spiders here make me feel but wanted to keep them (the alternative being killing them or chasing them out of the hut). If I was going to share space with these creatures, I had to think of them as my friends, as enemies of my enemies: beetles, ticks, roaches, and especially mosquitoes. Part of befriending these spiders includes giving them silly names. Friend lives behind my calendar and usually pokes several legs or a head out of the paper in the evening.

Patsy. Patsy is smaller, about the circumference of an average plum. Patsy lives in a space between the bricks above the cubby where I keep my toothbrush. Most of my spider friends are wall crab spiders- large and nocturnal but almost entirely sedentary. They stay in the same spaces, night after night, diligently patrolling their chosen hunting grounds.

Scoot. Scoot used to live on a wooden board I had leaning up against the wall. However, I used the board to make a shelf for my kitchen, and Scoot has not been spotted since. Sorry, Scoot.
Eleanor. Eleanor is about the size of Kennedy half-dollar. The legs might still extend over the edges. Eleanor lives on my door, usually on the crossbeam that is at eye-level, making close quarters when I squeeze out the door to go to the bathroom at night. The spiders are fairly skittish, scampering off at the first sight of external movement within their territory. When I open the door, Eleanor scurries through the cracks in the beams to the other side, usually. I may have inadvertently fed Eleanor to Friend last night. After I returned from the bathroom, I didn’t see Eleanor in the usual position but saw Friend with a familiar shape and many legs in its pedipalps.

Lurch. Lurch isn’t a wall crab spider and it more mobile but is a befriended spider all the same. Lurch is longer and leggier than my other friends and looks something like a Daddy long legs. Lurch lives in the rim of the basin I use to wash my hands and is entrusted with the task of keeping insects away from the open water. Friendship in exchange for small labor.

And yes, I realize how inane this all is. It’s a result of two components: Relative boredom and loneliness in my little hut that feels far too big for one person, especially in a society where people live together in family groups. Secondly, I have a desire to live harmoniously with the creatures here and to accept that large spiders, as well as annoying mice, venomous snakes, caterpillars that make your skin burn, beetles that secrete acid, painful ant bites, and diseases like malaria, HIV/AIDS, Dengue fever, and schistosomiasis are real and present threats here. In comparison to the list of things I must protect myself from, hand-sized spiders are a manageable non-threat. If I can successfully live with uncomfortably large spiders, I can better (and more realistically) focus on being successful in other areas.

An update: Eleanor has relocated to the beam on the right side of the door. Phew! I don’t know what (or who) Friend was eating.

Regius

Regius (adj)- royal

After many arranged days and subsequent cancellations (mantra: breed patience, not resentment), we set off to visit the chief! I had very little idea of what to expect. During training, we were briefed about etiquette when visiting a chief but each experience is likely to be different. The tribal chiefs in Zambia comprise the traditional leadership which works in tandem with the modern government. There is a hierarchical system of chiefs in each tribe, which works to maintain local leadership within tribes and within tribal regions. To me, it seems chiefs and tribal leadership are the figures that handle day-to-day issues as they arise in people’s lives- land disputes, divorces, arrivals of new residents, interpersonal conflict, theft, and cultural celebrations. The chiefs also usually are the owners of the land, and people either lease or buy land from chiefs for agriculture and villages. On the everyday basis, a common person is much more likely to interact with a chief than with a member of parliament or other governmental official. The chiefs are accorded that respect- even the MPs or President will show appropriate deference to a chief, I’m told.

I was fortunate to be accompanied by my counterpart and my host father, who acted as examples of proper behavior. They made me feel nervous, though! As soon as we parked our bicycles by the gate, they transformed from gentlemen into tittering schoolboys, acting nervous, speaking in hushed hurried tones, and looking around with what seemed to me like apprehension. We rearranged the bicycles against the trees at least three times before they were satisfied. These men take a royal visit seriously.

 The palace is located in about the center of the village and has a long path leading to the gate. If one wants to meet with the chief, you approach the gate and wait for the chief’s retainer to notice you and come out to greet you. The retainer asks your purpose for visiting the chief. If it is a worthy matter and the chief is available, the retainer will take the message to the chief while you wait outside the gate.

While we waited for the retainer to return, my counterparts briefed me on the clapping procedure, which is a way to show respect in Lunda culture (as well as other Zambian cultures). At this point, I was sweating in my chitenge, which is of course what a woman should wear to see the chief. The retainer returned and said the chief would be pleased to meet with us. He opened the gate (which was like the levered arm on a modern parking garage, except made of sticks and not motorized) and we approached. When we reached the opening to the gate, we knelt and clapped a series of seven quick claps, three times. Then we stood and followed the retainer onto the palace grounds. I had imagined us entering a court of palm fronds and reed mats for the subjects but we were instead led into a modern living room, with overstuffed sofas and a coffee table draped in lace doilies. The schoolboys and I panicked for a few moments about where each should sit, then roosted and waited for the chief to enter. We left the largest armchair at the front of the room open, thinking it a fitting seat for a chief. My counterparts whispered in Lunda until the chief entered from behind a curtain. We immediately knelt and repeated the clapping procedure. The chief took his seat, not in the large armchair but in a humble wooden chair in the back corner of the room. He greeted us and welcomed us, then asked us to explain our presence. My host father did all the speaking, in Lunda, so I was struggling to follow along. I know there was some discussion of Peace Corps, the aquaculture project, and how long I would be staying in the village. The chief spoke directly to me then, while my ataata (host father) translated. He said I was very welcome to do my work and that he would treat me like a daughter, even though our skin is different. He spoke with my counterparts somewhat more, then blessed us all. I was called forward to present my gift, which was a packet of 1kg sugar and some cooking oil, to the retainer and was thanked by the chief. Bringing gifts is the compensation for the chief’s time. The nature of the gift reflects the nature of the issue- a packet of sugar or a chicken (but not a black one) is appropriate for audience and small disputes, while goats or even a cow are required for more serious issues.

We filtered out and were ushered by the retainer past the gate, where everyone seemed to breathe and speak normally again. The presence of the chief, humble though his nature, commanded reverence. I feel protected and supported by living within a chiefdom, especially one so far away from other arms of the Zambian government.

The only troubling component of the visit was the chief, in his wooden chair in a dark corner, was wearing a hat that partially obscured his face. I’m seriously worried if I were to pass him on the road or see him in the market, I wouldn’t recognize him by face.

Addendum: The above situation actually happened two weeks ago in my village. Did I jinx myself? I was bicycling home, up a decently steep hill in the afternoon sun, when a man called out to me from the side of the road. He was coming from a house where music was playing and many men were sitting drinking. I was tired and not eager to stop to be talked at by a drunk person, so I waved and continued biking. The man started following me, still calling out and telling me to stop, so I finally braked hard (in a little bit of a huff) and turned around, saying “Okay,” with more than a little disgruntle in my voice. The man started talking to me and I didn’t know who he was, but he was being followed by a worried looking younger man, clearly sober and in stark contrast to the speaker. It quickly sunk in that this younger man was the chief’s retainer, which of course means the drunk man speaking to me is… the chief! I immediately kneeled down and clapped, then stood and apologized to the chief. He had been drinking liberally and was slurring his words somewhat, so I apologized for not understanding and wished him well. I only hope he has a less than clear memory of the interaction. At least I’ve seen the chief in daylight now!

1/Boondoggle

1/Boondoggle

Apologies for a less than loquacious account- I just wanted to post an update to village life quickly before I head out of town and away from internet access.

This week marks a month since moving to the village (although I'm in the provincial capital this week for meetings) and even looking back on what I wrote three weeks ago, I can see a huge difference in my integration, my language skills, my work prospects, and my settled-in-ness (what a compound word).

In the past few weeks, I have not be extraordinarily busy but I have kept occupied and made some connections in  my village and catchment area. I took myself on a walk to the clinic and met the local clinic worker, a lovely young woman who shared details of Zambia's health system. On my walk, I wandered to the next village, greeting people, and ended up running into a former counterpart of the previous volunteer at my site. We sat and talked and planned a community meeting for the next week. Other volunteers have said the work "just happens." The idea of work "just happening" while I sit and twiddle my thumbs was unsettling- I felt the need to go out and find work. My host family is very helpful and supportive but has been encouraging me to stay in, to become accustomed to life in the village. For one of the first times in my life, I'm taking the requisite initiative to *get stuff done* As unsteady as it feels, it is also necessary. Since moving in, I've met the clinic worker and talked about helping with malaria work, met the new headmaster at the equivalent of middle school in my community and chatted about plans for me to teach science, met various government officers in Ikelenge, met with an immigration officer and renewed my pre-work permit paperwork, attended an agricultural show for the district, met with other Peace Corps Volunteers in the district, chatted briefly with a few fish farmers in my area, greeted neighbors copiously, attended church, visited the chief (which deserves its own account, to come), and goofed around with the children who live near the spot where I have network in my village.

In addition, I have had two community meetings with two different villages in my catchment area. While the Lunda is still somewhat elusive to me, I have benefited from wonderful counterparts who translate for me. We used participatory tools to do a needs assessment for the community, as well as discuss daily schedules and existing strengths in the area. The outcome of both of these meetings was nutrition groups, especially focusing on helping  mothers ensure their children grow well. I've started meetings with one of the groups so far and it has been going well. Perhaps more enthusiasm than organization as yet.

The fish farming work is still dragging its feet (or rather I'm dragging on creating it, if I'm the active party here now) but I'm content with the work I have,  the lifestyle I'm leading, and the prospects for the next two years. And it's only one month into community entry!

Orthobiosis

Orthobiosis (n)- correct or moral living

After reading about the foundations of Transcendentalism and John Muir's environmental activism, I've been thinking about the idea of "living simply" as many of our intellectual and philosophical pioneers have advocated as a solution to both societal ills and the increasing impact of society on the environment. I understand- one who is consumed by thoughts of industrialization, of efficiency, of social propriety is not affected by the natural environment, cannot be made to move by the swirling wind and the sursurrus of tall grasses.

Still, I think equating a "simple life" with environmental engagement is problematic. People in Zambia (rural Zambia, anyways) may be said to live simply: we fetch our water and therefore are aware of its seasonal flux and the imperative of exercising parsimony. We cook food over fires, knowing full well the source of the fuel and again, the need to conserve it, for the sake of labor if not deforestation and financial security. We (how quickly I switch to "we" when I've only been here a few weeks) grow our food from nearby land and understand the amount of work required to feed a family. By nature of the requirements of life here, there is certainly a more established connection with the natural environment. If we had heating and air conditioning, running water, oil/gas/electricity, tractors, paved roads, motor vehicles, grocery stores, or internet connection, I cannot say the same knowledge of the land that sustains us would exist. The pioneers of environmentalism throughout time, from Humboldt to Muir to Leopold, say it is this essential connection to the land that develops and appreciation and in turn, a desire to conserve that which sustains us. That is not necessarily the case here. Twice this week I have attended meetings where community leaders have asked about building dams, not particularly caring about downstream circumstances. The annual burning of the bush has begun, to clear away grasses and potential habitat for mice and snakes. Mice escaping the fire are caught and eaten, while any snake is killed on sight. People see and understand the effect of their agriculture on the soils in the area, but move to newly cleared fields every few years rather than engaging soil conservation methods. Firewood is harvested as needed from the surrounding forest and I have seen no evidence of a sustainable management plan for firewood. People remark on the changing climate, observing shifting patterns of rainfall and higher incidence of drought but still associate diesel vehicles with wealth, and therefore status.

Perhaps knowledge and deep appreciation of land, creation of a personal land ethic, only comes in contrast to the lifestyle fraught with distractions of modernity. What is a simple life, then? I find myself thinking it is problematic, both environmentally and socially. Saying a rural life is simplistic is inherently condescending, as it compares to a modern, complex, "advanced" life, if we resort to Cartesian dichotomies. Even with the best intentions, expressing a desire for a simple life implies rural life is free from the problems of a complex world, which it is certainly not. The global connectivity of a single biosphere shifting climate is proof enough of that.

It is easy, somewhat, to focus on the here and now, the immediate surroundings and the immediate future in this lifestyle. Without internet connectivity, it's hard to know and subsequently be concerned about foreign politics, for example. People's concerns tend towards putting food on the table this evening and having money to pay for the upcoming term's school fees. There is certainly an easier path to mindfulness here. One can focus on the fire in front of your feet, cooking your food that you have grown, and seeing the trees and stars overhead. Just because mindfulness is facilitated, it is not a single state. There are young men and women here whom when asked, say they want to become doctors, teachers, or scientists after their education. To say that life here is simple seems to rob the youth of those who live rurally of the potential for technologically advanced, interconnected futures.

Sometimes I wonder if it is a desire of those with technologically burdened lives to shirk responsibilities that prompts statements like "I wish life were just simple," while picturing life in a rural setting. We don't want to deal with broken machines, troubleshooting software issues, traffic, demands of the workplace, plus the basics of survival. For we envision a simple life as one that focuses on survival necessities without the problems we perceive as societally-engendered complications. Our philosophical leaders say these complications only distract us from the truly important matters; freedom from them enables us to yearn towards an enlightened, clear life.

My Lunda is not nearly good enough to ask about philosophical inclinations of Zambians in my village, so this has to remain a one-sided perspective.

Stoup

Stoup (n)- a vessel for holding holy water

This week, I bring you, a poem!


In reverence of the spring

Sloping clearing
as if pulled by the gravitas
yearns toward yonder hollow
where through grasses parted and boughs disentangled
one discovers a humble temple
nestled into the forest shade
a canopy of verdigris a living crown

Beams like fallen pillars
grown hoary with moss and fern
ford a path to diminutive altar
sanctum sanctorum
a pool of lucid water
bubbling forth from the earth

Peer over the walkway's edge
See the ground murmurs, sways, sighs
a stream is proffered from unseen depths
and swells to the surface

A hopeful upwelling, an offering of existence
from the sacred to the
not profane
just ordinary
For this spring in its niche
sustains the ordinary
lives of people in the village
nurtures gardens
feeds fish ponds
cleanses children
and defeats thirst

Oh the taste of meek exsurgence!
Savour is an insufficient sentiment
It hearkens to ancient rocks
to gravel debris
of caverns under mountains
yet is every fresh.
Reviving more than body
rehydrating the spirit
Restoring umbilicus to Earth
and gurgling ever forth
adored.

Boondoggle

Boondoggle (v)- to do work to keep busy

Here's how today went: wake up at 6:30, actually arise at 7:00, greet neighbors as soon as I open the door, fetch water from spring, start brazier, set water to boil on brazier. While cooking water, sweep house and front yard. Greet other neighbors. Once water boils, make tea and porridge, keeping most of the water for bathing. Eat breakfast, using leftover coals to make popcorn for a snack later. Greet host mother and host father. Use water to bathe, apply lotion, wrap up in chitengi and get dressed. Wash dishes using leftover bathing water. Set dishes to dry on rack made of sticks. Till a few beds in my garden and plant gathered tomato, papaya, and passionfruit seeds. Whisper encouragements to my little mint plant (encouragemints!). Use leftover clean dishwater to water garden and set buckets to dry. Eat popcorn. At this point, it's only 10:30 or so in the morning...so I sit and wait. I wanted to go to church to introduce myself but my host mother is not going today and my host father is not around. We're supposed to go meet the chief this afternoon, so I don't want to wander off.

I sit inside and knit, play games on my phone, listen to music, eventually collect the dry dishes, leave some behind because they're covered in ants, check on the garden two or three more  times, chat with some neighbors about their school work, watch the goats wreak havoc, test paint colours on my wall, go through all my photos, play my phone game again...time is dragging on. My ataata eventually returns (from church, apparently? There is so much I don't understand) and says the chief was not feeling well enough to meet with anyone today. We will go tomorrow. More sitting and trying to keep busy, trying not to think about the two years ahead that suddenly seem looming.

It's day five in my village and I have:
-built a shelf for my chisasa (bathing shelter)
-fixed/installed hinges on my garden gate
-started a compost pile
-tilled some beds and planted a colourful assortment of plants (fingers crossed they all grow)
-unpacked, rearranged clothing and furniture
-hung maps, photos, a calendar, and some butterflies on the wall
-affixed my mezuzah and had a great (as in funny) conversation with my amaama about mezuzot.
-made a jewelry hanger, a tp holder, and a pair of baby booties (plus the knitting needles from some building wire)
-fetched water, washed clothes, had clothes covered in ants, devised how to store clothes to protect from said invaders
-cooked popcorn, pineapple fried rice (with pineapple from my parents' fields, deeelish), some weird but tasty apple fried rice, crepes, more popcorn, tea...
-struggled, was chastised, struggled again, and I think figured out how to light my brazier properly. My amaama was muttering under her breath in Lunda something about a woman who can't light a fire.
-walked to the network spot (a hill about a twenty minutes' walk away) three times, greeting neighbors along the way. They all know my name but I am struggling to learn family names. There seems to be some reticence about just giving names.
-did my accounting from settling in purchases
-made a body pillow
-biked into the BOMA for a planned meeting with the district councillor, who was otherwise occupied
-met another volunteer in the area, who showed me around Ikelenge. It's small but has almost everything! We found apples, yarn, peanut butter, jam, oats, local fruits and vegetables, bicycle parts, sandals, and chitengi. We wanted bread but the baker was out.
-met my Department of Fisheries supervisor and the local agriculture officer, exchanged numbers
-very briefly met the local clinic worker and one of the organizers of a girls' group. I was expecting/hoping to sit down and talk plans but it was strictly an exchange of names and handshakes. Is that the Zambian way? Is that my American bias, thinking "let's get to business"?
-Read some of a biography of Alexander von Humboldt (it's called The Invention of Nature and is highly recommended)
-had a conversation of sorts with my headman
-tried to speak some Lunda. I'm really struggling with understanding people, which is keeping me from just going around to start conversations with fish farmers or strangers
-remembered to stretch/work out and take my malaria prophylaxis every day

This is a list I'm fairly satisfied with but when I think about this next list, I'm a little concerned.

Since arriving in the village, I have not:
-met with any fish farmers
-seen any fish ponds, except for a quick glance at my host father's since they are <100m away
-been introduced to any farmers outside my village circle
-visited the clinic, mission hospital, school, or police station
-met the chief
-toured/been explained the communities in my area. My ataata has mentioned making a map with me, so we'll see
-made any plans for community meetings or fish farming work
-had any real communication about how things are here. There has been a little surface level talk
-identified potential friends or new counterparts. A few of my neighbors seem nice?
-ate Nshima with neighbors. How essential is that really to integration?
-learned any information about the immigration office...I apparently have a meeting with them in a few weeks and no one has confirmed if we even have an immigration office in Ikelenge.

I know I need to have patience as culturally, things move slowly and people are very much occupied with their own lives. Overwhelmingly, I feel people in the village have been going out of their way to help me, whether by patiently listening to my broken Lunda or just greeting and welcoming copiously. I'm truly appreciative but I also was anticipating people wanting help, not people wanting to help me. I know Peace Corps' development happens at a grassroots level, and slowly, but as the village asked for a volunteer, there must be something(s) they want me to work on, right? I was expecting at least one individual to approach me and say, "Oh good, you're here. I want to talk to you about implementing X and how you might help." So far, as we say in Lunda, kosi (nilch).

So...be more proactive (?) I plan to wander some, stop by the clinic and school, and keep struggling to introduce myself. I can't exactly organize meetings by myself or find fish ponds on my own. I tried asking a few people in Lunda and the conversations went much like this:
<Are there fish ponds around?>
<Yes>
<Oh, where are they?>
<Around.>
<Around where?>
<Just around.>
Oh. I still have a looooong way to go before I understand the culture, let alone integrate respectfully. I'm trying my best. Maybe culture first, then community?