Ramblings from Zambia

Babies, sweet babies

2008-10-06T04:04:00.003-11:00

Well, these little darlings could break the hardest heart. Spent some time with a lovely missionary family in Maseru and Nancy Dimmock introduced me to a local orphanage where I spent two days holding babies, wiping noses, changing nappies and playing some hand-clap games. New people are in and out of their wee lives and although they are clean and fed, they hardly have any stimulation and spend almost every hour of every day in one large room. O babies.

This pic is of me and little Jackson, the youngest of the Dimmock family, with whom I bonded this week. The Dimmock family is multicultural in every way-- get this-- when Nancy had her first baby (1985-- APARTHEID, Lesotho) her husband Frank brought home a little Masotho baby (singular tense for a person from Lesotho) who had been born to an orphan girl who died just days after delivery. They adopted this wee child and can you imagine the stir they caused when Nancy would breastfeed the boys in public-- one black baby and one white baby?! Amazing. Amazing, our fragility. We are capable of both incredible goodness and wickedness-- and beauty and hope emerges-- from the most surprising places.

In the mountains of Lesotho...

2008-10-02T01:42:00.013-11:00

How many kingdoms are left in this world? Can't be too many, but I happen to be in one just now. Went pony trekking in the mountains. Shepherds hang out with sheep and cattle on steep, lonely hillsides wearing traditional blankets draped over one shoulder with staffs clasped in one hand and small plastic containers of snuff in the other. Tobacco and other smokable vegetation are quite popular.

It was so nice to climb onto a minibus as soon as I arrived in this country and feel, for just a brief moment, that I was back at home in Zambia. The people are friendly and sing and drum on the bus (when inspired) just like in Zambia. I just so happened to be in this little mountain village for an annual ceremony that initiates boys into manhood (boys are circumcised at 18 here!). I got to dance with the mamas, watch the men slaughter a bull, turn my nose up to locally brewed beer, and watch the young one's cause ruckus all night. I was with a random Englishman for the trek who walked around with a stunned look on his face. We stayed up late into the night in our little hut discussing the world and theology and finished the evening with a game of "3 Truths and a Lie." This was amusing and he was shocked to discover that being a "Presbyterian Minister" was not a lie I made up for the game.

As always, I tried to upload a video and the net would have none of it. It's not even a big file! Lame, lame, lame. Someday you'll be amused by some short videos, but until then, some pics will have to do...

A trip to South Africa...

2008-09-23T21:03:00.029-11:00

I like the backpackers life. My friend Cheryl is one of those excellent planners who organizes the details of a trip well ahead of time so as to maximize every minute. I like these kind of people. They often see more of a place than a traveller like me. But packpackers tend to be last-minute planners and this serves one fantastic purpose: they end up exploring things one might not normally explore and have adventures with the most random and fascinating people. I love this. Yesterday as I stretched out my toes to bask in the warm sun along the Cape Town waterfront an ugly thought came to mind: "I have officially become a tourist and am no longer a resident of Zambia." I wanted to burst into tears and promptly made a list of all the things I love about Zambia. But it will break my heart to write it again, so instead, I will simply give you some words and pics about the last 2 weeks of my life...

I arrived in Johannesburg (lovingly referred to as Joburg)and after 3 short days, here is my wee little definition of the place: A massive edgy city where the elite minority live in electrified fences, tall walls, and hire security guards to protect their small enclaves from the outside world. It is a city steeped in fear where residents delicately trod on wounds of apartheid still gaping and bleeding, and yet, words of forgiveness and hope and a fierce pride follows quickly on its heels. I met wonderful people and while I choked on all kinds of culture shock (good roads, a variety of delish fast food, consistent electricity, AND drinkable tap water) I had a lovely time in hipster "Melville."

HIGHLIGHTS OF JOBURG: A Xlosa woman took me to her home in Soweto and gave me an excellent tour of the place and, a trip to this city is not complete without visiting the brilliant apartheid museum.

I then flew to Port Elizabeth: A darling coastal town that masks, fairly successfully, the radical socio-economic disparity that characterizes the place. I got to spend a week with my WONDERFUL friend Gharde (a friend from UMin in Seattle!!) and her very cool boyfriend Jaco. They introduced me to a world of Afrikaans as we visited beatiful Nysna and Tsitsikamma National Park. We stayed at a very cool backpackers place where we had a real "Braai" (Afrikaans for barbecue)--- mmm, delish!

HIGLIGHTS OF PORT ELIZABETH: Spending time with fabulous Gharde and her friends, getting a haircut for the first time in well over a year,zip-lining, eating biltong, and playing in the ocean.

And finally, sophisticated Cape Town. Only a city this beautiful would boast calililies for weeds. Springtime bursts from every rock crevice and mountain slope that surrounds this magnificent place and it luxuriously pulls up a blue ocean blanket filled with whales and Great White sharks, surfers and yachts. It is an exquisite, culturally fascinating place filled with startling racism, violence, and beauty.

HIGHLIGHTS FROM CAPETOWN: wine tour through Stellenbosch and Frankshoek, whale watching and laughing at the penguins at Boulder's beach with my darling German friend Udo, visiting Robben Island (where Mandela and others were imprisoned)and the District 6 museum. The trip was not complete without eating amazing food, hiking Lion's Head, enjoying the spectacular view from Table Mountain, visiting Kirstenbosch gardens, and lapping up sunsets with new friends. I've been trying to upload a vid of the cutest, most hilarious penguins, but it keeps failing, so forgive me for simply posting a lame pic (just doesn't do these guys justice)!

The following pics are some random shots from Table Mountain, in and around Cape Town, and one of Gharde searching for shells. I think she looks cute and about 10 years old in this pic. Don't even ask about the scarecrows--- just a wonderfully weird place in Stellenbosch!

Goodbye Zambia! Until we meet again....

2008-09-06T22:39:00.006-11:00

The hot season arrived seemingly overnight. One night I was sleeping under two wool blankets and the next night I kicked off the covers and slept only beneath the mosquito net. Wee Franky cat has found haven on the cool concrete beneath the spare bed.

This morning I woke up to a hot sun burning low in a copper sky. It was just after sunrise and the fractured light thru the mango tree was flecked with summer dust and alive with chatter. The birds that live in the banana trees like to argue with the noisy crows who eat strawberries from my neighbor Jenny’s garden and torment the smaller winged creatures that busy themselves in the early light. The sun and the heat, the budding frangipani trees and the magnificent lavender mouths of the jacaranda blossoms bring me back to my first months in Zambia when everything was new and confusing and wildly unlike home. Now, one year later, I can’t imagine leaving what has now become my home. I still remember the first phone call from the United States— I am almost certain that most of the conversation with my sister involved tears and sniffling on my end. How much can change in a year!

I went to one final “Fimbusa” last night, which is the culmination of a woman’s preparation for marriage. There was lots of drumming, dancing, and O so many shocking songs and role plays that would have knocked the knickers off of the heartiest, progressive westerner. I have very few pictures tame enough to post.

This is my last blog from Zambia. I’ll keep you updated on my circuitous travels over the next 8 weeks that will eventually land me in Portland, Oregon in early November.

Mushali Bwino dear friends!

2008-09-01T04:20:00.006-11:00

Stay well women of Kamfinsa Prison...

It has been a privilege to spend time with the female inmates of Kamfinsa this year. Some friends and family donated money to support a yearly donation to the female section thru TEEZ (the organization where I work). The inmates rely on the kindness of others for daily provision (prisoners receive nshima twice a day, but if they want anything else, it must come from well-wishers). The parcels included washing powder, soap, toilet paper, toothpaste, pens and paper.

I tried to explain this to some neighbor boys, sweet Mazungus from California, but they think that washing powder is a rather miserly gift.

These women didn’t think so. They danced. Everything is a celebration in Zambia, so as always, the distribution of items included drums and singing and dancing.

I preached a short message from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, chapter 4, that lovely little passage that reminds us that we are all fragile vessels, jars of clay, tenderly and meticulously created by a loving God. The women were especially animated (Pentecostals would love this place) when I spoke of our weakness and brokenness and the hope we have in a God who forgives and redeems. There were a few women in the back of the church that looked on with skepticism and what I really wanted to do was go back there and sit down and say, “Girls, believe me, bring on your doubts and fears. This world is madness.” These women have been disappointed, abandoned, and every day they taste the gall of their own regrets. And yet, even here, God is present. Hope is a precious thing. Mushali Bwino dear friends.

Mirinda had her baby!

2008-08-23T02:16:00.017-11:00

Thanks to those of you that sent beautiful hand-made blankets with my dad to give to sweet Mirinda. The baby was swaddled in far too many layers (in my humble opinion), but Mirinda is rightly proud of her little one and was especially delighted to show off her little man in "American clothes."

The baby does not yet have a name. Traditionally, fathers name their children so we are waiting on Dead-Beat Dad to show up (still hasn't seen his son though he was born 5 days ago). I suppose I should be more gracious toward this man, but I am still holding a grudge (he proposed to Mirinda and failed to mention that he is ALREADY MARRIED). Hmph.

These pics were taken at a UCZ church in Kalalalushi where I taught my last class! Sad. In 2 short weeks I leave beautiful Zambia and I can hardly believe that this incredible season of life is coming to an end.

Showing emotion in public is not culturally acceptable (outside of funerals), but I had a difficult time not bursting into tears when my students stood at the end of my final lecture and began singing, "Twatotela ba mayo...Mwende bwino ba mayo" meaning "Goodbye our mother... Go well our mother."

I love teaching. Each class is fresh and new because of the wonderfully diverse students I encounter each week. The first class I ever taught was in Mazabuka "the sweetest city in Zambia" (named so for the large sugar plantation that sits in the center of town) where warm, hospitable, but very poor farmers welcomed me with open arms. It was here I was given my first chetenge, preached my first sermon in Zambia, and where my colleagues and I received cakes courtesy of a little mama (almost blind). I am constantly humbled living here. The generosity of my final class was no exception. As I was leaving the church the secretary stuffed 100,000 kwatcha in my hand (about $30) and insisted I take this for "transport money." I again had a difficult time holding back the tears. Next week I go to Lusaka to pick up my passport from the U.S. embassy and I will proudly use this money to pay for the bus. Aaaaah, Zambia.

President Mwanawasa

2008-08-19T05:10:00.001-11:00

The headlines in the paper this morning told us that President Levy Patrick Mwanawasa was in serious condition after suffering a serious setback in his health. He has been in France recovering from a stroke since the end of June. But this afternoon Vice President Banda announced that the president died early this morning.

With continued tension in Zimbabwe and subtle tensions growing here, I am reminded that peace and good governance is a fragile thing. In recent weeks parliament officials have given themselves scandalous pay increases. While the cat is away the mice will play. When I was in Lusaka last week there was a strong military presence in the streets which was rather odd. Soldiers in fatigues wielding weapons I’ve only seen on movies performed routine marches, but performed them in very busy streets during business hours, which was unusual. They were singing a song in Bemba that was translated for me, “Our hearts are hungry to fight.” I know that the job of a soldier is to protect the interests of a nation, but these soldiers didn’t make me feel especially secure.

I recently heard someone say, “What Zambia needs is a benevolent dictator.” My prayer is that a strong and compassionate leader will step up to the plate. Time will tell. In the meanwhile the nation grieves. This is a sad time.

Ntumbachushi Falls and the Mutomboko Ceremony

2008-07-29T21:08:00.027-11:00

I have very few good pics of the Mutomboko Ceremony to share. This pic was taken at sunset just after His Royal Highness Mwata Kazembe danced "The Victor's Jump" (the meaning of Mutomboko).

This dance is the culmination of a few days of celebration. Early in the day we went to the Luapula River to watch the royal family throw fresh game meat into the river to appease the spirits of Lunda warriors who died during the tribal wars a couple centuries ago. The event was dusty and beautiful and not without its own sadness. As we trudged home with crowds of locals we passed a trash pit where a boy was carefully sorting rotten sweet potatoes from less rotten sweet potatoes to take home for dinner.

The little girls in these pics were selling juice and scones before the event and provided lots of entertainment. I held their baby brother for the better part of an hour while drunken revelers stumbled in and out of local bars.

Lonely Planet and other guides, eat your hearts out! Or, at least, check this place out! The falls, the ancient rock paintings, the natural pools waiting for swimmers?!? GORGEOUS! And I have not seen them mentioned in any of the guidebooks. Shame. By the way, all of you marketers out there.... or IT savvy folk... I hate how tacky my pics are arranged on this blog. Lacking serious aesthetic attention, but if you only knew HOW LONG it takes me to upload these pics you would understand the lack of artistic merit. Sufficient explanation?!

Bana Mwana

2008-07-29T19:25:00.010-11:00

That’s me. Bana Mwana, which means “mother of baby.” I fell in love with this little tike this week. He has the best mouth and smile and laugh. He has a lazy eye and has trouble focusing at times, which ate up my soul as I realized that if this boy lived in the U.S. or if he was born to a wealthy Zambian family, he would likely have access to all kinds of treatment that could help him to see clearly. He was fascinated by my white skin and earrings and was delightfully content to sit on my lap, watching the world go by.

While in Mumbwa (pic from local cave dwelling that dates back a couple hundred years) I was impressed by a wonderful group of people that have been building a new UCZ (United Church of Zambia) church building, brick by brick, for the last 7 years. For the most part, people here are poor farmers and their faithfulness is humbling.

The class we are teaching has 20 students in it and this morning I was greeted in 6 different languages: Ila, Nyanga, Bemba, Tonga, Lozi, and English. I’m pathetic. I’ve got English with a smattering of Spanish and Bemba whereas most people here can speak at least 3 or 4 languages fluently.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the homogenization of culture. I was at “Arcades” in Lusaka this week, which is a strip mall full of South African chain stores. It could easily be transported to Route 1 in Jersey. Rich folk (who think they have average wealth) flit from one store to the next with shopping bags slung over their shoulders, laughing and chattering with their friends as they make lunch plans via cell phone. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the familiarity of it all. At Arcades I eat familiar food, see familiar clothing and connect with friends and fam at a local internet cafe, but there is NOTHING Zambian about the place. Have you noticed that this is happening in the U.S. as well? Strip malls with the similar chain stores make a small community in rural Idaho look like Salt Lake City or Atlanta or Minneapolis. Nothing unique. With “development” seems to come the homogenization of culture. Is this what we are coming to? Automatons driving our gas-guzzling cars to and from work and chain stores to buy and eat and consume, consume, consume all the things the magazines tell us are “fashionable”? Bleh.

BTW, they are called “Awfuls” for a reason. SICK. I went to a butcher’s shop in Mumbwa (it also sold drinks and some friends and I were looking for cokes) and a man was stuffing entrails into a clear plastic sack. You know what are weird to look at? Stomachs. Cow stomachs are brown and sort of hairy. Yuck, yuck, yuck. People are brave to eat these things. The man buying the awfuls smirked at me and said, “What, you only eat steak?”

Opani

2008-07-29T19:18:00.004-11:00

Basically these suckers are like small alligators. Their skin is leathery and snake-like. Some workers found this in a stream near my house and killed it this afternoon. My friend Muyunda is a Lozi and was eager to take this home and eat it as “relish.” This launched my coworkers and I into a hilarious conversation about what the various tribes are notorious for eating. The Bemba’s are teased for eating monkey and mfuko (mice). Muyanda sighed and said to me, “Aaaah Carmen, the foods we eat in Africa.”

Welcome Family!

2008-07-21T22:37:00.016-11:00

What's up with Ex-Peace Corps Volunteers?!?! My cousins Joel and Katherine, along with their darling little 2 1/2 year old baby Versellies arrived with my father in Zambia last week. We have had a wonderful week together and it would not have been nearly as adventurous sans cousins. Joel was especially interested in Zambian fare, so one evening we brought home some caterpillars from the market and some beer made from ground maize (CHEAP, fermented home-brew) called Chibuku Shake Shake. What a great name!

No, we did not let Versellies drink the Shake Shake, but she was a great little eater and even enjoyed nshima (the porridge-like staple food generally eaten twice a day in Zambia). I love this pic of my dad and I after trying the earthy-tasting caterpillars. They really arent't all that bad, we are just whimps.

We visited Chimfunci, the chimpanzee orphanage, which was just as fantastic as the first visit. They really are incredible creatures with so much personality.

Katherine is a secondary school teacher and was curious about the local education system, so we visited my friend Hamweenzu at a local basic school (Zambian version of elementary). The students are starved for materials and there are entirely too many little one's squished at each desk, but the teachers do an admirable job despite the challenges. My father was a physical education teacher, so was rather depressed to see that Hamweenzu has only 3 balls (that is ALL the equipment to which he has access) to use for more than 2300 kids' physical education.

On Sunday I preached in the bush and the visitors were treated as guests of honor-- seated at the front of the church behind me, the preacher. The children of the church were sitting on a grass mat at the front of the church when we entered, but they were "chased" to the back during the service. Just before I began to teach Reverend Chimfwembe and I invited the little one's back to the front to get their own short lesson and story.

The church is in a rural area and the congregation is made up of about 50 people, all very poor farmers, that looked fatigued and hungry. It was rather humbling to then go to a congregants home where a large traditional meal was prepared for my family. The generosity of the people I encounter constantly overwhelms me. Zambia is a place of philial love.

Drunker than skunks!

2008-06-29T20:46:00.017-11:00

In Zambia there is this great saying that I find to be proven true over and over again: "Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet." Everywhere I go--- kitchen parties, church, a ride on a local minibus--- I make new friends. People so welcoming (the exact opposite of my experience on the streets of NYC). New Yorkers would freak out here. I met these hysterical ladies at a kitchen party over the weekend...

The bride was Jehova's Witness, so there were no drums (which was weird--recorded music was allowed, but no traditional drums). In retaliation ("you can't dance without drums") lots of ladies snuck cheap liquor into the event and filled coke and fanta bottles with the fiery liquid and got a little tipsy. :-) I love Zambia.

Kitty Lost and Found

2008-06-14T02:55:00.005-11:00

Franky decided to take a brief hiatus from captivity and had me feeling like a dead-beat “mom.” My friend Micke texted me, “Don’t worry about the cat. Cat’s are like women: they need their space, but they always come back when their credit cards are canceled.” Ha Ha. The kids in the neighborhood helped make signs and hunted all over the neighborhood. Thankfully Franky showed up last night, beat-up, but in one piece. He was hungry and eager for shelter, so I suppose Micke was right. Rotten cat. Rotten Micke.

On the one hand, life has been rather mundane: doing a little teaching, playing a little Settler’s of Catan, and shooting a little film. On the other hand, there has been lots of sad things: the loss of a baby and a professor, spending time with women in the local prison is haunting (how does one talk about freedom and hope in a place so depleted of soul?), and my 17 year-old friend Mirinda, 7 months pregnant, is debating whether or not to become the second wife of the man who impregnated her. She doesn't want to marry him, but she is cold and hungry and sleeps on the ground at night. My friend Peg reminded me of this quote by Henri Nouwen and is seems rather apropos:

"Our faithfulness will depend on our willingness to go where there is brokenness, loneliness, and human need. If the church has a future it is a future with the poor in whatever form."

I'm not trying to be stupidly moralistic. I believe Nouwen is right.

Filming with Jane

2008-06-08T20:55:00.003-11:00

I have a new friend visiting from Britain and she asked me to join her for an afternoon of filming yesterday. She is putting together a short documentary about a family that lives in a compound here in Kitwe. I taught all morning in a local church and then rushed home for a quick switch of clothes and roles. I rather like the denim and camera version of me—it allows for a different manner of storytelling.

The girls dressed up for the occasion (as you can see) and were eager to be on camera. The family recently opened a brick-making business using some new energy-efficient equipment (requires no petrol, very little cement, and uses local soil that can be dug from your own front yard). The bricks are much more hearty than the porous ones typically used that crumble after only a few rainy seasons. The hope is that this business and these bricks will improve the quality of life for the broader community.

OPPORTUNITIES FOR GIVING

2008-06-06T02:08:00.013-11:00

Principles that guide “good giving” aren’t as straightforward as you might think, so allow me to share some basic lessons I have learned in the last six months!

THREE BASIC RULES IN GIVING:

1. EFFECTIVE GIVING CREATES CAPACITY, NOT DEPENDENCY!

GOOD GIVING: Invest in projects, people, and organizations that promote self-sustaining activities. Empower people. Equip people. Avoid making contributions that are not usable or replaceable without your assistance.

WHERE WE MESSED UP: American clothing donations flooded Zambian markets in the 1990’s and despite good intentions, this served to ruin the Zambian textile industry. Garments produced locally could not “compete” with free used clothing that poured in from abroad. When we give we must be careful that our donations are not doing more harm than good! Buy local and encourage others to support local businesses!

2. LET THOSE RECEIVING AID TELL YOU WHAT THEY NEED!

GOOD GIVING: This notion may sound very obvious, but I’ve seen countless examples of people giving, albeit generously, items that were never needed in the first place.

WHERE WE MESSED UP: I spoke with a Malawian physician recently who laughed as she recalled an American church that came to do a short-term mission project in her hospital. They brought dozens of boxes of old medical equipment that are now collecting dust in a corner of the hospital. Why, you ask? Because the equipment is simply not usable in their context! It was not what they really needed.

The hospital focused on delivering healthy babies to healthy mothers. The life expectancy of the average Malawian is 35. Disease and malnutrition are pressing issues and the American church failed to address the real needs of Malawians in that community. Let those receiving aid tell you what they need!

For more info on Malawi, check out info on the World Health Organization website: http://www.who.int/countries/mwi/en/

3. THINK PRACTICAL, NOT EXTRAVAGANT!

GOOD GIVING: Have you seen the fantastic statistics on micro-lending? This is effective giving. Women in rural areas tend to be the recipient of micro-loans and these loans (often providing money to create self-sustaining, productive farms and small businesses) are improving community life all over the developing world!

WHERE WE MESSED UP: A wealthy church in Canada wanted to give a million dollars to support hospitals in Zimbabwe. They wanted strict control over where the money was spent, but in the meanwhile, they did not consider the fact that a huge lump-sum like this can do more harm than good. Corruption is rampant in nearly every sector of society (not just in Zimbabwe—this seems to be an issue all over Africa). Money was siphoned into the deep pockets of some wealthy managers and ended up failing to support local hospitals. “Control” by the giver isn’t the answer. The answer is partnership. Develop relationships with an organization. Find out the needs of the organization and together discover practical ways that you can meet these needs. Think financially small. Think relationally big!

La La La La Luapula

2008-06-04T01:44:00.022-11:00

Just returned from the rural Luapula Province where fishing, witchcraft, and cholera flourish. Local guides casually mention Archaeological sites from the Early Stone Age as if prehistoric rock paintings and tools are rather mundane and not worth much fuss. I tromped through rivers and waterfalls throughout the area and enjoyed a day off along the banks of beautiful Lake Bangweulu where curious fisherman drew their boats close to investigate the white woman lounging about in the sun, book in hand, looking very self-indulgent and bourgeois.

While I was in Samfya teaching a course in a small church that reeked of acrid ammonia courtesy of dozens of bats that dance in the rafters at dusk, we were alerted of a cholera outbreak in the community. Cholera devastates communities because they initiate fishing bans and bans on fishing means that people go hungry. Brutal. The minister had to go attend to a number of families in the congregation who were sick and suddenly bereft of loved ones. By the time we left about 30 people had died.

We traveled to a village called Mununga, which is proudly touted as the “heartland of witchcraft” in Zambia. People told me all sorts of stories about people turning into crocodiles and eating enemies and curses and charms and all kinds of black medicine. I attended my first exorcism, which is another story in itself, but I can offer the short version in one mass generalization: the West tends to psychologize and medicalize evil and human fragility whereas Africa personifies it. Demons and talking snakes and flying witches are a part of people’s daily lives and serve to explain all kinds of illness and hardship.

We stayed in a rather disgusting guesthouse where condom packages littered the ground and the stench of pit latrines lingered in my room at night. I wrote in my journal that first night, “We must be about two turns and a few kilometers from hell.” I had a good laugh when I found out that the name of this guesthouse is “God Knows.” But as my mom used to say, “Things always look brighter in the morning.” As we made our way to the church for our first seminar I had dozens of children following me around like lemmings. The toddlers were afraid and refused to get too close and I made some babies cry, but I eventually made friends with these small chaps. By day 2 we were playing “Nkoko, Nkoko, Chibata” (Duck, Duck, Goose) and by day 3 a massive heard of children were waiting on the doorstep of the church, ready to play with the muzungu when we arrived for our final day of teaching.

Interested in more info about wealth/health disparity in the world? Check out this website: http://www.gapminder.org/gapminder-world.html

Here are some pics from the last couple of weeks: mamas cooking nshima and villagers eager to have their pics taken.

Chimfunshi Chimpanzee Orphanage

2008-05-11T23:15:00.013-11:00

I admit that I did not have high expectations of this place. Maybe it was because all of the guidebooks say that Chimfunshi is nearly impossible to get to without a 4x4 vehicle and it is run by some rather grouchy South Africans, but this was not the case in the least! The road was not great, but worth every pothole! The family that runs this orphanage containing 122 chimps (mostly rescued from the Congo and the babies that have born in captivity) is very warm and insanely in love with their animals and the workers that attend to them are exceptionally knowledgeable. We watched them feed the babies bottles of milk and I even got to play with a funny little baby chimp who had a diaper on and a sucker in his mouth (see pics below). Wild! The animals, for the most part, are able to roam free on acres and acres of donated land, but they all find their way to the fences when it is feeding time.

Crazy “pets” were running around the place. They had geese, peacocks, turkeys, African Gray Parrots, dozens of little scavenger monkeys and a hippo to hilt. I am not kidding. They have a pet hippo (yes, the animal that kills more people in Africa every year than any other animal on the continent). “Billy” is insanely fat and lethargic and has big whiskers like the bristles on a plastic hair brush.

All in all, a nice way to spend one’s 30th Birthday.

I went with Peter and Cheryl Smith and their two boys Brendan and Jason (the Mennonites from L.A.) and Adrian, my favorite farmer from Cornwall. Adrian’s 50th birthday was on Friday night and Cheryl and I both share May 11, so we ate cake all weekend. Divine.

SPIDER!!!

2008-05-11T22:59:00.013-11:00

I’m no expert on arachnids, but I am pretty sure my cat killed a tarantula in my house on Saturday night. Sick. I came home from Teddy and Catherine’s wedding to find Franky playing with what I thought was a wad of black string on the floor, but to my horror, the small heap on my ridiculous red and white checkered linoleum turned out to be a large hairy spider. Disgusting. I don’t like to think of where that little thing had been living before Franky murdered it.

But on a much lighter note, the weekend was lots of fun. My first Zambian wedding was full of dancing and singing and a very, very long sermon (of course). Most of the homily was dedicated to people like me (those that are not married, but should be). Have I mentioned before that I get many strange looks from folks when they find out I am unmarried at “my age”? Amusing.

Chipata, Chipata, Chipata

2008-05-08T21:51:00.015-11:00

A sea of yellow daisies float on the golden grass of Zambia’s savannah this time of year. Talk stalks of brown maze whisper and crackle in the breeze. The rainy season is now over and as the bus zigs and zags along the ribbon of tarmac from Lusaka to Kitwe I admire the thatched roofs and mudbrick homes of villages dotting the countryside where women pound maze in mortars, or “Ibende,” and cook nshima over charcoal fires. I prefer the simplicity of rural village life where subsistence farming generally ensures daily food for every person in the community, but I live in the urban Copper Belt where mines provide the money for daily milimeal, consistent electricity, and contribute the constant plume of sulphor dioxide that crowns our heads in town.

The young woman sitting next to me on the bus sang Christian praise songs throughout our journey and occasionally opened her cell phone to check for text messages. “Jesus Saves” was printed in Bemba across the screen and once again I was reminded that Zambia proudly touts itself as a Christian nation. Perhaps, “touts itself” is not fair. A more apt observation: most everyone I talk to here claims to be a Christian. As a Christian from a religiously pluralistic nation I found my mind wandering to the humble mosque in Kitwe that calls its Muslim followers to prayer five times a day. I wonder what they think of being Muslim in a place where Christian pop artists croon love songs to Jesus on the grocery store sound systems and evangelists passionately preach to passengers before every bus departs the Lusaka station? Strange.

I have a million things to do today and I have run out of time, so please forgive this lame synopsis of the last 2 weeks: went to Chipata to teach for a few days before meeting up with a delightful group from Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church who were meeting with leaders from the Presbyterian church in Harare about a potential partnership and took some time to spend in Eastern Zambia as well. I found myself awkwardly trying to remember exactly how to greet mazungus from home (we shake hands and hug differently in Zambia), so I felt like a big dope as I fumbled with my words and my arms. It was fun to see Zambia through the eyes of new visitors and as I wrote them in a recent email, I am so glad that I get to live here for another 4 months!

P.S. How WASTED do we look here?! The road was bad people. Very bad.

Preacher Girl!

2008-04-17T00:09:00.014-11:00

Last night I had 3 friends for dinner: Teddy Sakupapa (SUCH A GREAT SURNAME!!!!), his fiance Cathy and Trust. I made Italian food. My neighbor is growing fresh basil, so I was able to create something semi-authentic. They liked the meat sauce, but weren't a fan of the noodles. This is a mystery to me. Many of my Zam friends eat loads of carbs-- rice, nshima, potatoes--- all in the same meal, but noodles? No way.

I love that any and every event can become an excuse to listen to Rhumba and dance.

North Americans, we should pick up on this. We should dance far more often than we normally do. Notice the chetenge around our wastes? This is also nice. I think it is somehow supposed to make dancing less seductive (for propriety or some such notion), but I think it's just plain festive.

At the last moment I was asked to offer a short devotional to a women's gathering yesterday morning. Now, I was told that this was an informal event, but was encouraged to wear my clerical collar. mmmm, does this look informal to you?!?! This was a 6 hour Bible study. 800 women showed up! Amazing. Most of the service was in Bemba, but there was plenty of dancing and singing, so I was happy as a lark.

Kuomboka Ceremony

2008-04-14T22:04:00.043-11:00

The floodplanes of the western province are gorgeous and filled with Lozi fisherman and once a year a whole bunch of tourists from all over the world.

After a 15 hour bus ride (yes, please insert "cramped" and "uncomfortable" here) we finally made it to Mongu, a small community in the rural Western Province where the Lozi people reside. I joined a bunch of friends (1 Candadian, 1 Namibian, and 5 Norwegians) for a wild weekend. Thousands of Zambians gather, all donning red caps (traditional Lozi color) to celebrate the annual migration of the king.
Yes, king I say. I thought he was a chief, but I guess there is a complex hierarchy of chiefs with one top chief who is referred to as king of the Lozi. A few of us were intereviewed on ZNBC, so yes, I am now a national TV star. Okay, perhaps not a star, but I was still on national TV.

Once a year the Lozi King migrates across the floodplane from the lowlands to his palace (mmmm, I use the term "palace" loosely here). We knelt for every imaginable official. We even knelt for the king's baggage as it was loaded onto the boat.

The king is rowed by about 100 men that use home-made paddles.

Norwegians are wild. Seriously. What's with Scandanavians? Love them. Every Norwegian I have met (and Swede for that matter) has unending energy and a serious dedication to savoring every second of life. Needless to say, I am tired. We did not sleep a lot.

YouTube Video!!!!

2008-04-09T02:15:00.007-11:00

Hi friends. After on of the largest debacles in my life, I found a way to upload a short video about my life for Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church (they were doing a fundraiser on Sunday and wanted to see their “global fellow” in action in Zam). If you want to check it out (about 8 minutes in length), please copy and paste this url (or just search "Carmen in Zambia" on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQ7bbq3fuPc

Scotty is leaving me (pictured left). Not before the Komboka Ceremony (stay tuned for very cool pics and stories), which will be held in the Western Province this weekend. On Saturday we went to Race Course together for the last time (a big dance competition and Peer Education Seminar was held for a bunch of teens). We went with my new friend Sevelen who is from Namibia, but has been working in Zimbabwe for the last year. His NGO sent him to Zambia because of the potential civil unrest that is feared due to the delayed election results.

I love Sevelen (pictured below-- the one on his knees). He uses adjectives in this crazy high-pitched voice that has people in stitches. We were walking to Race Course and stopped by “MEF falls” (which has been an ongoing joke) where we enjoyed the cascading, polluted waters that feed the resovoir where we collect our drinking water.

Kabwe

2008-03-30T21:26:00.005-11:00

There are big, white bats here. Okay, not white exactly. But a warm, tawny brown. Sort of like the Velveteen Rabbit, but much, much more vermin-like. I like Kabwe. It was recently ranked the 4th most polluted city in the world due to some mining disaster, but I like the cool, breezy evenings and the bustling downtown streets. Our NGO is hosting a workshop in association with the Tamar Campaign, a continent wide project that aims at educating churches about gender-based violence, its link to HIV/AIDS, and to empower leaders to engage Biblical texts contextually to address issues of social injustice. The 2 facilitators from South Africa are full of spitfire and energy: my favorite kind of women.

This national church gathering was by far more fun than any church function we North Americans or Europeans could come up with. We spent our final evening together dancing, singing, performing impromptu sketches, and sharing stories and proverbs from our villages. And what did I have to contribute? I danced my favorite dances with the ladies, but could not come up with any witty cultural riddles or songs to sing “from my village.” So you know what saved me? “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?” Yes, this is all I could come up with. Embarrassing. That was my cultural contribution to the evening.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2008-03-16T22:31:00.014-11:00

This is another one of those strange American holidays that is impossible to explain to my Zambian friends. Corned beef and hash, little green leprechauns, and fun runs. We are weird.

Periodically I walk into the office and the Catholic radio station is blaring inspirational music (generally a collection of European-sounding choral arrangements), but the program ends with the same song every time: the theme to the Tom Cruise movie “Top Gun.” Freaking hilarious.

Went to Racecourse for a football tournament this weekend. 16 teams (8 under 12 and 8 under 14) battled it out sans footwear, but proudly sporting donated uniforms. These kids gathered from four shanty compounds in and around my area and are coached by a collection of fantastic volunteers. One volunteer coach, Hamweenzu, is a physical education and geography teacher and looks forward to meeting my dad when he comes out in July.