Hooray for the Rains!

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Darn those thieves. Not the ones in Lusaka, though darn them too. I’m talking about the ones who broke into our house last April. We discovered today that another thing they took was an electronic metronome that I remembered I had brought along two years ago. Brendan is at the point now with his piano lessons that he could benefit from that device and I was proud of myself for having the forethought to bring it along. What the %(*&*# do these thieves need a metronome for?!?

Friday, November 6, 2009

Late last night, Peter received a text from his colleague saying that his wife was leading a workshop on gender issues and that Friday morning, the class would be doing roleplays that I might find interesting to witness. Delighted to be invited, I took them up on their offer and drove to a Catholic church in a nearby neighborhood where the workshop was being held. The class was brimming with men and women, both young and old, all wearing blue shirts that read, “I’m a gender sensitive marriage initiator. Are you?” Audrey explained to me that these seminars, funded by Bread for the World, are designed to educate men and women in the community who are designated as “fimbusas.” Fimbusas mentor young people who are engaged to be married and walk them through all the traditional rituals and educate them on how to be good spouses. They had found that it wasn’t very effective to target young people directly, but to focus on the men and women who had the power in the community to change ideas about gender, the ones who are called in to train the young people. During these workshops, the fimbusas are educated on gender issues, domestic violence, and HIV/AIDS. They work hard at modifying traditional instructions and practices, keeping what is good and helpful, and introducing new ideas and practices to replace the destructive parts of the tradition. For the short time that I was there (they started several hours late and I had to leave after awhile to pick up the boys from school) I watched different groups in the class enact dances and songs that are part of the tradition. I had seen many of these things before at kitchen parties or at the all night gathering. I tried very hard not to blush and keep clapping in rhythm as the women danced showing different sexual positions and such. In the afternoon, these same groups were going to show the “new and improved gender sensitive” rituals and dances and I’m sorry that I missed those. Maybe I’ll be able to catch those next time.

I was delighted that Audrey and Ignatius made the effort to invite me into their world and work. But I must admit I was a bit baffled as to why it happened now, after two years of being here and very limited interaction with Audrey, despite different attempts to form a friendship there. Then it came to me. A week or two ago, Peter and I gave a bit of money to both of his colleagues, knowing that they were struggling financially with not having been paid for many months. We knew it wouldn’t meet all their needs but we wanted to ease their burden at least a little bit. When Ignatius came to thank Peter, he said that it was encouraging to know that someone actually cares. My hunch is that this invitation was a way of reciprocating that care.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

The rains have finally come!!! Hallelujah!!!

It rained last night, and I mean really rained, a downpour complete with lightning and thunder. The air turned deliciously cool and our skin soaked in the moisture that now filled the air. Our fans instantaneously shifted functions, from swirling around hot air, to becoming our clothes dryer. Our garden soaked up the rain and the soil is now saturated with water. Everything seems brighter, clearer, cleaner. I know that the rains bring more bugs, especially mosquitoes, and mud gets tracked into our house, and our towels turn sour after one use, but I am still happy that rainy season is here!

Monday, November 7, 2009

Brendan declared it Mennonite week because we ate traditional German/ Mennonite Brethren cuisine twice in a row. Sunday night we celebrated the beginning of watermelon season with the making of Rollkuchen (Mennonite fry bread). This traditional meal was supplemented with fresh pineapple, which I doubt my Mennonite relatives in Manitoba often include with their rollkuchen and watermelon meals. While I was mixing the dough, I looked out the window and rain was falling in the midst of sunshine. Beautiful.

Tonight I made zweibach (a big bun with a smaller bun on top) to go with our soup. In all honesty, the soup was just an excuse to make the zweibach. Brendan and Jason enjoy both of these but still get the names of them confused with each other. That will come. At least they know and like them, a link to their cultural heritage.

When I bake these days, I am reminded of a line from a novel I read recently, The Winter Vault by Anne Michaels. After the loss of their baby, a couple pulls apart in their grief. The mother-in-law, in a talk with her daughter-in-law, says, “Grief bakes in us, it bakes until one day the blade pushes in and comes out clean.” I found these words beautiful and hopeful.

Tuesday, November 8, 2009

I’ve been itching for short hair again but had resigned myself to letting it grow out because I can’t really drive 4.5 hours to a good hairdresser every 6-8 weeks for a trim. But then I talked to a teacher at Lechwe school who had a short haircut and asked who cut her hair. I got the name of a white Zambian lady who lives in Kitwe and cuts hair on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I made an appointment and I now got what I wanted. Well, almost. I did get a short haircut. I had asked for it to be a bit longer in the back and shorter on the top but got the opposite. It isn’t a bad haircut, just not precisely what I asked for. But it feels good to have short hair again, even though Brendan says it looks “weird” and Jason misses me in a ponytail, the way I always wore it in hot season. They will get used to it eventually.

Wednesday, November 9, 2009

I have been reading and thoroughly enjoying the book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle:A Year of Food Life by Barbara Kingsolver. Kingsolver and her family undertook a project that involved living on a farm and only eating food that they grew themselves or bought locally for a whole year. The book follows them through the year, and is very informative regarding food production in the US and the pitfalls and hazards of our current way of shopping and eating. Here in Zambia, eating locally and in season is a discipline I’ve had to learn out of necessity. Although time consuming, learning to eat, shop and live in a simpler way, supporting local farmers, thinking twice about buying vegetables and fruit out of season (partly because of the inferior taste, expense, as well as the amount of fuel used in transport) is a gift that our time in Zambia is giving me. Over time, I have found ways to get what I need locally, instead of from the supermarket, a South African chain store. I buy chickens from our Sri Lankan friend and minced beef from a local farm sold at a small store in town. I am fortunate that I can buy 90% of my fruits and vegetables in the market and not Shoprite. This forces me to buy what is in season and thankfully, tomatoes are always in season here. We look forward to pineapple and watermelon season as well as when mangos are ripe. We do buy apples and tangerines (naartjies) that are imported from South Africa and occasionally grapes, when they are in season. But mostly, I can bypass that section of Shoprite because of going to the market. As an added bonus, I always get declarations of love in the market, which I don’t get at Shoprite. And the eggs that I buy in the market are fresh and covered in chicken poo just in case I didn’t think they were the real thing. I was proud of my dinner tonight, that with the exception of the cheese, was all local. I made Eggplant Parmesan with eggplant, tomatoes, and peppers from the market, and onions and herbs from our garden. The bread crumbs were from bread made at a local bakery that I toasted on my own. Sweet corn on the cob is finally in season and we enjoyed several ears of that. My meals aren’t always so local or seasonal but when I am able to make that happen, I can give myself a pat on the back.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

I walked over to the MEF clinic this morning, in need of drugs to fight off a UTI. The nurse, Sister Margaret, apologized that the dispensary is bare due to the lack of funds that this institution constantly faces. This got her going on lamenting the poor state of this institution. Like so many African institutions, MEF has so much potential but lacks the means and ability to realize this potential. Sister Margaret was adamant that what was needed was muzungus to run the place. “Zambians are selfish and greedy and make poor administrators,” she declared. “White people are servants and will do what is best for the institution and not only be thinking about what they can take that will benefit themselves and their families.” I argued against these sweeping generalizations, thinking about the greed of America and how that precipitated this financial crisis that is affecting poor nations like Zambia, hitting them when they are already down. But Sister Margaret would not be persuaded, she insisted that it was necessary for white people to come in and run this institution, otherwise it will keep going downhill.

I was reminded of a program I heard on the BBC yesterday about how young Russians are being taught “positive history” these days, only focusing on the good things, and neglecting the bad. The result is that many think Stalin was a great leader, which might be true if you leave out the part about millions of his own people that were slaughtered and the pervasive fear that everyone lived under during his reign. I’ve heard of older people in former Soviet states longing for the past, for Communism and for the stability and constant provision that was supplied. Here too, I’ve heard this same sentiment of wanting to bring back the colonizers, in some shape or form. Freedom is all fine and good, but there is also a bit of nostalgia for the past, a longing for the way things were, even if it means bringing back the oppressors, the dictators, the colonialists. Life is so complicated.

I left an hour later empty-handed but glad to have had the chance to converse with Sister Margaret. Instead, I had to drive to town to get my medication. I love that here in Zambia I can walk into the pharmacy, greet our friendly chemist and tell him what is ailing me. He knows our family already and remembers exactly what we have bought from him, when and for what sickness. He is amazing. I got my meds in less than five minutes for K7500 ($1.50). That sure wouldn’t happen in the US.

Jason came home from school reporting that his teacher talked about the end of WW1 that was commemorated yesterday. He kept talking about the “little people” who left home and never came back to their moms. When Jason said the boys were 18 or 19 years old, we finally figured out the teacher had used the phrase “young men” and Jason had remembered it as “little people.” For awhile there, I had a completely different picture of WWI in my head . . .

Friday, November 13, 2009

Brendan was surprised to find a baby gecko crawling up his led in the car on the way to school this morning. He was unable to catch it, though. It poked its head out from under my seat as I was getting out. I didn’t know this car came with it’s own anti-cockroach plan. While that is fine and good, it seems like a bit of a driving hazard to have a gecko that could crawl up my leg at any point and freak me out. They are cute and helpful and harmless, but there is still an element of surprise that could prove dangerous.

When I introduced the topic of anger management to Lechwe school, I had parents who came to me and said, “You really ought to teach this to the teachers.” I did train the teachers who proceeded to teach their classes on this subject. When I taught the teachers, they said, “You really ought to teach this to the parents.” This afternoon I did just that, to a group of about twelve parents. They were eager learners, curious to know what it is their children have been learning and also ready to apply the lessons to their own lives. In our group, there were four Zambian moms, a Zambian couple in their seventies who are grandparents to a student, a white Zambian, three white South Africans, as well as a Peruvian mom and a Russian mom. A diverse group and a lot of fun to work with. Many of these parents I had seen around but hadn’t connected with previously so I’m thankful for new ties that were formed. I will lead another session for parents next Wednesday night for those who couldn’t make it today. There is something about anger that makes you think of other people who could really use this training, as each group recommends another group that would really benefit from learning about anger management. It is always easier to see how other people need to deal with their anger instead of looking at yourself. Besides their husbands, these women also had recommendations for who to train next: “You really ought to teach this to teenagers.” The secondary school at Lechwe is interested so that may be a project for next term.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Brent and Erin are a gift to us. Last night they joined us for dinner and then games after the boys were in bed. They are full of energy, ideas, questions, and conversation always comes easy. They have an impressive array of “gross stories” that entertain Brendan and Jason. Erin does a fabulous impression of her Zambian colleague that tickles me every time. Jason makes himself at home on Brent’s lap and shows him his poster collections and magazines. They have board game intuition which makes it easy to teach a variety of games. We anticipate being entertained throughout the rainy season with these games while Brent and Erin are around. When the rainy season is over and the village roads are once more driveable, then we won’t have as many opportunities to play games so we will take advantage of it while we can. This morning, Brendan went over to their house for a special French Toast breakfast, their birthday gift to him. He was very excited that he got to go over on his own to have time with them and eat their French Toast, which he declares is superior to our own. Four hours later, he finally returned home, happy as a lark. He ate seven pieces of French Toast, showed Brent how to make a soccer ball out of plastic bags, played soccer with that ball, helped Erin make brownies, and looked through a Sports Illustrated magazine. Apparently, for nine year olds, that is pretty close to heaven.