“You have to do something, those are our bags, they’re on the wrong plane!”, an exasperated Margaret pleaded with the man between us and the air strip. No luck. We watched as our bags rolled down the runway sans the two of us. Meanwhile, a gentleman escorted us to a private charter headed for Arusha, it also was not our flight, but a pilot had offered us a ride. “Don’t worry, hakuna matata, your bags will go to Arusha”. Regional Air doesn’t tag bags with tracking numbers, they tie a crumbling piece of paper that reads “ARUSHA” to the bag with string. We boarded the private charter we didn’t belong on and set off.
Angie Ruiz (www.kitusumote.org) very kindly arranged for us to visit several projects that she supports in and around Arusha. Her friend, Rebecca, who is also the headmistress of a community secondary school in Arusha met us at the airport, and filled us in on the background of her school and the agenda for the next few days while we waited for our bags. An hour and a half later, a plane carrying one passenger and two backpacks pulled up to the tiny Arusha airport.
The next morning Rebecca took us to an unfinished school perched on the top of a hill over-looking the beautiful valleys around Arusha. We discussed the challenges and triumphs she has found over the short four-year life of the school. Many of the issues are similar to those we see in Zambia – girls drop out to get married, families refuse to fund girls education, boys get physical labor jobs and discontinue their studies, inability to fund or acquire scholarships for higher education, lack of access to hygiene and sanitation, and so on. We got the sense that the government of Tanzania plows more money into such schools than is the case in Zambia. The students themselves all wore identical uniforms and spoke impressive English. Angie is helping them build a much needed science lab. The first class of students is preparing to graduate from Form 12. Rebecca and her faculty are tackling issues head-on with an optimism and talent pool that is refreshing to see.
After lunch, Kesuma, the Director of Kitumusote, picked Margaret and I up to take us out to the first of two maasai villages, Lesoiti. During the three-hour trip out to the Kenya, Tanzania border where Lesoiti sits, Kesuma filled us in on the history of the Maasai and their unique culture. The Maasai are one of the oldest tribal people in Africa with a remarkably preserved culture and way of life. They roam freely between Tanzania and Kenya, herding goats and cattle through vast plains that the government has ceded to them. Traditional ceremonies marking a girls transition into womanhood and a boys into manhood (“warrior”) include circumcision, piercing, animal sacrifice and other practices associated with many lost cultures around the world.
Kesuma himself is a not only a true Maasai warrior, but a rare and exceptional entrepreneur. Through Kitumusote, he has built community centers in Elouai and Lesoiti where the woman can learn Swahili and English, acquire skills that enable them to open shops where they can sell jewelry and crafts, learn about the dangers of female circumcision, the importance of environmental preservation and more. Bridging the gaps between a culture so old and the modern world is no easy task. Fulfilling the requirements of western donor frameworks while living according to the ancient principals upon which he was raised is a truly impressive feat. Africa needs more Kesuma’s.
Visiting the Maasai opened our eyes to a side of Africa we didn’t know. Margaret and I have lived amongst and visited countless villages in Zambia and other parts of Southern Africa. We thought we got it. And then we met Kesuma’s Maasai. Amidst traditional dances and song, they welcomed us, showing us their bomas, explaining how Kitumusote had “opened their eyes and minds”, teaching us.
That first evening they plucked a goat from the herd, tugging it by its ear to our campsite. As a vegetarian, I was sad, knowing he would be their dinner. I soon realized that what was unfolding before me was much deeper than making dinner. This was a traditional slaughter. Every piece of that goat would go to sustaining the Maasai in some way. The goat was suffocated so the blood would not be lost, laid on a bed of leaves, skinned, and carefully and meticulously dissected. The Maasai men (warriors cannot eat meat seen by a woman but we didn’t count because we hadn’t been circumcised) drank the blood, devoured the organs raw, roasted testicales and hooves, sucked bone marrow from the bones, and dried skin. In the midst of being horrified, I also respected how much pride they had taken in caring for this animal in life and how they found a use for every part of this animal in death. However, I was less than amused when a Maasai warrior slid a fresh piece of skin, still wet with fluid and blood, onto my hand. Good luck, not to be removed until it naturally falls off. That night I roasted my hand over the fire alongside the remaining pieces of meat desperately trying to dry the skin without offending our hosts.
The experience sent my head spinning. How do you bring these people into the twentieth century – eliminating dangerous practices such as female circumcision, ear stretching, teeth removal, drinking animal blood, and more – while retaining their beautiful and ancient culture? It is a question Kesuma wrestles with as well, he believes things must start to change, but also that the heart of their culture must be preserved. An important component to his approach is to educate without mandating change. To give them room to change and preserve.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Sweeping Dust
In Ngoma the women sweep dust, they sweep dust on a ground made up of packed dust, packed red dust. Throughout the day, they sweep, tidying, cleaning their homes and yards. But really they are just moving dust from one place to another, sending swirling clouds of it into the air only to have it re-settle in a nearby location.
What are they accomplishing? What is the point? It clearly gives them a sense of accomplishment, but is it deserved, is it even real? There is value in believing you are achieving something, a motivating factor in it, creating this sense of fulfillment is paramount in any organizational structure, human resources. However, a false sense of accomplishment can also be dangerous, leading to inefficiency and lack of progress. Side-affects that hinder development.
These themes are commonly found throughout the developing world. Between the three of us we have traversed Zambia, South Africa, Mozambique, Malawi, Botswana and Tanzania observing the same “sweeping dust” phenomenon. There are local customs and ways tasks are done in these countries that begs the question: is this really necessary? This question becomes glaringly clear when you see men standing in a street collecting money rather than installing parking meters. You pay the man to watch your car for security reasons while simultaneously acting as a human meter. This is only one of the many examples of job creation that you see throughout Africa being catalyzed by inefficiency.
The Sweat
• One morning, filling-up a tank of diesel turned into a tour of Itezhi Tezhi. We had to personally pick-up five people from their homes – one who ran the office, two who could sign the forms, one who had keys to the pump, and another who could pump the fuel. It took us four hours to get a tank of fuel.
• As we tried each day to accomplish what we would consider a reasonable amount we had to succumb to the inevitable defeat of the waiting game. A commonly used term throughout Africa is “just then, just now”. For instance if we were waiting for an office to open or a meeting to take place it was generally noted that it would happen “just now.” We came to know this to mean anywhere from 1-2 hours of wait time, during which we could do nothing else because we weren’t able to schedule meetings in the meantime.
• Scheduling meetings…a whole other issue. Generally speaking most decisions and conversations are made in person. Instead of calling to make an appointment, Zambians will stop by someone’s place of business in order to make an appointment to then come back and discuss the actual matters at hand. The discussion could be as simple as waiting for a “yes” or a “no” but it must be conveyed in person and while you are seated in a person’s office. Phones and email are not even a fleeting thought.
• When driving through Zambia, and in particular the National Park areas, we came across many ZAWA (Zambian Wildlife Authority) gates. The drill for this is to stop your car, make small talk with the local guard, answer the question, “no, we do not have any guns with us”, and sign a log book with our names, number of people in the car, where we are from, and where our final destination is. To truly appreciate this story you must envision a completely isolated area where there are no modes of communication and where huge sun battered and wilted logbooks exist. One can only wonder what someone in the middle of the bush actually does with the information.
The Sweet:
• We were staying at Eureka Backpackers in Lusaka after a long day of errands and unwinding with a beer and talking to the wife of a local Zambian, Molly. Molly is American and so can appreciate some of the frustrations we have incurred thus far. But she brought it back to something beautiful and true. She said, “but yes, if all that changed it just wouldn’t be Africa anymore.” After awhile you really find that simple statement to be true.
• One extremely hot afternoon we were stuck on the side of the road in the bush with a flat tire. One thing still stands to amaze me in Africa, you think you are in the middle of nowhere and then, out of nowhere, entire villages will start to appear to help. Firstly, how did they know? And secondly, why do they care? There were a series of at least eight people who cycled through our broken down area trying to offer a lending hand and didn’t leave until a solution was met.
• We have countless examples, too many to list in a blog post, of locals going out of their way to help, people who have much less to their name than we do, but who give what they have so completely and without expectation at times that it all you can think is this is humanity, this is what its all about.
There is a charm to Africa and way of doing things that is all their own. Attitudes such as “hakuna matata” (yes it is a real phrase spoken often in Tanzania),“you are welcome”, “feel free” and “we are together now” are felt throughout the continent in unexpected moments and amidst all the chaos. If it were to be altered or westernized, would they lose what is so soulfully theirs? Would an efficient market or culture take away the lending hand mentality? So the question remains, does inefficiency breed helpful people?
What are they accomplishing? What is the point? It clearly gives them a sense of accomplishment, but is it deserved, is it even real? There is value in believing you are achieving something, a motivating factor in it, creating this sense of fulfillment is paramount in any organizational structure, human resources. However, a false sense of accomplishment can also be dangerous, leading to inefficiency and lack of progress. Side-affects that hinder development.
These themes are commonly found throughout the developing world. Between the three of us we have traversed Zambia, South Africa, Mozambique, Malawi, Botswana and Tanzania observing the same “sweeping dust” phenomenon. There are local customs and ways tasks are done in these countries that begs the question: is this really necessary? This question becomes glaringly clear when you see men standing in a street collecting money rather than installing parking meters. You pay the man to watch your car for security reasons while simultaneously acting as a human meter. This is only one of the many examples of job creation that you see throughout Africa being catalyzed by inefficiency.
The Sweat
• One morning, filling-up a tank of diesel turned into a tour of Itezhi Tezhi. We had to personally pick-up five people from their homes – one who ran the office, two who could sign the forms, one who had keys to the pump, and another who could pump the fuel. It took us four hours to get a tank of fuel.
• As we tried each day to accomplish what we would consider a reasonable amount we had to succumb to the inevitable defeat of the waiting game. A commonly used term throughout Africa is “just then, just now”. For instance if we were waiting for an office to open or a meeting to take place it was generally noted that it would happen “just now.” We came to know this to mean anywhere from 1-2 hours of wait time, during which we could do nothing else because we weren’t able to schedule meetings in the meantime.
• Scheduling meetings…a whole other issue. Generally speaking most decisions and conversations are made in person. Instead of calling to make an appointment, Zambians will stop by someone’s place of business in order to make an appointment to then come back and discuss the actual matters at hand. The discussion could be as simple as waiting for a “yes” or a “no” but it must be conveyed in person and while you are seated in a person’s office. Phones and email are not even a fleeting thought.
• When driving through Zambia, and in particular the National Park areas, we came across many ZAWA (Zambian Wildlife Authority) gates. The drill for this is to stop your car, make small talk with the local guard, answer the question, “no, we do not have any guns with us”, and sign a log book with our names, number of people in the car, where we are from, and where our final destination is. To truly appreciate this story you must envision a completely isolated area where there are no modes of communication and where huge sun battered and wilted logbooks exist. One can only wonder what someone in the middle of the bush actually does with the information.
The Sweet:
• We were staying at Eureka Backpackers in Lusaka after a long day of errands and unwinding with a beer and talking to the wife of a local Zambian, Molly. Molly is American and so can appreciate some of the frustrations we have incurred thus far. But she brought it back to something beautiful and true. She said, “but yes, if all that changed it just wouldn’t be Africa anymore.” After awhile you really find that simple statement to be true.
• One extremely hot afternoon we were stuck on the side of the road in the bush with a flat tire. One thing still stands to amaze me in Africa, you think you are in the middle of nowhere and then, out of nowhere, entire villages will start to appear to help. Firstly, how did they know? And secondly, why do they care? There were a series of at least eight people who cycled through our broken down area trying to offer a lending hand and didn’t leave until a solution was met.
• We have countless examples, too many to list in a blog post, of locals going out of their way to help, people who have much less to their name than we do, but who give what they have so completely and without expectation at times that it all you can think is this is humanity, this is what its all about.
There is a charm to Africa and way of doing things that is all their own. Attitudes such as “hakuna matata” (yes it is a real phrase spoken often in Tanzania),“you are welcome”, “feel free” and “we are together now” are felt throughout the continent in unexpected moments and amidst all the chaos. If it were to be altered or westernized, would they lose what is so soulfully theirs? Would an efficient market or culture take away the lending hand mentality? So the question remains, does inefficiency breed helpful people?
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Coconut Fuel
Sitting on a bar deck staring at one of the most beautiful stretches of beach in the world, we met a fascinating and hospitable South African man running coconut factories in Mozambique. His approach to building economy, environment and community through a hybrid model is something that we can all learn from. I did.
The first comment out of his mouth hooked me – “we’re harvesting coconut oil to make biodiesel”. His current factory in Inhambane processes the oil, selling it both to biodiesel plants in Maputo as well as purifying it into cooking oil. However, he plans to build a larger facility capable of refining the fibers as well.
It turns out coconuts have virtually no waste byproducts. The coppa is pressed into oil, the remaining nutrient rich extract is used as an animal feed supplement, the external fibers supply the primary ingredient to nets (in Mozambique largely used to fix sand dunes, preventing erosion), and the inner fibers are a primary component in mattresses.
It also turns out that yields off coconut trees aren’t half bad. 6 coconuts yields about 0.5L of oil and an average tree will throw off 150 coconuts annually. The trees take 5 or so years to start producing and do so for roughly 80 years. They’re cheap to maintain and with diesel prices alone where they are (>$9 / gallon), you’d have a nice business before even factoring in the byproduct revenue. What coconuts do require is a decent chunk of land, but at least for now in Africa, land availability is ready, and the totality of the use makes it attractive from an environmental and economic perspective.
Touring the plant this morning, Bret commented that one of the problems he faces is farmers bringing in the coconuts before they’re fully ripe (harvested at 10 months rather than 12) – the result are coconuts lower in oil content and purity (FFA content is still high at 10 months and hard to process into biodiesel using conventional technologies). The result is economic loss all around, but the impoverished farmers, they’d rather have the cash sooner rather than later.
To encourage them to wait the two months, Bret is plowing the extra profit directly back into the community through education and advancement projects he runs. The program is in its infancy but the communities have shown a positive reaction. The concept is one so many of us are striving to put together – catalyze social change through economic development that creates self-sustainability.
More corporate and social entities need to come together in this way in the developing world. And more international private investors need to look at what really works for these environments. Before today I would have shaken my head at coconuts as a source of biodiesel – internationally I thought of jatropha, miscanthasus, etc., but the reality I find here is that those crops are not only costly and difficult to grow, but poison the soil, creating backlash on a lot of levels. There will be no magic bullet, but open minds, local solutions, and hybrid models really do have a chance.
The first comment out of his mouth hooked me – “we’re harvesting coconut oil to make biodiesel”. His current factory in Inhambane processes the oil, selling it both to biodiesel plants in Maputo as well as purifying it into cooking oil. However, he plans to build a larger facility capable of refining the fibers as well.
It turns out coconuts have virtually no waste byproducts. The coppa is pressed into oil, the remaining nutrient rich extract is used as an animal feed supplement, the external fibers supply the primary ingredient to nets (in Mozambique largely used to fix sand dunes, preventing erosion), and the inner fibers are a primary component in mattresses.
It also turns out that yields off coconut trees aren’t half bad. 6 coconuts yields about 0.5L of oil and an average tree will throw off 150 coconuts annually. The trees take 5 or so years to start producing and do so for roughly 80 years. They’re cheap to maintain and with diesel prices alone where they are (>$9 / gallon), you’d have a nice business before even factoring in the byproduct revenue. What coconuts do require is a decent chunk of land, but at least for now in Africa, land availability is ready, and the totality of the use makes it attractive from an environmental and economic perspective.
Touring the plant this morning, Bret commented that one of the problems he faces is farmers bringing in the coconuts before they’re fully ripe (harvested at 10 months rather than 12) – the result are coconuts lower in oil content and purity (FFA content is still high at 10 months and hard to process into biodiesel using conventional technologies). The result is economic loss all around, but the impoverished farmers, they’d rather have the cash sooner rather than later.
To encourage them to wait the two months, Bret is plowing the extra profit directly back into the community through education and advancement projects he runs. The program is in its infancy but the communities have shown a positive reaction. The concept is one so many of us are striving to put together – catalyze social change through economic development that creates self-sustainability.
More corporate and social entities need to come together in this way in the developing world. And more international private investors need to look at what really works for these environments. Before today I would have shaken my head at coconuts as a source of biodiesel – internationally I thought of jatropha, miscanthasus, etc., but the reality I find here is that those crops are not only costly and difficult to grow, but poison the soil, creating backlash on a lot of levels. There will be no magic bullet, but open minds, local solutions, and hybrid models really do have a chance.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Power Bills
“Do you live here?”. A towering Zambian man in a blue uniform with a hat that said ZESCO across it stood in the doorway to our three room mansion in Ngoma. Jumping out of my camping chair, I said “yep”. “You have an outstanding electricity bill of 3 million kwacha (~$1,000), if you don’t pay it now, we’re cutting the power”. The man worked for ZESCO, the national electricity company within Zambia. They control virtually all the electricity in the country. The sum he rattled off equated to almost two years of unpaid bills.
When we moved in, no one bothered to inform us about the predicament in which the past owner had left, but the theme is common. Electricity lines are installed, rates are set and agreed to, contracts are signed, payments are not made. By the time ZESCO gets around to demanding payment (a system that requires house visits that in rural locations are difficult and costly), the bill has reached a level whereby the owner can’t pay it or has vanished, leaving the new inhabitant and ZESCO in an unpleasant predicament. It happens with both individuals and corporations. In Itezhi Tezhi one of the largest businessmen in town operated a logging facility whose bill had escalated to over 20 million kwacha before ZESCO cut the power. Unable to pay, the whole compound sits idle.
I explained to him that ZAWA had leant us the house, we knew nothing of the past owners bill, we wouldn’t pay it, but we’d pay our portion. He protested meagerly, suggesting ZAWA eat the prior bill or track down the former tenant. We both knew this would never happen and so he reluctantly agreed.
We were lucky. He caved largely because we were white and he knew we could and would pay. Many buildings in Zambia wired to receive power sit in darkness for months, even years, while ZESCO and the inhabitants squabble.
That night over Margaret’s African Risotto, I asked Luhana if he thought Zambia would ever privatize the power sector. His initial response was one of confusion – why would they do such a thing? If they privatized power, the rural areas would not be served, it did not make economic sense to serve them. So government owned ZESCO was doing the country a favor by providing electricity where private companies would not. I wish I could say I was surprised by his way of thinking, but I was not, it is reflective of the country on the whole.
Given that I’ve grown up in one of the most capitalist countries in the world, it won’t be startling that I made a case for privatization. But the proof is there in the developing world. Take telecommunications in Zambia - five years ago when I first lived in Ngoma, no one had a cell phone. Today, every family owns at least one. Privatization spurned viral growth – the biggest players, Celtel and MTN, competitively advertise and price, reach millions of people, and generate huge profits. The model is working: Buy a phone, buy a sim card, buy talk time. When the talk time runs out, the phone goes dead. If these companies relied on individuals paying a monthly bill, they would have gone under long ago. That system doesn’t work here, at least not yet.
South Africa is applying the same model to energy. You can buy “units” of electricity, punch it into a meter in your home, and watch it run down, the same for water. In one of the townships in Cape Town, a South African woman showed us the paperwork, the meter, she monitored it all carefully, power and water are important to her family’s quality of life.
Power, telecommunications, core infrastructure are crucial to pulling the developing world into the second and first world. The impact I see technology having on this corner of the world is profound, and people, the majority of whom are living in poverty, are willing to pay substantial portions of their earned income for phones, power, tv’s, stereos and the like. The challenge they and we face is creating systems that work.
When we moved in, no one bothered to inform us about the predicament in which the past owner had left, but the theme is common. Electricity lines are installed, rates are set and agreed to, contracts are signed, payments are not made. By the time ZESCO gets around to demanding payment (a system that requires house visits that in rural locations are difficult and costly), the bill has reached a level whereby the owner can’t pay it or has vanished, leaving the new inhabitant and ZESCO in an unpleasant predicament. It happens with both individuals and corporations. In Itezhi Tezhi one of the largest businessmen in town operated a logging facility whose bill had escalated to over 20 million kwacha before ZESCO cut the power. Unable to pay, the whole compound sits idle.
I explained to him that ZAWA had leant us the house, we knew nothing of the past owners bill, we wouldn’t pay it, but we’d pay our portion. He protested meagerly, suggesting ZAWA eat the prior bill or track down the former tenant. We both knew this would never happen and so he reluctantly agreed.
We were lucky. He caved largely because we were white and he knew we could and would pay. Many buildings in Zambia wired to receive power sit in darkness for months, even years, while ZESCO and the inhabitants squabble.
That night over Margaret’s African Risotto, I asked Luhana if he thought Zambia would ever privatize the power sector. His initial response was one of confusion – why would they do such a thing? If they privatized power, the rural areas would not be served, it did not make economic sense to serve them. So government owned ZESCO was doing the country a favor by providing electricity where private companies would not. I wish I could say I was surprised by his way of thinking, but I was not, it is reflective of the country on the whole.
Given that I’ve grown up in one of the most capitalist countries in the world, it won’t be startling that I made a case for privatization. But the proof is there in the developing world. Take telecommunications in Zambia - five years ago when I first lived in Ngoma, no one had a cell phone. Today, every family owns at least one. Privatization spurned viral growth – the biggest players, Celtel and MTN, competitively advertise and price, reach millions of people, and generate huge profits. The model is working: Buy a phone, buy a sim card, buy talk time. When the talk time runs out, the phone goes dead. If these companies relied on individuals paying a monthly bill, they would have gone under long ago. That system doesn’t work here, at least not yet.
South Africa is applying the same model to energy. You can buy “units” of electricity, punch it into a meter in your home, and watch it run down, the same for water. In one of the townships in Cape Town, a South African woman showed us the paperwork, the meter, she monitored it all carefully, power and water are important to her family’s quality of life.
Power, telecommunications, core infrastructure are crucial to pulling the developing world into the second and first world. The impact I see technology having on this corner of the world is profound, and people, the majority of whom are living in poverty, are willing to pay substantial portions of their earned income for phones, power, tv’s, stereos and the like. The challenge they and we face is creating systems that work.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Katie
I had looked forward to having my cousin Katie join us for a few weeks, but I hadn’t realized just how amazing having her there would be. She walked out of customs in Lusaka, setting foot in Africa for the first time at seventeen, to listen to me apologize for the fact that although it was close to 10pm, we didn’t exactly have anywhere to sleep as of yet. Neither this nor the myriad of daily mishaps and altered plans that ensued phased her. The ease with which she adapted - from a hole in the ground teeming with flies for a toilet to passing through armed checkpoints and scrounging for food impressed me.
But the connections she made with the girls of Ngoma, the reaction they had to her and her to them, pulled at my heart more than anything else. She connected and gave something that none of the rest of us could, something that only another teenage girl going through the same things they are, albeit halfway across the world, could.
One Wednesday after the scheduled mentor had completed her talk, I asked Katie if she would mind telling the girls about her life as a student. The girls asked her questions hesitantly and than with increasing excitement – “what subjects do you study”; “what do you want to be?”; “do you have a boyfriend”; “what is it like being a student in your country?”. They giggled and smiled, resonating with answers that Katie carefully phrased to tie into the reality of their daily lives to encourage and inspire them.
By the time the Girls Camp rolled around, Katie was the one the girls would turn to for help with the activities or otherwise. From scavenger hunt clues to a depletion of sanitary napkins, they reached out to her. I marveled as they pulled her into all of their games and clued her into the gossip. A trust and level of comfort had grown between them that escaped the rest of us.
Watching the relationships develop reminded me that despite the glaring differences in the environments in which these girls grow-up, the fundamental issues young girls in both California and Zambia face are parallel versions of one another. What do you do when you like a boy? How do you have a family and a career? What do you do when your parents want something different for you than you do? Both sides have so much to learn from the other, so much which will make each that much better off.
The unfortunate truth is that there remains a lot of misperception among people and cultures around the world, and the personal connections, the glimpses and moments that make the life of someone so different from you a part of your own inspire caring and understanding. Drawing these connections is an important part of mobilizing the global community. Through KnowledgeBeat we are establishing a pen pal program between children in Zambia and California that we hope enriches and changes lives around the world.
But the connections she made with the girls of Ngoma, the reaction they had to her and her to them, pulled at my heart more than anything else. She connected and gave something that none of the rest of us could, something that only another teenage girl going through the same things they are, albeit halfway across the world, could.
One Wednesday after the scheduled mentor had completed her talk, I asked Katie if she would mind telling the girls about her life as a student. The girls asked her questions hesitantly and than with increasing excitement – “what subjects do you study”; “what do you want to be?”; “do you have a boyfriend”; “what is it like being a student in your country?”. They giggled and smiled, resonating with answers that Katie carefully phrased to tie into the reality of their daily lives to encourage and inspire them.
By the time the Girls Camp rolled around, Katie was the one the girls would turn to for help with the activities or otherwise. From scavenger hunt clues to a depletion of sanitary napkins, they reached out to her. I marveled as they pulled her into all of their games and clued her into the gossip. A trust and level of comfort had grown between them that escaped the rest of us.
Watching the relationships develop reminded me that despite the glaring differences in the environments in which these girls grow-up, the fundamental issues young girls in both California and Zambia face are parallel versions of one another. What do you do when you like a boy? How do you have a family and a career? What do you do when your parents want something different for you than you do? Both sides have so much to learn from the other, so much which will make each that much better off.
The unfortunate truth is that there remains a lot of misperception among people and cultures around the world, and the personal connections, the glimpses and moments that make the life of someone so different from you a part of your own inspire caring and understanding. Drawing these connections is an important part of mobilizing the global community. Through KnowledgeBeat we are establishing a pen pal program between children in Zambia and California that we hope enriches and changes lives around the world.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Bus Journey From Hell
Malawi has a warmth to it as if you’re returning to an old friend. It is a country we have high on our radar screen to launch KnowledgeBeat’s programs in. The gentle laid back atmosphere and friendly people cannot help but make you feel welcome despite their impoverished surroundings.
On July 10, we boarded a bus that would take us from Lusaka to Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital. Our bus arrived over an hour late and immediately locals appeared from every corner of the bus terminal to push and shove their belongings and bodies on board. Annie jumped inside to secure seats, booting two women from a three seat grouping in the back. Margaret and I remained on the ground to ensure that our packs got a space. As soon as the baggage doors opened it was a mad dash to get your things on the bus. I threw my entire body in front of a woman three times my size while Marge heaved our bags in my direction. Between the three of us, it was teamwork at its best.
Once onboard, the collection of smells permeating this tired vehicle was shocking. At first I thought it was just rotting cheese, then that smell transformed into rotten cheese and feces, before morphing into something I can only describe as rotting flesh. We were crammed in the back of this putrid coffin for 14 hours.
Watching the landscape transform between Zambia and Malawi was fascinating. Zambia’s dry terrain is littered with mud huts and various types of low-lying bush foliage. As we drove east the land became significantly hillier, greener and wooded. Mud huts turned into tiny log cabins and you could feel dampness in the air very different from that of Zambia. The differentiation in climate was another reminder of the vastness and diversity of this amazing continent.
We crossed the Malawian border at 11pm. The official entrance procedure required all entering persons to sign a book. One glaring problem with this system was that a number of passengers could not read or write. Another speed bump in the process was the fact that we all had to wait for this one book to become available. We crossed the border on foot and jumped into another line to hand in paperwork detailing the reasons for our visit and, yes, you guessed it, sign another book.
Upon arrival in Lilongwe, the entire bus remained asleep, negating to wake us up until about 4 a.m. Annie, however, awoke upon arrival around 2:30am, confused on why we were stopped for so long without anyone getting off the bus, she thought perhaps we had run out of fuel, watched as several violent fights and a fire or two broke out outside, and determined to stay put rather than ask questions until the mayhem had subsided. Marge and I awoke to everyone slowly lumbering off the bus. We ask the woman in front of us, “Where are we?” She answers, “Malawi!” And than says, “Are you going back to Lusaka now?” What?
Once off the bus, we went to open the baggage compartment and claim our belongings. No luck. Can’t open the baggage compartment until 5:30am due to crime. So a bus journey that was supposed to take 8 hours had taken 14 and rather than arriving at 9pm and crashing in a hostel, we were overnight hostages on the edge of the Lilongwe bus terminal. Nothing to do but laugh.
We shuffled into a café where the kindly owner agreed to make us eggs and rice while we waited for daybreak and the departure of our next bus to Mzuzu. In typical fashion, we were told the bus would leave at 7:30am, but it was 10:30am before we rolled out. Exhausted and dirty, we bounced along dusty roads in an overcrowded bus for another 7 hours.
On July 10, we boarded a bus that would take us from Lusaka to Lilongwe, Malawi’s capital. Our bus arrived over an hour late and immediately locals appeared from every corner of the bus terminal to push and shove their belongings and bodies on board. Annie jumped inside to secure seats, booting two women from a three seat grouping in the back. Margaret and I remained on the ground to ensure that our packs got a space. As soon as the baggage doors opened it was a mad dash to get your things on the bus. I threw my entire body in front of a woman three times my size while Marge heaved our bags in my direction. Between the three of us, it was teamwork at its best.
Once onboard, the collection of smells permeating this tired vehicle was shocking. At first I thought it was just rotting cheese, then that smell transformed into rotten cheese and feces, before morphing into something I can only describe as rotting flesh. We were crammed in the back of this putrid coffin for 14 hours.
Watching the landscape transform between Zambia and Malawi was fascinating. Zambia’s dry terrain is littered with mud huts and various types of low-lying bush foliage. As we drove east the land became significantly hillier, greener and wooded. Mud huts turned into tiny log cabins and you could feel dampness in the air very different from that of Zambia. The differentiation in climate was another reminder of the vastness and diversity of this amazing continent.
We crossed the Malawian border at 11pm. The official entrance procedure required all entering persons to sign a book. One glaring problem with this system was that a number of passengers could not read or write. Another speed bump in the process was the fact that we all had to wait for this one book to become available. We crossed the border on foot and jumped into another line to hand in paperwork detailing the reasons for our visit and, yes, you guessed it, sign another book.
Upon arrival in Lilongwe, the entire bus remained asleep, negating to wake us up until about 4 a.m. Annie, however, awoke upon arrival around 2:30am, confused on why we were stopped for so long without anyone getting off the bus, she thought perhaps we had run out of fuel, watched as several violent fights and a fire or two broke out outside, and determined to stay put rather than ask questions until the mayhem had subsided. Marge and I awoke to everyone slowly lumbering off the bus. We ask the woman in front of us, “Where are we?” She answers, “Malawi!” And than says, “Are you going back to Lusaka now?” What?
Once off the bus, we went to open the baggage compartment and claim our belongings. No luck. Can’t open the baggage compartment until 5:30am due to crime. So a bus journey that was supposed to take 8 hours had taken 14 and rather than arriving at 9pm and crashing in a hostel, we were overnight hostages on the edge of the Lilongwe bus terminal. Nothing to do but laugh.
We shuffled into a café where the kindly owner agreed to make us eggs and rice while we waited for daybreak and the departure of our next bus to Mzuzu. In typical fashion, we were told the bus would leave at 7:30am, but it was 10:30am before we rolled out. Exhausted and dirty, we bounced along dusty roads in an overcrowded bus for another 7 hours.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Girls Camp
There is a World Bank statistic that says, for every year a girl stays in school, it adds five years to her life. It becomes glaringly clear here that, confidence, and self-reliance are the keys to sustaining girls’ education. Keeping the girls in school is the difficult part. One of the largest deterrents is boys, or disturbances, as they are called here. Many of the questions that the girls ask are around how to say “no” to boys’ “offers”. Taking the girls out of the village, away from disturbances, and to a place where they can focus on their own development, seemed like a good place to start empowering the girls to break free from cultural traditions.
Over the past three days, Annie, Sarah, Katie, and I held a KnowledgeBeat sponsored Girls Empowerment Camp in Itezhi Tezhi for 47 7th, 8th, and 9th grade girls from Ngoma. We chose an activity-based approach to teaching the importance of self-reliance, both financial and social, as well as entrepreneurship and creativity. In keeping with our approach of working through local people, three Zambian women from Ngoma facilitated the camp: the Area Warden’s wife, Colinah, a ZAWA officer, Anety, and a teacher, Lillian. These women were chosen because they balance their lives as women in Zambia. They stayed in school and pursued a career while balancing their family commitments. We hoped that these three women would be role models that the girls could learn from not only during the camp but also in their daily lives long after the camp concluded.
The girls were shy and quiet at first, but as the days went on, they became more vocal and active about what they wanted to be in life and how they were going to make that happen. The activities were designed to show the girls they could make choices at any stage of their life, that they must be creative and self-reliant to accomplish these goals, and that they must think critically to overcome obstacles. Generally the facilitators would run a group activity and then circle together at the end to discuss processing questions; 1. Why was that activity important? 2. What did you learn? 3. What happens when someone tries to stop you from continuing school 3.What did you do to overcome obstacles in the game? Etc. At the end of each day the girls performed an activity called Building Bridges in which they paired off and discussed their goals (both financial and social), how they were going to achieve them, what obstacles might present themselves, and various ways they could overcome those obstacles. This was a highlight to the day in my opinion. It allowed all of us time to get to know the girls on a more 1:1 basis. We could walk around and provoke more thoughts and discussion and answer the questions that they wanted to ask us. The girls were fascinated to know (and would giggle a lot) when they found out we didn’t have boyfriends, we were 27 (Katie is 17), we had finished school, and we were UNMARRIED! What a novel idea…
We had the girls fill out surveys at the beginning of the camp and again at the end to try and capture some of their perceptions and thoughts about what they had learned. The girls said it best in their own words…
“Yes I have changed, I was thinking to be a teacher, now I want to be a doctor.” Meruis Papalu
“As girls we have to put more effort at school so we can be someone in our life.” Monica Kunda
“For me I want [ed] to stop school because of [no] sponsor, but now I know how [to] overcome this situation.” Patricia Phiri
“Anety inspired me in something I wanted to achieve in my life so I can be like her.” Mirriam Nyirenta
“I think this program should not stop it must just continue teaching us so that we finish school and start working. I am very happy with this program. It must continue [to] encourage us. I thank very much for the honor of this program.” Mercy Namukolo
The closing ceremony in which we awarded each girl a Certificate of Achievement and presented the facilitators and cooks with shitanga’s showing our appreciation for their hard-work brought beaming smiles to everyone’s face. As the girls broke out into traditional celebratory dances of appreciation, the challenges and frustrations of operating the camp washed away. Over the last few days we had navigated our way through purchasing live chickens for dinner, beef directly from a butcher (they do not remove bones), being told we had “run out of food” due to adults overloading before the girls got near the food, plucked girls out of the kitchen who had been tasked with washing dishes rather than participating in the camp, and a myriad of other constantly arising issues. But in the end, none of that really matters, and none of that will ever disappear no matter where you are working. What does matter is that for a few days, those girls had an experience that very few girls from rural areas in Zambia ever get a chance to have. Their appreciation radiated from their faces and their parting thoughts. We look forward to learning with them and improving with each future camp.
Over the past three days, Annie, Sarah, Katie, and I held a KnowledgeBeat sponsored Girls Empowerment Camp in Itezhi Tezhi for 47 7th, 8th, and 9th grade girls from Ngoma. We chose an activity-based approach to teaching the importance of self-reliance, both financial and social, as well as entrepreneurship and creativity. In keeping with our approach of working through local people, three Zambian women from Ngoma facilitated the camp: the Area Warden’s wife, Colinah, a ZAWA officer, Anety, and a teacher, Lillian. These women were chosen because they balance their lives as women in Zambia. They stayed in school and pursued a career while balancing their family commitments. We hoped that these three women would be role models that the girls could learn from not only during the camp but also in their daily lives long after the camp concluded.
The girls were shy and quiet at first, but as the days went on, they became more vocal and active about what they wanted to be in life and how they were going to make that happen. The activities were designed to show the girls they could make choices at any stage of their life, that they must be creative and self-reliant to accomplish these goals, and that they must think critically to overcome obstacles. Generally the facilitators would run a group activity and then circle together at the end to discuss processing questions; 1. Why was that activity important? 2. What did you learn? 3. What happens when someone tries to stop you from continuing school 3.What did you do to overcome obstacles in the game? Etc. At the end of each day the girls performed an activity called Building Bridges in which they paired off and discussed their goals (both financial and social), how they were going to achieve them, what obstacles might present themselves, and various ways they could overcome those obstacles. This was a highlight to the day in my opinion. It allowed all of us time to get to know the girls on a more 1:1 basis. We could walk around and provoke more thoughts and discussion and answer the questions that they wanted to ask us. The girls were fascinated to know (and would giggle a lot) when they found out we didn’t have boyfriends, we were 27 (Katie is 17), we had finished school, and we were UNMARRIED! What a novel idea…
We had the girls fill out surveys at the beginning of the camp and again at the end to try and capture some of their perceptions and thoughts about what they had learned. The girls said it best in their own words…
“Yes I have changed, I was thinking to be a teacher, now I want to be a doctor.” Meruis Papalu
“As girls we have to put more effort at school so we can be someone in our life.” Monica Kunda
“For me I want [ed] to stop school because of [no] sponsor, but now I know how [to] overcome this situation.” Patricia Phiri
“Anety inspired me in something I wanted to achieve in my life so I can be like her.” Mirriam Nyirenta
“I think this program should not stop it must just continue teaching us so that we finish school and start working. I am very happy with this program. It must continue [to] encourage us. I thank very much for the honor of this program.” Mercy Namukolo
The closing ceremony in which we awarded each girl a Certificate of Achievement and presented the facilitators and cooks with shitanga’s showing our appreciation for their hard-work brought beaming smiles to everyone’s face. As the girls broke out into traditional celebratory dances of appreciation, the challenges and frustrations of operating the camp washed away. Over the last few days we had navigated our way through purchasing live chickens for dinner, beef directly from a butcher (they do not remove bones), being told we had “run out of food” due to adults overloading before the girls got near the food, plucked girls out of the kitchen who had been tasked with washing dishes rather than participating in the camp, and a myriad of other constantly arising issues. But in the end, none of that really matters, and none of that will ever disappear no matter where you are working. What does matter is that for a few days, those girls had an experience that very few girls from rural areas in Zambia ever get a chance to have. Their appreciation radiated from their faces and their parting thoughts. We look forward to learning with them and improving with each future camp.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Poaching Elephants
We pulled up to the ZAWA offices at 7:30am as scheduled to meet a scout who would accompany us the 12km through the bush to the “elephant orphanage” sponsored by David Shephard. Kathy had helped set it up a year earlier for the release of Phoenix who very sadly did not make it, succumbing to bone tick disease as a result of an underdeveloped immune system due to being raised in captivity. However, there was not a sole around at ZAWA. A good rule of thumb around here is to tell people you want to meet 20-40 minutes before you actually do, no one is ever on time.
Sebastian turned up around 8am, and we radioed Belinda to confirm our visit and couldn’t help but notice a room filled with rifles to the left of the radio. Sebastian, eagerly showed us the contents, but when I reached for my camera his tune changed. He would lose his job. ZAWA wanted the contents of the room kept quiet (and of course here I am blogging about it). Hundreds and hundreds of rifles were stacked in the room. And protruding from beneath them were ivory tusks, each marked with a date and location. Each rifle had once belonged to a poacher and the tusks belonged to poached elephants. A depressing reminder of the reality in Kafue National Park and Zambia generally. A reality that the country is trying to keep under wraps as it works to increase tourism.
Poaching became a huge problem in the 90’s, decimating large populations of animals – the Black Rhino is completely gone from the Park. Ngoma itself was originally a high-end safari lodge, but by the mid-90’s it had shut down due to the massive decline in wildlife. Elephants were among the primary targets, and although herds numbering in the hundreds can once again be seen in the Park, poaching remains a huge problem here and in the Lower Zambezi. ZAWA is doing its best to combat poaching, but with limited funding and infrastructure, it is impossible for them to properly patrol the areas. So every year baby elephants continue to be orphaned by poachers and thanks to the David Shephard project at least some of those found alive now have a chance at surviving.
We met an inordinate amount of Tsetse flies on the drive down. Katie aggressively attacked and killed a handful of the miserable creatures, but I still had several bites before we pulled into the camp. The camp itself was beautiful – a far cry from what Sarah and I had seen last summer when we came down with Kathy. Proper structures had been erected and there were a full staff of caretakers and scouts overseeing the project. Belinda, who is wonderful, and runs the project, escorted us to the orphanage that three elephants, the youngest of which, Zama, is recovering from a cold, call home. The elephants are walked twice a day in the bush by their caretakers and will be re-introduced into the surrounding bush when they are big and strong enough to survive on their own – at present one of the cats would take them out. In the meantime, they cause trouble by picking locks and occasionally charging safari vehicles. The visit was a lot of fun, the little ones were adorable, and the team had clearly learned a lot from Phoenix, so with a bit of luck, these and other orphans will one day be found grazing the plains around Ngoma.
On the way back, I was glad Mr. Kaoma had insisted we take a scout with us as we came across wild elephants headed straight for the road. When I realized they were on both sides of the road, I hit the brakes, thinking that driving into the middle of a herd elephants was a terrible idea – I have been charged more times than I care to think about – but Angela shouted “go go go”. We must have been too close at that point, and stopping would have left us sitting ducks. The wild elephants in the area are aggressive, charging people and vehicles regularly as many of the adults lost parents or herd members to poaching. A vicious cycle.
Sebastian turned up around 8am, and we radioed Belinda to confirm our visit and couldn’t help but notice a room filled with rifles to the left of the radio. Sebastian, eagerly showed us the contents, but when I reached for my camera his tune changed. He would lose his job. ZAWA wanted the contents of the room kept quiet (and of course here I am blogging about it). Hundreds and hundreds of rifles were stacked in the room. And protruding from beneath them were ivory tusks, each marked with a date and location. Each rifle had once belonged to a poacher and the tusks belonged to poached elephants. A depressing reminder of the reality in Kafue National Park and Zambia generally. A reality that the country is trying to keep under wraps as it works to increase tourism.
Poaching became a huge problem in the 90’s, decimating large populations of animals – the Black Rhino is completely gone from the Park. Ngoma itself was originally a high-end safari lodge, but by the mid-90’s it had shut down due to the massive decline in wildlife. Elephants were among the primary targets, and although herds numbering in the hundreds can once again be seen in the Park, poaching remains a huge problem here and in the Lower Zambezi. ZAWA is doing its best to combat poaching, but with limited funding and infrastructure, it is impossible for them to properly patrol the areas. So every year baby elephants continue to be orphaned by poachers and thanks to the David Shephard project at least some of those found alive now have a chance at surviving.
We met an inordinate amount of Tsetse flies on the drive down. Katie aggressively attacked and killed a handful of the miserable creatures, but I still had several bites before we pulled into the camp. The camp itself was beautiful – a far cry from what Sarah and I had seen last summer when we came down with Kathy. Proper structures had been erected and there were a full staff of caretakers and scouts overseeing the project. Belinda, who is wonderful, and runs the project, escorted us to the orphanage that three elephants, the youngest of which, Zama, is recovering from a cold, call home. The elephants are walked twice a day in the bush by their caretakers and will be re-introduced into the surrounding bush when they are big and strong enough to survive on their own – at present one of the cats would take them out. In the meantime, they cause trouble by picking locks and occasionally charging safari vehicles. The visit was a lot of fun, the little ones were adorable, and the team had clearly learned a lot from Phoenix, so with a bit of luck, these and other orphans will one day be found grazing the plains around Ngoma.
On the way back, I was glad Mr. Kaoma had insisted we take a scout with us as we came across wild elephants headed straight for the road. When I realized they were on both sides of the road, I hit the brakes, thinking that driving into the middle of a herd elephants was a terrible idea – I have been charged more times than I care to think about – but Angela shouted “go go go”. We must have been too close at that point, and stopping would have left us sitting ducks. The wild elephants in the area are aggressive, charging people and vehicles regularly as many of the adults lost parents or herd members to poaching. A vicious cycle.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Programs
Over the last ten days we held the training for the facilitators of our Girls Empowerment Camp, outlined an environmental science activity plan, held environmental training sessions, laid a framework for monitoring with the Ngoma school, distributed and reviewed applications for volunteers to run the KnowledgeCenter, reviewed and signed off on the architectural plan for the Center, met with the Itezhi Tezhi District Education Board, visited potential future schools, and ploughed through a lot of paperwork related to the programs.
Late last week we were also joined by my cousin Katie and Sarah (in that order as Sarah missed her flight). Margaret and I arrived in Lusaka late on Thursday, heading straight to the airport to meet Katie! In typical fashion, we hadn’t made prior arrangements for sleeping so found ourselves in a bit of a scramble. Friday was filled with typical Lusaka mayhem. To kick things off, we were borrowing Luhana’s car for the day, and when his friend dropped it off at our backpackers, he let us know that the battery wouldn’t start if the car was parked for more than 3 hours. And this was a car Luhana had been mumbling about driving out to Ngoma. What his plan for starting the car every morning was baffled us. The rest of the day included a phenomenal meal including real espresso at Kilimanjaro, a lengthy line at the Bank, shopping for the programs at Manda Hill, and booking our travel from Lilongwe to Maputo. At $600 we continue to be astounded at the cost and difficulty of traveling. And of course you can’t book anything in Mozambique other than from within Mozambique. So we were kindly told, we’d just have to go and worry about leaving once we got there.
I’ll leave the comedy of Sarah’s arrival that night to her to convey, but suffice it to say we were on our way back to the field on Saturday as soon as we could get ourselves organized and on the road. That drive is absolutely miserable. No doubt a lot of the magic that makes the villages in this region what they are will be lost when they finally do pave the road, but for now, it is a taxing day long journey out here, and a serious impediment to tourists and resources making it.
On Tuesday we kicked off the Environmental Science Program with a day of training for the 3 teachers who will lead the activities at Ngoma: Mr. Buumba, Mr. Kasanga, Ms. Mubuyaeta. We completed a shortened version of six weeks of games and activities designed to familiarize the children with environmental issues in their daily lives and give them ideas for their science fair projects – the Fair has been pushed from August to October. I never know what to expect going into these sessions, but the teachers were great, eagerly working through all of the activities. Some of their responses to the questions I asked were classic – I asked them why they thought the monkeys were such a problem here, the response was because they didn’t have enough food in the forest – the fact that trash and food outside their houses might be the problem hadn’t occurred to them; they had no idea that dumping bath and cooking water or burning plastic is an environmental disaster, or that burying metal caused health problems. The list goes on. By the end Mr. Kasanga said, “you have opened our minds, this is wonderful” (Mr. Kasanga is an amazingly kind man who sports floral button up shirts on a daily basis - he would have loved the 60’s in the States). The trick will be for them to deliver the programs to the children. Armed with detailed materials, resources and a positive attitude, we have our fingers crossed and will know one way or the other soon enough.
Late last week we were also joined by my cousin Katie and Sarah (in that order as Sarah missed her flight). Margaret and I arrived in Lusaka late on Thursday, heading straight to the airport to meet Katie! In typical fashion, we hadn’t made prior arrangements for sleeping so found ourselves in a bit of a scramble. Friday was filled with typical Lusaka mayhem. To kick things off, we were borrowing Luhana’s car for the day, and when his friend dropped it off at our backpackers, he let us know that the battery wouldn’t start if the car was parked for more than 3 hours. And this was a car Luhana had been mumbling about driving out to Ngoma. What his plan for starting the car every morning was baffled us. The rest of the day included a phenomenal meal including real espresso at Kilimanjaro, a lengthy line at the Bank, shopping for the programs at Manda Hill, and booking our travel from Lilongwe to Maputo. At $600 we continue to be astounded at the cost and difficulty of traveling. And of course you can’t book anything in Mozambique other than from within Mozambique. So we were kindly told, we’d just have to go and worry about leaving once we got there.
I’ll leave the comedy of Sarah’s arrival that night to her to convey, but suffice it to say we were on our way back to the field on Saturday as soon as we could get ourselves organized and on the road. That drive is absolutely miserable. No doubt a lot of the magic that makes the villages in this region what they are will be lost when they finally do pave the road, but for now, it is a taxing day long journey out here, and a serious impediment to tourists and resources making it.
On Tuesday we kicked off the Environmental Science Program with a day of training for the 3 teachers who will lead the activities at Ngoma: Mr. Buumba, Mr. Kasanga, Ms. Mubuyaeta. We completed a shortened version of six weeks of games and activities designed to familiarize the children with environmental issues in their daily lives and give them ideas for their science fair projects – the Fair has been pushed from August to October. I never know what to expect going into these sessions, but the teachers were great, eagerly working through all of the activities. Some of their responses to the questions I asked were classic – I asked them why they thought the monkeys were such a problem here, the response was because they didn’t have enough food in the forest – the fact that trash and food outside their houses might be the problem hadn’t occurred to them; they had no idea that dumping bath and cooking water or burning plastic is an environmental disaster, or that burying metal caused health problems. The list goes on. By the end Mr. Kasanga said, “you have opened our minds, this is wonderful” (Mr. Kasanga is an amazingly kind man who sports floral button up shirts on a daily basis - he would have loved the 60’s in the States). The trick will be for them to deliver the programs to the children. Armed with detailed materials, resources and a positive attitude, we have our fingers crossed and will know one way or the other soon enough.
Monday, June 23, 2008
The Zambian Way...
The following is a blog post that Annie and I have been wanting to write for some time. We could not possibly explain all the stories or the “mishaps” that have occurred thus far so we have gathered a collection of typical “Zambian” moments that continue to amuse…
1) Two days ago Annie, Mr. Luhana, and I were kindly invited to lunch at Mr. and Mrs. Kaoma’s house. Mr. Kaoma is 3rd in command of ZAWA (Zambian Wildlife Authority) here at Ngoma and his wife is one of the leading teachers at the school. Lunch here is done much like Europe in that everyone leaves work and has a big meal at home. As we all sat down for lunch, Mrs. Kaoma began to uncover the four pots of prepared food. The first pot was clearly vegetables, the next was a yokey substance (come to find out it was okra), the third was Nshima (the staple food in Zambia), and the fourth was identifiable…
Margaret: What is in that pot?
Mr. Kaoma: It is meat
Mrs. Kaoma: It is impala
Margaret: Oh great, I love impala
The meal goes on…five minutes later…
Annie: Where is the meat from (considering we are in a national game park)
Mr. Kaoma: It was poached
Annie: Oh?
Mr. Kaoma: Yes, we came across a poacher and he ran away so we captured the meat.
2) Today KnowledgeBeat was sponsoring day two of the girls’ empowerment camp training. Annie was at the venue helping to facilitate the program and I drove down to town to pick up food that we needed. I passed through one of the ZAWA gates and was told to slow down. Side note: it is extremely common here for people to hitchhike and drivers to pick them up because very few people have transportation. Continuing on…I pulled over to the side of the road where I was approached by four men who needed a lift “downhill” to town. I said I was only going as far as town but that I could accommodate them. They all crowded into the car and when I looked around I noticed each of them was carrying a machine gun…
Margaret: The guns make me a little uncomfortable
Man #1: Don’t worry madam, we won’t shoot you.
Margaret: Thank you!
3) Day one in Itezhi Tezhi, Annie and I got lost trying to drive to a campsite after dark. I had no idea where we were going but Annie seemed to think it would be a good idea to leave before dark; what a good idea that would have been!! Although she told everyone that she wanted to be on the road before sunset, it wasn’t until AFTER sunset that everyone said “it is dark, you must go.” As Annie and I were trying to find our way (there are no lights here) we took a wrong turn and stumbled across a ZAWA ranger at his post. He seemed abnormally happy and was very eager to jump in the car and the show us the way. Annie, smart little one, promptly said “no, no, no, no, we will make our way just fine. Thank you.” He seemed to get the picture and told us how to get to our campsite, i.e. “it is right behind that hill” pointing to a huge mountain in the middle of the bush with a dam on the opposite side. I looked at Annie and asked “would he tell us the wrong directions?”
4) As a continuation to the story above, we arrived in New Kalala, NOT our intended destination and found it completely deserted. After asking an employee if New Kalala had a campsite, we were escorted down to an area directly on the Itezhi Tezhi Lake. Now, in the states, you would think, wow, this is great, we are right on the water. Here, you think, ummmm, there are hippos, crocs, baboons, and more. The campsite was a fair distance away from the main camp area and Annie and I were not keen on staying. After convincing the manager to let us camp up by the pool (because they had no other guests) we found that we may have been better off by the lake. We woke twice, once, to a still unidentified cat-like creature traipsing across our tarp, and second, to me asking “Annie, Annie, do you hear that??” That sound was the distinct sound of a hippo munching grass less than five feet from our tent. The next morning, the staff must have been laughing at us because they commented “oh, so you were visited by a hippo last night. We saw him just there.”
5) We were having a logistical conversation with Mrs. Kaoma regarding the girls camp. Mr. Peery (a ZAWA ranger and head of the PTA whose 16 year old daughter just gave birth two days ago) suggested that if we needed additional beds for the girls, there were several guesthouses down the hill that we could use. Mrs. Kaoma stated that we were going to have to make sure that there were enough chaperones with the various groups of girls because otherwise some girls would come back pregnant and she didn’t want to have to “explain to their mothers that they took girls to an empowerment camp and they came back pregnant.”
6) The first afternoon we arrived in Itezhi Tezhi, Annie and I noticed a very angry bull tied to a tree in the center of town. The bull seemed to know more than us at the time. Annie, snapped a picture of the bull commenting to Mr. Luhana as we walked by “why is he tied there, that is not very nice to do that to a bull.” A few hours later, Annie and I were sitting in the center of town talking to a few local people when I head an unbelievable sound coming from the bull. I commented to one of the women that bull sounded extremely angry. As Annie and I were driving out of town I looked over and was astounded to see at least 20 villagers standing on top of the gutted bull with machetes. Annie ABSOLUTELY could not believe that the bull had just been slaughtered in the center of town! Annie asked Mr. Luhana, “why did they do that?” Mr. Luhana answered simply, “food.” I personally thought the most amazing part was that the next day there were no blood, no flies, no sign that a slaughter had just taken place.
Ahhhh, Zambia!
1) Two days ago Annie, Mr. Luhana, and I were kindly invited to lunch at Mr. and Mrs. Kaoma’s house. Mr. Kaoma is 3rd in command of ZAWA (Zambian Wildlife Authority) here at Ngoma and his wife is one of the leading teachers at the school. Lunch here is done much like Europe in that everyone leaves work and has a big meal at home. As we all sat down for lunch, Mrs. Kaoma began to uncover the four pots of prepared food. The first pot was clearly vegetables, the next was a yokey substance (come to find out it was okra), the third was Nshima (the staple food in Zambia), and the fourth was identifiable…
Margaret: What is in that pot?
Mr. Kaoma: It is meat
Mrs. Kaoma: It is impala
Margaret: Oh great, I love impala
The meal goes on…five minutes later…
Annie: Where is the meat from (considering we are in a national game park)
Mr. Kaoma: It was poached
Annie: Oh?
Mr. Kaoma: Yes, we came across a poacher and he ran away so we captured the meat.
2) Today KnowledgeBeat was sponsoring day two of the girls’ empowerment camp training. Annie was at the venue helping to facilitate the program and I drove down to town to pick up food that we needed. I passed through one of the ZAWA gates and was told to slow down. Side note: it is extremely common here for people to hitchhike and drivers to pick them up because very few people have transportation. Continuing on…I pulled over to the side of the road where I was approached by four men who needed a lift “downhill” to town. I said I was only going as far as town but that I could accommodate them. They all crowded into the car and when I looked around I noticed each of them was carrying a machine gun…
Margaret: The guns make me a little uncomfortable
Man #1: Don’t worry madam, we won’t shoot you.
Margaret: Thank you!
3) Day one in Itezhi Tezhi, Annie and I got lost trying to drive to a campsite after dark. I had no idea where we were going but Annie seemed to think it would be a good idea to leave before dark; what a good idea that would have been!! Although she told everyone that she wanted to be on the road before sunset, it wasn’t until AFTER sunset that everyone said “it is dark, you must go.” As Annie and I were trying to find our way (there are no lights here) we took a wrong turn and stumbled across a ZAWA ranger at his post. He seemed abnormally happy and was very eager to jump in the car and the show us the way. Annie, smart little one, promptly said “no, no, no, no, we will make our way just fine. Thank you.” He seemed to get the picture and told us how to get to our campsite, i.e. “it is right behind that hill” pointing to a huge mountain in the middle of the bush with a dam on the opposite side. I looked at Annie and asked “would he tell us the wrong directions?”
4) As a continuation to the story above, we arrived in New Kalala, NOT our intended destination and found it completely deserted. After asking an employee if New Kalala had a campsite, we were escorted down to an area directly on the Itezhi Tezhi Lake. Now, in the states, you would think, wow, this is great, we are right on the water. Here, you think, ummmm, there are hippos, crocs, baboons, and more. The campsite was a fair distance away from the main camp area and Annie and I were not keen on staying. After convincing the manager to let us camp up by the pool (because they had no other guests) we found that we may have been better off by the lake. We woke twice, once, to a still unidentified cat-like creature traipsing across our tarp, and second, to me asking “Annie, Annie, do you hear that??” That sound was the distinct sound of a hippo munching grass less than five feet from our tent. The next morning, the staff must have been laughing at us because they commented “oh, so you were visited by a hippo last night. We saw him just there.”
5) We were having a logistical conversation with Mrs. Kaoma regarding the girls camp. Mr. Peery (a ZAWA ranger and head of the PTA whose 16 year old daughter just gave birth two days ago) suggested that if we needed additional beds for the girls, there were several guesthouses down the hill that we could use. Mrs. Kaoma stated that we were going to have to make sure that there were enough chaperones with the various groups of girls because otherwise some girls would come back pregnant and she didn’t want to have to “explain to their mothers that they took girls to an empowerment camp and they came back pregnant.”
6) The first afternoon we arrived in Itezhi Tezhi, Annie and I noticed a very angry bull tied to a tree in the center of town. The bull seemed to know more than us at the time. Annie, snapped a picture of the bull commenting to Mr. Luhana as we walked by “why is he tied there, that is not very nice to do that to a bull.” A few hours later, Annie and I were sitting in the center of town talking to a few local people when I head an unbelievable sound coming from the bull. I commented to one of the women that bull sounded extremely angry. As Annie and I were driving out of town I looked over and was astounded to see at least 20 villagers standing on top of the gutted bull with machetes. Annie ABSOLUTELY could not believe that the bull had just been slaughtered in the center of town! Annie asked Mr. Luhana, “why did they do that?” Mr. Luhana answered simply, “food.” I personally thought the most amazing part was that the next day there were no blood, no flies, no sign that a slaughter had just taken place.
Ahhhh, Zambia!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Mentoring Girls
On Wednesdays KnowledgeBeat hosts girls mentorship sessions at the Ngoma Basic School. The goal is to promote girls education and encourage girls to break free from traditional cultural molds in Zambia. The sessions are voluntary for girls in Grade 7, 8 and 9. Almost 100% of the eligible girls have been attending since the launch at the start of Term 2 (early May). Two of the teachers, Mr. Machilla and Mrs. Kaoma, have been leading the program from within the school.
This past Wednesday, we had scheduled a young female doctor from Itezhi Tezhi, Chikwe, to come to Ngoma and speak to the girls about her career path and striking a balance that works. We told her that we would pick her up from the hospital in Itezhi Tezhi at 13.00. However, a couple of kilometers from Itezhi Tezhi, we popped a tire. And so ensued a rather comical scene in which several very kind fisherman who came across us on their way to the river, attempted to help us change the tire. The unfortunate reality was that we did not possess the right tool to get the spare unhooked, and so rather than change the tire, we sent the popped tire off with a ZESCO vehicle that passed to be mended. Two hours later, the tire returned and the same young fishermen helped us get it back on the vehicle. We picked up Chikwe at 15.00 instead of 13.00 and headed for Ngoma, gnawing on the difficult task of trying to work in the remote areas where we operate.
Just about nothing out here happens without a hitch and the lack of infrastructure adds a layer of difficulty that can easily have you pounding your head against a wall indefinitely. When you sit in the U.S. getting the rambling excuses of why this or that didn’t happen as planned from the field, it is easy to pass judgment, but when you’re in the field doing all that you can, the tables are turned, and all you can do is prepare for the unexpected, roll with the punches, and adapt in ways that produce results.
When we finally did pull up to the school with Chikwe, all of the girls and the two teachers were patiently waiting in a classroom. The hour and a half session that followed was filled with lively discussion and lots of questions from the girls. To kick things of Mrs. Kaoma took a poll of all the girls who wanted to be doctors and those who wanted to be nurses – only one or two wanted to be doctors versus a dozen nurses. Chikwe said “why is that you don’t desire to be a doctor instead of a nurse?”, stating that because men are generally doctors and women nurses should not be a deterrent. By the end, there were close to ten who wanted to be doctors rather than nurses.
It was interesting to listen to the questions coming from the girls – there were a number about what it was like to be a doctor, how Chikwe had done in school, etc., but the majority had to do with how to deal with a boy. The general response given by Chikwe (and Mrs. Kaoma at points) was that a girl should not have a boyfriend as he will distract her – no discussion of balance. Chikwe herself is not married and she’s a beautiful young woman who is one of the head doctors at her hospital. The girls were surprised to find out she did not have a husband, and we can only hope that it will help them have the courage to break free from traditional customs of early marriage.
That evening one of the girls we’ve gotten to know, Boronah, came by our house. She had enjoyed the session as she did all of them. Getting out of Ngoma and doing something with her life is a priority for her and she believes studying hard and going on to secondary school is the only way. We reminded her about the scholarship program KnowledgeBeat is offering. Secretly, we both hope she gets one, because it’s girls like Boronah, the ones who are inspired to change their world, that keep us charging ahead.
This past Wednesday, we had scheduled a young female doctor from Itezhi Tezhi, Chikwe, to come to Ngoma and speak to the girls about her career path and striking a balance that works. We told her that we would pick her up from the hospital in Itezhi Tezhi at 13.00. However, a couple of kilometers from Itezhi Tezhi, we popped a tire. And so ensued a rather comical scene in which several very kind fisherman who came across us on their way to the river, attempted to help us change the tire. The unfortunate reality was that we did not possess the right tool to get the spare unhooked, and so rather than change the tire, we sent the popped tire off with a ZESCO vehicle that passed to be mended. Two hours later, the tire returned and the same young fishermen helped us get it back on the vehicle. We picked up Chikwe at 15.00 instead of 13.00 and headed for Ngoma, gnawing on the difficult task of trying to work in the remote areas where we operate.
Just about nothing out here happens without a hitch and the lack of infrastructure adds a layer of difficulty that can easily have you pounding your head against a wall indefinitely. When you sit in the U.S. getting the rambling excuses of why this or that didn’t happen as planned from the field, it is easy to pass judgment, but when you’re in the field doing all that you can, the tables are turned, and all you can do is prepare for the unexpected, roll with the punches, and adapt in ways that produce results.
When we finally did pull up to the school with Chikwe, all of the girls and the two teachers were patiently waiting in a classroom. The hour and a half session that followed was filled with lively discussion and lots of questions from the girls. To kick things of Mrs. Kaoma took a poll of all the girls who wanted to be doctors and those who wanted to be nurses – only one or two wanted to be doctors versus a dozen nurses. Chikwe said “why is that you don’t desire to be a doctor instead of a nurse?”, stating that because men are generally doctors and women nurses should not be a deterrent. By the end, there were close to ten who wanted to be doctors rather than nurses.
It was interesting to listen to the questions coming from the girls – there were a number about what it was like to be a doctor, how Chikwe had done in school, etc., but the majority had to do with how to deal with a boy. The general response given by Chikwe (and Mrs. Kaoma at points) was that a girl should not have a boyfriend as he will distract her – no discussion of balance. Chikwe herself is not married and she’s a beautiful young woman who is one of the head doctors at her hospital. The girls were surprised to find out she did not have a husband, and we can only hope that it will help them have the courage to break free from traditional customs of early marriage.
That evening one of the girls we’ve gotten to know, Boronah, came by our house. She had enjoyed the session as she did all of them. Getting out of Ngoma and doing something with her life is a priority for her and she believes studying hard and going on to secondary school is the only way. We reminded her about the scholarship program KnowledgeBeat is offering. Secretly, we both hope she gets one, because it’s girls like Boronah, the ones who are inspired to change their world, that keep us charging ahead.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Man...Whites
Sunday we made our way to Itezhi Tezhi from Lusaka. The road is paved about 2/3 of the total distance before it turns to dirt ridden by a sea of potholes as you approach Kafue National Park. Despite setting out early that morning, the heat of the sun when we hit the bush left us all sticking to our seats and wishing that the sea of tsetse flies swarming the vehicle would disperse so we could open the windows. Margaret almost jumped in my lap when one found its way into the vehicle, it succeeded in biting my foot but I chose to keep my mouth shut for fear she’d have a heart attack. They carry sleeping sickness among other things and tend to make the entire area around where they bite you swell up and itch terribly. Generally unpleasant. We passed a host of small villages, many with signs posted along the road, saying “come visit us” or “help our school”. Women and children pass from one to the other along the road, often bearing huge loads of wood, water, charcoal or food atop their heads, a feat that will never cease to amaze me. They smile and wave as we pass, and we feel guilty about the cloud of dirt that engulfs them as our vehicle goes by.
Though we had repeatedly asked Luhana prior to our departure if the house and to be office we wanted to set-up in Itezhi Tezhi for the organization would be ready for us, it was not. And so began two days of “house-hunting” in Itezhi Tezhi. The first of the two available houses was available within a block of other homes, with no privacy and insufficient security. The second was located atop the hill in the upper scale part of town, had wide open rooms and full bathrooms. However, there was clearly construction still underway, and when we finally connected with Francis, the owner, after several failed attempts that yielded some phenomenal fresh lemonade from his wife, he informed us it would not be ready for a month – pieces were needed from Dar Es Salaam and Lusaka. So we agreed to take that house when it was ready to serve as an office from which we can reach Ngoma and other schools in the District. After inquiring about every other available structure within Itezhi Tezhi, we deduced that we had no viable options. ZAWA to the rescue. Mr. Kaoma, the third in command out of Ngoma who also journeyed with us from Lusaka, kindly offered us a house within Ngoma on a temporary basis and ensured that the original house prepared for Annie, our Peace Corps volunteer, would be turned back over to KnowledgeBeat as a place for Sarah or other team members to stay while in Ngoma in the future. And so five years later, I am once again living in Ngoma, and it is so good to be back.
The two days and nights we spent in Itezhi Tezhi before shifting to Ngoma had their share of entertaining encounters – from an angry bull tied to a tree being slaughtered in the center of town to waking up in the middle of the night to a hippo munching grass not more than five feet from the tent we had deliberately placed to avoid such a visit (this incident quickly lead us to toss out the idea of camping outdoors for the remainder of our stay). The second night we stayed at the ZESCO flats and had a drink with Francis before dinner, during the course of which he showed us that he had stored our phone number under the name “man…whites”, and so we gained insight into how we were being perceived, the two white American girls and the respected, old Zambian man. It was also evident that the entire town knew our activities play by play as well as where we were staying each night; a reminder that news travels extremely fast in a small “town”. We also awoke the next morning to the unfortunate desperation of poverty – the cap to our engine oil was missing. Stolen. Not a drop of engine oil had splashed out and on these roads, had it fallen off as they were suggesting to us, the whole engine would have been covered. Two South African men opening a horse Safari lodge slashed up a water bottle as a temporary fix and several hours later a boy declared he happened to have the exact part, asking for 80,000 kwacha in exchange. We snagged our stolen cap back, refusing to pay, and set out for Ngoma.
We were welcomed with open arms in Ngoma, several girls cleaned the structure that we would call home, and an electrician came to ensure that we had power with which we could cook on an electrical stove rather than over charcoal as so many villagers do here. Tonight as we were preparing food, three of the village women came to sit with us, Ruth, who worked in the health clinic, “mom” as we call her here, who works for ZAWA, and Mrs. Kaoma, a school teacher who is running our girls programs. They commented as we began to chop vegetables and sort out our pots, pans and dishes. Intrigued that we had decided to make pasta and vegetables for dinner, they insisted that the next night they would teach us how to make fish and nshima (the staple food here) properly. It was a very settling and welcoming feeling, 5 women sitting on a stoop talking and sharing. It is good to be here.
We’ve had several great preliminary meetings with the school and ZAWA. Much more to come on the details over the next few days as we have a big meeting with the school Thursday morning, and the training for the girls camp this weekend.
Though we had repeatedly asked Luhana prior to our departure if the house and to be office we wanted to set-up in Itezhi Tezhi for the organization would be ready for us, it was not. And so began two days of “house-hunting” in Itezhi Tezhi. The first of the two available houses was available within a block of other homes, with no privacy and insufficient security. The second was located atop the hill in the upper scale part of town, had wide open rooms and full bathrooms. However, there was clearly construction still underway, and when we finally connected with Francis, the owner, after several failed attempts that yielded some phenomenal fresh lemonade from his wife, he informed us it would not be ready for a month – pieces were needed from Dar Es Salaam and Lusaka. So we agreed to take that house when it was ready to serve as an office from which we can reach Ngoma and other schools in the District. After inquiring about every other available structure within Itezhi Tezhi, we deduced that we had no viable options. ZAWA to the rescue. Mr. Kaoma, the third in command out of Ngoma who also journeyed with us from Lusaka, kindly offered us a house within Ngoma on a temporary basis and ensured that the original house prepared for Annie, our Peace Corps volunteer, would be turned back over to KnowledgeBeat as a place for Sarah or other team members to stay while in Ngoma in the future. And so five years later, I am once again living in Ngoma, and it is so good to be back.
The two days and nights we spent in Itezhi Tezhi before shifting to Ngoma had their share of entertaining encounters – from an angry bull tied to a tree being slaughtered in the center of town to waking up in the middle of the night to a hippo munching grass not more than five feet from the tent we had deliberately placed to avoid such a visit (this incident quickly lead us to toss out the idea of camping outdoors for the remainder of our stay). The second night we stayed at the ZESCO flats and had a drink with Francis before dinner, during the course of which he showed us that he had stored our phone number under the name “man…whites”, and so we gained insight into how we were being perceived, the two white American girls and the respected, old Zambian man. It was also evident that the entire town knew our activities play by play as well as where we were staying each night; a reminder that news travels extremely fast in a small “town”. We also awoke the next morning to the unfortunate desperation of poverty – the cap to our engine oil was missing. Stolen. Not a drop of engine oil had splashed out and on these roads, had it fallen off as they were suggesting to us, the whole engine would have been covered. Two South African men opening a horse Safari lodge slashed up a water bottle as a temporary fix and several hours later a boy declared he happened to have the exact part, asking for 80,000 kwacha in exchange. We snagged our stolen cap back, refusing to pay, and set out for Ngoma.
We were welcomed with open arms in Ngoma, several girls cleaned the structure that we would call home, and an electrician came to ensure that we had power with which we could cook on an electrical stove rather than over charcoal as so many villagers do here. Tonight as we were preparing food, three of the village women came to sit with us, Ruth, who worked in the health clinic, “mom” as we call her here, who works for ZAWA, and Mrs. Kaoma, a school teacher who is running our girls programs. They commented as we began to chop vegetables and sort out our pots, pans and dishes. Intrigued that we had decided to make pasta and vegetables for dinner, they insisted that the next night they would teach us how to make fish and nshima (the staple food here) properly. It was a very settling and welcoming feeling, 5 women sitting on a stoop talking and sharing. It is good to be here.
We’ve had several great preliminary meetings with the school and ZAWA. Much more to come on the details over the next few days as we have a big meeting with the school Thursday morning, and the training for the girls camp this weekend.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Friday the Thirteenth
Today we met with the Ministry of Finance to discuss reporting procedures and accounting systems within Zambia for international NGO’s such as ours. The gentlemen we met with is an old friend of Luhana’s who holds a high seat within the organization. A mob of people surrounded the guard post when we arrived, and we had to be fetched and escorted inside. They were people in search of money owed to them by the government, clearly impoverished and desperate, and sadly never likely to see a dime. We walked out happy that we would be able to account for finances in a manner that complied with both U.S. and Zambian standards. Given how small we are, we will hire a consultant from the Zambian Institute of Chartered Accountants to come in biannually and “do the books” as they say here.
From there we made what has become a typical route through the bank, the mechanic, and the internet café. Logistics here are painfully slow, from navigating the roads to the internet crashing every five minutes. Surprisingly, the vehicle was almost ready when we arrived complete with a new windshield, washed interior and best of all an engine that ran. We thanked Mr. Gray and promptly drove it to John (trusted mechanic) to polish off before we head into the field. The journey was my first driving experience within Zambia and the combination of Lusaka roads, driving on the “wrong” side of the road, and an old stick shift vehicle made me nervous and left me exhausted, but other than a few “watch out you almost hit that person” squeals from Margaret and losing Luhana in the traffic, things went pretty smoothly. It took John all of 7 minutes to identify that the bushels needed to be replaced and so rather than driving off with the car, we left it with him to tend to and shifted our planned departure for Itezhi Tezhi from Saturday to Sunday.
Luhana really has been amazing, spending every day running around town with us straightening out odds and ends, updating us on the programs, and ensuring us that whatever it takes, he is committed to seeing this succeed. With all Luhana’s kindness and “western” thought and treatment of Annie and I, there are inevitably cultural barriers. Zambians do not like to talk about money, making it difficult for us to openly discuss salary payments, the cost of our rental house in Itezhi Tezhi, and other expenses with Luhana. Whenever we confront Luhana with a pointed question he would deem inappropriate or uncomfortable he often giggles in his own way and says “ohhh Annie and Maggie, that is funny, I will remember that but we must not worry, as we are together and all will be fine.” Regardless of the occasional bump along the way, Luhana remains “honored” by our visiting and interest in his country and in perfect “African hospitality” is more concerned with our comfort than his own. You can see that he carries a great amount of pride for his people and his country and is eager to share that. Regardless of time or schedule, if we are passing through an area where he has family, Luhana stops to introduce Annie and I. He treats us as family, a rare and different gift that I have not encountered often in the states.
This will, fingers crossed, be our last post from Lusaka before we return to pick-up Sarah and Katie from the airport in two weeks.Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Lusaka and the Vehicle Saga
Ah Zambia. Margaret and I made it to Lusaka on Monday night, scrambling excitedly off the plane and inhaling air filled with what I can only describe as the smell of a developing country – a mix of burned trash and the “bush”, uncontrolled exhaust, and the raw beginnings of industrialization. Luhana fetched us from the airport, and we set-up camp at Eureka, the same place I slept the first night I ever spent in Zambia five years ago.
One thing that will never cease to amaze me is how well Zambians remember you – after all these years, every time I show up at Eureka, John says, ah, Greenforce, you have returned! Friendly and welcoming is a characteristic that pervades Zambians, and at times it is almost overwhelming – “space” as we would say in the States is not something that people here are cognizant of - for Margaret and I it is a difficult adjustment, especially when all we have to call our own is a tiny two person tent staked in the midst of overland buses in the Eureka camping ground that we share with our packs.
Surprisingly or unsurprisingly very little seems to change here and yet at least for me there is a distinctly different feel vibrating from the country than when I first came in 2003. Lusaka itself still sustains itself off the same handful of primary roads, leading to almost insatiable amounts of congestion – the motorbike trend that has rocked Asia has yet to take hold in Africa, so minibuses, 4x4’s tramping through town between bush trips, and cars streaming a dark grey cloud of exhaust smoke that leaves me contemplating its impact on global warming compose the mayhem. There are the same shacks lining the sides of the streets with woman selling fruits and vegetables, clothing and goods. However, today they are made of tin, they are composed in neat rows in many parts of town, the government realizing they could not rid the country of them, built sturdier structures for people to sell from. And there are the cell phones – there are hands down more billboards and stores selling cell phones than anything else: “Rock your world with Celnet” and pictures of young Zambians dancing while they hold a cell phone to their ear.
While discussing the purchase of a vehicle, we asked a Zambian man who runs a Maid and Gardener Training Center what he thought of the current government and the initiatives under way. He was pleased. He said they were doing a great job. They are investing more and more in education and infrastructure. They have finally started taxing the mines (mainly copper), increasing the amount of funding that remains within the country – today the tax is 17%, compare that to 1% several years ago. Progress. But progress that you have to understand how to see and measure, because when you look at what is the capital of the country otherwise, you will wonder how they still seem so behind (recommended reading on the theory of this is The Bottom Billion by Paul Collier).
In the midst of taking it all in, the last few days have been occupied by obtaining a vehicle. For a while now, it had been made clear to us that transport and infrastructure were the primary barriers to expanding KnowledgeBeat’s programs. In choosing to work in rural areas, the challenges that have slowed development in those regions have been brought glaringly to our attention. While there are buses from Lusaka to Itezhi Tezhi, none exist to Ngoma or the next generation of villages we plan to touch. So with the help of a substantial grant specifically dedicated toward the obtainment of a vehicle, Luhana, Margaret, and I spent the last few days viewing vehicles with the help of the old Greenforce mechanic, John.
Agonizingly slow and expensive would be the two thoughts that come to mind regarding our search. We worked off a list of recommended second hand car sellers that Kathy had given us. Our first impression was sheer shock at the cost of the vehicles – honestly, most of these cars would be turned over to junk yards in the U.S., but a group of clever mechanics and handy people keep them running here. To Luhana’s chagrin, one of the first things out of my mouth to a gentleman selling the cars at Henson’s, was “are you kidding, I could buy this car new in the U.S. for almost the same price”. He laughed, “ah yes, try that, and than see that you will pay more than double in import tax to Zambia”.
Import tax. Shipped or driven across, it is astoundingly high which is even more shocking when one realizes that no vehicles are manufactured within Zambia and lack of transportation means remains a huge barrier to development. The problem is that the government doesn’t actually pay its people which means that border guards and customs officials are grasping at straws to obtain payment, regardless of the price at which it comes for the country at large.
Today we had John view a variety of vehicles that we thought were within reason, budget and functionality. No dice. He very straightforwardly (a rare and appreciated trait among a Zambian) informed us that among other problems, the engines needed to be replaced, and even than the vehicles would cause us “a lot of trouble” and probably last “for a year”. He turned and glanced at another vehicle, “let me see that one”, it was substantially above budget, but we let him at it. His recommendation – you will not find a better vehicle for what you want and it is priced reasonably. After much heartache and anxiety on our part about the budget, we came to the conclusion that squeaking out the funding to purchase a vehicle that could survive was worth it in the long run.
Negotiations. Most of the time in Zambia Luhana’s ability to effectively negotiate drastically exceeds ours. However, in this particular instance, the gentleman was not Zambian and clearly of a western mindset. The indirect, refusal to commit or even make an offer on Luhana’s part was met by severe frustration. I kept my mouth shut for the first round before bluntly telling Luhana he had to cut the run around and be direct or we were never going to get anywhere. The final agreement was reached with the gentleman on the phone and Luhana standing next to me iterating numbers that spewed out of my mouth each time he glanced my way.
At present, Margaret and I are sitting in the bar in Eureka, waiting for the power to return so that the kitchen can cook food. We haven’t eaten yet today and it is 8:30pm. Day two of not eating breakfast or lunch. And day three of Levy hitting on us - the “space” phenomena in full effect.
One thing that will never cease to amaze me is how well Zambians remember you – after all these years, every time I show up at Eureka, John says, ah, Greenforce, you have returned! Friendly and welcoming is a characteristic that pervades Zambians, and at times it is almost overwhelming – “space” as we would say in the States is not something that people here are cognizant of - for Margaret and I it is a difficult adjustment, especially when all we have to call our own is a tiny two person tent staked in the midst of overland buses in the Eureka camping ground that we share with our packs.
Surprisingly or unsurprisingly very little seems to change here and yet at least for me there is a distinctly different feel vibrating from the country than when I first came in 2003. Lusaka itself still sustains itself off the same handful of primary roads, leading to almost insatiable amounts of congestion – the motorbike trend that has rocked Asia has yet to take hold in Africa, so minibuses, 4x4’s tramping through town between bush trips, and cars streaming a dark grey cloud of exhaust smoke that leaves me contemplating its impact on global warming compose the mayhem. There are the same shacks lining the sides of the streets with woman selling fruits and vegetables, clothing and goods. However, today they are made of tin, they are composed in neat rows in many parts of town, the government realizing they could not rid the country of them, built sturdier structures for people to sell from. And there are the cell phones – there are hands down more billboards and stores selling cell phones than anything else: “Rock your world with Celnet” and pictures of young Zambians dancing while they hold a cell phone to their ear.
While discussing the purchase of a vehicle, we asked a Zambian man who runs a Maid and Gardener Training Center what he thought of the current government and the initiatives under way. He was pleased. He said they were doing a great job. They are investing more and more in education and infrastructure. They have finally started taxing the mines (mainly copper), increasing the amount of funding that remains within the country – today the tax is 17%, compare that to 1% several years ago. Progress. But progress that you have to understand how to see and measure, because when you look at what is the capital of the country otherwise, you will wonder how they still seem so behind (recommended reading on the theory of this is The Bottom Billion by Paul Collier).
In the midst of taking it all in, the last few days have been occupied by obtaining a vehicle. For a while now, it had been made clear to us that transport and infrastructure were the primary barriers to expanding KnowledgeBeat’s programs. In choosing to work in rural areas, the challenges that have slowed development in those regions have been brought glaringly to our attention. While there are buses from Lusaka to Itezhi Tezhi, none exist to Ngoma or the next generation of villages we plan to touch. So with the help of a substantial grant specifically dedicated toward the obtainment of a vehicle, Luhana, Margaret, and I spent the last few days viewing vehicles with the help of the old Greenforce mechanic, John.
Agonizingly slow and expensive would be the two thoughts that come to mind regarding our search. We worked off a list of recommended second hand car sellers that Kathy had given us. Our first impression was sheer shock at the cost of the vehicles – honestly, most of these cars would be turned over to junk yards in the U.S., but a group of clever mechanics and handy people keep them running here. To Luhana’s chagrin, one of the first things out of my mouth to a gentleman selling the cars at Henson’s, was “are you kidding, I could buy this car new in the U.S. for almost the same price”. He laughed, “ah yes, try that, and than see that you will pay more than double in import tax to Zambia”.
Import tax. Shipped or driven across, it is astoundingly high which is even more shocking when one realizes that no vehicles are manufactured within Zambia and lack of transportation means remains a huge barrier to development. The problem is that the government doesn’t actually pay its people which means that border guards and customs officials are grasping at straws to obtain payment, regardless of the price at which it comes for the country at large.
Today we had John view a variety of vehicles that we thought were within reason, budget and functionality. No dice. He very straightforwardly (a rare and appreciated trait among a Zambian) informed us that among other problems, the engines needed to be replaced, and even than the vehicles would cause us “a lot of trouble” and probably last “for a year”. He turned and glanced at another vehicle, “let me see that one”, it was substantially above budget, but we let him at it. His recommendation – you will not find a better vehicle for what you want and it is priced reasonably. After much heartache and anxiety on our part about the budget, we came to the conclusion that squeaking out the funding to purchase a vehicle that could survive was worth it in the long run.
Negotiations. Most of the time in Zambia Luhana’s ability to effectively negotiate drastically exceeds ours. However, in this particular instance, the gentleman was not Zambian and clearly of a western mindset. The indirect, refusal to commit or even make an offer on Luhana’s part was met by severe frustration. I kept my mouth shut for the first round before bluntly telling Luhana he had to cut the run around and be direct or we were never going to get anywhere. The final agreement was reached with the gentleman on the phone and Luhana standing next to me iterating numbers that spewed out of my mouth each time he glanced my way.
At present, Margaret and I are sitting in the bar in Eureka, waiting for the power to return so that the kitchen can cook food. We haven’t eaten yet today and it is 8:30pm. Day two of not eating breakfast or lunch. And day three of Levy hitting on us - the “space” phenomena in full effect.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Faulty Bomb Threats
The 5:15 am wake-up call came early this morning and was supposed to be the start to a fairly easy day of travel from Cape Town, South Africa to Lusaka, Zambia. Program Director, Macmen Luhana, would collect us from the airport and by mid-afternoon we would be laying a framework for a summer building KnowledgeBeat from the inside out. That’s not exactly how the day panned out…
Annie and I were met at the Cape Town airport by a crowd of ~200 people herded into a small overhang in the garage directly across from the domestic terminal. People had been waiting there since 5 am for the airport to re-open due to a faulty bomb threat. After waiting there for around an hour everyone began pushing to the front and the airport re-opened.
We made it inside and found that our flight was in its final ticketing and check-in stage, what a joke! The flight was technically closed and boarding before travelers had even checked in. Annie and I were starting to get a little concerned about our connection in Joberg to Lusaka. It was going to be tight, be we were most likely going to be able to make the connection, or at least that’s what we thought.
When we finally got into our seats and began taxiing down the runway, the plane shut down its throttles and we pulled over for a “mechanical problem.” Come to find out the airplane door wouldn’t close properly. At this point, there was officially no hope in making our connection. Welcome to traveling in Africa.
We arrived in Jo-burg at 11:07 am, 17 minutes after our Lusaka flight had already left. The re-ticketing line was horrible because of all the Cape Town connections. After an hour in that line we were told that we could be confirmed on a 6:50 pm flight.
So here Annie and I sit at the Johannesburg Airport writing our second blog. I guess I shouldn’t have been joking around with her last night that our travels were going to be a hysterical comedy of errors…
Annie and I were met at the Cape Town airport by a crowd of ~200 people herded into a small overhang in the garage directly across from the domestic terminal. People had been waiting there since 5 am for the airport to re-open due to a faulty bomb threat. After waiting there for around an hour everyone began pushing to the front and the airport re-opened.
We made it inside and found that our flight was in its final ticketing and check-in stage, what a joke! The flight was technically closed and boarding before travelers had even checked in. Annie and I were starting to get a little concerned about our connection in Joberg to Lusaka. It was going to be tight, be we were most likely going to be able to make the connection, or at least that’s what we thought.
When we finally got into our seats and began taxiing down the runway, the plane shut down its throttles and we pulled over for a “mechanical problem.” Come to find out the airplane door wouldn’t close properly. At this point, there was officially no hope in making our connection. Welcome to traveling in Africa.
We arrived in Jo-burg at 11:07 am, 17 minutes after our Lusaka flight had already left. The re-ticketing line was horrible because of all the Cape Town connections. After an hour in that line we were told that we could be confirmed on a 6:50 pm flight.
So here Annie and I sit at the Johannesburg Airport writing our second blog. I guess I shouldn’t have been joking around with her last night that our travels were going to be a hysterical comedy of errors…
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Golden's Recycling
Tomorrow Margaret and I leave for Lusaka. We've spent the last few days running the gamet in Cape Town from townships to the Cape Grace Hotel, bouncing from one extreme to the other and gaining insights into life here, today.
Golden, a classic microentrepreneur from Khayelitsha ("new beginning") Township (population 1.2 million) outside Cape Town, takes aluminum cans among other things and transforms them into decorative flowers. His work is nothing short of amazing and it has enabled him to bring a flat screen TV into his tin walled 3 room home that he, his wife, and their 6 children share. He sells each flower for between 15 and 85 rand depending on size and complexity. He can make 25 flowers a day, sales fluctuate widely. I asked him do you have anyone working with you? do you take any loans? there was a 5,000 rand check on the wall from a micro-finance competition he won. No, he has no help other than occassionally from reluctant children, and no he does not have loans, as he does not like debt. He makes enough to scrap by comfortably and inspires school children throughout the township to take a creative approach to trash. Vison. He had none. In a sea of poverty he had created a means to give his family a slight lever, yet he had no desire to try to take it to the next stage, to actually pull him and his family out of poverty. Margaret had visions of decorating weddings in the U.S. with the flowers, i could see retail stores throughout the country. But that will not likely ever happen. He is the epitome of what microfinance is funding. Fruit stands, 5 room bed and breakfasts - small efforts that are making people's lives better, but where are the entrepreneurs creating growth? Where is the infrastructure to take micro-finance to the next level? To create businesses that will change their world and ultimately the world.
The mall on the other hand, the Waterfront, has a brand new "iStore" aka Apple Store. It also has Guess, Gucci, Tumi, and a host of other international brands. Little more than the pharmacy could be attributed to a South African business. I asked one of the gentlemen in the Apple Store who was kindly enabling me to use an external hard drive to install programs on my Mac AirBook - what is driving the economy here, what beyond tourism is creating wealth? He had no answer. The secondary answer in Cape Town is of course wine, but he like so many others, can only think of tourism. Yet there is so much more from retail to energy. It is happening on a micro level, it is happenig haphazerdly, it is happening and most of the country doesn't have a clue. There isn't a structure to small and medium size business or a middle class yet. There is a complex dichotomous society deriven from the Aperthid that is still struggling to leave its racial roots behind.
There is a huge opportunity here. One which is slowly taking shape. It will be different, the solutions cannot be carbon copies of other societies, culture and technology are demanding creative solutions. South Africa will likely be the center of Africa's economy for years to come, so we had all better not only understand it but strive to be part of it. Because there will be those few entrepreneurial spirits who emerge, giving Golden and other micro-entrepreneurs a vehicle through which their creativity can mold the future of Africa, gaining a toe hold within a sea of predominantly international conglomerates. Those types of spirits, leaders are rare and no matter how instinctive without education behind them, they are as likely to wind up governing a rebellion or surrendering to AIDS as launching the Google of Africa.
Golden, a classic microentrepreneur from Khayelitsha ("new beginning") Township (population 1.2 million) outside Cape Town, takes aluminum cans among other things and transforms them into decorative flowers. His work is nothing short of amazing and it has enabled him to bring a flat screen TV into his tin walled 3 room home that he, his wife, and their 6 children share. He sells each flower for between 15 and 85 rand depending on size and complexity. He can make 25 flowers a day, sales fluctuate widely. I asked him do you have anyone working with you? do you take any loans? there was a 5,000 rand check on the wall from a micro-finance competition he won. No, he has no help other than occassionally from reluctant children, and no he does not have loans, as he does not like debt. He makes enough to scrap by comfortably and inspires school children throughout the township to take a creative approach to trash. Vison. He had none. In a sea of poverty he had created a means to give his family a slight lever, yet he had no desire to try to take it to the next stage, to actually pull him and his family out of poverty. Margaret had visions of decorating weddings in the U.S. with the flowers, i could see retail stores throughout the country. But that will not likely ever happen. He is the epitome of what microfinance is funding. Fruit stands, 5 room bed and breakfasts - small efforts that are making people's lives better, but where are the entrepreneurs creating growth? Where is the infrastructure to take micro-finance to the next level? To create businesses that will change their world and ultimately the world.
The mall on the other hand, the Waterfront, has a brand new "iStore" aka Apple Store. It also has Guess, Gucci, Tumi, and a host of other international brands. Little more than the pharmacy could be attributed to a South African business. I asked one of the gentlemen in the Apple Store who was kindly enabling me to use an external hard drive to install programs on my Mac AirBook - what is driving the economy here, what beyond tourism is creating wealth? He had no answer. The secondary answer in Cape Town is of course wine, but he like so many others, can only think of tourism. Yet there is so much more from retail to energy. It is happening on a micro level, it is happenig haphazerdly, it is happening and most of the country doesn't have a clue. There isn't a structure to small and medium size business or a middle class yet. There is a complex dichotomous society deriven from the Aperthid that is still struggling to leave its racial roots behind.
There is a huge opportunity here. One which is slowly taking shape. It will be different, the solutions cannot be carbon copies of other societies, culture and technology are demanding creative solutions. South Africa will likely be the center of Africa's economy for years to come, so we had all better not only understand it but strive to be part of it. Because there will be those few entrepreneurial spirits who emerge, giving Golden and other micro-entrepreneurs a vehicle through which their creativity can mold the future of Africa, gaining a toe hold within a sea of predominantly international conglomerates. Those types of spirits, leaders are rare and no matter how instinctive without education behind them, they are as likely to wind up governing a rebellion or surrendering to AIDS as launching the Google of Africa.
Think big, act locally. Margaret and I will focus on only a sliver of what it will take when we reach Zambia tomorrow, but we hope one day, that sliver will spread like wildfire through the Bush.
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