The Oasis of El Dorado

Solwezi was kindly dubbed recently by the Peace Corps Zambia security officers as the “El Dorado” of Zambia due to its boom town atmosphere; uncontrolled growth rates mixed with a complete lack of urban planning that lead to a dust-ridden conglomeration of Zambian tribes and immigrants from Congo and other sub-saharan nations squatting in shantytowns hoping to make it rich from the recent mining boom.  The savory assortment of people apparently lends itself to higher crime rates, as well as increased congestion and pollution.

That said, there’s a little oasis in the center of it all . . . a place where everyone knows your name.  A place Scott and I travel over 400 km to from our quaint forested village to access WiFi, an amazing book/video/DVD collection, and a taste of modernity with the sometimes-working hot shower and oven.  It’s a place where you hear accents from the Midwest to the Deep South to small towns on the East Coast and everywhere in between, and it’s perfectly okay to talk fast American English without feeling culturally insensitive.  It’s perfectly okay to sport flip flops and jeans by day and costumes of gangsta rappers or fairy princesses (depending on the occasion) at night.  It’s at this very special place where you can have a 3-course community dinner one evening and potato chips and garden vegetables the next.  Ideas grow, bonds form, people ponder the future and the meaning of life more than almost anywhere in Real America, except possibly a college dorm room.  Board games spiral into bets on whether the group will  watch re-runs of “Sex in the City” (no TV stations here) or stay in and dance to 80’s music in the lower house while gracefully playing some rendition of ping-pong that involves dozens of red plastic cups.  Walking dogs involves braving the dusty roads of El Dorado with wide-eyed locals move all the way to the other side of the road to let you pass and throwing sticks at the stray mutts while fending off marriage propositions.  Singing bad karaoke to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and actually dancing with somebody who you just met five months ago but now doesn’t mind if you belt it out in their ear and then crash on their lap.  Living in a land of backpack cubbies and personal belongings cubbies and individual food cubbies and bunk beds gracefully strewn with mosquito nets.  Expletives, complaints, and compliments are thrown around with equal force like multiple flavors of candy at parades.  Late-night crunches to finish the latest Peace Corps quarterly electronic report just in time for the power to go out rendering the wireless router ineffective just before hitting the “send” button, but that’s okay because this is Africa and there’s always tomorrow.  Slip ‘n slide on the back lawn on a hot day and bonfires on a chilly evening.  Saying goodbye twice a years to people moving on with the next stages in their lives.  Finding treasure like a solar shower, water filter, sweet chitenge pants, or a bottle of shampoo that the last group of volunteers didn’t have room to bring home.  Spending endless hours staring at walls decorated with hand-painted murals, quotes about the meaning of life and incriminating photos.  Did I mention dancing?  Opening up and sharing secrets of the past, fears for the future, and tears for the present day’s frustrations.  Cooking Mac ‘n cheese, fajitas, pumpkin bread and brownies where people actually can appreciate that you just paid twice as much for processed cheese or chocolate than you ever would in America.  Congolese beers and South African Ciders, gin and tonics with a lime removed from the outside tree with a large bamboo pole—how many tries did that take?  Hot tea with on cold June mornings and iced tea on the back porch while learning that your nearest neighbor just spent the last 6 hours in the back of a broken cantor truck on the side of the road.  But now it’s no problem because you’re both at the oasis and all you can do is laugh about and curse Zambia at the same time.  Meetings about village events and how to mobilize youth and wow . . . maybe I can get my women’s club to sell chitenge purses just like my awesome Peace Corps neighbors.  How we can change the world one person at a time by supporting libraries, education, health care and farming on a good day and learning together that maybe the biggest part of the world that needs to be changed is our own expectations and perceptions.  Less-heady conversations about farts and sex and the inevitable GI illnesses and what kind of Iphone just came out in America anyway?  Will we even be able to use one of those things when we go back?

Yes, in the same oasis I’ve laughed until I’ve literally peed my pants and cried on a person’s shoulder who was a complete stranger just months prior.  I’ve tripped over people’s stuff thrown around the floor, lost many of my own personal items in “the abyss” and handwashed more dishes than I ever thought possible.  I’ve talked to, cooked with, clashed with, shared clothes with and cuddled with the 30+ people who also use this house and can’t hesitate for more than even a second to now call my friends.  Yeah, call it a frat or a cult, and definitely leaps and bounds from the life a 30-something married professional woman was living just 2 short years ago, but the oasis of El Dorado is a place I’m happy to call my home . . . at least a few days a month.  And When I go back to Real America, along with the village life and travel stories, I’ll carry home memories of the Oasis of El Dorado that will live forever in the Peace Corps friends I’ve made here.