Full Circle

Gina's Post

Scott and I just got back from our Peace Corps mid-term medicals conference in Lusaka.  Aside from a clean bill of health for both of us, our country director had us make a circle around the large chota in the Peace Corps office to symbolize that we have all spent one year in the village and have one more to go.  I truly feel like I live here now; it's been fun traveling to other provinces over the last few months and when Zambians ask me where I'm from (thinking I'll say Europe or the US), and I say in Lunda that I come from the Northwest province.

It's interesting that within the past 3 months, we've had 4 American visitors, all of whom we took to see the village.  It also took me on a walk down memory lane, since I spent about a month in Zambia in September 2006 visiting my friend Colleen, and she showed me some of the same spots that we showed our friends.  I feel like me living in this beautiful place (in the same province at that) has completed the circle.  Some of the nostalgic places included:

Victoria Falls

Back in 2006 when I was at Victoria Falls with Colleen and my sister Cynthia the water level of the falls was low enough in September (end of the dry season) that we 3 adventurous girls were told we could walk up above and look down.  Of course a guide was recommended, but being on a backpacker’s budget we just paid some local kids a few kwacha to show us the secret spot.  We walked over a sketchy narrow dam and found a bunch of local boys fishing, swimming, and doing acrobatics for us (for a price of course).   Our reward for crossing countless shallow streams was an amazing view of the falls from above, along with pictures of the Zambian adolescent acrobats in their swimming attire.

In this last trip with Scott, Brad, Jane and Julie, being 6 years older and all the wiser, we heeded the sign that said, “beware: don’t go past this point without a guide.”  Good thing, too, because not 2 minutes later did one of us spot an elephant behind some trees across the shallow Zambezi river.  We looked to our right to see an armed wildlife guard, who calmly advised us to keep our distance from the elephants.  We watched in wonder as a herd of 5-6 of these giants appeared to drink from the river, and then they began crossing . . . toward us.  There were no other tourists by then, but several local employees of the park came to see the animals.  Then the guards told us to move slowly but calmly out of the grove above the falls.  Reason: the elephants were going to cross the river and had the potential to block us in.  Although we didn’t get to see the falls from up above, seeing the elephants drink from the Zambezi near sunset made up for it.  And as a side note, it was good to see armed guards actually enforcing the rules . . . gives hope that the wildlife numbers are maybe going up again.

Chimfunshi Wildlife Orphanage

Colleen, Cynthia and I visited this interesting place to break up the 3-day journey to Colleen’s village in 2006.   Here’s what I wrote about it back then:

As we walked behind cages of loud primate sounds, we were told to keep hands and all body parts away from the windows as the chimps like to grab.  We then removed all watches, necklaces, and belts and handed our cameras to the professional chimp-handlers.  The gate opened and 5 young chimps named Dee Dee, Cindy, Hans, Gus, and Carla scrambled to greet us.  To our surprise, each climbed up to one of us and perched on our shoulders as we walked them through the trees.  They found their favorite play spot and coaxed us to swing with them up and down on the low branches.  Gus even snatched Colleen's shoelace when she wasn't looking and played hide-and-seek with her to get it back!  I felt like I was in kindergarten again.

We did the same thing with Brad, Jane and Julie to break up their visit to our village in remote northwestern province.  Some of the differences I noted were: 1) the pet hippo Billy that resided in front of the chimp cages had passed away.  2) Sheila, the founder of Chimpfunshi, had aged quite a bit and was now using a walker.  We only saw her briefly from her house, as she has passed on the management of her day-to-day activities to her daughter Sylvia.    3) This time, instead of telling us to wear grubby clothes for the chimp walk, they had us put on blue smurf suits and fill our pockets with biscuits to feed the chimps as they interacted with us.  Definitely don’t remember the feeding part last time.  4) Instead of camping near an amazing river, we stayed in dorms with no view but that did have hot water.  5) the $30, 30 minute bush walk we did in 2006 was now a 2 hour bush walk for $100 USD.  Guess they needed more money for the chimps!   The surprising thing was that I actually remembered some of the chimps (Sims, Cindy and Carla) from that long ago.  I couldn’t help resist giving Cindy another kiss.  I remember leaving both times with the same mixed emotions of having visited a place trying to make amends for humans’ destructive impact on this planet as well as being a first-hand witness to the striking similarities between chimps and humans.

Chisemwa Cha Lunda

Crazily again, I was invited to the same traditional ceremony that I saw in 2006.  Even crazier, Brad and Jane were visiting us in the village at that very same time.  Here’s what I wrote back then:

Cynthia and I rode all our gear out the 60K on bush roads to Mwnilunga, the nearest "boma," or larger village where we were to meet up with Colleen and about 15 other Peace Corps volunteers who were specially invited by Lunda Chief Kanongesha to stay at his palace grounds. The occasion was Chisemwa Chalunda, or "tradition of the Lundas" annual festival.  We camped for the evening at another volunteer named Kristin's village, roasted pig in a big pit, and stood by the road to catch a ride with one of the many trucks that would be heading to Kanongesha's palace grounds.  Around mid-morning, the driver of a flatbed with about 80 or so singing Lundas said he could give us a lift, so we all piled in and joined in the merriment.

Kanongesha's compound was more like an assortment of solar-powered mud and brick buildings surrounded by a grass fence in the middle of the bush.  Nonetheless, as he is head of the entire Lunda tribe in Zambia, Angola, and the Congo, we were honored to participate.  After opening ceremonies consisting of singing, dancing, scripture reading, and food offerings to the chief, we were escorted onto his private greeting room.  In the room, Kanongesha adorned all of the Peace Corps volunteers with necklaces made of traditional beans and t-shirts printed with pictures of His Royal Highness and other Lunda chiefs.  In return, our group gave him some live chickens and vegetables.

More and more people arrived, transforming a tiny Kanongesha's tiny bush village into a virtual city: vendors set up shop, home-brewed corn alcohol called kachai flowed out of kalabash gourds, and drum circles lasted until the wee hours of the morning.  Around mid-day the following day, the actual ceremony began with the chief raised up on his throne-like chair by traditionally dressed warrior-dancers.  He was paraded around the cheering crowd, and then he and his wife were set up on thrones in the shade to watch groups of traditional dancers.  Under the intense mid-day sun, the crowd cheered, people danced, and the group became ever-more raucous from the kachai.  Alas, we had to leave to beat the rat race of people trying to find rides back to the boma.

The 2012 ceremony was much more intimate as it was only four Peace Corps volunteers and our tourist friends.  Since Scott and I personally new the Chief and had worked with him on Peace Corps projects, he invited us and our American friends to be honored guests.  He gave us a 3 course meal as well as wine the night before the event, and personally escorted us through the fairgrounds.  Nostalgia flashed through my eyes as a happily dressed tipsy woman asked me to dance with her.  Turns out she was a chieftainess of a neighboring tribal area and I happened to get a t-shirt of her from that same event in ’06.  So now I can say that I actually danced with the chieftainess.  During the actual event, Jane and I put on our tailor-made Zambian dresses and got many compliments from the Zambian onlookers as the only white people wearing traditional clothes.  In fact, I think I had more people ask me if they could take my picture that day than any other day in my life. Guy Scott, the vice president of Zambia actually made a cameo (1 hour) appearance via helicopter at this year’s event.  As honored guests, we stood at the receiving line in front of the chief’s palace shortly after his touchdown.  He shook our hands, asked who we were and said, “oh Peace Corps tourists.”  As much of an insider as I felt at this year’s ceremony, I guess the VP of Zambia still considers me a tourist.

Mujila Falls

This place was a magical little oasis in the Zambian sticks when we went to visit Colleen in 2006.  It was the personal home and working farm of Paul Webster, a former Peace Corps volunteer from Guatemala turned Methodist missionary who had been living in Africa for over 20 years.  After his family was evacuated from the Congo following political unrest, they started a working farm in Zambia upon the chief’s request since his people were starving.  He was one of Colleen’s closest neighbors in 2006 and actually gave us a lift in the back of his truck up to her site.  As tourists, my sister Cynthia and I marveled at the ingenuity and hard work as he used an ox cart to plow maize fields and was the first successful person in the area to milk goats (definitely before any of my goat milking experience).  While Colleen was at a workshop, Cynthia and I liked the place so much we rode bikes to the farm and picked strawberries for half a day in exchange for some of Paul’s goat-milk yogurt and a home cooked meal.  One of Paul’s welders even help me weld my bicycle pedal back on (not Peace Corps issued) after it had fallen off.

Fast forward to 2011, when Scott and I move to the Mwinilunga area and hear tales of an amazing missionary who grows just every crop imaginable . . . including strawberries!  Although I greatly wanted to return to see what had changed, time and distance precluded us from visiting, until Deanna, a fellow volunteer, arranged a workshop for Peace Corps volunteers and their counterparts at that very same farm.  I took a local headman and over 20 of us spent a week on the farm learning about properly raising pigs, goats, sheep, rabbits, chickens, turkeys, ducks, oxen, and any other farm animal you could imagine. Peace Corps volunteers also took turns teaching about things such as business management and composting.  The entire week was very hands-on and interactive (not to mention the fresh food was delicious!). Our Zambian counterparts came home inspired, as the Lunda culture is traditionally hunter-gatherer, and owning livestock has only come into play in the last few generations.    Not much at Mujila had changed except the road getting there was not as rutted, and Paul had built a new main house suitable for events like the Peace Corps workshop we helped with. 

Never once in my life did I think I’d be back up that same rural farm road hidden away in a corner of rural Africa or dance with the same chieftainess I played for Halloween in 2006 by wearing her t-shirt.  But . . . destiny had something else in mind, and I’m sure glad I’m back living and working in the Northwest province of Zambia.

More Pictures

Hi All,
We have posted some pictures recently in two photo albums.  The links for those are:

https://picasaweb.google.com/110221855486252629515/UpThroughLivingston?authkey=Gv1sRgCPah1aSv9_Xwew

https://picasaweb.google.com/110221855486252629515/UpThroughFlatdogs?authkey=Gv1sRgCKLMq9vKr7ahxgE


Also, Evon LaGrou has been in Zambia for over a week now and will be blogging about her visit to Zambia as well as other countries she is visiting.  Her blog is at:

http://evonlagrou.com/

Here's what she wrote:

It takes just over thirty minutes to travel the fourteen miles from the nearest city to Scott and Gina’s village. We have completely left civilization as we know it. There is no electricity, no running water, no stores for supplies and no taxi’s that drive past this place. Therefore, it is not possible to easily “just make a run to the store”. Women walk the entire way to the city with large baskets of garden vegetables on their heads that they will sell at the market.
We are definitely living the simple life here and no one is in a rush. We seem to wake up and go to bed with the sun around here. It is just easier than using your headlamp or dealing with the mosquitos that come out at night.
Everyone has time to welcome the new visitor. Villagers hold their right elbow with their left hand when outstretching their hand to shake mine. They give a little bow then clasp both hands together and reach to shake my hand a second time. “You do realize we are going be stopped by everyone to shake your hand on the way to the clinic.” Gina said after the third formal greeting. “I thought it was nearly a three mile walk? How will we get there on time?” “We are on Africa time. It will be fine, whatever time we arrive.”
That was definitely a different way of looking at things. The school house was the only place that seemed to run on time. I spent several days assisting at the local school, while I was in the village, teaching a math review class for ninth grade students. These students were going to take their end-of-the-year exams the following week. Only students who passed the test would be allowed to attend high school the following year. Student who continued to high school next year would have to board at the school during the week since the school would be so far away.
I don’t think I ever had students so eager to learn. We reviewed about two-hundred pages of the required math textbook. I had to write important concepts for the students on the board since the students did not have a textbook for math. Only the teacher had a book.
The first day I started teaching I had not realized that I had missed their ten o’clock break until ten minutes to twelve. I asked, “Do you want to take your break now?” I heard a unanimous “no” coming from the group. “Well would you like a five minute break?” Then one boy answered for the group, “You have already missed the break; Just keep going.” I looked at the class who were seemingly agreement and continued on. I thought to myself, “That has never happened to me in America” then continued teaching.
In the middle of my class on the first day a student rapped on the door. “Can I join your class?” “Come on and sit down.” I replied. The boy did not have a uniform on but I did no think very much of it. Not all students in the lower grades could afford uniforms. After class the same boy caught me outside the door with his brother who had been listening to my class from the window. He was actually an eleventh grade student and he wanted to prepare for his twelfth grade exam that he would take in one year. He has to pass all portions of the exam to complete his diploma or he would have to try again the following year. His brother was a twelfth grade student and he wanted help with preparing for his exams in a week. I spent a little extra time with the two students at the clinic until Gina was ready to walk home from work. They seemed grateful for the extra help.
The other comment that through me off guard while teaching was on the last day when we finished for the day. I had already returned one additional day more than planned. Since I was leaving the next day I told them I could not return but I was going to have Scott and Gina report back to me on how they had done on their test. All the kids said thank you and I hear two students shout, “God bless you.” Again, that has never happened in America. I found that the students really wanted to learn and were grateful for help in their studies. It was a pleasure to assist with their learning.
Scott had assisted with me when he was able to break away from his duties. I understand that he is continuing to help the students review as time permits. It sounds like both he and the students are enjoying it. Gina worked nearby at the clinic. Since I was teaching four to five hours straight when Gina popped to in I had her do a few stretches with the kids. They both loved it.
I spent about two hours a day walking to the school or clinic. One day the rains came on the way home so Scott and I ducked in for cover until the rains subsided. Luckily Scott had brought the cards so we could play another game of cribbage. Scott and Gina had wanted to learn how to play cribbage in order to play with the other Peace Corps volunteers. Needless to say we practiced every chance we had on the trip. However, when we stopped under the shelter to play during the rain, it did not take long to amass a small crowd to watch. The kids laughed when I shuffled the cards.
The simplest things would collect a crowd especially when Scott, Gina or I were around. Everyone was interested in their friend from America that looked so different than them. Gina and I sang songs or invited groups to do art activities in the afternoons. Gina had to try to set certain times when the children could come over so they had something to look forward to during the day but would not be outside out hut all day. Gina would make them “do work” before playing. Such as pick up a piece of trash. This helped instilled some type of work ethic as well as the importance of keeping the village clean. However, after it was time to “go home” the children never stayed home for long. The adults are so busy in the village, farming and maintaining daily life, that young children did not do much all day and loved any and all attention.
Scott, a fisheries volunteer for the Peace Corps, walked us to one of the community fish ponds. Some villagers recently sold their fish and made their first ever profit from the man-made fish pond. This had been very exciting for all villagers and provided the needed boost to keep working on the project.
Life in the village is mainly spent doing things which we take for granted; Fetching water, boiling water for drinking, heating water for bucket showers, maintaining your garden and animals (aka: one of your main food supplies), washing laundry by hand, washing dishes in a basin, preparing water with bleach to wash you hands and providing your own transportation by walking or biking to places. One of the most difficult tasks is getting the coal for cooking to burn and stay hot throughout the cooking process. My last day in the village, Gina and I cleaned a large steel drum in order to catch rain water in the rainy season. They are hoping that this will ease the number of trips to the stream to get water.
Next door to Scott and Gina, the family has two young brothers that seem to take advantage of all the experience Scott and Gina have to offer. These brothers have goats, cows, sheep and chickens. They also have made four fish ponds behind the house and dug there own well with a bucket. When I asked how they got the hole that deep they showed me where there were vertical steps straight up in the wall. I could not believe that they had dug this over one-hundred foot well without a machine. They told me they still wanted to go deeper, “until the water was to their waist.” Finally, the last day, I was in the village their pregnant goat birthed twins. They would have the first goats in the entire village that would be used for milk. Gina, who had worked with goats extensively back in the United States, had worked with the family for weeks to get this goat prepared for milking. They decided to named the goats Gina and Evon. So, now I have a goat named after me in Zambia.
I had a wonderful time with my friends and getting to know their village. I know that I was deeply touched by the people I met while I was there. One lesson learned is that the people in the village do not have much, but are happy and grateful for what they have. My stay in the village reminds me to also be grateful for the blessings I have in my life and not to take anything for granted.

Lines and Queues

Gina's Post

We'll hopefully have more village posts and pictures of our recent trips up soon, but while it's still fresh in my mind, I want to recount a funny story I had today about the bank line in Solwezi.

So it's a Saturday morning at the end of the month, which is the absolute WORST time to use an ATM in Solwezi.  This town has literally grown more than 10 times in the last few years due to the nearby mining boom, yet just has one little supermarket and a few banks.  It doesn't help that all the mines pay their workers the last Saturday of the month so the town is a literal zoo.  I would usually rather eat nshima with raw caterpillars than try to finagle my way through the "lines" and crowds on the last Saturday of the month, but we are due back in our village tomorrow, and Mwinilunga only has 1 ATM that charges ridiculous surcharges, is out of power half the time and literally eats peoples' cards the other half of the time.

I took a nice little morning jog and came across two lines of about 40 people each for the ATM's.  I saw a girl get out of a car and casually pretend she was talking on her cell phone, nonchalantly slipping into the middle of the line (which looked more like a mob of people) hoping no one would see her.  I was in the other line so didn't say anything, but got into a conversation with the guy in front of me that we needed to be careful and keep our eyes peeled for people cutting the line, or "jumping the queue" as they put it.  He agreed that he would help.

The next thing I knew, I saw a guy playing the same cell phone trick, and called him out.  His "friend" said, "but he just had to get out of line to take a call and now he's getting back in the queue" but I didn't believe it.  Luckily that caught the security guard's attention, and even though he was too timid to make the line jumper go to the back, he made an announcement that all people arriving needed to go to the back of the queue.  I called a few people out again, although some still refused to go to the back.  One cut about 5 people in front of me, and I said "how would you feel if I just stepped in front of you like this?"  He said, "bad."  And I said, "yes, that's how all the people who have been waiting feel when someone goes in front."  It got to the last straw when the guy directly in front of me invited one of his "friends" right in front with the old cell phone trick.  By then I had been in line for more than 30 minutes, but luckily I had nowhere to be because I was waiting for a friend. 

The crowd knew I was the rebel rouser and started laughing when anyone tried to cut, which did effectively send that person to the back of the line.  They knew I was policing the line and would make a big stink at anyone who tried to cut.  They asked me about bank lines in America and started teaching me Bemba, since most were from Lusaka or other parts of Zambia claiming their fortunes through the mines and didn't know any Lunda.  To no one in particular, I said, "people say your country is corrupt.  Maybe if you called people out when they did something wrong, they wouldn't try to do bad things.  But when people just stand and watch when people do bad things, they will keep doing them."  Most of the spectators just laughed, but I think (or at least hope) it made a few stop and think about their actions.  I know it did, because I overheard someone say "everyone's time is valuable.  One person cannot just think their own time is more valuable than others."  Sure enough, the line moved like clockwork from that point on.

My friend Evon arrived just as I was 2nd from the front of the line and was so appalled by so many people at an ATM she stopped to take a picture.  Once I gathered my cash, I said, "If I hadn't been policing that line for the past 45 minutes, I'd be waiting here another hour."  As we left, the people in line just laughed again in good humor, and we said goodbye to each other in English, Bemba and Lunda.  Talk about a cultural exchange!

A Hollow Sound (Scott's)

Funerals near our village are fairly common.  Up until now I have not participated fully, and only at homes where I had some connection to the deceased.  Usually my attendance involves 15 minutes or so of greeting the grievers as they sit in front of their house, men sitting on stools in one area and women sitting on reed mats in another.  Sometimes there is a crying woman, but always a fire burning, and a meal for all those attending.  Attendees are not invited, but anyone who sits down and wants to spend time with the mourners is welcome.
Gina had interacted with a family in which a male head of household had died yesterday, and she may have her own post about that.  That same man was apparently well respected in our area, and even though I did not know him I chose to attend the funeral.  It turns out it was a Sunday, and even though I was planning on going to church that day to contact some of the fish farmers I work with, all church services that day were cancelled to allow for people to attend this funeral.  Sunday services are one of the few things you can count on in rural Zambia, so when I learned this I felt obliged and interested to go.  Also, my friends Ryvus and Ryford were going, so it would be an opportunity to be able to ask questions about the funeral.
We rode our bikes past a carpenter and we could here the hammering of a coffin being built.  A little further and we dismounted our bikes as we approached the home of the person who died, as is custom to respect the mourners.  We sat down on stools in the "men's area", though as a special guest I was given a regular chair to sit in, even when I protested that I didn't need it.  We heard the muffled sounds of a group of people singing and drumming inside the house of the deceased.  Their were quiet murmurs of those arriving as they greeted the family or informal eulogies being given in smaller circles.  I got a few odd looks from children and others who were surprised to see a white person at a Zambian funeral.  After a while we heard a couple of raised voices arguing about something.  The voices turned into several and slowly elevated in volume as more and more people discussed what was happening.  Eventually the voices died down again but there was one man who was still visibly and audibly upset, so much so that people were chuckling at him as if he was over-reacting.  But Ryvus and Ryford made it clear that what had happened was a grave insult.  One man who was assisting with preparing the body for placing in the coffin (which includes rubbing the joints of the deceased with vaseline to keep them limber) had washed his hands in the same pot from which people had just recently eaten, AND he had gone back and touched the wife of the dead man on the arm.  The first offense was big enough to cause problems alone, but the second offense was grounds for accusation of witchcraft. 
That issue died down for a while and then the coffin was brought out with the body already in it, though the nails simply held the lid down without actually being fully pounded in.  I remarked how small the coffin was, about 5' long and 20" wide for a 35-yr old.  Everyone, including the man who washed his hands offensively, crowded around the coffin.  Another man explained what the man-who-washed-his-hands had done.  And a grieving wife, crying as she approached, accused the man of juju, black magic, otherwise known as witchcraft.  Apparently the man died suddently, appearing healthy up until the evening before his death the following day.  The accused did not seem sorry or regretful.  He simply stood with a permanent frown/sneer on the left side of his face and although about 50 years old, wore shorts, which is practically unheard of in Zambian culture in both rural and urban area for anyone older than pre-teen.  Not even attempting to apologize did not improve his standing with the crowd.  In a crowd grieving for the death of a respected man I watched as they started making an unspoken case against the man, looking for some kind of scapegoat to accuse for the death of a young healthy person.  The man-who-washed-his-hands was pushed away from the coffin before it was raised.  The wife of the man walked underneath the coffin in a ritual that allows the woman to forget, eventually, her dead husband so she can move on with life.  Wailing women, among about 300 mourners, followed the coffin on a 1 kilometer march up the road and into the forest to the graveyard.  The graveyard was nondescript except for a few mounds of rocks half a meter high and the freshly dug hole for the newly deceased, though Ryford and Ryvus pointed out a few other spots with subtle indications of a burial some years back.
A man said a final eulogy before 8 men nailed the lid on the coffin shut and lowered the coffin in, swiftly burying the coffin.  The hollow sound of dirt on the wooden coffin prompted another round of wailing from women and even a few men, including the one who scolded the man-who-washed-his-hands.  After the last shovel was placed on the grave, the 8 men patted the dirt down in a musical rhythm, followed by others placing rocks on top of the grave, acting as a headstone.  A eulogizer thanked everyone for coming and the mourners walked back to the dead man's house.  A woman fainted along the side of the road and was being attended to, likely because of dehydration and hunger.  Mourners particularly close to the deceased such as wives, mothers, fathers, and children spend the previous night crying and wailing and don't eat from the time of the death to the time of the burial. 
Back at the house people gathered again and were thanked for coming.  Typically this would be the end of the funeral accept for a few closer friends who would stay and console or a few stragglers who would come to pay their respects.  But the earlier insult prompted a second gathering within the funeral.  The man-who-washed-his-hands was asked to sit in a larger ring of men.  One important villager, called a headman, explained what had happened earlier in the day.  The man-who-washed-his-hands remained silent, despite obvious calls from the crowd to explain himself.  After 5 or 10 minutes of people starting at the accused, and even going so far as to toss stones at him, a group of headmen conversed amongst themselves and announced that the judging of the accused would commence the following day.  The crowd was not happy to see this go unresolved.  Others yelled that the man had already started removing things from his house and would be running off later today to avoid the judgement tomorrow.  The man's unashamed attitude only made the crowd even happier to declare the man guilty before trial.
About a week later I learned that the man had in fact left the village that evening and so did not get an official judgement.  I could tell from the crowd's attitude that judgement would not be in his favor. 

World Wise Schools, Part 2

For a background on this project, check out our April 1 post.  A few weeks ago, we had the amazing privilege of having our corresponding teacher visit us in the village and meet the kids who have been corresponding with her students in the states.  Jane and Brad helped with a third letter writing session, and the Zambian students were very proud to practice their English.  Following are just a few examples of letters from both the American and Zambian students.  Names have been omitted but we tried to keep with the original grammar.


Letters from America:

Dear Zambian student,

I go to Washington Middle School.  My favorite subject in school is art class.  I also have a big family, but I have family in Mexico, Oregon, California and Washington.  We only get together like in special occasions.  My favorite animal is a horse because you get to ride on it and because you can teach him a lot of stuff to do.  My favorite food is pizza with soda.  I am in 7th grade and I love Mexican food too.  When I grow up I want to be a cosmetologist and a fashion designer.  A cosmetologist is someone that does your hair and they do pedicure.  During summer when we are out of school I am going swimming and I'am going to Seattle. 


Dear Zambian student,

How you been doing buddy?  How's life for you?  My life is wonderful.  Here at my school we are having a problem.  In the internet on facebook is a website of like chating with friends.  On line it's fun but can be dangerouse.  Some students go to juvanile detention or get suspended by the school.  Do you have a facebook?  You can put videos, pics, and add friends and chat (that's cool to do) And see videos on facebook.  I have an 800 dollar computer and have the internet.


Dear Zambian student,

I hope you are ok?  Well I will answer your questions.  I do soccer in my house.  What do you mean by what work do I do?  I n my house of out of my house!  Well my favorite subject in school is AVID and math.  I like math because I think it is easier and it is easier to understand.  I like AVID because it shows you more stuff for education.  I have a pet named Daycy she is a dog.  Do you have a pet?  I hope I get to know you more better.


Dear Zambian student,

I am very sorry you are not feeling well I really hope you feel better.  I will try to send clothes soon, but the teacher wont let me send money and a car is too big to send you.  I think I could send you food like tamales, taquitos, and other good food.  I will pray for you so your bad problem will go away.  I would like you to be strong no matter what happens you stay happy and do your best in everything.  I really want to know how you guys make your houses and what is civics class?  I'm happy that you are still my friend and I hope we could be best friends or in short word BF.


Letters from Zambia:

Dear American student,

Thank you.  for the letter.  In my district we have 72 school.  A question ask How much does it cost to make a house.  Here in Zambia the cost of house it belter 3 million kwacha per house 5000 kwacha = 1 dollar.  In my school the subjects which deal in grade 8.  its English, lunda mathematics religious education, civics, geography,  env. science, and history.  The question which you ask what class do you have over there?  Itsgrade 5 and grade 7.  Please listen to my question.  How many sisters you have and how many brothers you have.  Then I want to tell you in my class (8) my difficult subject is english.  I am not perform well in English but all the subject I am perform well.  Then I want to tell you I am 14 years old me I have three sisters and one brother.  Then my fruit which I like is mangoes, bananas, and oranges.  I want you to see me and I want see you.  Then thank you for letter I am happy with your letter.  So good by.


Dear American student,

Am happy to receive your letter here in zambia.  The famous people in zambia are many.  but I mention some.  This are HH Hakainde Hichilema, Mr. president michael chilupya sata, senior Chief Kanongesha traditional ceremony.  Am not herd King Tut.  Even you herd senior chief Kanongesha traditional ceremony.  I know a lot of thing like making a small house including cuttings of trees for field.
I know reading like you.  E. science, zambia language (Lunda), and many things.  I like to play football only (soccer) because our place we know soccer only.  I know 50 famous people. 
On 15th September 2012 I go to the traditional ceremony to watch many thing such as young girls dancing makishi (a person putting on masks), dances and many games.


Dear American student,

I will go to Mwinilunga High School when I pass grade 10.  My favorite subject in school is English because I am doing very well when I was in grade 8 because the teacher who is teaching english in grade 8 is esprening very well and I play football (soccer) very well and is my best sport and I enjoy playing it.
Some sports that I play very well but I do not like it is netball because I think that netball are for grils.  Thus why i am not like it.  When the school ends were going play sports and the sports teachers tell me that you must puted in the football club because am playing very well in school football team thus why am writing this latter to tell you that my friend love football and here in Zambia is good sport which every person loves it.  I like go to your country but the problem is money.  Thank you my friend we meet one another in writing letters.  GOD BLESS YOU and help you in anything that you are doing at school and at home.  I think when you open this letter you feel happy.


Dear American student,

How are you?  By this time back to me, I am fine too.  Im very happy to see this letter.  I'm a young boy I am 15 years old.  School.  I am in grade 8 my favorte subject is English or science to study non and living things.  When I grow up I want to be a doctor.  I have 3 brothers and 2 sister my sister is 10 year old and my brothers are marred.  In our family, we are 10.  My father is a farmer for this summer break I visit my familiy because this is my life.  I respect my parents because are creator me.  So my friend.  Do you know Jesus?  or do you goes to church?  Pleas my friend Iam obeging you. If you can not know God, please I want you beng with God.  John chaipter 1:1.  And I have mercy when my parrents are tired I can help during the something which is not is go to fatch water to cook otever in your class do you have mathematishan?  I want every day joy and my favorite football.  My friend good bye I wish you best and God Bless you to communicate with you and me.


Dear American student,

I hope and you are fine and I am als fine.  We are 7 in our family  3 boys and 4 girls.  Dot stop your eduction!  I think you have small family like me.  And my lavely game is football.  I born in poor family and I like eat bananas, orange, sweet banana.  The distance from our home to school is about 4 km.  That is very bad.  My freind her we are they is to much dry.  I like play with animals such as goats, sheeps and othe animals.  The subject that we learn her is marth, English goegraph, lunda, religious education, civics and history those subjects are that we learn in mwinilunga.  Thank you for your letter.


Dear American student,

I am guy a and I am 15 years old.  I'm pupil of upper basic school by this moment I'm grade 8, so I will complete my school by 2016.  The key word is this I want when I grow up to see you or meet with you in America or Mexico because I don't know country where you borne but love you so much.
My favorite people is American and food mabula.  I'm very happy to find you my penpal like you.  Things in Zambia at school are more let me tell you few their is sports such as aoccur race in class we have art and study post and things around us.  Here we don't have AVID.  I have 2 brothers are not educated and my mum dad are also not educated but they working like farmers.  My young brother is in grade 8 we are in same class.  Our side we don't have rich but me myself I want to complete school.  When I complete my school I want to being with you in America or Mexico to as a doctor.
Thank you my friend face book by this moment I don't have but I send to you any time through our teacher.  I greet all family in the name of Jesus.

Guest Post from Brad and Jane

We've been with our friends Brad, Jane and Julie for the past few weeks seeing lots of Zambia from Livingstone, Chimpfunshi, our village, and Chisemwa Cha Lunda.  Now headed for some R&R on lake Tanganyika before Brad and Jane continue their journey to Tanzania.

Here's what they wrote about our village:

We hitched in a semi-truck to Solwezi, took a bus to Mwinilunga, and hired a cab to take us the 20 kilometers or so into the bush, to Scott and Gina’s mud hut.  What we found there was a sort of Swiss Family Robinson ingeniuty / creative repurposing that was wildly interesting, but not surprising if you know Scott and Gina well.  They have created a beautiful and welcoming home, complete with outdoor bathing room, kitchen, chimbushi (hole in the ground) (toilet), garden, and storage outbuilding (in the works).  The lack of electricity, running water, and most other modern conveniences has influenced the functional design of their compound. I helped Scott with the storage building one day, mixing water and clay from a hole and keeping him supplied with clay block for the walls.  It was really pretty similar to conventional masonry, but much more difficult.  Water conservation was critical, as all water must come from the spring a good distance away.  Jane and I fetched many jerry-cans full, the journey took us over on hour each time, even with the help of adorable village girls who liked to practice carrying the cans on their head.  The difficulty of the trip really increased our appreciation of running water.  Scott and Gina cooked us wonderful meals each day over the brasier, a charcoal stove.  Often ingredients came from their garden, or were harvested locally and given to us by friendly neighbors.  We learned Lunda quickly and spoke it very frequently to the super-friendly villagers.  We learned most greetings, and had some good conversations.  Village life was great, with many ‘programs’ and opportunities to interact with villagers.  Jane was great at playing games with the large groups of kids that constantly swarmed around her, teaching them to write, or drawing with them.  She helped during childrens health week at the bare-bones village health clinic down the road, where she assisted with measles vaccinations.  Older children sat bravely and waited for their shots as babies wailed and Jane helped tally children who had and hadn’t recieved shots.  It was a unique and rare opportunity for children to recieve vaccinations.  We went to the school one day, and helped students write letters to students in Jane’s US class.  Finally it was time for Chisema Cha Lunda, the huge festival celebrating Lunda culture.  We had already been to meet the chief, and he treated us very well, showing us around, joking with us, and playing traditional drums.   We arrived at his palace after a lunatic transport, which I shall someday describe, but will here omit, to speed the story.  That evening chief Kanongesha toured us around his palace grounds, and his ceremonial grounds, and bought us wine to drink with dinner.   The crowd of thousands was drunken with excitement, or by more traditional means, or both.  We were served dinner with his excellency, and treated to a wide vartiety of beverages.  We stayed in our tents in an area fencesd with tall grasses, and the sounds of the festival quited only between 6:00 and 6:15 AM.  The vice-president of Zambia, Guy Scott, flew in on his helicopter to the even, and we shook his hand in greeting.  Cheif Kanongesha took his seat in his throne/chariot, was lifted on several shoulders, and was carried amidst a dancing, drumming, singing groups of costumed men toward the ceremonial grounds.  Behind the dancers walked a group of dignitaries, including other chiefs, government officials, and generally influencial people.  The chief waved his tasseld and axe, and the ceremony began with his entrance, a grand circumnavigation of the grounds.  There were many poorly amplified speeches, dancing, drumming, and singing in traditional costume, and even a sacrifice of a goat.  I bought an enormous, intricate carving depicting the ceremony for 80,000 kwacha, or 16 dollars.  It will likely cost ten times that amount to ship home.  The festival was very fun, but we had to attend to our travels, so we convinced a lone driver to transport us and a few other peace-corps volunteers to a city in our direction of travel, Solwezi. 

  They're doing a much better job with blogs/pictures than us, so here's a link to their blog:

http://brad-jane.tumblr.com/

We'll write more during or after our travels!

Chicken TV (Gina's Post)

We are the proud owners of four beautiful chickens at the moment, and besides providing delicious eggs (sometimes) and endless manure for our garden, we have found raising village chickens to be a source of constant entertainment.  With no fences and a food free-for-all with most of the chickens roaming from compound to compound eating bugs and bits of whatever food scraps they can find, these creatures develop their own culture and even form family groups.   My friend Kelly calls it “chicken TV” in the morning, as they are very fun to watch as we are eating our breakfast from our outdoor kitchen.  I’ll just fast forward the episode where Scott literally runs over one crossing the road while on his bicycle going full speed and curses it waddling unharmed into the bush while his knee and elbow are gushing blood.   I wanted to give you a glimpse of our current and former cast of characters roaming around our hut.  We decided to name them in alphabetical order:

Alpha- We bought this rooster from John and Kelly and named him aptly for his alpha male qualities in their village after Scott carried him on the back of his bicycle for 30km to our home.  Unfortunately for our Alpha there was another rooster at our neighbor’s house that was the Super-Alpha and daily episodes went like this: Alpha chases Super-Alpha east, Super-Alpha chases Alpha west, Alpha chases Super Alpha east, Super-Alpha and Alpha get into a huge cock fight and end up at the neighbor’s compound.  The neighbor children carry Alpha back to our house by the wings and state that he is a bad chicken and causing problems.  The daily episodes turned into every few hours when Scott and I decided that Alpha wasn’t going to last much longer and even completed eating him before he became absolutely stressed out or worse by Super-Alpha.  I guess someone else was thinking the same thing because that very same night he just didn’t come back.  After searching countless trees and talking to all of our neighbors thinking he shifted to a different territory, we gave up.  Well hopefully some poor African bellies were satisfied.  Super-Alpha was ecstatic because he could have his pick of our hens.

Beta Jones- This rooster came from a faraway village in our catchment area and became immediate friends with our other hen Cleopatra soon after Alpha’s mishap.  They started sleeping right next to each other in the chicken house at night and roamed around together catching termites during the day.  In fact they became such good friends that when they both started laying eggs around the same time they decided to share a nest.  We discovered five eggs under both of them and couldn’t decide whose was whose, but it didn’t matter much because neither would budge from the nest except for the one hour per day when they both went to forage for food together.  One day two of the eggs hatched, and they dutifully shared motherhood duties by rotating which chick went with each mother but both getting equal time with their mutually raised children.  This joint-custody agreement worked well until one of the chicks mysteriously died in the chicken house one night and Cleopatra assumed full motherhood duties for Ernie.  Chickless and devastated, Beta Jones started laying again, only to discover that her nest was being usurped by the mutant dwarf hen from next door.  She did NOT have the same intimate relationship with this new hen and proceeded to push the mutant eggs as well as her own eggs over the four foot ledge from the nest to the ground.  Just as we thought Beta Jones would never enjoy full on motherhood, we were surprised to see her happily sitting on seven eggs when we got back from our little excursion from Livingstone.  We’ll see how she does with single parenting . . . any suggestions on chick names F-L please send them our way.

Cleopatra- Named for her beautiful coloring, Cleo took on role as the alpha hen as soon as her buddy Alpha met his fate.  Daily episodes include Cleo pecking at the other hens trying to get in the way of her eating her food first, as well as sneaking over, under, and in between the garden fence to get what she thinks is her entitlement of grubs and our chili peppers and swiss chard . . . all with spoiled little Ernie following closely behind.  Scott and I became so fed up with this nonsense, we had some of the villagers pluck her feathers so she couldn’t fly into the garden anymore.  Even after the feather pulling, she still made continual holes in the garden thatch to get to what she thought was her entitled space.  The day I suggested we should eat Cleo because we were losing much of our garden to her antics, Scott pulled away some thatch in the fence to repair one of her holes only to discover a stockpile of 11 eggs!  Needless to say we had a wonderful omelet that night to make amends for all the days we spent chasing her out.  We even made her a special little brick house so she could access her egg-laying spot from the outside, thus avoiding unnecessary trips to the garden.

Deliliah- A special episode of Chicken TV came the evening that Deliliah was brought to our house as a swrawny black runt with her legs tied up.  My counterpart Hildah gave her to us as a gift, and was probably thinking we would eat her that very same night like many Lundas do when they receive a random chicken gift during dry season (i.e. hunger season).  As Hildah and I busied ourselves making soya milk over the brazier, poor Delilah sat with legs tied in the corner ready to be eaten for dinner.  I had different plans and asked Hildah if I could use her for egg laying rather than eating and she agreed since we were already making soya treats.  We didn't want her to run away, so kept her legs tied up until we had time to bring her to the chicken house, although she managed to inch her way out of the outdoor kitchen using only her wings.  Super-Alpha came by, and saw the new female on the block and started doing his rooster dance.  As he came closer though, he saw the legs tied up and realized that Deliliah couldn't perform her bait and catch part of the mating ritual so ran around looking for other hens.  We untied Deliah that day and she did eventually perform her rite of passage into the harem of hens and is now happily laying eggs for eating.

Ernie- The spoiled only child of Cleopatra, we are still waiting to see if Ernie is a rooster or a hen as it is already as big as its mom, but still makes little chick sounds.  Although the villagers say it will grow a chin thing and start cock-a-doodle-doing, we aren't so sure.

Mutant Dwarf and Turkey Chicken- both have serious genetic impairments as reflected by their names.  They don't get included in our alphabetical names because they aren't really our chickens, although do a darn good job of eating our chickens' food, drinking their water, going into the chicken house, laying eggs on our chickens' nests and pretty much raising a ruckus.  If we had any idea who the rightful owners were we would try to return them, but it wouldn't do any good since no one has a fence around here.

Stay tuned for more advances in the world of comedy and tragedy . . . chicken TV!