Water Update

(Gina’s Post)

A lot of you were very interested in the water situation we last blogged about on our May 16^th post.  There was FINALLY a little bit of a resolution when we could pull the villagers away from their busy harvest time for yet another meeting about the bore hole. 

We learned a little bit of info from the NGO who helped install the bore hole about two years ago.  Apparently it has broken twice in the past two years, which is way over the average amount of breakdowns, even if the villagers were “pumping incorrectly” as the folks from the local water district would like us to believe.  Unfortunately the NGO contracted with a Chinese company who they suspect installed the bore hole at a slant, causing excess strain on the pump.  This Chinese company is nowhere to be seen and the NGO has no more funds to build additional bore holes in our area.  They have turned all water projects over to the district government’s water and sanitation department, which has no funds of its own and charges the villagers exorbitant transport fees whenever it is called to repair a bore hole.  The NGO did offer to train the villagers to learn to fix the bore hole, but could not promise tools and said they suspected the bore hole would break down again in the next year, no matter how carefully the villagers pumped it.

In the meantime, there was quite a bit of tension in our neighborhood between villagers who paid their 10,000 kwacha ($2) fee for bore hole repair and those who didn’t.  Some literally didn’t have the money and some said they did not want to pay for something unless they could see it fixed.  Collectively, they had gathered 145,000 kwacha ready to help pay for bore hole reparations.

So . . . at the meeting we had about 12 men and 1 woman, and they were busy quarreling about who did and did not pay the fee.  Scott and I again presented the different options (see May 16^th post), drawing a picture of the suspected slant in the current bore hole design as well as a model for a do-it-yourself covered well.  We explained that the 145,000 they had collected would be enough to buy at least two pockets of cement, which could help cover the current well to keep it cleaner.

At first, the villagers really wanted to pay to get the bore hole fixed, but when they calculated they would probably be doing this at least every year because of the slant of the bore hole, they quickly realized that this option was NOT sustainable.  Some offered to go to the NGO borehole-fixing training, but they also made a point that the correct tools and parts replacement would be very expensive for the villagers themselves to cover.  

What they decided to do next was completely unexpected for myself and Scott.  Apparently the current well was on a single family’s property, and this was causing problems because all of the villagers were using what was supposed to be a private compound’s well. 

Villagers gather abound the initial groundbreaking of the well

So, they decided to do what any logical rural Zambian with a hoe and an axe would do . . . dig.  They divided themselves into four work groups, and decided that each group would dig every four days until they reached the water table, which they suspected was about 15 meters below the ground.  No helmets, no ropes, no safety equipment and DEFINITELY no power tools.  Just a lot of manpower and the desire to take ownership of a problem they were tired of waiting for “someone else” to fix.  These guys are not afraid of hard labor and against Scott and my warnings about the apparent safety risks of the project, they assured us that Lundas are very good at digging their own wells.

What could we do but go along with this plan?  After exhausting all government and NGO resources in the area, Scott and I realized that trying to repair the existing bore hole was not only unsustainable, but a royal runaround of chasing various people in the BOMA and never hearing anyone take accountability for the problem.  Although we were thrilled that the villagers finally wanted to take responsibility for their own problems, we were more than a little worried for their safety.  But . . . reluctantly we agreed to assist them with the concrete cover and handle once the well was dug. 

They were already a few meters deep by lunchtime the first day!

As of yesterday, they had dug a little over 5 meters, painstakingly picking thick iron rocks and lifting it up one bucket at a time.  One worker at a time carefully lowers himself using small hand and footholds chiseled into the walls of the well, and sends the debris up in a bucket, where men on the top lift it with a rope and send it back down again.  Most are shirtless and covered in dust when they come up from their shift, and say it is “very hot” down below.  At night when they aren’t working, they cover it up with large tree branches so goats and children don’t accidently fall in.  They have taken a few-day break for the maize harvest, but have made remarkable progress since beginning only one week ago.

So I guess that’s our resolution (at least right now) to our water issue.  If completed, this will be a true community well with a cover to keep out contaminants.  Scott and I will definitely be involved with the transport and logistics of the concrete, but we are excited that the villagers have raised the money themselves to tackle this problem.  Cross your fingers and keep your eyes peeled for water update #3.

One Year Anniversary in Zambia: The Year in Review

(Gina's Post)

July 18^th, 2012.  One year ago today we touched down in a plane in a completely different world.  It’s hard to believe how much we’ve experienced since the moment we stepped foot on the tarmac of a distant land called Zambia. 

Before re-capping some of the highlights and lowlights of our service so far (15 months to go!), I wanted to take this time to thank Scott for his sense of adventure that brought us here in the first place, his endless patience with all frustrations that come with living in the rural Zambian bush, and his resourcefulness in making our hut truly a home.   This is truly an experience the two of us have shared that has shown us so much about one another and about the important things in life.  I would also like to give a special thanks to the people back home who have taken care of things in order to let us live this extraordinary adventure: Adam, Eric, Mell and Rachael to name a few.  We also have enjoyed the countless pictures, letters, and packages from family and friends that have given us those so-important reminders of life in America. We deeply appreciate all that you do!

Life has been in full swing with village projects lately.  Scott is working on a contest to motivate his fish farmers to better manage their ponds as well as designing and supervising the digging of new ones.  In his spare time, he has a huge hut-improvement project underway that involves making a bike storage shed and an outdoor bathing shelter out of mud bricks molded from the nearby anthill (aka Home Depot of the bush).  I’ve been busy working on a community health volunteer training, mosquito net distribution, HIV drama group contest, and community-based child nutrition program. 

We’re so excited to take our FIRST official vacation in September with visitors Brad, Jane and Julie.  It’ll include Victoria Falls, the chief’s ceremony near our village, Chimpfunshi Wildlife Orphanage, wildlife watching, hot springs, and Lake Tanganyika.  We have been busy with a few weekend getaways, including this last one at Nyambwezu Falls: 

 Zambia Lowlights July 2011-July 2012:

-       After 6 months of preparing in the Spanish language, the original disappointment in hearing the Latin American program of our nomination was cut due to budget cuts and we’d instead be going to sub-Saharan Africa.

-       The stress of learning our departure date was bumped up from September to July, giving us exactly 6 weeks to quit our jobs, pack up our house, sell our car and most of our stuff, apply for visas and say goodbye to family and friends.

-       Living in separate towns for 3 months, and seeing each other weekend for Peace Corps training

-       Some kids in the village afraid of us when they first met us.

-       Struggling through learning an entirely new language.

-       The awkwardness of people in the village asking for money or things that we cannot give.

-       The village bore hole breaking and countless meetings with government and NGO’s who refuse to fix it.

-       Multiple programs cancelled because different government officers and NGO’s couldn’t or wouldn’t travel to our bush village.

-       Getting soap stolen from our bath shelter

-       Scott accidentally dropping our kitten on the head (he survived just fine)

-       Staring, staring, and more staring from our villagers.  In a village without televisions, we never cease to be the entertainment.

-       Scott’s fish farmers having massive fish kills and losing most of the fish in their ponds due to low oxygen levels

-       Gina witnessing a small child die of malaria fever and the mother’s anguish that followed.

-       Watching villagers suffer from various medical ailments that would have been easily prevented/treated in the states

-       Cooks for certain programs skimming food and money

-       Watching blatant bribery at bus checkpoints, especially when the bus is overcrowded

-       Gina crossing a river carrying a bicycle over a flooded bridge thigh-deep in water just to get back from a medical outreach site.

-       Gina having to travel 6 days to Lusaka just to get her work permit, which was misplaced at the disorganized immigration office.

-       Solwezi dust

-       Scott getting spat at by a cobra while walking in the the bush, which incapacitated him for the remainder of the day (the highlight is that the cobra slithered away rather than biting him)

-       A 5-inch deep lake in front of our house before we dug a furrow in early rainy season

-       Some of our fellow Peace Corps volunteers showing disrespectful behavior that affected the entire group of volunteers

-       Marital misunderstandings that get especially magnified when you’re living in a 2-room hut far from the usual social supports

-       Gina’s broken pinky toe at the end of training

-       Gina walking home with a broken bicycle in the pouring rain.

-       Ants and termites EVERYWHERE (what do you expect when your house is made of an anthill?)

Zambia Highlights July 2011-July 2012

-       Stepping off the plane to meet an amazing group of Peace Corps staff who gave us a warm welcome into this country

-       Scott living with a host family who had never before had contact with Americans

-       Dancing, drumming, and hula-hooping with the host family children

-       Gina helping her host brother with range-of-motion stretches for his CP

-       Visiting other volunteers-in-training on brand-new Treks in Chongwe and Chipembi

-       Seeing dika, warthogs, and giraffes whenever we visited each other on weekends during training

-       Waking up at 1am to jubilation when election results were given after 3 days of tensely waiting for the new president

-       Scott visiting Kariba Farms crocodile farm with his fellow trainees

-       Salsa dancing and clubbing in Lusaka

-       ***Eating a feast of game meat and other Zambian delicacies at the State House along with President Sata for Scott’s swear-in***

-       Taking our host from a bush village to see a 3D movie in Lusaka

-       Jerry can drumming and watching villagers play a makeshift guitar

-       Being in a crowded Lusaka bar the night Chipolopolo won the Africa Cup of Nations and witnessing the subsequent national pride

-       Watching the players and coach parade through the streets the next day in front of thousands of enthusiastic fans

-       Scott being an honored guest at our neighbor’s wedding meal

-       Interesting and colorful caterpillars, spiders, beetles, grasshoppers, and lizards in our very own backyard

-       Sitting under our thatch-roof kitchen watching lightning in all directions, and then being perfectly dry under sheets of rain

-       Making and delivering Christmas cookies to see our neighbors’ faces light up.

-       Making treats over a charcoal brazier (thanks in good part to our Bush Baby cast iron pot) that we never possible: cinnamon rolls, pizza, pumpkin pie, and gingerbread to name a few

-       Gina watching the successful delivery of our next-door-neighbor girl Priscilla’s baby in the clinic with very competent birth attendants

-       Seeing the clinic bore hole get up and running so patients no longer had to drink and wash in river water

-       Setting up an HIV counseling and testing program at the clinic where before there was none.

-       Scott’s first fish-farming training, which attracted over 45 villagers

-       Swimming and lounging in the Zambezi rapids near Ikelenge

-       Waterfalls, waterfalls, more waterfalls, and the Zambians’ amazement that we can actually swim where we can’t touch the bottom.

-       Our first formal visit to the chief with the villagers followed by a second, less formal visit where the chief invited us into his living room, invited us for a drink, played the guitar for us and sat down for a nshima meal with us.

-       Awesome hitches on roads where transportation is usually difficult: notably an organic honey distributer, a Chinese cell tower worker, an American president historian, and a South African woman with a dog

-       Zambian smiles

-       Scott meeting our next door neighbor at a remote bus stop 300k from our house and being invited for lunch at her sister’s house

-       Palm Sunday procession down our road complete with the spiritual singing and carrying of palms

-       Discovering amazing bush trail shortcuts on our mountain bikes

-       Rasmod’s singing for joy in the mornings with no particular audience

-       Scott teaching math to people truly interested in learning

-       Seeing the pride in 8^th and 9^th graders writing letters to America

-       Finally reaching semi-proficiency in the Lunda language as shown by the village women telling Gina “you speak Lunda very well” and Scott being able to sustain a 10-minute conversation

-       Sunrises, sunsets, rainbows, countless stars, and full moons (what more can we say?)

-       The chief coming by our house and commenting on how much he liked our solar dehydrator made of bush materials

-       Gina’s homestay with an amazing embassy family in Lusaka

-       Meeting Brother Joe and hearing stories of him hunting elephants in our neck of the woods before Zambia was Zambia

-       Joyfull dancing, clapping and singing at church or whenever a new baby is born in the village.

-       Thanksgiving and Easter dinner feasts at the Solwezi house, with subsequent dance parties that followed

-       Turning on our phones and finding that network coverage was in our hut!

-       Both of us being malaria-free for 1 year

-       Friendly greetings by name from various compounds as we ride our bikes up and down the dirt road in front of our house.

-       Valentine’s dinner at the Golfview Hotel in Lusaka

-       Opening up surprise care packages, especially from unexpected people like Stephanie and Nick’s mom

-       Gina teaching yoga to teenage boys at camp ELITE

-       Watching the villagers implement some of the projects we encouraged, like perma-gardening and giving health talks at antenatal clinic

-       Fresh cowmilk tea, good conversation with Brits, and a beautiful view from our front porch veranda on a weekend getaway in Nyangombe

-       An exhausting bike ride to a remote waterfall where the villagers happily greeted us, brought us to their headman, and cooked us a chicken

-       The warm, welcoming, hardworking yet easygoing attitude of the Zambian people coupled with being constantly surrounded by natural beauty which has captured our hearts and made us realize there’s no place in the world we’d rather be right now than Zambia!

Here’s to a great year behind us and 15 more months of meaningful work and play in the country we have come to call home!

Cultural Differences (Gina's Post)

At a recent Peace Corps workshop, we discussed the cultural differences between Zambians and Americans.  The Zambians who attended were not villagers.  They were well-educated ministry officials or medical professionals who were able to articulate ideas in English very well.  It’s interesting to note not only the differences that people mentioned, but the way the two groups put their thoughts on a page.  The Zambian group had a list of concrete sentences about their culture, where the American group had a scattering of short abstract phrases laid out on the paper. 

Zambian Values

1)   Greet everyone with a handshake

2)   Share everything

3)   Kneeling down to show respect

4)   You do not refer to adults by first name

5)   No talking while eating, elders wash their hands first

6)   Parents have final decision on when to marry, whom to marry

7)   Men pay a dowry, men marry women

8)   We believe in extended family

9)   The more children a couple have, the more respect they have from the community

10)   Most tribes in Zambia practice polygamy

11)   Male children are educated first (if there is lack of money in the family, females stay home to help with household tasks)

12)   Ladies must be wrapped in a chitenge wrapper

13)   Nshima (thick corn or cassava porridge) is the #1 meal in Zambia

American Values

-       individualism, creativity, originality

-       education

-       equal opportunity

-       choice/freedom

-       independence

-       geographic mobility

-       financial stability

-       recognition

-       pursuit of happiness

-       privacy

-       time

-       organization

-       rights & empowement of women

-       family

-       diversity

-       health

-       accountability

-       trust/honesty

-       professionalism

-       security

-       reliability

-       critical thinking

-       comfort

-       youth

-       competition, being #1

-       rights of people

-       speaking your mind

-       doing your best

In so many ways, the two equally educated members of different cultures have radically different thought processes.  I really like exercises like this because it helps me put work-related frustrations (especially when working with the Ministry of Health) in a cultural context and realize why some things that might seem odd to me are perfectly normal for Zambians.

Ahh... the Trees... (Scott's post)

Many people know that the trees near our home in Yakima, WA are one of the top reasons I wanted to buy that particular house.  I couldn't imagine owning a house in a place that lacked mature trees. The Zambian villages in which we stayed during our pre-service training were lacking many big trees and I was missing the comfort that large trees provide for me.  Some people prefer a Starbucks on every corner, I prefer a tree on every corner.  So I was very excited to see the large number of trees in our village when we arrived.  Not only for their aesthetic value, but because of the learning opportunity they provided for me as I described in my post about finding the perfect trees for a particular use, but also the joy of taking a bush walk into the woods to find the materials I need for building things nearly as easily as one walks through Home Depot but at much less cost (ZERO!).  This joy is shared by Zambians who live in my village, but in a way that seems unaware that it may not always be like this.  For them, finding these resources has always been possible and they do not seem to realize that continued use of the resources in the same way will eventually make their village look a lot like those villages that Gina and I stayed in during our training.  Take this for example:

One of my jobs in the village is to help people survey an area so that they can build a fish pond there.  This involves using about 13 pieces of wood to mark various points on the ground to delineate boundaries as well as information on how much dirt to dig or pile at a certain spot.  I've done this a lot and it always starts with a search for trees of the right diameter and length to chop down and use as a survey stake.  Often times the fish farmer who is chopping these trees down will find the right size for a stake but it happens to be attached to a much larger tree.  Down comes the whole tree while only 20% of the tree gets used for the stake, while the remainder is left to rot.  I ask the farmer what else he or she could use the remainder of the tree for such as firewood, stakes for other purposes, or building material, but the usual response is that there are plenty of trees around so it is not worth the work to get the job done of finding the stakes we need for this project AND for other projects.  For better or for worse, the fish farmers usually have a one-track mind. 
Some time ago I helped a woman survey an area for a pond, but after we had already cut the stakes we found out that the area was not suitable for a fish pond.  The woman abandoned the area and we resolved to search for a new area another day.  The stakes unfortunately were not valuable enough for the woman to carry home for another purpose.  I returned another day with the pair of brothers that often help me on these surveys, Ryvas and Ryford.  The area we were going to survey was known to me and I believed it to be a good spot, so we cut down the trees and collected our stakes.  During the collection, I noticed some other tree that were recently felled for some other purpose and pointed out that it could be used for about three stakes.  Ryford said that it is not fresh and proceeded to look for more trees.  I reminded him that these stakes are temporary and don't have to be fresh, so he grudgingly checked out the tree and cut two stakes from it.  Trying to teach conservation of trees here is like trying to get money from villagers to fix a borehole!  The motivation does not seem to be understood.  We all went to the location of the area to survey for a fish pond, but shortly after starting we realized that there was too much water in the soil and so it would be difficult to keep the pond from leaking.  The fish farmer knew of another place to try and I said okay, let's collect these stakes and go check it out.  The two brothers and the fish farmer all agreed that it was not worth carrying the stakes all the way to the new location and would be easier just to cut new stakes there.  "How far is it?" I asked.  "About 2 kilometers" the farmer said.  Zambians typically carry firewood at least that far on a daily basis, so I did not understand the logic of leaving behind these perfectly good stakes and avoiding the chore of chopping more trees down, just so we could avoid carrying something that is not typically considered difficult to carry.  I explained that in America if you want to build something you can not simply go into the woods and start collecting your lumber.  It costs money.  They were shocked to hear this, though they were familiar with the concept because they know people in Lusaka (the "big" city in Zambia) typically have to do this because there are not enough trees there anymore for people to use.  I also reminded them that even in relatively smaller villages, like where Gina and I did our training, people have to travel very far to find enough trees to use for the construction purposes, or else pay for wood like people in Lusaka do.  Even after reminding Ryford how he had a difficult time finding the stakes required for a tippy-tap to use at the workshop we went to together back in April, and hinting that his village was doomed to the same lack of resources if he and others continued to disregard the value of the trees they were using, I could not convince them to carry the stakes.  So we went to the next location and after I checked it to make sure it would be a good place, we chopped down what was to be the third set of stakes for one fish pond. 

This encounter reminded me how similarly many Americans think about their resources.  It seems to me that in America as it is in Zambia people seem to have the mentality that as long as it is not an immediate problem, conservation of resources is too much of an inconvenience to act upon.  I am not sure how to go about it yet, but if there is one thing I want to leave behind with the villagers, it is knowledge of the consequences of blatant waste of their trees.

How to Make Money in Zambia (Scott's post)

Earning money in Zambia is tough.  Especially in the villages, there are ZERO regularly paying jobs and selling goods to fellow villagers is rare because demand is low for many of the items that a villager has access to sell because they are easily acquired by other villagers already, like bush rope, grass for roofs, corn, and cassava.  And due to the lack of education in the village, government jobs are usually out of reach.  From an outsiders perspective it would appear that most villagers don't need "jobs" because they already have a job working their fields and producing their daily staples for their own consumption.  Most of their building products are free since they are acquired by a relatively short walk in the bush.  The few items that are considered essential are not that expensive, like salt, or soap, or they are durable, like pots and plates, and may have been used for a couple of generations before another is needed.  But those who want to save a little extra Kwacha to buy another set of clothes or luxuries have a couple of options. The most common way is for those who grow crops, which is everyone in the village, to sell some of their extra produce such as beans, tomatoes, eggplant, various green leafy vegetables, groundnuts (peanuts), pineapples, sweet potatoes, onions, and irish potatoes. Others who raise animals, in particular goats, cows, and pigs, will slaughter one occasionally and have a sale that day or even the next, which is regrettable since there is no refrigeration in the village.  Others who have a skill such as making charcoal, chairs, hoes, axes, doormats, reed mats, or clothing can make those items and sell some of them to fellow villagers but usually go to the BOMA (nearest large town with a market) because they can get a higher price there.  Still others will hire themselves out for piece work, usually involving back-breaking labor such as digging a fish pond, or assist with a fish harvest, or carry goods or construction materials from one place to another.  I've mentioned before we have some great helpers in the village to assist with brick molding, fence building, gathering tree poles for construction, etc.  After some months in the village realizing that these guys were legitimately generous and not just helping for money in return, we started arranging payment for their assistance on big jobs.  A few entrepreneurs who make a little money in one of the ways mentioned will go to the BOMA and purchase popular items like biscuits (cookies), sugar, cooking oil, tobacco, and other small items and sell them for a small markup in the village. 

Another way, which also is attempted sometimes in America but usually less successful because more people are educated and corruption is not as tolerated, is to cheat the system.  One day Ryford and I had to take a bus to a workshop.  I didn't see the ticket salesman, but got on the bus because I wanted to make sure I got a good seat.  When we saw the ticket salesman selling tickets for our bus I asked Ryford to buy us tickets while I saved our seats.  He returned with the tickets, no change, and the receipts, and I noticed that the price on the receipts was less than what I gave him.  When I mentioned it to him he jumped up and went to question the salesman.  Please note that we consider Ryford a very honest person and do not consider it likely that he would have tried to pocket the change for himself, as he has bought things for us before.  He returned with the proper change.  I spoke to other Peace Corps volunteers about this later and they confirmed that a common activity of the ticket salesman is to charge more for the bus than it typically costs and pocket the over charge for himself and maybe the driver or bus attendant.  The fact that the correct price was on the receipt told me that the bus company managers don't tolerate this kind of embezzlement, or else the ticket salesman would write the inflated price on the ticket.

On the same bus trip I observed a second way to make money in Zambia dishonestly.  The bus had standing room only.  That is, every seat was full yet more paying customers continued to come aboard.  This is not allowed in Zambia, but happens all the time, presumably so the bus company can try to make as much money as possible per bus trip.  This overbooking usually leads to elbows in the head, chickens at your feet, or someone else's luggage pressing into your knees or side for the entire bus trip, as well as increasing the danger of even the smallest of accidents.  I noticed also a young woman holding a baby in her arms sitting at the front of the bus over the engine compartment.  The bus got stopped at a checkpoint in the road. Yes, Zambia does have checkpoints in the road sometimes stationed with Zambian police.  Before the bus was boarded by an officer, the woman at the front passed her baby to a passenger further back in the bus.  The officer glanced quickly into the bus and then talked with the bus attendant briefly.  The bus attendant asked to speak to someone else, presumably someone with more authority.  The bus attendant was then shown to a small building nearby related to the checkpoint.  He greeted the officer in charge with a sheepish grin and the officer obviously knew the bus attendant.  After a few moments in the privacy of the building the attendant came out with a grin and the bus went on its way without one person getting off the bus.  From what I gathered by the body language of those involved and the woman passing her baby back out of site of the officer, the attendant made a deal with the officer to split the extra profit the company was making with the extra people it was carrying, in return for passage past the checkpoint.  The woman with the baby was probably asked by the attendant to temporarily move the baby back so that the officer wouldn't have a compelling reason to make people get off the bus or to make the bribe easier for the attendant to negotiate.

There are lots of things I like in Zambia, but mass transit is not one of them, partially for this reason.  I will appreciate mass transit in America all the more after this experience.

The Magic of Digital Photos

Just a conversation while we were making posters at the clinic for an upcoming HIV testing event:

K: I want to go to America someday.
G: Maybe someday.  But first you have to get a visa.  You have to do something unique like acting or drumming.
K: Not just HIV testing like I do?
G: That probably wouldn't get you to America because there are many Americans who do that job already.
K: Do your friends and family have snaps (pictures) of Zambia?
G: Yes we have sent them some.
K: Do they have pictures of me?
G: Yes, I think I sent them one of you with the stethoscope and also of all the TBA's dancing at the clinic.
K: That's good.  I want them to know me by name.
G: I sent the pictures to my family on a computer.  Have you ever seen a picture on a computer?
K: No.  How do they get on the computer?
G: Maybe one of these days when we are in town I can show a picture on a computer.

With that said, we are very lucky to be able to send these to you.  Few villagers have even seen a computer, much less know you can send photos halfway around the world with a push of a button.  Enjoy the "snaps" of us from the last 5 months:

https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/sredir?uname=ginaord&target=ALBUM&id=5745025493620271457&authkey=Gv1sRgCOSf_OHL2daJPg&feat=email

The Yoga of Rural Zambia

I just finished a week-long workshop away from the village where I was able to practice some type of yoga asana such as sun salutations every single morning at the guest house.  As I did, I was thinking what a treat it was for my body to fall into this familiar movement pattern of stretches and breathing exercises that I have been practicing more than ten years after days of sitting and discussing at a workshop. 

Back in the States, yoga was a huge part of my life.  Some could even argue that it WAS my life as I practiced quite a bit at home, taught classes, helped manage a studio and used yoga postures and breathing techniques with various patients in the clinic, young and old.  I went to workshops, read yoga magazines and books and surrounded myself with people who shared the same values.  I was so intent on doing yoga that I dove into it head on.

Fast forward to the rural Zambian “bush” where if I tried to explain to the villagers what yoga was (luckily my Lunda vocabulary isn’t that great) I would probably get met by a bunch of blank stares . . . which is perfectly natural around here anyway for the strange muzungus.  In the village, I’m lucky to get in one asana practice per week inside the hut, but my body  (and mind for that matter) don’t crave it in the village like I used to.   Village life in itself is its own yoga, rooted deep into the red Zambian earth and filled with rhythms, movements and sounds of an earlier, simpler time.  I don’t need a mat.  I just need to open my eyes, ears and lungs to slowly take in what surrounds me.

For one thing, Scott and I are usually busy from dusk to dawn.  The days start with the rooster crowing at dawn and morning chores such as sweeping ash out of our outdoor kitchen, doing the previous day’s dishes by hand, filling our filters and bathing devices with our water needs for the day, feeding the chickens and watering the garden.  The days themselves revolve around cycling or walking and multiple meetings with villagers who always greet us with a smile, and end up with tired 3-4 hour cooking sessions that involve lots of chopping vegetables and fire-tending.  Even when the sun sets we have visitors eagerly awaiting in our outdoor kitchen  under the kerosene lantern to give us a bush note from down the road about tomorrow’s program change or hoping to get our help with some math or English homework.   If  we’re lucky Scott and I have 30-45 minutes of candlelit alone time reading in our hut before exhaustingly putting ourselves into bed, usually before 9pm.  Although we are “busy,” we are rooted and centered as mundane tasks of daily life take on a rhythm and life of their own. 

My mind and body are filled with the rhythm of nature throughout the day.  The lack of street lights, computers, cell phones (for the most part) and automobiles has opened up my senses to take in the sights and sounds of nature all around.  Even our thatched-roofed hut is open to the ventilation of the cool breeze we feel each night while slipping into pure darkness after the last candle is blown out for the evening.  If the moon is not full, the sky is open to innumerable stars and galaxies.  Some of our villagers have even asked if there are stars in America after watching us gaze at them on peaceful moonless nights, and we have to sadly report that “yes, they are there, but just not as bright.”  When the moon peeks out even to a quarter of its full self, its bright silver light casts shadows of the trees that tower above our home and the thatch of the neighboring roofs.  A full moon night basks not rouses the sleeping villagers and children into song and games of football into the wee hours of the morning.  When the joyful voices die down we often hear different choruses of happy crickets and frogs, especially after a rain.  During the rainy season the waves of rain come in an orchestra complete with the drumming of thunder and the eye candy of lightning.  We’ve seen the vegetation change from a dense green low scrub to a dry tall labyrinth of grasses and heard birds of the morning chirp at first dawn.   Instead of alarm clocks, e-mails and deadlines, the patterns of nature dictate daily life; people wake with the sun and sleep with the stars.  They plant with the rains, mold bricks out of the nearby earth  and harvest thatch for their roof during dry season, and can tell the time of day from the position of the sun.  It’s a life that makes you pause at least once a day, take a deep breath and enjoy the natural beauty that surrounds you.

The traditional Lundas utilize these same rhythms of nature every day as the women eloquently pound their dried cassava and sift into a fine dust to feed their hungry families with nshima and the men take their slashers and make song-like grass cutting sweeps to clear the tall grasses for the next season of planting.  Small children find their own hierarchy amongst each other, separating themselves between genders and age groups as they shift from games to family meals to helping with the endless family chores.  My neighbor Rasmod sings as he moves in and out of his hut, Selah huddles over her three log fire flouting the product of today’s work in the fields, Joshua sits quietly under a tree at his foot-pump sewing machine after a hard day smearing walls with cement in the town to watch his young grandsons play football, and Joy elegantly greets her fellow Lunda lady friends while perfectly balancing a 20L jerry can of water on her head and a baby on her back.  Small children ride adult bicycles carrying sweet potatoes on the pedestrian super-highway that is our dirt road, teenagers of the opposite sex playfully walk together and then separate when they see someone coming, and young school children form groups to walk 3-4 kilometers to school at different times of the day carrying their notebooks in small plastic bags on their sides.  Sunday churchgoers with two outfits to their name polish their shoes and dress in their finest to raise their voices in joyful unison, a pure celebration of life.  When Scott and I walk by, we are greeted with a handshake, a clap, a bow, and at least several lines of Lunda formalities by every single person that passes by.  When we ride by, sometimes breaking the speed that is the natural pace of the village, we still get our names joyfully shouted by the proud villagers and a small bow which we reciprocate with a hand to the heart and reply “mwani vudey mwani,” out of respect.

Yes, people in the village still experience sickness, disputes, arguments and grief, sometimes on a weekly or even daily basis.  I’ve seen a five year-old boy die in his mother’s arms hot with malarial fever after she walked with him over 10 kilometers to reach the nearest clinic.  She wailed, shook, and trembled on the ground as complete strangers from our community came to the ground to wail with her.  I’ve seen grown men bicker over village disputes over property and had friends who have lost the entire year’s bean crop to insects.  I have seen community counselors use each other to cope after they have to reveal a difficult HIV diagnosis to a pregnant woman and sat with my neighbors at an all-night vigil in front of bonfires to commemorate a brother who was stabbed in the Congo.   Although these events cause grief and mourning, I have seen the beauty and strength of the human spirit as it perseveres and the smile that show through in the wake of turmoil.  They have a very keen sense for the impermanence of life and the need to move on.

So in the village daily life is my yoga.  The pause I take every day to enjoy the crickets or gather water from the shallow spring reminds me that we all have something to give to this earth.  I am confident that my backbends weren’t as graceful as they once were and I usually tip over in what’s the name of that sanskrit balancing pose?  Why does it matter when the tall balanced stacks of vegetables the women carry on the way back to the fields resonate inside of me? My attempts of formal breathing and meditation have sneakily found their way into surprising corners of the day as the previous focus on doing has been replaced with a satisfaction of just being and watching nature and an unwavering human spirit unfold around me.  Zambia has taught me to step back and take it all in as its people slowly mould a pathway into my soul.  Inside, I am balanced.