The Final Post

Since completing my Peace Corps service in May 2016, I took some time to learn which direction I wanted to take my life. 

I have to add that I am grateful to have experienced living in another country. Joining Peace Corps and living with an indigenous community was one of my life ambitions. I am thankful for the friends I made during my service. They were patient with me as I navigated the intricacies of living in a country full of culture and tradition. I am proud of myself for consistently documenting my experiences in this blog while challenged with an undependable electricity source.

Second Visit to Zambia, January 2022

River Rapids and Impala

I booked my stay at Mutanda Nature Lodge, situated between Solwezi town and my village. I rented a car and planned a visit to my village at the end of my stay. I visited one-on-one with some of my close friends I had worked with during my service. I wanted to get a feel for coming back in the future. My visitors and I sat on the porch of my roomy, one-bedroom lodge accompanied by the sound of the river rapids that border the property. Impala grazed in the tall grass down the hill from my lodge. They are residents, not wild. A fence keeps them within the compound. 

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A much-needed reunion with my host family and counterpart,
Eliack, Brenda, and their children, and Harrison.

Driving to my village.

Mushrooms for sale!

My first stop was Harrison's new carpentry workshop.

 

Woodworking machinery waiting for electricity hook-up to the shop.
All wood products are solely made with hand tools like the door below.

Obligatory visit with Chief Mumena. 

The hut I lived in during my service now has electricity!

Kids!!!

Mumena Women's Ministries

Before my trip to Zambia, I asked for a donation from the Somers Rotary Club for Mumena Women's Ministries. Mumena Women's Ministries is a group of women who pool resources, such as cooking oil, flour, toiletries, and food, to donate to people in need in the village. Orphans, the elderly, and people suffering from illness are the recipients. There is no safety net in Zambia, no food stamps, or social programs. My host mother, Brenda, founded this group. The next step for the group is to register as an NGO. Below is a film clip of me presenting Somers Rotary Club's donation. Thank you, Brenda, for filming. #Zambia #womenNGO

Differences

I rummaged through my drafts and found this one worthy of publishing. It was written in 2016.

Throwing out food

Second week of service: I couldn't finish my oatmeal one morning. So I threw it in the rubbish pit, a six by six-foot hole in the ground. My host family's children ran by me and jumped in the pit with spoons as I walked away. They ate the rest of my oatmeal.
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Mid-service: I shared popcorn with the kids and dumped the crumbs from the bottom of the basket onto the ground. The children flocked over the crumbs and to picked the ground clean.
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Second year of service: A cake I baked burned on the bottom of a pan. I didn't want to eat it, so I scraped the charred-like brick and placed it in a bowl. A few lucky kids outside my hut devoured the treat I gave them.

Crying in front of Zambian villagers

My host brother had died a few days prior when I was visiting a friend's family. They were aware of the death, but they became uncomfortable when they saw me cry about it. When I left the family, my friend explained that hiding emotions are part of their culture. Crying like I had is not acceptable, but they understood I come from another country and accepted my behavior. So I learned to hold my emotions in.

Showing anger in Zambian culture is not acceptable. The only times I've seen Zambians show anger was by drunkards or by a mistreated child.
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I spoke with a farmer one day, and he told me how his neighbor's oxen destroyed his entire maize crop. Maize grown by villagers is their food for the year. I asked what happens now that his maize crop is gone and what will his neighbor do to replace it. He replied that he was not angry with his neighbor. There is nothing anyone can do, and he is still friends with his neighbor. No hard feelings. No anger. Not wanting to get revenge or reparations.

Complaining

I brought my tendency to complain from the States, like: Ugh, this weather is terrible, or Ugh, no one came to my meeting. The friends I'd share my frustrations with would listen to me with wide eyes, stay silent, then change the subject when I was done ranting. I eventually stopped complaining in the village.

I learned I lived with people who accept what is given to them. I am certain situations frustrate them, but they don't show it. They are under control.

As far as complaining, their 'complaining' comes in discussion on improving a situation. There really is no complaining. It is liberating to be free from doing this ridiculous behavior.
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Turning down privileges because I'm white...

I stood in an ATM line for close to an hour. I had eight people in front of me when a police officer carrying an old Ak-47 wandered over to help make the line more orderly (there were around 30 of us waiting). He looked at me while holding his gun and told me to go to the front of the line. Everyone looked at me. I stood there silently thinking of the right thing to do when the policeman again ordered me to go to the front. Finally, I reluctantly moved to the front of the line to use the ATM.
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I arrived at a ceremony that had close to a thousand people attending. I noticed a group of white people sitting in front of the dance platform. Zambian culture is generous and honors guests regardless of color. I refused to sit up there with them. While looking at the group of whites, I realized I was not a guest anymore. I am a Zambian.

Privacy

There is no privacy in a Zambian village. Period.

Early on, living in my village, I came down with a cold, so I stayed inside my hut. The second day shut inside, I heard my neighbor calling my name. I ignored her; she knew I was sick and figured she would leave, assuming I was asleep. While lying there peacefully on my bed, I was startled by my neighbor calling me just outside my window behind my bed; she was looking inside right at me. I got up and met her outside to encourage her to leave. Unfortunately, she didn't speak English, and I was too flustered to explain to her in her language to leave me alone.

Later I spoke with her husband and told him what she had done. He was surprised by my concern because he explained in his culture when someone is sick, they are visited and given food. I explained that we are left alone unless we give the OK for a visit. Both of us learned the differences of this part of the culture...privacy and the lack-there-of.
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When I finished bathing in my bathing shelter, I exited donned in a towel with wet hair carrying my clothes tightly against my chest to ensure my towel wouldn't fall off. I paraded in front of an audience of the neighborhood kids sitting in front of my hut. It was silent as I walked past toward my hut. As I opened the door to walk in, the kids burst into laughter. I smiled to myself and was glad to give them a laugh. #Zambia #Peacecorps

Unpublished photos. No captions. Have a question or comment on one? Let me know. Enjoy! #Zambia #peacecorpszambia #peacecorps

 

What I miss...

I miss hearing the birds early in the morning when I woke. 

I miss my neighbor walking by at 6 am saying, "Good morning, Madam!" I'd still be sleeping and groggily answer back, "Good morning!" 

I miss the kids coming by and calling out my name. I'd usually greet them, hand them each a piece of chalk and a couple of National Geographics, then walk back into my hut and shut the door behind me. 

Other times I would play Eminado on my phone and dance with them. I miss visits from my friends. They were always unannounced. 

That is how it is over there. Community, friendships, beautiful nature, wonder, love, caring, mystery, and the ancient connections with the natural world...this is what I miss.

My recent visit...crossing a river in the village.

Return to my village...

Two and a half years had gone by and I finally found time to return to my village. I stayed with Eliack and Brenda who acted as my host family while serving. I got to spend time with their two children Sante and Bibusa. Bibusa was only six months old when I had last seen him. He is now three. 

I had a wonderful welcoming by my former neighbor Maggie. She organized a welcoming committee made up of children. They sang songs and danced. 

   
Reunions with the people I worked with was a priority. I spent time with Mr. Mofya - the first farmer who agreed to work with me, Mr. Kahokola - we planted trees together and helped him dig a fish pond, and my interpreter and counterpart Harrison. 

I was busy for the entire 10 days I was in the village. I had raised money prior to my trip for my host father's non-profit Buwame Child Development Foundation. He and I purchased books, educational materials, and paint to paint the walls of the preschool. The non-profit was founded after the sudden loss of my host father's two and a half year old son Buwame. I felt it was appropriate to help move the organization forward as it is difficult to obtain funding within Zambia alone. 

I walked the roads and trails I rode my bicycle on during my service. The sun was hot and the rains were plenty. I had to navigate the slippery mud on my way to and from the outdoor bathroom and shower. I played ball with the children which was the most enjoyable part of my service. 

Overview of my past two years in Peace Corps (video)...

     This video I made is an overview of my Peace Corps service in Zambia. Since I've been home I have people say I've made a difference in so many people's lives. The way how I feel is there was more I wish I had done. #Zambia #peacecorpszambia #peaceccorps

My cab driver, Phil...

     Erick Donaldson's Cherry Oh Baby was blasting on the stereo when I got in the car. I turned the volume down, ask Phil how he is doing and to drop me at Peace Corps house. 

     Cherry O Baby continues playing on repeat until we reached my destination. It's my favorite song and he puts it on every time I get into his car.

     Phil has been driving the streets of Solwezi since 2012. He actually owns his car which he uses to drive people to and from places. Many cab drivers work for the owners of the cars they drive. Phil has a second car, but the engine went kaput, so now he's looking for a replacement engine so he can sell the car.

Phil

     Three years ago Phil moved to Solwezi in Northwestern  Province from Eastern Province where he is originally from. He is of the Nsenga tribe. He moved here to make more money, because the mining boom has attracted people not only from all over Zambia, but from other African countries and continents. It is a melting pot in these parts. 

     Phil has five children. The oldest is 22 and the youngest is four. His wife stays at home to care for them, so driving his car for money is his main income. His oldest is in college. It is very expensive to put a child through college here in Zambia. There aren't loans available like we have in the States or government support. Phil literally works day and night seven days a week answering his cell phone from potential clients.

     I think you've gotten the idea there are not any cab companies, at least I've never heard of one here in Zambia. The cabs are independently owned automobiles, like used Toyota imports from Japan. 

     I rode with Phil today to get this interview with him. He wasn't himself, but he was eager to answer the questions I had for him. He had been waiting for this interview for a few days now. We rode around on the rutted dirt roads of Solwezi asking him questions, repeating myself slowly a second or third time--his English is so-so--and me asking him to spell words I'm not familiar with, like his tribal name.

When I exit Shoprite I am faced with several cab drivers competing
for customers. This is where I met Phil. Phil stands here with
the others much of the day for business. When the other drivers
see me, they get Phil. I am his client, and they respect that.

     Today he only had two drives, or clients. He needs 15 to make the day worth it. It is slow. It has been slow for a while now, because of the depreciation of the kwacha and the closing of some of the mines thanks to the lack of need of copper in the world. Food prices have literally doubled. I and others have been resorting to walking as opposed to taking a cab the past few months to save money, so the cab drivers are feeling the pinch.

     One of the questions I asked Phil was, "Do you like it here in Solwezi?"

     He said, "No, it's too dusty, muddy...no land."

     I also asked what does he want for his future. He thought I meant what did he want to be when he was a kid. 

     "A lawyer." he said. 

     I stopped at that answer and thought a bit. I felt a sort of sadness. He did finish grade twelve. I now wonder why he didn't continue on with school. That is a question I decided not ask him; to protect myself from his answer.

     The fun thing about Phil is when he drives me somewhere new I ask him how much and he ridiculously inflates the price probably hoping I just got paid and am in a giving mood. So, we go onto negotiating a fair price. We laugh, I lightly punch his shoulder and he gives that 'I give-in' grin. 

Roads of Solwezi. Dusty in dry season,
muddy and rutted in rain season.

     I again asked him the question about what he wants in his life. Without hesitation, "I want my kids more educated than I was." he said. He answered looking past me off in the distance. Typical for a Zambian to do this. Looking directly in a Zambian's eyes is rude. But, I knew he was looking for the strength to answer this question. A question maybe no one has ever bothered to ask.

     Phil struggles with controlling his diabetes. He drives around drinking Coke Zero and with a half loaf of brown bread. I've known about his diabetes for a while now and had given him chia seeds to help regulate his blood sugar. Today he isn't himself. and I know why. He is only forty-six, a year younger than me, struggling more than others to make ends meet. 

     Phil is a person worth getting to know. He is a person just like you and me working hard to get through life. We appreciate each other's friendship and he asks me if I will keep in touch. "Of course." I say. I will put the effort into saying 'hi' through a text once in a while. 

     I am privileged to know so many people here. They are a part of my life in Zambia; my home of two years. To leave them in only a few weeks will be very difficult. Saying the goodbyes...I can't think about it right now. I will worry about them. I will worry about Phil.

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