At the beginning of this 2011th year I was not a happy girl. I know that there was a lot going on that was contributing to my unhappy mood. My body wasn't the body that I recognized from America. PC work wasn't moving at the pace at which I was trying to push it along at. I was living in a space the size of a shoebox with the walls closing in a little bit more everyday. All of these combined with the general woes of a first year Peace Corps Volunteer, like missing home were getting me pretty down. As a whole I was just pretty unimpressed with how far I hadn't come in the 11 months since I left home. I joined Peace Corps to get to know myself a little bit better and it seemed like I was becoming more and more of a stranger.
I don't really remember the exact moment where I remember snapping back into the Maggie that I know and love, but it happened, and it was beautiful. I've always been someone who made New Years Resolutions, and kept them. And though I didn't resolve to do this on New Years Day I did, at some point in the month of January, resolve to find happiness again, 'ya know, put myself back together.
Back together for me, apparently, means running. As I said, I don't really remember the exact date of this resolution, but I do know that I woke up the next morning and went for a run. I didn't plan it, but I think I knew that running makes me happiest fastest. I am sure that there are other avenues to happiness, but for me, running is the ticket.
Running gave me the calm to deal with procrastinating villagers and finally get me my new, bigger hut built. Actually, running gives me the calm to deal with all things relating to time in any way shape or form. I guess when you spend 30+ minutes in the morning trying to see how fast you can go, how far you can get, time the rest of the day is irrelevant. You learn to surrender to the clock. That is until the next morning, and then the race is back on.
Running gave me the body that I am familiar with back to me. Running also gave me the time I needed to think and reflect on family in friends that I had left back in America.
So, last month I ran my first marathon. That kind of running gave me 26.2 miles to ask myself exactly what the fuck it is that I am doing. I remember Body asking Mind at one point during the hilly race, "Hey!...Asshole! This was your fucking idea. Are you feeling this pain? I would just like you to know that I had nothing to do with this. This was all your grand idea. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you feel what you are doing to me. I hope that being able to say 'I'm a runner,' (she rattles in a snotty voice) is worth all of this for you, because this isn't even going to be the half of it. I am going to make sure that your next few days are complete and total hell. Every step is going to be a reminder of your brilliant fucking idea."
My Mind then stops and thinks to herself, without letting Body know that she is having second thoughts, "Nope...this is probably not worth it."
And then I started thinking to myself. “Mind, you decided to do this because you were not well, and you wanted to be. Body you carried her through all of the miles of training and never argued. Not once. Not with so much as a black and blue toenail. So we are doing this, we are finishing this and we will all be happy when this is all over.”
Since moving to my very Christian village, I’ve taken to telling people that running is my church. When I go on my longer more meditative runs on Sunday mornings. Running has always been my church. It is mindless and lovely for me. It makes me a better person. After a good long run the world always makes more sense. Through running I have learned that there are no problems that can’t be solved with a little bit of selfish love.
I have a lot of time, post race, to reflect on this mid race premonition. I have since realized that the pep talk came from somewhere deep within. As cheesy as it sounds I have decided that it was the more spiritual part of me finally speaking up during my longest session of “church” to date. Through trying to clean up Mind and Body, I found Spirit.
I have never believed in religion. When it comes up in conversation, at least in my Midwestern roots, it has always meant a Christian God, which I knew I didn’t believe in. The thought of Him never really did anything for me. I have however always believed in a Higher Power, and the power of just having some sort of faith. I have always believed in believing. I think, up until now that has been good enough for me. Just believe in something…anything, and you will get through.
So at the beginning of this month I made a second resolution. Believing in something isn’t good enough for me anymore. I want to know what I believe. Gratitude, the good in others, and knowing that you are happy and at peace with all of your decisions are all things that have me currently yearning to feel more aware.
I think that everyone has one part of the Mind, Body and Soul, trio that comes a little harder for him or her than the other two. Who knows how long this hunt will last. All I know is that one month in and it feels like I am just getting started.
“We run to undo the damage we’ve done to body and spirit. We run to find some part of ourselves yet undiscovered.” ~John “The Penguin” Bingham
“For me, running is a lifestyle and an art. I’m far more interested in the magic of it than the mechanics.” ~Lorraine Miller
September 25, 2011
September 2, 2011
GLOWing
GLOWing
Two weeks ago we finally held our girls empowerment camp. Cleverly named GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). GLOW is a very amazing camp that is supposed to happen in every country Peace Corps occupies. Peace Corps Zambia strongly suggests each Province (a province is similar to states in America) try to put on.
The prep work for GLOW starts about 9 months before the actual camp. First with the writing of a grant that will help to fund it and everything after that is planning the logistical nightmare and soliciting donations from local shop owners because the grant money alone will not fully fund the event. Before any of that can even happen there of course has to be chairpersons to plan the event. We, at Eastern Province, decided to hold two one-week camps, so myself and three other PCVs decided to head this camp. Actually I should say five other PCVs decided to head GLOW, but due to medical reasons for one PCV and irreconcilable differences between Zambia and the second PCV we were stuck with four planning the event.
I will leave out all of the prep work boringness from this blog. It was hard work that obviously paid off in the end. When August 15th finally rolled around and it was time to start my week of the camp it was instant excitement. There were eight PCVs all working together to pull this off.
Each PCV brought two, grade 8, girls from their schools to participate in the week long girl power event, as well as a female community mentor who will help to bring all of the knowledge back to the schools and assist the PCV to implement a girls group back at the school. During the week we taught the girls their rights according to the national law and not their village traditional law, we played games with them, public speaking, sex ed, HIV/AIDS education. We stressed to the girls that every time they spoke or had an idea they needed to speak loud and clear and with assertion and confidence… say it like you mean it! Not in an attempt to change their cultural, but in an attempt to teach them to be confident in themselves. A point that was driven home by our loud and proud female community mentors.
If watching the girls change from shy timid individuals to an entire group of positive and confident women because of our sessions wasn’t enough all of us PCVs got to watch and laugh as the ladies showered three times a day…just because they could. Ran around topless…and sometimes completely without clothes…just because they could. Watching them pretend that there was only one person in their beds at night when we tucked them in so that they could stay up until all hours of the night braiding hair and talking about all things that teenage girls talk about regardless of culture. They also found endless amounts of pleasure in washing all of their clothes…daily…just because the phenomenon of running water was blowing their minds.
Of course there could be a lot said about taking these young girls outside of their beautifully simple village lifes and showing them some of the more modern wonders of the world and then sending them back to the village to tell all of their friends about things that they may never see again. But I choose to see the good in it. Being taken out of the village to learn these things gave them the opportunity to be 100% girl without the fear of village elder furrowed brows. This was an amazing experience and by far the most rewarding week of my service thus far!
As they say in Zambia “If you educate a girl you educate a nation.”
Two weeks ago we finally held our girls empowerment camp. Cleverly named GLOW (Girls Leading Our World). GLOW is a very amazing camp that is supposed to happen in every country Peace Corps occupies. Peace Corps Zambia strongly suggests each Province (a province is similar to states in America) try to put on.
The prep work for GLOW starts about 9 months before the actual camp. First with the writing of a grant that will help to fund it and everything after that is planning the logistical nightmare and soliciting donations from local shop owners because the grant money alone will not fully fund the event. Before any of that can even happen there of course has to be chairpersons to plan the event. We, at Eastern Province, decided to hold two one-week camps, so myself and three other PCVs decided to head this camp. Actually I should say five other PCVs decided to head GLOW, but due to medical reasons for one PCV and irreconcilable differences between Zambia and the second PCV we were stuck with four planning the event.
I will leave out all of the prep work boringness from this blog. It was hard work that obviously paid off in the end. When August 15th finally rolled around and it was time to start my week of the camp it was instant excitement. There were eight PCVs all working together to pull this off.
Each PCV brought two, grade 8, girls from their schools to participate in the week long girl power event, as well as a female community mentor who will help to bring all of the knowledge back to the schools and assist the PCV to implement a girls group back at the school. During the week we taught the girls their rights according to the national law and not their village traditional law, we played games with them, public speaking, sex ed, HIV/AIDS education. We stressed to the girls that every time they spoke or had an idea they needed to speak loud and clear and with assertion and confidence… say it like you mean it! Not in an attempt to change their cultural, but in an attempt to teach them to be confident in themselves. A point that was driven home by our loud and proud female community mentors.
If watching the girls change from shy timid individuals to an entire group of positive and confident women because of our sessions wasn’t enough all of us PCVs got to watch and laugh as the ladies showered three times a day…just because they could. Ran around topless…and sometimes completely without clothes…just because they could. Watching them pretend that there was only one person in their beds at night when we tucked them in so that they could stay up until all hours of the night braiding hair and talking about all things that teenage girls talk about regardless of culture. They also found endless amounts of pleasure in washing all of their clothes…daily…just because the phenomenon of running water was blowing their minds.
Of course there could be a lot said about taking these young girls outside of their beautifully simple village lifes and showing them some of the more modern wonders of the world and then sending them back to the village to tell all of their friends about things that they may never see again. But I choose to see the good in it. Being taken out of the village to learn these things gave them the opportunity to be 100% girl without the fear of village elder furrowed brows. This was an amazing experience and by far the most rewarding week of my service thus far!
As they say in Zambia “If you educate a girl you educate a nation.”
June 22, 2011
I No Longer Get Grumpy, Everything Is Just Silly Now
The above is a text message I recently sent to a friend when talking about my lack of patience and how it has changed in Zambia. I was on a hitch that took 8 hours to travel a distance that should only take 4 hours. There were many seemingly unnecessary stops along the way. For instance the time we stopped for 45 minutes so that he could get a 1/2 roasted chicken because he was "very hungry," only to stuff it in the cooler, untouched, and trade it two hours down the road for some frozen fish. Oh Zambia.
I didn't quite realize that my outlook was such until I found myself typing it out in T9. If Zambia has taught me nothing else, I have learned that there is no need to sweat the small stuff. It is just time...it grows from nothing in these parts, so what if it takes you all day to travel what should take only a morning. Since writing it out I have found myself in many situations that a year ago would have had me on the phone with my mother preparing bail money, but now I just sigh, let it roll of my back and continue on with my day.
The most recent example of such a situation happened just this week...
A while ago I had this "really good idea" (sarcasm implied) to hold a 7K fun run, because I missed racing so much, and then have a big HIV testing event held after the race. There were going to be PCVs every where so that Zambians could ask all sorts of questions concerning America or PC. There was going to be American music playing from loud speakers at an acceptable volume, we were going to play any given song only once, (Zambians LOVE loud music, and they can play the exact same song over and over again for 8 hours straight, trust me, I've lived it) it was basically going to be one big day of culture exchange in honor of PC's 50th year of existence. My idea was just the race, knowing that I couldn't tackle it alone I recruited a friend to help, and from there the idea grew into what was sure to be an amazing adventure. We spent many days wandering around making contact with NGOs all over Chipata, We walked all over handing out flyers and posting them to make people aware of our idea. We even applied for a grant so that all of our bases would be covered...and then something happened!
The second president of Zambia died, and a nationwide ban was put on celebrations and events until his burial...5 days before our race was supposed to happen. This man gets buried on Monday, so we missed the mark by about 72 hours. Well, no big deal Magz, just reschedule right? You would fucking think so wouldn't ya America?!? Well, shit is just not that easy here. I will have to find a time when all of the PCVs would be willing help again, which is no easy task.
American Maggie would have totally lost her shit and maybe shed a tear or two over this whole thing. (American Maggie wouldn't ever have to deal with this because this shit doesn't happen in America) I was devastated for all of 6 minutes, no tears, and then I took a deep breath and started trying to plan when it could work again.
This was the biggest example of how far I have come in the last 16 months. I haven't saved the world, or even changed it probably, when newer PCVs ask me what the biggest change I've seen in myself is I quickly say that I am more patient now. A fact that my dear friend Casey will be happy to know about. She used to hate how compulsive and impatient I could be. If I had an idea I needed it to happen NOW! That mentality is impossible here...straight impossible.
Climb up over the top survey the state of your soul, you've got to find out for yourself weather or not your truly trying. ~Jason Mraz Lyric
I didn't quite realize that my outlook was such until I found myself typing it out in T9. If Zambia has taught me nothing else, I have learned that there is no need to sweat the small stuff. It is just time...it grows from nothing in these parts, so what if it takes you all day to travel what should take only a morning. Since writing it out I have found myself in many situations that a year ago would have had me on the phone with my mother preparing bail money, but now I just sigh, let it roll of my back and continue on with my day.
The most recent example of such a situation happened just this week...
A while ago I had this "really good idea" (sarcasm implied) to hold a 7K fun run, because I missed racing so much, and then have a big HIV testing event held after the race. There were going to be PCVs every where so that Zambians could ask all sorts of questions concerning America or PC. There was going to be American music playing from loud speakers at an acceptable volume, we were going to play any given song only once, (Zambians LOVE loud music, and they can play the exact same song over and over again for 8 hours straight, trust me, I've lived it) it was basically going to be one big day of culture exchange in honor of PC's 50th year of existence. My idea was just the race, knowing that I couldn't tackle it alone I recruited a friend to help, and from there the idea grew into what was sure to be an amazing adventure. We spent many days wandering around making contact with NGOs all over Chipata, We walked all over handing out flyers and posting them to make people aware of our idea. We even applied for a grant so that all of our bases would be covered...and then something happened!
The second president of Zambia died, and a nationwide ban was put on celebrations and events until his burial...5 days before our race was supposed to happen. This man gets buried on Monday, so we missed the mark by about 72 hours. Well, no big deal Magz, just reschedule right? You would fucking think so wouldn't ya America?!? Well, shit is just not that easy here. I will have to find a time when all of the PCVs would be willing help again, which is no easy task.
American Maggie would have totally lost her shit and maybe shed a tear or two over this whole thing. (American Maggie wouldn't ever have to deal with this because this shit doesn't happen in America) I was devastated for all of 6 minutes, no tears, and then I took a deep breath and started trying to plan when it could work again.
This was the biggest example of how far I have come in the last 16 months. I haven't saved the world, or even changed it probably, when newer PCVs ask me what the biggest change I've seen in myself is I quickly say that I am more patient now. A fact that my dear friend Casey will be happy to know about. She used to hate how compulsive and impatient I could be. If I had an idea I needed it to happen NOW! That mentality is impossible here...straight impossible.
Climb up over the top survey the state of your soul, you've got to find out for yourself weather or not your truly trying. ~Jason Mraz Lyric
June 21, 2011
Visitors
Leaving my family was by far the hardest part of Peace Corps. I will never ever forget leaving the Kansas City airport that cold February day. I remember not sleeping the whole week leading up to it, just sitting up crying thinking about what the next two years would be like without them. I remember loading the car early that morning to depart and not being able to hold it together leaving them to do most of the work. I remember being crammed into the back of my mom's Malibu shoved up against my brother and not wanting to touch him because it was too hard. More than that I remember how he told me that it was okay if my arm rested against his leg, the look in his eye telling me he was trying to soak me in also. I love my brother more than anyone in the world, in fact, I can't fathom loving someone more than I do that kid.
On the other side of me in the backseat of that car was Matt. Matt is an amazing person. We have been friends and lovers off and on for close to forever now and he continues to be there when I need him. He is part of the family now so it was natural that he would be apart of the final send off. At the airport he was the optimistic one, buying funny trinkets to keep my spirits up. When it came time for the final send off he kept it together better than the rest of us.
My final memory of both Zach and Matt was watching tears stream down both of their faces through the tears on my own face as some airport worker told me that I would be okay as she shoved me through the metal detector. I still remember being so thankful for her, I am not sure I would have made it here without that last shove. The last thing I remember both of them saying was "I love you, and we will see you soon."
Well, two weeks ago all of those memories came flooding back! They came to visit. Our reunion was going to happen just like our depature...in an airport. In the days leading up to their arrival I had friends come and visit me in my village to help keep my mind off of how slow time is capable of moving. I thought I had gotten used to this fact being in Africa where time is SLOW when it wants to be, but when you are waiting to see two of your favorite people after 16 months of not seeing them, slow doesn't even begin to do time justice.
So there I am in the airport. I watched their plane land, sick to my stomach with excitement and hands shaking like crazy from nerves. I run down to customs so that I can greet them and hug them and somehow make them understand how much I have missed them both sooooooo much. With every person that clears customs before them I get more and more excited and the tears boil closer to the top, and then my brother comes to the door, and says in his brother voice, "I need your address now. They won't let us come through until they have an address." Asshole is business as usual and I love him more for that than if he had rushed to hug me also. "Well, how are you doing, I'm glad you're here." I say in an almost shrill voice. His response: "Well, I just sat on a plane for 13 hours, I am not great." For those of you that don't know Zach, you are thinking he is a complete dick. For those of you that do, you will understand why I love that asshole so much. 16 months and my greatest fear came to be realized as a waste of my time. I had been so worried that 16 months would change the amazing brother and sister relationship that the two of us have and so many others will never understand. The only thing that he didn't do was punch me, other than that, we were the same as always.
Then came my buddy Matt. Happy, smiling and ready for any adventure I could through at him. He gave me the hug that I have come to know so well in these past almost 7 years. Then to compensate for Zach he said something positive and along the lines of being happy to see me.
Just like that life was normal and more perfect than I had ever known before. We left the airport in a shuffle of bags, questions and haggling taxi drivers.
There are no words to express my happiness watching my brother and Matt play American football with my village kids. Or hearing my favorite kid Joanie saying "Get out my way, Imma gangsta," to Matt and Zach because all he knows is that it makes white people laugh when they hear him say it in his most adorable accent. There are also the memories of me laughing just like my villagers used to laugh at me when my visitors tried to talk Nyanja. I've always felt lucky to be able to experience life in an African village, but to be able to share such an incredible experience with two impressively open minded individuals who I happen to love very much...I'm just so lucky.
Being able to wake up at 5:00 in the morning and go on a freezing cold run with someone who was interested in my running and understood the runners lingo rolling off my tongue was such a breath of fresh air. I've always loved running with Matt. I love running with anyone who has run HCXC, but Matt and I have gone on many runs together. We've finished many runs together, some good and some bad. We ran almost every run at the same pace. That has never happened before. Matt is always much faster than me, or he has picked school or work over running and I can go longer than him. All of my PC friends smoke and think that I am some alien for wanting to take good care of my lungs so just having a running partner for a bit of a run would have been nice, but the fact that I had someone who could match me stride for stride was a really powerful boost in motivation at a pretty important part of a training program. Lucky again.
Going to a really fancy safari lodge as 3 mid-westerns who know absolutely nothing about being classy or how to really conduct ourselves in public without our mothers giving us "the look" from across the room gave me memories that still have me giggling out loud when I think about it. Seeing my brother so relaxed and in love with life that he is almost glowing was something that I never thought I would see. Watching him laugh until he cried because I stuck my finger in the butter because I am a moron is something I will never ever forget. Getting drunk with Matt in a pool at 1:00 in the afternoon from 1.5 beers while Zach is off getting vacation massages...awesome!
Getting soaked in the mist from Victoria Falls and then climbing into a taxi dripping wet talking about all of the things we are going to jump off of tomorrow with bungee cords affixed to our bodies is another memory I won't forget. Watching my brother taste Indian food for the first time with the grunted response being, "This is good shit," in the classy way that only Riley County Kansas can teach you. Or going on freezing cold 14 mile runs with Matt to Zimbabwe after scaring the shit out of him with my creepy hand at 5:30 in the morning crawling through his mosquito net. (I am laughing as I type out these memories.)
My last memory of them is still through streaming tears at an airport, but it is the memories in between those two that will keep me going for the next year until I see them again. I know I am consistently writing about how lucky I am, and you are all probably tired of reading about it, but I am so thankful for the this life. I am grateful for visitors, I am grateful that they could afford to come and I am insurmountably thankful 16 months did nothing to damage two of the relationships I value most.
Take care of all your memories, for you can not relive them. ~Bob Dylan
On the other side of me in the backseat of that car was Matt. Matt is an amazing person. We have been friends and lovers off and on for close to forever now and he continues to be there when I need him. He is part of the family now so it was natural that he would be apart of the final send off. At the airport he was the optimistic one, buying funny trinkets to keep my spirits up. When it came time for the final send off he kept it together better than the rest of us.
My final memory of both Zach and Matt was watching tears stream down both of their faces through the tears on my own face as some airport worker told me that I would be okay as she shoved me through the metal detector. I still remember being so thankful for her, I am not sure I would have made it here without that last shove. The last thing I remember both of them saying was "I love you, and we will see you soon."
Well, two weeks ago all of those memories came flooding back! They came to visit. Our reunion was going to happen just like our depature...in an airport. In the days leading up to their arrival I had friends come and visit me in my village to help keep my mind off of how slow time is capable of moving. I thought I had gotten used to this fact being in Africa where time is SLOW when it wants to be, but when you are waiting to see two of your favorite people after 16 months of not seeing them, slow doesn't even begin to do time justice.
So there I am in the airport. I watched their plane land, sick to my stomach with excitement and hands shaking like crazy from nerves. I run down to customs so that I can greet them and hug them and somehow make them understand how much I have missed them both sooooooo much. With every person that clears customs before them I get more and more excited and the tears boil closer to the top, and then my brother comes to the door, and says in his brother voice, "I need your address now. They won't let us come through until they have an address." Asshole is business as usual and I love him more for that than if he had rushed to hug me also. "Well, how are you doing, I'm glad you're here." I say in an almost shrill voice. His response: "Well, I just sat on a plane for 13 hours, I am not great." For those of you that don't know Zach, you are thinking he is a complete dick. For those of you that do, you will understand why I love that asshole so much. 16 months and my greatest fear came to be realized as a waste of my time. I had been so worried that 16 months would change the amazing brother and sister relationship that the two of us have and so many others will never understand. The only thing that he didn't do was punch me, other than that, we were the same as always.
Then came my buddy Matt. Happy, smiling and ready for any adventure I could through at him. He gave me the hug that I have come to know so well in these past almost 7 years. Then to compensate for Zach he said something positive and along the lines of being happy to see me.
Just like that life was normal and more perfect than I had ever known before. We left the airport in a shuffle of bags, questions and haggling taxi drivers.
There are no words to express my happiness watching my brother and Matt play American football with my village kids. Or hearing my favorite kid Joanie saying "Get out my way, Imma gangsta," to Matt and Zach because all he knows is that it makes white people laugh when they hear him say it in his most adorable accent. There are also the memories of me laughing just like my villagers used to laugh at me when my visitors tried to talk Nyanja. I've always felt lucky to be able to experience life in an African village, but to be able to share such an incredible experience with two impressively open minded individuals who I happen to love very much...I'm just so lucky.
Being able to wake up at 5:00 in the morning and go on a freezing cold run with someone who was interested in my running and understood the runners lingo rolling off my tongue was such a breath of fresh air. I've always loved running with Matt. I love running with anyone who has run HCXC, but Matt and I have gone on many runs together. We've finished many runs together, some good and some bad. We ran almost every run at the same pace. That has never happened before. Matt is always much faster than me, or he has picked school or work over running and I can go longer than him. All of my PC friends smoke and think that I am some alien for wanting to take good care of my lungs so just having a running partner for a bit of a run would have been nice, but the fact that I had someone who could match me stride for stride was a really powerful boost in motivation at a pretty important part of a training program. Lucky again.
Going to a really fancy safari lodge as 3 mid-westerns who know absolutely nothing about being classy or how to really conduct ourselves in public without our mothers giving us "the look" from across the room gave me memories that still have me giggling out loud when I think about it. Seeing my brother so relaxed and in love with life that he is almost glowing was something that I never thought I would see. Watching him laugh until he cried because I stuck my finger in the butter because I am a moron is something I will never ever forget. Getting drunk with Matt in a pool at 1:00 in the afternoon from 1.5 beers while Zach is off getting vacation massages...awesome!
Getting soaked in the mist from Victoria Falls and then climbing into a taxi dripping wet talking about all of the things we are going to jump off of tomorrow with bungee cords affixed to our bodies is another memory I won't forget. Watching my brother taste Indian food for the first time with the grunted response being, "This is good shit," in the classy way that only Riley County Kansas can teach you. Or going on freezing cold 14 mile runs with Matt to Zimbabwe after scaring the shit out of him with my creepy hand at 5:30 in the morning crawling through his mosquito net. (I am laughing as I type out these memories.)
My last memory of them is still through streaming tears at an airport, but it is the memories in between those two that will keep me going for the next year until I see them again. I know I am consistently writing about how lucky I am, and you are all probably tired of reading about it, but I am so thankful for the this life. I am grateful for visitors, I am grateful that they could afford to come and I am insurmountably thankful 16 months did nothing to damage two of the relationships I value most.
Take care of all your memories, for you can not relive them. ~Bob Dylan
June 19, 2011
Water and Sanitation Workshop
If you love having clean drinking water and a toilet very near your home please consider what it would be like if you didn't have those things. When you consider it and decide that it would really suck if you didn't have those things, then please consider donating to my cause. Thanks so much!
Click HERE
PEACE!
Click HERE
PEACE!
May 23, 2011
Would You Rather
Running cross country in college allowed me a lot of time around some really dirty boys. No dirty in the way of cleanliness, but dirty in the way of thinking. They were college boys and there is sometimes nothing you can do about that. Much of what I know today about sex I learned as a result of them. Please do not panic, I didn’t take anything that they said as truth, but they would tell me things and then I would do some research to see if these things were true or false. Sadly for the women in their lives most of what they spoke was complete bullshit so I took it upon myself to educate them on the ways of women. Weather or not they listened I have no idea, if they did I should have gotten more thank you cards from their one night stands and girlfriends.
The dirty boys in my life were also obsessed with a game called Would You Rather. I am sure that many people have heard of this game and probably even played it. “Would you rather have 6 toes or 6 fingers?” Then there is the at home version, “Would you rather have tacos for dinner or pot roast?” I am still pretty sure that no matter what version you have played, the version that took place among me and my guy friends will trump it by way of nastiness. “Would you rather drink of 5 gallon bucket of your own shit or eat barbequed dead baby?” “Would you rather be trapped in a room with an angry gorilla or an angry bull?” I could go on, but I’ll quit while I’m ahead, I could go on, but if I did it would make the dead baby question seem like no big deal. Sorry to you folks at home that have to read this, but this is the reality that was my life during college. Even after some of these fellas graduated from HC, I would still get random “WYR…” text messages. Of course many girls opted out of playing this game, but I am not a quitter and have always been the girl to run around with the boys and since you can’t let your friends down I had to answer…or they would yell and annoy me until I snapped out an answer, “I’D EAT MY OWN SHIT OKAY, I CAN’T EAT A DEAD BABY!” “Yeah, see Magz, was that so hard, all you have to do is answer the question” Stupid boys, but still I continued to play.
When I joined Peace Corps I didn’t know that the game would follow me here. I was so wrapped up in the nastiness of the HCXC version that I had totally forgotten that a milder version existed! The PC version. I would like to enlighten you all now on just a few options that sometimes come up when we are all sitting around chatting….
WYR a baby goat fall into your pit latrine or a crazy woman come into your hut late at night to sweep and pray?
My answer: I’d take the goat. This sounds awful, but they die and crazy women just keep coming.
WYR eat caterpillars, kapenta (dried little fish), or flying termites?
My Answer: While I am all for trying new things, my motto in this country is “If it could potentially fuck up an entire day I am not eating it!” All three of these things fall into that category for me. But if I had to…I’ve heard the termites taste like bacon.
WYR be constipated or constantly shitting?
My answer: Things are supposed to come out of your body, not just sit there. Let it flow.
WYR shit into a plastic bag or a bucket?
My Answer: Bucket. I do it almost every morning. Something about the change in food has me sprinting out of bed at 5:30 every morning and there is no way I could make it too much farther. The mind is a powerful thing, thankfully, because when there are visitors it wakes me up a bit earlier.
WYR shit your self on transport or in your own bed?
My Answer: Both sound MORTIFYING! But the rule here is do not fuck with my sleep. Based on the last answer, you all know that it has been close.
WYR have ants or termites invade your hut?
My Answer: Both have happened. Termites are nicer, they warn you a bit and they don’t bite.
WYR have no matches or no toilet paper?
My Answer: No matches. As you can tell by the questions, shitting is very common here in PC, I never leave home without a good stash of TP.
WYR drink shake shake (nasty chunky corn beer that smells like baby vomit) or officers packets (little plastic packets of liquor that offer good nights but horrible mornings)?
My Answer: I have lived the packets. Horrible mornings, but pretty fun evenings…from what I remember.
WYR live two years without running water or without electricity?
My Answer: After being here for a year now, I have learned to deal without most of the other American luxeries, but literally everyday I crave running water. I miss it so much. I miss hot showers at the turn of a dial and I miss watering things and washing dishes without having to plan for it hours in advance. Water is amazing. Kiss your faucets people. KISS THEM HARD!
In this world there is nothing more submissive and weak than water. Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong nothing can surpass it. ~Loa Tzu
The dirty boys in my life were also obsessed with a game called Would You Rather. I am sure that many people have heard of this game and probably even played it. “Would you rather have 6 toes or 6 fingers?” Then there is the at home version, “Would you rather have tacos for dinner or pot roast?” I am still pretty sure that no matter what version you have played, the version that took place among me and my guy friends will trump it by way of nastiness. “Would you rather drink of 5 gallon bucket of your own shit or eat barbequed dead baby?” “Would you rather be trapped in a room with an angry gorilla or an angry bull?” I could go on, but I’ll quit while I’m ahead, I could go on, but if I did it would make the dead baby question seem like no big deal. Sorry to you folks at home that have to read this, but this is the reality that was my life during college. Even after some of these fellas graduated from HC, I would still get random “WYR…” text messages. Of course many girls opted out of playing this game, but I am not a quitter and have always been the girl to run around with the boys and since you can’t let your friends down I had to answer…or they would yell and annoy me until I snapped out an answer, “I’D EAT MY OWN SHIT OKAY, I CAN’T EAT A DEAD BABY!” “Yeah, see Magz, was that so hard, all you have to do is answer the question” Stupid boys, but still I continued to play.
When I joined Peace Corps I didn’t know that the game would follow me here. I was so wrapped up in the nastiness of the HCXC version that I had totally forgotten that a milder version existed! The PC version. I would like to enlighten you all now on just a few options that sometimes come up when we are all sitting around chatting….
WYR a baby goat fall into your pit latrine or a crazy woman come into your hut late at night to sweep and pray?
My answer: I’d take the goat. This sounds awful, but they die and crazy women just keep coming.
WYR eat caterpillars, kapenta (dried little fish), or flying termites?
My Answer: While I am all for trying new things, my motto in this country is “If it could potentially fuck up an entire day I am not eating it!” All three of these things fall into that category for me. But if I had to…I’ve heard the termites taste like bacon.
WYR be constipated or constantly shitting?
My answer: Things are supposed to come out of your body, not just sit there. Let it flow.
WYR shit into a plastic bag or a bucket?
My Answer: Bucket. I do it almost every morning. Something about the change in food has me sprinting out of bed at 5:30 every morning and there is no way I could make it too much farther. The mind is a powerful thing, thankfully, because when there are visitors it wakes me up a bit earlier.
WYR shit your self on transport or in your own bed?
My Answer: Both sound MORTIFYING! But the rule here is do not fuck with my sleep. Based on the last answer, you all know that it has been close.
WYR have ants or termites invade your hut?
My Answer: Both have happened. Termites are nicer, they warn you a bit and they don’t bite.
WYR have no matches or no toilet paper?
My Answer: No matches. As you can tell by the questions, shitting is very common here in PC, I never leave home without a good stash of TP.
WYR drink shake shake (nasty chunky corn beer that smells like baby vomit) or officers packets (little plastic packets of liquor that offer good nights but horrible mornings)?
My Answer: I have lived the packets. Horrible mornings, but pretty fun evenings…from what I remember.
WYR live two years without running water or without electricity?
My Answer: After being here for a year now, I have learned to deal without most of the other American luxeries, but literally everyday I crave running water. I miss it so much. I miss hot showers at the turn of a dial and I miss watering things and washing dishes without having to plan for it hours in advance. Water is amazing. Kiss your faucets people. KISS THEM HARD!
In this world there is nothing more submissive and weak than water. Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong nothing can surpass it. ~Loa Tzu
May 21, 2011
My Cause
https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=611-067
Please donate!
Please donate!
May 11, 2011
Love Life
Today I was Jammin' in my garden with my African Herbsman, Bob Marley. It was the perfect choice of music for a four hour adventure in gardening.
I grew up on garden produce. The only time I had shit from a can was at school, and I hated it usually. Peas, green beans and corn taste awful from a can when you are used to fresh stuff. These are the reasons that my dad gets so pist when I comment on going "green." The Henton household has always been "greener" than most.
Today was a big day in the garden, and perhaps the day when I fell head over heels in love with gardening. When I step into my fenced in sanctuary the troubles go away (the reggae helps also) I am in the beginning stages of currently, but when I finish my garden is going to be pretty fucking rad.
Currently I have 6 beds and 20 tomato plants. I planted the first four and then left for a few days, when I came back my Amai had planted 16 more! What the hell she thinks we are going to do with 20 tomato plants is beyond me. We will probably sell them when they are as green as apples. (Zambians are not the most patient people when it comes to waiting for food)
Today I planted onions, radishes and carrots. My family is not really into the unknown. As it turns out Zambians are not that into flavor or the unknown.
Since I am often gone and gardens require daily care, Amai is second in charge. Then when it comes to harvest, if I am gone Amai gets the goods. I devoted a bed and a half just for her and my Atate. There is a popular veg here called rape (great name huh?) that my Atate is obsessed with so I had to get it for the man. :)
Tomorrow I vow to begin digging before 11:00. Digging beds at African high noon is not a good idea at all, in fact it is fucking stupid, but I keep doing it. My village thinks that white people don't feel heat. My village friends know that it is actually just stupdiity. Many passerbys stopped in today to say "Maggie, it is very hot right now, tomorrow start earlier." I reply telling them that I know. Then as they walk away, under my breath I mutter, I am just fucking stupid that is all...
Tomorrow I have big plans for a small herb garden. (Not of the Bob Marley variety mom, don't worry.) There are going to be some flower beds and a few more beds for veg so that I can cut down on my monthly grocery bill...all 20 dollars of it. :)
I am officially a green thumb now.
"I just want to keep my love life burning" Bob Marley
I grew up on garden produce. The only time I had shit from a can was at school, and I hated it usually. Peas, green beans and corn taste awful from a can when you are used to fresh stuff. These are the reasons that my dad gets so pist when I comment on going "green." The Henton household has always been "greener" than most.
Today was a big day in the garden, and perhaps the day when I fell head over heels in love with gardening. When I step into my fenced in sanctuary the troubles go away (the reggae helps also) I am in the beginning stages of currently, but when I finish my garden is going to be pretty fucking rad.
Currently I have 6 beds and 20 tomato plants. I planted the first four and then left for a few days, when I came back my Amai had planted 16 more! What the hell she thinks we are going to do with 20 tomato plants is beyond me. We will probably sell them when they are as green as apples. (Zambians are not the most patient people when it comes to waiting for food)
Today I planted onions, radishes and carrots. My family is not really into the unknown. As it turns out Zambians are not that into flavor or the unknown.
Since I am often gone and gardens require daily care, Amai is second in charge. Then when it comes to harvest, if I am gone Amai gets the goods. I devoted a bed and a half just for her and my Atate. There is a popular veg here called rape (great name huh?) that my Atate is obsessed with so I had to get it for the man. :)
Tomorrow I vow to begin digging before 11:00. Digging beds at African high noon is not a good idea at all, in fact it is fucking stupid, but I keep doing it. My village thinks that white people don't feel heat. My village friends know that it is actually just stupdiity. Many passerbys stopped in today to say "Maggie, it is very hot right now, tomorrow start earlier." I reply telling them that I know. Then as they walk away, under my breath I mutter, I am just fucking stupid that is all...
Tomorrow I have big plans for a small herb garden. (Not of the Bob Marley variety mom, don't worry.) There are going to be some flower beds and a few more beds for veg so that I can cut down on my monthly grocery bill...all 20 dollars of it. :)
I am officially a green thumb now.
"I just want to keep my love life burning" Bob Marley
April 20, 2011
Status: Bwino
Facebook Statuses I never posted:
Maggie Anne Henton is obsessed with the way my new hut looks when it is lit by candlelight.
Maggie Anne Henton gardening with Bob Marley today. He is upset about the grass that I am not growing.
Maggie Anne Henton Today a kid told me that I could buy babies in town for 500,000 kwacha. About 100 USD. Been here a year and had no idea.
Maggie Anne Henton Because of my beloved garden my life takes about 60 Liters of water daily. That takes me an hour to collect. I miss running water.
Maggie Anne Henton Felt like a runner again this week...I bled through my sock twice this week. :)
Maggie Anne Henton has graduated from a Zambian baby to a Zambian toddler. I can now eat a whole stalk of sugar cane...but I still needed my Amai to start it for me. That shit hurts your teeth.
Maggie Anne Henton is obsessed with the way my new hut looks when it is lit by candlelight.
Maggie Anne Henton gardening with Bob Marley today. He is upset about the grass that I am not growing.
Maggie Anne Henton Today a kid told me that I could buy babies in town for 500,000 kwacha. About 100 USD. Been here a year and had no idea.
Maggie Anne Henton Because of my beloved garden my life takes about 60 Liters of water daily. That takes me an hour to collect. I miss running water.
Maggie Anne Henton Felt like a runner again this week...I bled through my sock twice this week. :)
Maggie Anne Henton has graduated from a Zambian baby to a Zambian toddler. I can now eat a whole stalk of sugar cane...but I still needed my Amai to start it for me. That shit hurts your teeth.
The End Of A Perfect Day
It is 19:00. I am handwriting this blog by candlelight. The air is crisp, clean and cold from this afternoons chilly rain. My feet are being kept warm by the charcoal that is cooking my dinner. Eric Clapton's Greatest Hits is playing from my iPod. Layla is the perfect blanket over the chorus of village noises that the night often brings. (i.e screaming children, and the drums that can be heard every night, the frogs, and my Atate chatting and giggling with passerby's)
Today was one of those perfect days. The kind where you don't really notice it as it is happening until the night falls and you realize that you are sad to see the day go. Nothing too exciting or out of the ordinary happened today. I did some laundry. I really needed it to it. Sadly after rubbing my fingers raw getting caught up on laundry I discovered that a rat ate through a bag that I stored my heavy blanket in throughout hot season...more laundry to do again tomorrow, weather permitting.
I also helped my host family get water. They are cementing the floor of their house. Yeah that is right! i said house, not hut...a mother fuckin' house. In case you are new to this blog, my Atate is a bad ass therefore they have a brick house with a nailed down tin roof. Badass status established and maintained! Go Atate. After the water was drawn my Amai helped me tear down my fence and weed and clear my future garden area,
Looking back on today, I think, that it was during all of my family time that the perfect day was in the making. While my Amai was helping me with the garden I still had clothes on the line and the rain came. We hustled around to get all of my clothes off of the line and my garden tools into shelter and out of the rain. When my Amai realized that I had it under control she rushed over to her compound to perform the same jobs. When I finished with my hut I ran over to help her put their firewood undercover. My Amai and I had a moment of eye contact when she first saw me helping that seemed to say everything. I was in the family, it was my job to help just as much as everyone else's job. I ran around with the women getting everything away while the men delt with the farm equipment. When everyone was finished I scattered to the comfort of my own hut to watch the beautiful rain in dry shelter. My Amain kept running around doing "mom jobs." She still had to deliver all of the boiled corn to all of her kids huts. The last stop on the afternoon snack tour...her newest daughter. I am pretty much the equivelent of a Zambian toddler, but she loves me still. :)
Today was confirmation that I am totally apart of the family. I think I knew that for a while, but I needed today to see just how much apart of it all I really am.
Today was one of those perfect days. The kind where you don't really notice it as it is happening until the night falls and you realize that you are sad to see the day go. Nothing too exciting or out of the ordinary happened today. I did some laundry. I really needed it to it. Sadly after rubbing my fingers raw getting caught up on laundry I discovered that a rat ate through a bag that I stored my heavy blanket in throughout hot season...more laundry to do again tomorrow, weather permitting.
I also helped my host family get water. They are cementing the floor of their house. Yeah that is right! i said house, not hut...a mother fuckin' house. In case you are new to this blog, my Atate is a bad ass therefore they have a brick house with a nailed down tin roof. Badass status established and maintained! Go Atate. After the water was drawn my Amai helped me tear down my fence and weed and clear my future garden area,
Looking back on today, I think, that it was during all of my family time that the perfect day was in the making. While my Amai was helping me with the garden I still had clothes on the line and the rain came. We hustled around to get all of my clothes off of the line and my garden tools into shelter and out of the rain. When my Amai realized that I had it under control she rushed over to her compound to perform the same jobs. When I finished with my hut I ran over to help her put their firewood undercover. My Amai and I had a moment of eye contact when she first saw me helping that seemed to say everything. I was in the family, it was my job to help just as much as everyone else's job. I ran around with the women getting everything away while the men delt with the farm equipment. When everyone was finished I scattered to the comfort of my own hut to watch the beautiful rain in dry shelter. My Amain kept running around doing "mom jobs." She still had to deliver all of the boiled corn to all of her kids huts. The last stop on the afternoon snack tour...her newest daughter. I am pretty much the equivelent of a Zambian toddler, but she loves me still. :)
Today was confirmation that I am totally apart of the family. I think I knew that for a while, but I needed today to see just how much apart of it all I really am.
April 8, 2011
Banja Langa (My Family)
I've always been blessed.
I mean everyone is always blessed, all the time, but I think that when it comes to my family I really got a good hand.
When I was younger I remember my best friends coming to school and confiding in me the fights that they had had with their parents. I can still say that at 24 years old, I've never been in a fight with my parents. I really think that a strong sense of mutual respect was always there, ever since I can remember. My house would be a safe haven for friends that were fighting with their parents. My parents always opened their doors to them no questions asked. Momma Julie always ready to cook a meal that would make friends forget the tears that brought them to my house in the first place. Or if food was not in order she would sneak in a shoulder squeeze at just the right time. Pappa Tom always ready to make people laugh with a smart ass comment, and then on many occasions he would say just the right thing just before we were off to bed. My parents have always been perfect! I have always been blessed.
The first time a friend from college came home with me for a weekend she was shocked by how nice my family treated one another. Mostly she was referring to the fact that there was no yelling in my house...even...gasp...between my brother and I! My brother and I have a very loving relationship, though he would never admit it. Every time I tell him I love him Zach grabs my little muffin top and says "yeah, well you're getting fat." But then he smiles a little smile and we both know. Or he punches me hard enough to leave a bruise. Meh, brotherly love. I love that kid! In fact the only time Zach has ever verbally said those three words to me was the day that I left for PC, when it counts, Zach always pulls through.
The point is, I've never once taken for granted my family. My mom always cooking huge beautiful meals for large groups of our friends that we didn't tell her were coming at a moments notice, I always knew that she would do it, and I've always loved her for it. Or how no matter how pist she was that I once again blew through my monthly living allowance and needed more money she always gave it to me. She still hates me for it, but she did it. My dad coaching my softball time from the time I was in 2nd grade until I was an 8th grader, I still tell people that with so much love it chokes me up. My memories of him teaching me how to drive...when I was just old enough to reach the peddles. Or how he would let Zach and I drain his fountain Pepsi just after he bought it! Or Zach bringing water to me in bed when it was really annoying. Or how if I was already in bed he would just come in and turn the light on and leave. Those are the moments I know we all love each other the most.
I've always had a good family!
When I went to New York for a summer I got placed in an apartment with two of the kindest people I have ever met. My Brooklyn mom and dad, Ruthie and Edmund. They were an amazing family and took incredibly good care of me. I've always been lucky when it comes to families.
About a year ago today I was going to see my site for the first time. I was fucking terrified and questioning if I was actually insane or not. I got there really late and was worried about everything. People breaking in a killing me late at night....a snake sneaking into my hut and killing me late at night...things getting stolen...my mind was running wild. But before I could get too carried away a tall fat jolly looking man came up to me and said in breaking english "I live just there, if you need anything, just yell, I will be able to hear you. You are my daughter now, I will be your father." I trusted him instantly. Some PCVs don't have host families, they don't have Atates that make them laugh really hard daily. They don't have Amais whose laughter brings them out of a gray mood. I've always been blessed when it comes to families.
I've always been blessed! The good news is that I've always known it, and I've always loved it. What continues to amaze me is how lucky I keep getting with my families. Mom, Dad and Zach, will always always always be incredible and the loves of my life. Always! I will always know that. I will always remember that.
What continues to amaze me is how I keep getting good families. I am sure someday I luck will run out, but for now I am going to enjoy the ride. Constantly feeling this loved from this many sides of the world is too good of a feeling!
The love of a family is among life's greatest blessings. ~Unknown
I mean everyone is always blessed, all the time, but I think that when it comes to my family I really got a good hand.
When I was younger I remember my best friends coming to school and confiding in me the fights that they had had with their parents. I can still say that at 24 years old, I've never been in a fight with my parents. I really think that a strong sense of mutual respect was always there, ever since I can remember. My house would be a safe haven for friends that were fighting with their parents. My parents always opened their doors to them no questions asked. Momma Julie always ready to cook a meal that would make friends forget the tears that brought them to my house in the first place. Or if food was not in order she would sneak in a shoulder squeeze at just the right time. Pappa Tom always ready to make people laugh with a smart ass comment, and then on many occasions he would say just the right thing just before we were off to bed. My parents have always been perfect! I have always been blessed.
The first time a friend from college came home with me for a weekend she was shocked by how nice my family treated one another. Mostly she was referring to the fact that there was no yelling in my house...even...gasp...between my brother and I! My brother and I have a very loving relationship, though he would never admit it. Every time I tell him I love him Zach grabs my little muffin top and says "yeah, well you're getting fat." But then he smiles a little smile and we both know. Or he punches me hard enough to leave a bruise. Meh, brotherly love. I love that kid! In fact the only time Zach has ever verbally said those three words to me was the day that I left for PC, when it counts, Zach always pulls through.
The point is, I've never once taken for granted my family. My mom always cooking huge beautiful meals for large groups of our friends that we didn't tell her were coming at a moments notice, I always knew that she would do it, and I've always loved her for it. Or how no matter how pist she was that I once again blew through my monthly living allowance and needed more money she always gave it to me. She still hates me for it, but she did it. My dad coaching my softball time from the time I was in 2nd grade until I was an 8th grader, I still tell people that with so much love it chokes me up. My memories of him teaching me how to drive...when I was just old enough to reach the peddles. Or how he would let Zach and I drain his fountain Pepsi just after he bought it! Or Zach bringing water to me in bed when it was really annoying. Or how if I was already in bed he would just come in and turn the light on and leave. Those are the moments I know we all love each other the most.
I've always had a good family!
When I went to New York for a summer I got placed in an apartment with two of the kindest people I have ever met. My Brooklyn mom and dad, Ruthie and Edmund. They were an amazing family and took incredibly good care of me. I've always been lucky when it comes to families.
About a year ago today I was going to see my site for the first time. I was fucking terrified and questioning if I was actually insane or not. I got there really late and was worried about everything. People breaking in a killing me late at night....a snake sneaking into my hut and killing me late at night...things getting stolen...my mind was running wild. But before I could get too carried away a tall fat jolly looking man came up to me and said in breaking english "I live just there, if you need anything, just yell, I will be able to hear you. You are my daughter now, I will be your father." I trusted him instantly. Some PCVs don't have host families, they don't have Atates that make them laugh really hard daily. They don't have Amais whose laughter brings them out of a gray mood. I've always been blessed when it comes to families.
I've always been blessed! The good news is that I've always known it, and I've always loved it. What continues to amaze me is how lucky I keep getting with my families. Mom, Dad and Zach, will always always always be incredible and the loves of my life. Always! I will always know that. I will always remember that.
What continues to amaze me is how I keep getting good families. I am sure someday I luck will run out, but for now I am going to enjoy the ride. Constantly feeling this loved from this many sides of the world is too good of a feeling!
The love of a family is among life's greatest blessings. ~Unknown
February 17, 2011
Dear Me, A Blog To Myself
Sometimes I forget that I need to be here. I mean that is so many ways. I needed to join Peace Corps. I needed to come to Zambia. I know that I was always meant to come here.
I’ve always believed that most things have long since been predetermined. The Universe decided long before I knew what would be good for me that I was going to be a runner. My body, stress fracture after stress fracture, has disagreed with this decision, but the Universe has decided and there is really nothing that I can do about it. But despite the amount of pain that this relationship has brought to be over the last 8 years, I come back to it every time. The amount of tears that I have shed over running will forever beat out any that I’ve ever cried for any man. I can’t say that it is the healthiest relationship ever, after no more than 5 or 6 months I am guaranteed a broken bone and a bruised ego, but I love the run.
The Universe decided that the running would lead me to Hastings College. Where I would meet all of my challenges. People could argue that it was the experience of College and the years of my life in which college takes place, but the Universe knew that Hastings College would be the perfect balance of everything. Never quite causing me to break, but never allowing me to get too cocky either, the perfect balance of heartbreak and happiness that would cause me to stay.
In the end, I believe, it would be that a broken heart and not an unsettling feeling in the space of my heart where happiness is held, a year after college, would be the perfect equation leading me to apply for the Peace Corps. That equation coupled with my constantly wanting to be somewhere else would be the reason that I got on the plane that would take me to Zambia almost a year ago today.
So I need to be here. I needed to join Peace Corps. I needed to meet people like my Atate who actually said aloud in his beautiful jolly broken English, “Why be mad? There is no reason. You should just always find yourself laughing.” I needed to meet my neighbor Patricia who is always there. ALWAYS. On the days when I would rather that she wasn’t she finds me, sometimes at 5 in the morning just to tell me she is going to the field as I lay in bed rolling my eyes. I needed to meet my Amai just so I could hear her giggle and take it back to America with me when I leave. The sound of her laughter, (she is usually giggling at Atate) settles the place in my heart where happiness goes. Letting me know that in April of 2012, that Happiness Place will be a clean and organized place ready to move on to the next chapter.
I need to be here because in January 2009 when I applied, I wanted to know that I could make myself happy all by myself. I wanted to know that I could forgive myself fully for things that I had done to myself, and to others. I wanted to know that I could forgive others for choices they had made that affected me negatively. I wanted to know that I could appreciate the really good things that I had done for people. I wanted to know that when I thought about myself the positive things that I had done would appear first in my thoughts instead of the painful mistakes I had made that put friendships in jeopardy and sometimes terminated them completely. I wanted to know that when I thought about friendships that I had terminated on my own accord, because I couldn’t handle the painful things they were doing, that instead of remembering the painful things, I would instead remember the positive things. I would remember the pain with a sense of gratitude, gently thanking them for turning me into the person that I am into, and then moving on. Not dwelling on anything else, not dwelling on the negative. There is a lot of time to think in PC. Some days, it is all there is to do. So in many ways I am not at all where I need to be in April of 2012 when this adventure ends in regards to these things, but I am a hell of a lot closer than I was a year ago.
I need to be here. 100%! I forget that. I am really bad about that. I always have been. I am here, living in Zambia. In an incredible village with incredible people doing things most people only ever dream about…and still….sometimes, all I can do is plan for what will happen in 2012 when this chapter is over. This is a problem that I have been putting most of my energy into. When I start a new book, inevitably 5 pages in I will flip to the back of the book just to know how many pages are in the entire book…then I will quick judge how long it might take me to read. And then within the book, at the start of every new chapter I flip ahead to figure out how many pages are in the chapter. This is how I have been my whole life, with every chapter of my life for as long as I can remember. I get to the vacation destination and instantly start stressing about how I am going to get home and how there are really only 6 more days left until I have to go home. THAT IS STUPID MAGGIE. Enjoy the journey…all of it…especially the now part of it. The present is a gift, I see the present under the tree and then just instantly look for the next one.
To be honest I am not sure this part of my personality will ever change, so I am really just more working on not letting this little quirk stress me out about myself. When asked what is next, I don’t think that I will ever be someone who says, “I am not sure.” I need to be okay with that.
I’ve been here a year. I’ve never once thought about high tailing it back home. I am happy here every single day. Not all day everyday, but everyday I feel happy. I love that I am doing this by myself. I love that many of these memories will forever only be mine to tell. I need to quit stressing about what is next, what will happen tomorrow, or the next day or even in the next year and just focus on what I am doing right in this exact moment. Be here, now. In every sense of the words; here and now.
"Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others." ~Cicero
I’ve always believed that most things have long since been predetermined. The Universe decided long before I knew what would be good for me that I was going to be a runner. My body, stress fracture after stress fracture, has disagreed with this decision, but the Universe has decided and there is really nothing that I can do about it. But despite the amount of pain that this relationship has brought to be over the last 8 years, I come back to it every time. The amount of tears that I have shed over running will forever beat out any that I’ve ever cried for any man. I can’t say that it is the healthiest relationship ever, after no more than 5 or 6 months I am guaranteed a broken bone and a bruised ego, but I love the run.
The Universe decided that the running would lead me to Hastings College. Where I would meet all of my challenges. People could argue that it was the experience of College and the years of my life in which college takes place, but the Universe knew that Hastings College would be the perfect balance of everything. Never quite causing me to break, but never allowing me to get too cocky either, the perfect balance of heartbreak and happiness that would cause me to stay.
In the end, I believe, it would be that a broken heart and not an unsettling feeling in the space of my heart where happiness is held, a year after college, would be the perfect equation leading me to apply for the Peace Corps. That equation coupled with my constantly wanting to be somewhere else would be the reason that I got on the plane that would take me to Zambia almost a year ago today.
So I need to be here. I needed to join Peace Corps. I needed to meet people like my Atate who actually said aloud in his beautiful jolly broken English, “Why be mad? There is no reason. You should just always find yourself laughing.” I needed to meet my neighbor Patricia who is always there. ALWAYS. On the days when I would rather that she wasn’t she finds me, sometimes at 5 in the morning just to tell me she is going to the field as I lay in bed rolling my eyes. I needed to meet my Amai just so I could hear her giggle and take it back to America with me when I leave. The sound of her laughter, (she is usually giggling at Atate) settles the place in my heart where happiness goes. Letting me know that in April of 2012, that Happiness Place will be a clean and organized place ready to move on to the next chapter.
I need to be here because in January 2009 when I applied, I wanted to know that I could make myself happy all by myself. I wanted to know that I could forgive myself fully for things that I had done to myself, and to others. I wanted to know that I could forgive others for choices they had made that affected me negatively. I wanted to know that I could appreciate the really good things that I had done for people. I wanted to know that when I thought about myself the positive things that I had done would appear first in my thoughts instead of the painful mistakes I had made that put friendships in jeopardy and sometimes terminated them completely. I wanted to know that when I thought about friendships that I had terminated on my own accord, because I couldn’t handle the painful things they were doing, that instead of remembering the painful things, I would instead remember the positive things. I would remember the pain with a sense of gratitude, gently thanking them for turning me into the person that I am into, and then moving on. Not dwelling on anything else, not dwelling on the negative. There is a lot of time to think in PC. Some days, it is all there is to do. So in many ways I am not at all where I need to be in April of 2012 when this adventure ends in regards to these things, but I am a hell of a lot closer than I was a year ago.
I need to be here. 100%! I forget that. I am really bad about that. I always have been. I am here, living in Zambia. In an incredible village with incredible people doing things most people only ever dream about…and still….sometimes, all I can do is plan for what will happen in 2012 when this chapter is over. This is a problem that I have been putting most of my energy into. When I start a new book, inevitably 5 pages in I will flip to the back of the book just to know how many pages are in the entire book…then I will quick judge how long it might take me to read. And then within the book, at the start of every new chapter I flip ahead to figure out how many pages are in the chapter. This is how I have been my whole life, with every chapter of my life for as long as I can remember. I get to the vacation destination and instantly start stressing about how I am going to get home and how there are really only 6 more days left until I have to go home. THAT IS STUPID MAGGIE. Enjoy the journey…all of it…especially the now part of it. The present is a gift, I see the present under the tree and then just instantly look for the next one.
To be honest I am not sure this part of my personality will ever change, so I am really just more working on not letting this little quirk stress me out about myself. When asked what is next, I don’t think that I will ever be someone who says, “I am not sure.” I need to be okay with that.
I’ve been here a year. I’ve never once thought about high tailing it back home. I am happy here every single day. Not all day everyday, but everyday I feel happy. I love that I am doing this by myself. I love that many of these memories will forever only be mine to tell. I need to quit stressing about what is next, what will happen tomorrow, or the next day or even in the next year and just focus on what I am doing right in this exact moment. Be here, now. In every sense of the words; here and now.
"Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others." ~Cicero
Toppin' Up
I just got back from toppin’ up. Sometimes I struggle to find things to write about for blogs. Life here now, for me, is just life. But life here, now, for me, is still a mystery to many people back home and I need to remember to take pleasure in how different everything is here. And I need to start writing about every little thing
So today I am writing about Toppin’ Up!
In America cell phones and the way they work is a bit different. You have to worry about the monthly bill and if you can actually afford to communicate with your friends that month. There are the beautiful options of endless amounts of text for call the same cost, unlimited internet, and unlimited minutes. In Zambia…nothing is unlimited…except for sunshine.
We’d been in country 3 days before we got our phones. The astounding differences between American phone companies and Zambian phone structure had us all a little stressed out. A day into the new system we were all hooked and I know that I am going to hate Verzion, AT&T, Sprint and all of those bull shit companies when I get back.
So we get our phones…the one I got cost less than $20. You can only imagine the spectacle that 50 clueless white people were making over a phone system that we thought was complete bullshit at the time. All the while we desperately wanted to just get a fucking phone so we could talk to our friends and family back home. We get the phones, only to find out that we then have to purchase a SIM card, which will in turn tell us our phone numbers. People who have traveled abroad for extended periods of time understand this part of the gig probably, because per usual the rest of the world has it figured out, and America is a little behind.
Now there is a mass of white people standing around in a tiny little store that might pass as a cubical in a normal work place asking what we do next. And you know how these things go when there are many people standing in one place all asking the same question because no one appears to really know what the fuck is going on. You know the chaos that ensues on kindergarten field trips. Especially when parents are along for the ride. Even as a kindergartener I remember knowing how insane that whole process. But I digress….
After what seems like hours about knowing which plan we needed to sign up for. “Is there unlimited plans?” “Which plan is the one that I sign up for so that I can call America whenever I want?” “How do I even text on this damn thing?” “Will it text in English?” And then without nothing really happening we all leave the store. None of the questions got answered. I just remember filing out of the store in a mass state of confusion. At the time I blamed it on jet lag and the fact that there were 50 people who didn’t know what was going on and one experienced PCV who couldn’t answer all the questions.
Then just like a kindergarten field trip from hell we get into the vehicle to go back home and we start really asking each other questions about how we can send a text message back home. I think that someone actually receiving a text from America while in the car inspired it. In that mass confusion someone got an answer out of someone or was technologically inclined enough to figure it out themselves.
“How did you do that? How did that happen? Did you just get a text from America? Help me, show me how you did that.” We all ask in one breath all at the same time.
“I bought talk time. “ They said. Then they went on to explain the whole magical system. Instead of paying for the damage at the end of the month when you find you’ve already shot yourself in the foot with too many charges you pay a little at a time up front and then it just subtracts a little bit at a time. They have these phones in America…track phones, tract phones…I have no idea. In America they seem annoying though.
All of the systems that are in place in America to make sure that you don’t run off with some major corporations little bit of money can’t really exist in a place like Zambia. There are no SSN to track people down with, and with poverty coming in ebbs and flows that change from week to week it would be impossible to do anything with some sort of “unlimited” plan.
The beautiful thing about toppin’ up in Zambia is you can literally top up anytime anywhere. Wondering in the middle of the bush, haven’t seen a person for a couple of kilometers and then all of a sudden you will see a little thatch shop that will be selling “talk time”. And then it is like the lottery every time you need it…but only because you have to scratch off the back with your fingernails to get your magic code that sends money to your phone.
You can buy it in really small amounts like 1,000 Kwacha that will send a few text messages. 1,000 Kwacha is about $.25. There are 2 major phone companies, Airtell and MTN. I’ve been told that MNT is the biggest phone company in the world. I’ve never checked into that fact. So text to text/phone call to phone call between the same companies is the cheapest way. Text to text can cost literally less than a penny, which is how most people in country communicate. In America we constantly criticize how there is only texting and people never talk on the phone anymore, here it is all people do.
Thank God for texting to. After a day full of not speaking English or understanding a single word that people around me are saying I totally look forward to when the clock ticks 18:00 after I bathe and I turn on my phone so I can text my friends about everything that happened to us during our always crazy days.
Toppin’ Up is totally rad.
So today I am writing about Toppin’ Up!
In America cell phones and the way they work is a bit different. You have to worry about the monthly bill and if you can actually afford to communicate with your friends that month. There are the beautiful options of endless amounts of text for call the same cost, unlimited internet, and unlimited minutes. In Zambia…nothing is unlimited…except for sunshine.
We’d been in country 3 days before we got our phones. The astounding differences between American phone companies and Zambian phone structure had us all a little stressed out. A day into the new system we were all hooked and I know that I am going to hate Verzion, AT&T, Sprint and all of those bull shit companies when I get back.
So we get our phones…the one I got cost less than $20. You can only imagine the spectacle that 50 clueless white people were making over a phone system that we thought was complete bullshit at the time. All the while we desperately wanted to just get a fucking phone so we could talk to our friends and family back home. We get the phones, only to find out that we then have to purchase a SIM card, which will in turn tell us our phone numbers. People who have traveled abroad for extended periods of time understand this part of the gig probably, because per usual the rest of the world has it figured out, and America is a little behind.
Now there is a mass of white people standing around in a tiny little store that might pass as a cubical in a normal work place asking what we do next. And you know how these things go when there are many people standing in one place all asking the same question because no one appears to really know what the fuck is going on. You know the chaos that ensues on kindergarten field trips. Especially when parents are along for the ride. Even as a kindergartener I remember knowing how insane that whole process. But I digress….
After what seems like hours about knowing which plan we needed to sign up for. “Is there unlimited plans?” “Which plan is the one that I sign up for so that I can call America whenever I want?” “How do I even text on this damn thing?” “Will it text in English?” And then without nothing really happening we all leave the store. None of the questions got answered. I just remember filing out of the store in a mass state of confusion. At the time I blamed it on jet lag and the fact that there were 50 people who didn’t know what was going on and one experienced PCV who couldn’t answer all the questions.
Then just like a kindergarten field trip from hell we get into the vehicle to go back home and we start really asking each other questions about how we can send a text message back home. I think that someone actually receiving a text from America while in the car inspired it. In that mass confusion someone got an answer out of someone or was technologically inclined enough to figure it out themselves.
“How did you do that? How did that happen? Did you just get a text from America? Help me, show me how you did that.” We all ask in one breath all at the same time.
“I bought talk time. “ They said. Then they went on to explain the whole magical system. Instead of paying for the damage at the end of the month when you find you’ve already shot yourself in the foot with too many charges you pay a little at a time up front and then it just subtracts a little bit at a time. They have these phones in America…track phones, tract phones…I have no idea. In America they seem annoying though.
All of the systems that are in place in America to make sure that you don’t run off with some major corporations little bit of money can’t really exist in a place like Zambia. There are no SSN to track people down with, and with poverty coming in ebbs and flows that change from week to week it would be impossible to do anything with some sort of “unlimited” plan.
The beautiful thing about toppin’ up in Zambia is you can literally top up anytime anywhere. Wondering in the middle of the bush, haven’t seen a person for a couple of kilometers and then all of a sudden you will see a little thatch shop that will be selling “talk time”. And then it is like the lottery every time you need it…but only because you have to scratch off the back with your fingernails to get your magic code that sends money to your phone.
You can buy it in really small amounts like 1,000 Kwacha that will send a few text messages. 1,000 Kwacha is about $.25. There are 2 major phone companies, Airtell and MTN. I’ve been told that MNT is the biggest phone company in the world. I’ve never checked into that fact. So text to text/phone call to phone call between the same companies is the cheapest way. Text to text can cost literally less than a penny, which is how most people in country communicate. In America we constantly criticize how there is only texting and people never talk on the phone anymore, here it is all people do.
Thank God for texting to. After a day full of not speaking English or understanding a single word that people around me are saying I totally look forward to when the clock ticks 18:00 after I bathe and I turn on my phone so I can text my friends about everything that happened to us during our always crazy days.
Toppin’ Up is totally rad.
February 16, 2011
A House Is Not A Home If No One Is Living There
Since early May my entire life has been occupying a space of roughly 2 meters by 3.5 meters. Among the many things sharing my happy place with me, were a double bed, my bike, and all off my food and clothes, not to mention the number of buckets and jerry cans needed to sustain a life in the village.
But a week ago all of this changed…FINALLY! Since June I have been going through all of the tedious rituals one has to complete to get anything done in a Zambian village.
When I first got to my lovely village that I now call home I was told that since my living quarters were going to be a bit smug they were going to build me a little kitchen that could house my bike and food. Thus creating a little bit more wiggle room in my hut and deterring the mice and rats from being roommates with me since they usually reside where the food is. Then after a month into my service Peace Corps came and had a meeting with my village and together they decided that maybe we should just build a bigger hut because it is very likely that my site would be replaced with a new volunteer when my service is up in 2012.
It was after that fateful meeting in June that my life became one big rollercoaster. One day I was being told that I would have my new hut “soon soon” and then another…after reality set in I was telling myself that it might still be months…like maybe 6 more. Keep in mind when we started this journey in June my headman and other important people in my village told me time and time again “if one is serious then a hut can be totally complete in 10 to 14 days…” They key word there is serious. I am not saying that people in my village are not serious, I am just saying that an American sense of serious and a Zambian sense of serious are about as similar as comparing Paris Hilton’s vocabulary with that of say maybe Condoleezza Rice.
So to start it all of I had to have a meeting with my headman. I had to tell him that I needed a new hut and I wanted everything to start ASAP. After leaving that meeting I am told discreetly by my translator/counterpart/best friend that now we are going to the other headman…the one who will actually get shit done. At this point I had been in the village for 2 months and had no idea that we had more than one headman. Thus the start of many double meets simply out of respect for this older headman who is apparently loosing it.
So after many weeks of meetings we finally got the walls for the hut up. This meant that we had to find a carpenter who wouldn’t charge the village too much money to build a house for the white girl. So we find this really cool carpenter who “built” (packed the mud) my walls with village tobacco rolled in newspaper posing as a cigarette the whole time. Oh and he was also wearing a rasta beanie on his head and a Bob Marley shirt…every day. I do not have to speak any more about how badass this dude was.
Getting the walls up also meant that we had to organize groups of women to come and pour water on my hole of mud everyday so that it muddy enough to pack into the shape of a wall. But it can’t be too muddy or then you have to wait a day for it to air out. This process had to start a few days before the actually construction started. The first day it was all little girls that showed up. A convoy of little ladies carrying water on their head that honestly weighs more than they do and then helping each other get it off their heads and pouring it into the hole.
So after the walls were up began the really hard part…the roof. Roofs in Zambia are a complete and total bitch…there is just no other way to say it. You have to get a lot of “poles” (long skinny trees) and then you have to get a lot of big fat trees that will be the outside support beams, or pillars if you like. Finding things like this are not easy in the 2nd most deforested country in the world. It is now September roughly (it all runs together now in my head) and by this time I am over being polite and going to the old headman, as is my Atate (host father) and my translator/counterpart/best friend, Simon. So together we skip him and just go straight to the 2nd headman. He tells us that he will organize the village (approx. 1500 people) and the men will go and cut the poles and harvest the fiber. The day that this is supposed to happen only 9 men show up. For the rest of the time it takes to complete my house and most especially my roof these will be my favorite 9 men in the world.
So they cut the poles and get the fiber and then I wait a week or two…at least…until they go out into the bush and go and pick them all up with an ox cart. After all of the poles are on my compound I have to have another meeting with the headman to schedule a day in which we can put the roof up.
Let me just briefly mention that in most of these cases I am not just having one meeting to get these dates and things done…I am having multiple meetings, multiple days in a row, multiple months in a row.
So on day my 9 knights in shining armor show up and place the big pillars into the ground. 11 in all I think.
Then another day they come back and hang the poles.
Then it takes two days to get the grass up around the poles so that I have a real thatch roof. That I am instantly obsessed with. It is at this point that I start to think that the hard work is done and the rest will be a breeze. I mean all I need to do now is get windows and a door made, get the cement smeared on my walls and floor and then move in. Sounds easy right???
WRONG!
I can’t remember at what point it happened or what steps we were on in the completion of my hut but for some reason in my Atate’s line of logic we could not move on until the windows were in…why I don’t know and can’t really remember. I just remember that it didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense. So that meant multiple meetings with my sweet carpenter, January, to hustle him into completing these things.
Then once we got the door from him it was discovered that it was too big and we needed to dig deeper and add another layer of mud to the tops of my walls….
Then the cementing process needed to happen about the time everyone was starting to go to their fields to start clearing them and getting them ready for planting. Food security totally trumps my cement floors…and it should. Sweet January got it all done though. God bless that man. It is at this point in the game that he gets added to the 9…I now have 10 knights sitting around my Peace Corps round table.
Then at some point after the roof is up and running I have to leave the village for a time with meetings. When I come back I discover that I have carpenter ants living in my roof. They are so bad that after just a week they have left a half-inch of very fine white dust all over my hut. It is literally snowing in my hut and you can hear them eating. This means putting off moving in until I can get that problem under control. If I slept in there I would for sure suffocate.
So I buy some spray…totally convinced that would kill them. WRONG! Turns out to make it in Zambia you have to be tough, so fucking tough that 100% poison won’t kill you. So I run to Simon in almost tears asking him what we can do. He calmly tells me we will simply start a series of small fires in my hut and smoke ‘em out. Okay “sweet”, I say lets do that tomorrow. One week later we do it…twice…for 8 hours at a time. There was so much smoke pouring out of my hut it would have for sure killed a human in 30 minutes if they had to breath that. Carpenter ants though are like crab grass…they aren’t going anywhere!
I am reaching my breaking point now. It is January. I was promised to be living in this hut by the beginning of August. If there was ever a point in my life where I have reached my limits…I was getting pretty close a few weeks ago.
So since the ants are not going anywhere and I refuse to live anywhere other than that hut I decided to buy some black plastic that will catch all of their dust and hopefully we can live in some sort of harmony. So I purchase the plastic and run to Simon and ask who will hang it. He, at this point, has also reached his breaking point. He is over the meetings and having to explain to me that something isn’t going to work out and then seeing my heartbreak. So he decides he will take this responsibility on himself and hang it with his uncle and friend. “We’ll do it tomorrow,” he says. Two days later he comes over to hang the plastic. We get half way done and he has to come back the next day to finish. So three days later he comes back and together just the two of us we finish the job.
Then something really amazing happens! I ask my Atate when we can organize people to help me move my bed frame into my new hut. It is Wednesday when I am asking this and in my head I have Friday as moving day. But no, Atate says something so wonderful and so totally beautiful I have to ask him to repeat himself a few times. “Tomorrow, around 16:00 it can be done.” “WHAT!” A day earlier than I had expected….and the funny thing was…I knew he wasn’t kidding. I knew that by Thursday night I would be sleeping in my new hut.
And sure enough…it took 3 hours, 4 men, and 3 women (women were there to help with the logic of it all. Turns out men all over the world are a little short on common sense) When the women showed up they took one look at the whole picture and told one of the kids to go and get them some peanuts…they knew it was going to be a while and that we might need some snacks. ☺
So three hours later a huge trench 3 meters deep and 1 meter wide dug in front of my new hut my bed was finally in. And I was so happy I could have cried. But crying is no acceptable here so I kept it together.
My new hut is beautiful and perfect and lovely. Some people move into their first real house with roommates or husbands/wives or life partners. I moved into mine completely alone in a village in Zambia. I wouldn’t have done it any other way. It is mine…I worked endlessly with the carpenters, headmen and villagers much the way people in America work with contractors, zoning committees and electricians to get everything perfect . This is my first home and I love it.
“A house is not a home.” Luther Vandross
(The song I was humming the entire time we were trying to move the bed ☺ )
But a week ago all of this changed…FINALLY! Since June I have been going through all of the tedious rituals one has to complete to get anything done in a Zambian village.
When I first got to my lovely village that I now call home I was told that since my living quarters were going to be a bit smug they were going to build me a little kitchen that could house my bike and food. Thus creating a little bit more wiggle room in my hut and deterring the mice and rats from being roommates with me since they usually reside where the food is. Then after a month into my service Peace Corps came and had a meeting with my village and together they decided that maybe we should just build a bigger hut because it is very likely that my site would be replaced with a new volunteer when my service is up in 2012.
It was after that fateful meeting in June that my life became one big rollercoaster. One day I was being told that I would have my new hut “soon soon” and then another…after reality set in I was telling myself that it might still be months…like maybe 6 more. Keep in mind when we started this journey in June my headman and other important people in my village told me time and time again “if one is serious then a hut can be totally complete in 10 to 14 days…” They key word there is serious. I am not saying that people in my village are not serious, I am just saying that an American sense of serious and a Zambian sense of serious are about as similar as comparing Paris Hilton’s vocabulary with that of say maybe Condoleezza Rice.
So to start it all of I had to have a meeting with my headman. I had to tell him that I needed a new hut and I wanted everything to start ASAP. After leaving that meeting I am told discreetly by my translator/counterpart/best friend that now we are going to the other headman…the one who will actually get shit done. At this point I had been in the village for 2 months and had no idea that we had more than one headman. Thus the start of many double meets simply out of respect for this older headman who is apparently loosing it.
So after many weeks of meetings we finally got the walls for the hut up. This meant that we had to find a carpenter who wouldn’t charge the village too much money to build a house for the white girl. So we find this really cool carpenter who “built” (packed the mud) my walls with village tobacco rolled in newspaper posing as a cigarette the whole time. Oh and he was also wearing a rasta beanie on his head and a Bob Marley shirt…every day. I do not have to speak any more about how badass this dude was.
Getting the walls up also meant that we had to organize groups of women to come and pour water on my hole of mud everyday so that it muddy enough to pack into the shape of a wall. But it can’t be too muddy or then you have to wait a day for it to air out. This process had to start a few days before the actually construction started. The first day it was all little girls that showed up. A convoy of little ladies carrying water on their head that honestly weighs more than they do and then helping each other get it off their heads and pouring it into the hole.
So after the walls were up began the really hard part…the roof. Roofs in Zambia are a complete and total bitch…there is just no other way to say it. You have to get a lot of “poles” (long skinny trees) and then you have to get a lot of big fat trees that will be the outside support beams, or pillars if you like. Finding things like this are not easy in the 2nd most deforested country in the world. It is now September roughly (it all runs together now in my head) and by this time I am over being polite and going to the old headman, as is my Atate (host father) and my translator/counterpart/best friend, Simon. So together we skip him and just go straight to the 2nd headman. He tells us that he will organize the village (approx. 1500 people) and the men will go and cut the poles and harvest the fiber. The day that this is supposed to happen only 9 men show up. For the rest of the time it takes to complete my house and most especially my roof these will be my favorite 9 men in the world.
So they cut the poles and get the fiber and then I wait a week or two…at least…until they go out into the bush and go and pick them all up with an ox cart. After all of the poles are on my compound I have to have another meeting with the headman to schedule a day in which we can put the roof up.
Let me just briefly mention that in most of these cases I am not just having one meeting to get these dates and things done…I am having multiple meetings, multiple days in a row, multiple months in a row.
So on day my 9 knights in shining armor show up and place the big pillars into the ground. 11 in all I think.
Then another day they come back and hang the poles.
Then it takes two days to get the grass up around the poles so that I have a real thatch roof. That I am instantly obsessed with. It is at this point that I start to think that the hard work is done and the rest will be a breeze. I mean all I need to do now is get windows and a door made, get the cement smeared on my walls and floor and then move in. Sounds easy right???
WRONG!
I can’t remember at what point it happened or what steps we were on in the completion of my hut but for some reason in my Atate’s line of logic we could not move on until the windows were in…why I don’t know and can’t really remember. I just remember that it didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense. So that meant multiple meetings with my sweet carpenter, January, to hustle him into completing these things.
Then once we got the door from him it was discovered that it was too big and we needed to dig deeper and add another layer of mud to the tops of my walls….
Then the cementing process needed to happen about the time everyone was starting to go to their fields to start clearing them and getting them ready for planting. Food security totally trumps my cement floors…and it should. Sweet January got it all done though. God bless that man. It is at this point in the game that he gets added to the 9…I now have 10 knights sitting around my Peace Corps round table.
Then at some point after the roof is up and running I have to leave the village for a time with meetings. When I come back I discover that I have carpenter ants living in my roof. They are so bad that after just a week they have left a half-inch of very fine white dust all over my hut. It is literally snowing in my hut and you can hear them eating. This means putting off moving in until I can get that problem under control. If I slept in there I would for sure suffocate.
So I buy some spray…totally convinced that would kill them. WRONG! Turns out to make it in Zambia you have to be tough, so fucking tough that 100% poison won’t kill you. So I run to Simon in almost tears asking him what we can do. He calmly tells me we will simply start a series of small fires in my hut and smoke ‘em out. Okay “sweet”, I say lets do that tomorrow. One week later we do it…twice…for 8 hours at a time. There was so much smoke pouring out of my hut it would have for sure killed a human in 30 minutes if they had to breath that. Carpenter ants though are like crab grass…they aren’t going anywhere!
I am reaching my breaking point now. It is January. I was promised to be living in this hut by the beginning of August. If there was ever a point in my life where I have reached my limits…I was getting pretty close a few weeks ago.
So since the ants are not going anywhere and I refuse to live anywhere other than that hut I decided to buy some black plastic that will catch all of their dust and hopefully we can live in some sort of harmony. So I purchase the plastic and run to Simon and ask who will hang it. He, at this point, has also reached his breaking point. He is over the meetings and having to explain to me that something isn’t going to work out and then seeing my heartbreak. So he decides he will take this responsibility on himself and hang it with his uncle and friend. “We’ll do it tomorrow,” he says. Two days later he comes over to hang the plastic. We get half way done and he has to come back the next day to finish. So three days later he comes back and together just the two of us we finish the job.
Then something really amazing happens! I ask my Atate when we can organize people to help me move my bed frame into my new hut. It is Wednesday when I am asking this and in my head I have Friday as moving day. But no, Atate says something so wonderful and so totally beautiful I have to ask him to repeat himself a few times. “Tomorrow, around 16:00 it can be done.” “WHAT!” A day earlier than I had expected….and the funny thing was…I knew he wasn’t kidding. I knew that by Thursday night I would be sleeping in my new hut.
And sure enough…it took 3 hours, 4 men, and 3 women (women were there to help with the logic of it all. Turns out men all over the world are a little short on common sense) When the women showed up they took one look at the whole picture and told one of the kids to go and get them some peanuts…they knew it was going to be a while and that we might need some snacks. ☺
So three hours later a huge trench 3 meters deep and 1 meter wide dug in front of my new hut my bed was finally in. And I was so happy I could have cried. But crying is no acceptable here so I kept it together.
My new hut is beautiful and perfect and lovely. Some people move into their first real house with roommates or husbands/wives or life partners. I moved into mine completely alone in a village in Zambia. I wouldn’t have done it any other way. It is mine…I worked endlessly with the carpenters, headmen and villagers much the way people in America work with contractors, zoning committees and electricians to get everything perfect . This is my first home and I love it.
“A house is not a home.” Luther Vandross
(The song I was humming the entire time we were trying to move the bed ☺ )
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