Life in Africa is hard. From my very limited experience here I can tell you that. I can tell you that the people here in Zambia specifically work very hard for everything that they have. Waking up at 4am to bust their ass before it gets too hot to do anything. I can also tell you that Village life is hard...and it is fragile. More fragile than I could have ever known before entering this country. Due to things like poor health care systems, and having to travel for kilometers upon kilometers on a bike, ox cart or by foot to reach a clinic that may or may not have medicine to treat you takes its toll on a person. Working hard as soon as your can pretty much walk takes its toll on a person.
One in every seven people suffers from HIV. In 2009 alone nearly 83,000 people were newly diagnosed. Even in my limited experience here I know that number is skewed. Clinics do not report everything they are supposed to because either the man power or the motivation is not there. Many people never even go to get tested for many reasons. Perhaps traveling to a clinic would take a day alone just to get there. They could already be too sick to travel the distance to a clinic. Perhaps they don't want to be told that they have the disease so they don't even bother to get tested. The availability of VRTs is limited so for some people, even though they know they have HIV they do not have the option to take the medicine that would help them.
The current life expectancy of the average person in Zambia is 39 years old. I encourage you, no matter your current age, to stop and think about where you want to be at 39 , or where you were at 39, then think about stopping right there and being done.
There is also the malaria situation. Almost no one in my village sleeps with a mosquito net. They can't afford them. This can quite literally mean sleeping with mice and rats crawling all over you while you sleep, while getting ate up by malaria carrying mosquitos. Not exactly healthy.
Poverty is also an everyday part of life in Zambia. I see people every day who walk all over without shoes because they can't afford to have shoes and feed their children. (Flip flops here cost about $1 US Dollar.) They live in houses with grass roofs and mud walls. With no roof, in a bad downpour their houses could literally melt. Even with the grass roof the odds of it leaking are about 100% (Rainy season is coming, I am sure I will post about when it is leaking in my hut...) This means that the air in your hut can become unsafe to breath due to mold that will not go away. Poverty also means that food is also not available year round. Malnutrition takes its toll on a body as well.
Funerals are a very natural occurrence for me now in the Village. There are months where they happen once a week. No one is phased by this. Not like American funeral culture at all.
Recently I had small peak and brief peak into how fragile your world as a villager can be. Get excited this story involves the neighbor Patricia. I love this woman more than words can say so this experience was a tearful and terrifying one for me. God bless her though because without her as my neighbor, what the hell would I write about for all of you????
I had just gotten home from a trip to the boma. I had a fellow PCV with me who had come to visit. As soon as we arrive we do the polite thing and go and greet my family hello. Atate is an instant hit with Tabatha. (In fact, my Atate is pretty famous in Peace Corps circles because he is such a sweet adorable and funny old man.) After that we immediately head to the borehole to get water for bathing that night. After we get back into my compound I am just trying to get organized for the night and I notice that my Atate is yelling something in the direction of Patricia's house. Taken off guard I continue to look at my Atate trying to figure out what he is saying in Chewa, he repeats it and still I do not understand. Atate is yelling whatever it is that he is saying and clearly in a state of panic. (While it was happening this moment in time seems like it took hours, but looking back on it now I know that was maybe not even a full second.) Finally I turn to see what he is look at and yelling at and to my complete horror, the bundles of grass that Patricia's has leaning up against the structure that holds all of their food for the year are up in flames. Huge flames! Now everyone in the village has seen it and women are starting to scream.
According to Tabatha, I start yelling "Oh my God, Oh my God! What do I do? What do I do? Oh my God, Water! I just got water." At this moment she still has no idea what is going on, she has no idea what I am panicking about as I grab my two 10 liter jerry cans and sprint out of my compound onto Patricia's. I come back to get my 20 liter and a bucket to help pour water and Tabatha has finally figured it all out also and is now frantically asking "what do I do?" "A bucket," I yell, "get a bucket!" Together we sprint over and start pouring water out of jerry cans into the buckets of the men who are pouring it onto what I will call "the grain bin".
This "grain bin" is not the tin roofed dream you all imagine when you hear the words grain bin. It is made out of sticks, dirt and a dried grass thatch roof just waiting to have spark hit it just right. Contained within the bin is a years worth of dried corn that will also go up in flames faster than a beauty queen's hair.
To further paint the picture, the whole community has come over to help save this families food. The neighboring women are running with what water they can spare. The men are running buckets back and forth that are being filled by Tabatha, myself and my Amai and one or two other women. The rest of them are watching in wonder simply because they want to stay out of the way. The men are frantically getting water from the 4 or 5 of us or taking axes and cutting into the side of the bin and pulling out all of the corn. The corn at this moment in time is all that matter....just like most impoverished nations...do whatever you need to do, but save the food. My Atate is one of the men with an ax while others have garden hoes and buckets that they are scooping the corn into to get it as far away from the flame as possible.
It is all happening so fast, the water is doing pretty much nothing to calm the fire and I can't tell how much corn is getting burnt and how much is getting saved. Christina, Patricia's daughter, is screaming crying and can't be calmed down. Women are yelling directions to the men. The men are yelling at each other frantic to all be understood, everyone men and women alike are just yelling. I keep looking for Patricia, my best Village friend, to see how she is reacting to this whole thing. I can hear Tabatha yelling go commands to the men as their buckets get filled up with our water. Still, it hasn't been probably 4 minutes since I first heard my Atate yelling.
Now I hear all of the women start screaming "ALFRED!!" I quick look at my Atate, who sometimes goes by Alfred and he is fine, I look again searching hard to see who they are yelling at. Their screams sound as if someone is on fire...or about to be. Then I see it, my brother (named after his Atate) has climbed completely into the bin and is preparing to push the flaming roof off with his hands. The men have now started yelling at him as well. If he can't push it off and gets stuck in there he is a dead man. The flames will be too much and it is getting to the point where it could all go soon. I will never know if this act of heroism was just a high school boy thinking "this is going to be awesome," or if he just knew that getting that flaming roof off of the bin is the only way to save the corn. The only way! If the corn does not get saved it means that Patricia and her family of 6 will not have food until harvest in 2011. So in this moment of Superman-ness Alfred pushes the roof off himself with his bare hands.
The water has now run out and Tabatha are desperatly trying to figure out what we do next to help. All we can tell is that people keep saying madzi, which means water. We keep trying to decide if we need more water. By the time we run to the borehole, pump the water and run back it will be too late. During our contemplation I have time to think finally. If only for a second, but it is just enough time to bring tears to my eyes. "All of their food," is all I can think. I still had not really even stopped to ask myself how this fire started. The food was all that mattered. They have to eat.
So because we hated feeling helpless we run to the borehole about 600 meters away and pump out 40 more slow liters of water and run back. We were correct, by the time we got back everything was done. People had started walking away and my Atate was looking for me.
"You have done very well, Maggie, you worked so fast." Turning to Tabatha, "Both of you thought very fast. The people are very happy, thank you both." Zambians are always so polite, and my Atate is the most polite. :)
"How much corn did they loose?"
"It has all been saved. You should not worry."
"Thank goodness, Atate, how did it happen?"
"That little boy that you call mbvuto has started this." Patricia's son Joanie is just an ornery little thing. Mbvuto means problems and just that past week I had lovingly replaced his name Joanie with the name Mbvuto because he was always causing problems. As Tabatha later put it, Joanie is the kid that lights cherry bombs and throws them down the toilet. He is only 4.
"JOANIE?!?!"
"Yes, that one."
"How?"
"He had matches and he lit one and threw it onto the grass that they were saving."
"OH MY GOD. Mbvuto miningi." (Problems...many) With this comment people all around start laughing. And just like that all of the stress of that past few minutes is over. The food is fine, we can build a new bin before the rains come, no problems. There is humor in the world again. The villagers and obsessed with staring and Tabatha and I as we process this whole thing. Laughing the whole time. We are totally blown away by how okay it all is now.
Even the next day Joanie is the talk of the village. As people greet me on my morning chores, "good morning, Joanie problems!" Yeah no shit! Patricia finally comes over and I ask her who saw Joanie light the match. She tells me it was her that saw. He stole them from the kitchen hut and was playing with them. Having never used them before he was not sure what he is doing. But being the incredibly observant 4 year old that he is he figured out how to light them. He lit the first one and was so excited that he yelled to get Patricia's attention. When she finally looked over he had lit a second one. Her yelling NO at him scared him so he threw the match in hopes that it would keep him out of trouble, however he threw it right onto the dried grass. And just like a wheat field on the 4th of July, it went up in smoke.
"Appreciation is a wonderful thing. It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well." ~Voltaire
November 4, 2010
October 28, 2010
Feeling Thankful
Read This. It will only take about 2 seconds if you are a good reader...For real 2 seconds.
Then know that you are lucky and have so much to be thankful for.
We have grown literally afraid to be poor. We despise anyone who elects to be poor in order to simplify and save his inner life. If he does not join the general scramble and pant with the money-making street, we deem him spiritless and lacking in ambition. ~William James
Then know that you are lucky and have so much to be thankful for.
We have grown literally afraid to be poor. We despise anyone who elects to be poor in order to simplify and save his inner life. If he does not join the general scramble and pant with the money-making street, we deem him spiritless and lacking in ambition. ~William James
Zam Gram
Being in a new culture almost always means a new language. Unless that culture change is leaving the Mid West and moving to the Big Apple...I did that once...we spoke the same language...English...but when it came to understanding what the hell they were saying I had not a clue. But that is another story. Right now I am talking about living in the Eastern Province of Zambia in Chewa Nation. Chewa or Nyanja (cimodzi modzi, if you keep reading you will soon understand the nonsense you just read!) is the language that is spoken here. There are a few selected words from this language and culture that are so stuck in my brain that the English equivalent no longer comes out of my mouth. This makes talking to people from America a little difficult. So I am taking this moment to update you all on some words that will hopefully be with me for the rest of my life.
DISCLAIMER: The Chewa part of these words will not probably be spelled correctly in Chewa...sad to say but I don't care enough to go through and look them all up, so if you are an Eastern Volunteer reading this...deal with it!
Atate: Father, or sir
Amai: Mother, aunt, it is a respectful way to refer to any woman older than yourself.
Iwe: Pronounced E-WAY this is the impolite way to say you. Most often it is the word that is yelled at the kids and myself by all of the adults in the entire country...not just Eastern. I have finally gotten brave enough to say this to the kids when I am mad at them for doing something..."Iwe....choka" "You, Stop" As it turns out saying iwe stops all children dead in their tracks as well as just about any PCV. It is a fun word. In PCZ when we as PCVs refer to "our kids" we say my iwe because if you came into the village knowing nothing about the language you would think that the word for child was iwe.
Chabe: Used to say only or just. For example...you are supposed to eat with your right hand chabe. Usually used at the end of a sentence for emphasis. It is an Eastern PCV favorite. I like it in my Village when asking for help..."I need you to do this...CHABE" So that the ladies won't get too carried away with their helpfulness which is something that Zambians in general have a tendency to do.
Pita: Go! Pitani is the polite way to say this...but this phrase often comes out of my mouth when I want the iwe to go away.
Tiyenda: Pronounced Tee-yen-duh It means lets go. Or Tien for short.
Sweetie: This is what they call candy in this country. A phrase I hear everyday in the village without fail is "Ndifuna ma sweetie" "I want a sweetie." PCV use sweeties as bargaining material with the iwe to get things done...like having one of them go and get your water for you on that particular day. It is payment. And after the sweetie is gone they will suck on the plastic that it came in to get every last bit of sugar from their beloved sweetie.
Madzi: Water. Used in a sentence it would go something like this. "Mufuna kutapa madzi? Ndipatsa ma sweetie pamene mubwera? Do you want to get water? I will give you a sweetie when you come back."
Bwanji: Means how. Often used as a general means of greeting. Sort of like hows it going? Muli Bwanji if you have never met before or it is a more formal event means "How Are You?"
N'gombe: Cow
Nyumba: House or in my case Hut
Boza: Lie or liar. One of my favorite Chewa words to throw around. The villagers love it. When I don't believe what they are telling me I just yell BOZA!
Manjae Manjae: Pronounced Mon-jay. It means soon soon. "Ndibwera manjae manjae" I will come soon soon. Never said just soon. Always double.
Samba: Bath or bathing
Muzungu: Most generally this means white person...but could be extended to rich person and you can even say it to your boss. I hear this yelled at me often...just incase I forgot that I was white.
Ndalama: Money.
Kulibe: Ku-Lee-Bay. Means there is nothing or to be without. Often said while taking one arm and putting it between chest and waist level, cupping your hand and moving it back and forth as if you have dice in your hand to signify nothing.
Cimodzi-modzi: Pronounced Chi-modzi modzi. It means the same...to be the same. What is the difference between that and that? Cimodzi-modzi.
Of course these are just a few. But I thought it might fun to let you all know what I am talking about sometimes. Because the longer times goes on here the more these words are going to leak into my spoken and written word vocab.
"Words should be used as tools for communication not a subsitiute for action. -Unknown"
DISCLAIMER: The Chewa part of these words will not probably be spelled correctly in Chewa...sad to say but I don't care enough to go through and look them all up, so if you are an Eastern Volunteer reading this...deal with it!
Atate: Father, or sir
Amai: Mother, aunt, it is a respectful way to refer to any woman older than yourself.
Iwe: Pronounced E-WAY this is the impolite way to say you. Most often it is the word that is yelled at the kids and myself by all of the adults in the entire country...not just Eastern. I have finally gotten brave enough to say this to the kids when I am mad at them for doing something..."Iwe....choka" "You, Stop" As it turns out saying iwe stops all children dead in their tracks as well as just about any PCV. It is a fun word. In PCZ when we as PCVs refer to "our kids" we say my iwe because if you came into the village knowing nothing about the language you would think that the word for child was iwe.
Chabe: Used to say only or just. For example...you are supposed to eat with your right hand chabe. Usually used at the end of a sentence for emphasis. It is an Eastern PCV favorite. I like it in my Village when asking for help..."I need you to do this...CHABE" So that the ladies won't get too carried away with their helpfulness which is something that Zambians in general have a tendency to do.
Pita: Go! Pitani is the polite way to say this...but this phrase often comes out of my mouth when I want the iwe to go away.
Tiyenda: Pronounced Tee-yen-duh It means lets go. Or Tien for short.
Sweetie: This is what they call candy in this country. A phrase I hear everyday in the village without fail is "Ndifuna ma sweetie" "I want a sweetie." PCV use sweeties as bargaining material with the iwe to get things done...like having one of them go and get your water for you on that particular day. It is payment. And after the sweetie is gone they will suck on the plastic that it came in to get every last bit of sugar from their beloved sweetie.
Madzi: Water. Used in a sentence it would go something like this. "Mufuna kutapa madzi? Ndipatsa ma sweetie pamene mubwera? Do you want to get water? I will give you a sweetie when you come back."
Bwanji: Means how. Often used as a general means of greeting. Sort of like hows it going? Muli Bwanji if you have never met before or it is a more formal event means "How Are You?"
N'gombe: Cow
Nyumba: House or in my case Hut
Boza: Lie or liar. One of my favorite Chewa words to throw around. The villagers love it. When I don't believe what they are telling me I just yell BOZA!
Manjae Manjae: Pronounced Mon-jay. It means soon soon. "Ndibwera manjae manjae" I will come soon soon. Never said just soon. Always double.
Samba: Bath or bathing
Muzungu: Most generally this means white person...but could be extended to rich person and you can even say it to your boss. I hear this yelled at me often...just incase I forgot that I was white.
Ndalama: Money.
Kulibe: Ku-Lee-Bay. Means there is nothing or to be without. Often said while taking one arm and putting it between chest and waist level, cupping your hand and moving it back and forth as if you have dice in your hand to signify nothing.
Cimodzi-modzi: Pronounced Chi-modzi modzi. It means the same...to be the same. What is the difference between that and that? Cimodzi-modzi.
Of course these are just a few. But I thought it might fun to let you all know what I am talking about sometimes. Because the longer times goes on here the more these words are going to leak into my spoken and written word vocab.
"Words should be used as tools for communication not a subsitiute for action. -Unknown"
Do Yours Hang Low? Do They Wobble To and Fro? Do They Smack Your Partner in the Face During Sex?
Before I get into the actual story of the post I feel like I need to give you, the reader, a little background information. In past posts I have mentioned how I hate boobs in this country. Yes boobs. This hatred has led me to take such good care of my own two lady lumps. They get placed into a snug sports bra every day as soon as I wake up. This sports bras only job is to keep the girls up. Up where they belong...up is where I always thought boobs should be...until I got into this country. It is when I got into this country and into the village that I learned, rather quickly I might add, that this train of thought is in the minority. Boobs in this country are exhausting to me...on any sort of estrogen excreting thing...goats, cows, pigs humans. If it could check the "female box" on any sort of questionnaire then their boobs make me tired and sad.
In the animal world mommas meander along while their not so young "young" follow along beside or behind them tripping their mothers while head butting their tits, boobs, breasts, nipples, what ever you want to call them just to get a dribble of milk...and it appears to me that it is only to get a little drink. Their kids are never that committed to needing milk...they just get a little drink and then are off playing again, If you are going to head butt my tits for reasons unknown you better be damn thirsty to make it worth my time.
Where the actual humans are concerned...we have opposable thumbs so the kids can get a little more carried away here. Children here reach into their mothers shirt and pull out the saggy tit and begin sucking away while the moms seem to be totally ignorant to the fact that their privacy has been so much more than invaded. Or the moms will contort their body in some karma sutra impossible yoga position stance so that their milk wanting child doesn't have to move from to get what they want. They will squat down with their boob hanging out while their kid lays on the ground and whines because he/she wants milk but does not want to be picked up or moved. God forbid I inconvenience you, child, to let you suck on my tit. Damn kids...birth control has never been stronger.
Furthermore, boobs here on these women were never meant to be perky. No matter the size of said tit , they sprout out sagging. It is sad really...at the age of 15 these girls already have saggy boobs. Perhaps it is just the Zambian way?
So...now back to the story....
Well it started out like any other village day between the hours of 16:00 and 17:something. I sweep out my insaka (a gazebo like structure) and roll out my reed mat and begin my little exercise routine. This workout has been implemented into my village life as a way to maintain my sanity when busy months keep me from seeing other volunteers...It isn't much, pushups here, squats there and a few other odds and ends I found on womenshealthmag.com. It is about this time that my crazy neighbor comes over...yup, they exist even in villages in Africa. I love this woman with all of my heart. Her name is Patricia, I have written about her before, she is the lady who forced my bike wreck mangled arm straight at a time when it really preferred to be bent at a comfortable 90 degrees.
So Patricia is coming over to return the clothes pins that she borrowed earlier in the day (Clothes pins are a hot commodity here on laundry day...mine get borrowed often since I am the only person in the village with them). Of course because Patricia is the walking definition of a nosy neighbor she picks up my pages that the workouts are printed on. You know the ones, white girls in tiny shorts and sports bras, rocking the body that every suggested exercise rep reminds you you'll never have.
More background information, in Zambia, though tits are totally fair game and can been whipped out for the world to see at any sort of social function and it is not offensive to anyone but me...though I am pretty desensitized at this point in my PC service. Any part of your leg above the knee is pretty much a straight ticket to whoreville as far as they are concerned. Knees are naughty and the thighs that this white girl workout queen is sporting is enough to send Patricia into a panic attack.
So as Patricia is looking at this picture she asks me, for the millionth time in our short little relationship if American women can show their legs. Patricia speaks zero english so she has been vital to my language learning. I credit a big portion of my Nyanja comprehension to her. She is insistent on talking to me (because she is a nosy neighbor) and she is even more insistent on being understood and she will not stop until we are both sure that we are on the same page. The following is a roughly translated conversation that will forever be famous in my PC memories. Enjoy!
P: "So women in the America can show their legs?"
M: "Yup! No problems will happen if you show your legs."
P: "Humph! Not Zambia. If you show above here (pointing to just below her knees) HULE! (whore) No no, not bare. If you are bare it means that you want many men. You must wear chitenge then it is okay."
M: "I know."
P: "And the bra. It looks very nice. Very nice." Then while grabbing her own D cups down around her waist she pulls them up to a more perky place and says, "You want them so"
M" The giggling has started now
P: "Good, very good" She says as she looks longingly at the breasts of someone who, in Patricia's defense, never breast fed 6 children for 24 months a pop. That is 12 years of her life! Those boobs never stood a chance. And then again, "They look so good."
M: More giggling.
P: My giggling pulls her out of her busty trance. "Maggie don't laugh at me." She says laughing at me. :In America everyone wears these to keep them here?" As she again wrangles the girls up.
M: "Maybe" This is what I say because my language isn't good enough to explain hippies and not bra loving ladies.
P: "Yours are so good!" She says looking directly at my boobs.
M: The laughing is pretty out of control at this point.
P: "They look so nice, and they stay here." She says as again she pulls them up. "And I bet when your having sex with someone because they don't hit them in the face during sex. Not so?" Implying that because my boobs are in a sports bra every day when I take it off they are not so saggy that they could be classified as a weapon during intercourse. She then takes one of her own and swings it around showing me how hers hit her husband in the face during what Cosmo would call "girl on top."
M: I duck for cover and then die laughing.
So, there you have it folks. Wear a bra because apparently being hit in the face with a saggy tit during sex is not sexy. Ladies, if you are interested in doing some volunteer service work pack up all your old over the shoulder bolder holders and ship them my way. I got a village full of Saggy Sallies longing to be Perky Patricias.
Written in October in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. If shipping your old bras seems a bit odd (WHICH IT SHOULD) you could do a different kind of good deed! Donate Now!
In the animal world mommas meander along while their not so young "young" follow along beside or behind them tripping their mothers while head butting their tits, boobs, breasts, nipples, what ever you want to call them just to get a dribble of milk...and it appears to me that it is only to get a little drink. Their kids are never that committed to needing milk...they just get a little drink and then are off playing again, If you are going to head butt my tits for reasons unknown you better be damn thirsty to make it worth my time.
Where the actual humans are concerned...we have opposable thumbs so the kids can get a little more carried away here. Children here reach into their mothers shirt and pull out the saggy tit and begin sucking away while the moms seem to be totally ignorant to the fact that their privacy has been so much more than invaded. Or the moms will contort their body in some karma sutra impossible yoga position stance so that their milk wanting child doesn't have to move from to get what they want. They will squat down with their boob hanging out while their kid lays on the ground and whines because he/she wants milk but does not want to be picked up or moved. God forbid I inconvenience you, child, to let you suck on my tit. Damn kids...birth control has never been stronger.
Furthermore, boobs here on these women were never meant to be perky. No matter the size of said tit , they sprout out sagging. It is sad really...at the age of 15 these girls already have saggy boobs. Perhaps it is just the Zambian way?
So...now back to the story....
Well it started out like any other village day between the hours of 16:00 and 17:something. I sweep out my insaka (a gazebo like structure) and roll out my reed mat and begin my little exercise routine. This workout has been implemented into my village life as a way to maintain my sanity when busy months keep me from seeing other volunteers...It isn't much, pushups here, squats there and a few other odds and ends I found on womenshealthmag.com. It is about this time that my crazy neighbor comes over...yup, they exist even in villages in Africa. I love this woman with all of my heart. Her name is Patricia, I have written about her before, she is the lady who forced my bike wreck mangled arm straight at a time when it really preferred to be bent at a comfortable 90 degrees.
So Patricia is coming over to return the clothes pins that she borrowed earlier in the day (Clothes pins are a hot commodity here on laundry day...mine get borrowed often since I am the only person in the village with them). Of course because Patricia is the walking definition of a nosy neighbor she picks up my pages that the workouts are printed on. You know the ones, white girls in tiny shorts and sports bras, rocking the body that every suggested exercise rep reminds you you'll never have.
More background information, in Zambia, though tits are totally fair game and can been whipped out for the world to see at any sort of social function and it is not offensive to anyone but me...though I am pretty desensitized at this point in my PC service. Any part of your leg above the knee is pretty much a straight ticket to whoreville as far as they are concerned. Knees are naughty and the thighs that this white girl workout queen is sporting is enough to send Patricia into a panic attack.
So as Patricia is looking at this picture she asks me, for the millionth time in our short little relationship if American women can show their legs. Patricia speaks zero english so she has been vital to my language learning. I credit a big portion of my Nyanja comprehension to her. She is insistent on talking to me (because she is a nosy neighbor) and she is even more insistent on being understood and she will not stop until we are both sure that we are on the same page. The following is a roughly translated conversation that will forever be famous in my PC memories. Enjoy!
P: "So women in the America can show their legs?"
M: "Yup! No problems will happen if you show your legs."
P: "Humph! Not Zambia. If you show above here (pointing to just below her knees) HULE! (whore) No no, not bare. If you are bare it means that you want many men. You must wear chitenge then it is okay."
M: "I know."
P: "And the bra. It looks very nice. Very nice." Then while grabbing her own D cups down around her waist she pulls them up to a more perky place and says, "You want them so"
M" The giggling has started now
P: "Good, very good" She says as she looks longingly at the breasts of someone who, in Patricia's defense, never breast fed 6 children for 24 months a pop. That is 12 years of her life! Those boobs never stood a chance. And then again, "They look so good."
M: More giggling.
P: My giggling pulls her out of her busty trance. "Maggie don't laugh at me." She says laughing at me. :In America everyone wears these to keep them here?" As she again wrangles the girls up.
M: "Maybe" This is what I say because my language isn't good enough to explain hippies and not bra loving ladies.
P: "Yours are so good!" She says looking directly at my boobs.
M: The laughing is pretty out of control at this point.
P: "They look so nice, and they stay here." She says as again she pulls them up. "And I bet when your having sex with someone because they don't hit them in the face during sex. Not so?" Implying that because my boobs are in a sports bra every day when I take it off they are not so saggy that they could be classified as a weapon during intercourse. She then takes one of her own and swings it around showing me how hers hit her husband in the face during what Cosmo would call "girl on top."
M: I duck for cover and then die laughing.
So, there you have it folks. Wear a bra because apparently being hit in the face with a saggy tit during sex is not sexy. Ladies, if you are interested in doing some volunteer service work pack up all your old over the shoulder bolder holders and ship them my way. I got a village full of Saggy Sallies longing to be Perky Patricias.
Written in October in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. If shipping your old bras seems a bit odd (WHICH IT SHOULD) you could do a different kind of good deed! Donate Now!
September 15, 2010
Adventures in Traveling
Last week a group of 6 friends and I traveled to Lake Malawi for a little vacation get away. It was my first real traveling adventure in Africa and one that I will never forget. Early Sunday morning we all get up to try to make it to the Zambia/Malawi border in good time so that we could reach the lake in good time. Since this was new to most of us we thought that this would be enough to get us to our destination by 17:00 or 18:00 that night....we were wrong!
So we reach the border at 6:45 am I get out my passport and feel instantly nervous. I blame the American media and all of the shit that they always talk about concerning "the border". But no worries we made it through the border no problems...it is when we get into Malawi that the traveling mayhem begins. We crawl into two cabs that take us to the border town so that we can buy out a mini bus. Mini busses are the worst way to travel as far as I am concerned. They are small busses that are assorted colors. They seat 16 or 17 people properly...but it isn't that uncommon to find about 20 people crammed into on. They are also home to a whole host of smells that you would much rather wear without. We are American's with shit to do...so instead of waiting for the bus to fill up (which could take hours) we decide to buy out the whole thing and bargain with them on the price of 16 people when there are only 7 of us. We tell them that if we buy out the whole bus there can be no stopping for other people...they stop of 3 people and a huge argument ensues...they no longer stop after we throw down with them.
The mini bus takes us to the Bus Station that is an hour and a half away. I think these bus station situations are the reasons why they say it takes a certain kind of traveler to travel Africa....nothing in my American existence could have prepared me for this. As an American you expect that there will be a bus schedule...but since I have been in Africa for 7 months now I expected that there might be a schedule that would more than likely run 2 or 3 hours behind schedule. NOPE! Wrong! Upon arrival we immediately find a schedule that appears to be older than motorized transportation itself telling us that the next bus in Nkhata Bay will leave at 11:00. It is currently 10:00 and we have to do all of the things that travelers have to do in between points A, B, and C: pee/find the bathrooms, find an ATM to get Malawian money, and maybe try to find some food and if I am really lucky a Pepsi. Tim has been here before so he sets off to find out how the bus mess is going to pan out. The rest of the boys go out to find the ATM, "cash box" and the girls split the duty of finding the bathrooms and watching the bags. Meanwhile you are constantly being pushed and pulled around by fellow travelers and taxi drivers and other mini bus drivers trying to make a kwacha (money) are asking you where you are going and if you want to take a taxi/bus. As you are telling them no, they have already started bargaining the price with you...they don't listen.
Nat buys me a Pepsi which takes care of that so the girls and I head of to the cash box to get money for the rest of the trip. We've been told that the ATM offers us the best exchange rate from Zambian kwacha to Malawian kwacha. We find the cash box about 800 meters from the bus station next to a beautiful Mosque I put in my PC debit card to take out the kwacha I have been saving for this trip only to find that my card isn't working and due to a PC glitch in the pay roll system I did not get paid this month. Well, this is inconvenient, I think to myself, I guess until I get this straightened out I will have to use my US ATM Card. The machine then tells me some message I no longer remember because I've never seen a message like that on an ATM. Well fuck! I guess I am going to have to borrow money for a bit until I get this figured out. (As I write this it has been a week and 3 days since I figured this out and the PC glitch has still not been taken care of. Oh well)
We get back to the bus station and Tim tells us the stall in which our bus will come through and you buy tickets as you board the bus so now all we can do is wait until a bus pulls up that says Nkhata Bay on the windshield. This seemed easy enough to me. WRONG again! Every time a bus pulls up into this stall complete chaos happens for about 20 minutes until it is decided where the bus is going. When the poor bus driver gets to the station he himself does not know where he is going next, he has to wait until he gets word from his boss about his next stop. Until this is decided all people in the stall waiting to go somewhere crowd around the bus knocking over fellow travelers...including women and children...with no sympathy for anyone or anything you might be carrying. I am doing all of this with a walking boot on due to a recent stress fracture I have acquired and I am pretty sure that I am going to some how hurt my knee because I am being knocked every which way with no way to compensate for my movements. There are people 5 or 6 at a time trying to all fit themselves through a charter bus door at once including their luggage. We do this routine a few times all for no reason because the bus was never going where we needed it to go. "Thank God," I think to myself, "all of my fellow PC travel buddies are laid back individuals!" No of us loose our cool or our patients. And as I write this a week later I am happy to say that we are all still friends. :)
Finally we are standing in line for a possible bus when another in a totally different stall pulls up and people start yelling that this new bus is for sure going to Nkhata Bay. We sprint over there...yes I fucking sprint with my huge pack on my back and a boot. Now it is a whole new kind of chaos because this company and these drivers are trying to create some sort of system on these unorganized people. This makes matters completely worse. People are yelling...no screaming that they want on the bus. The driver and his crew are yelling and screaming back that in order to buy a ticket you have to get in a line on the other side of the bus and then after you purchase your ticket you go and form a line starting at the door of the bus. And then when all of the tickets are sold people will board the bus in an organized fashion. Then they have to tell at us...the white travelers in English everything they just said because Tim and Peter, our two loudest men, are screaming questions at the crew. By some crazy miracle that I am attributing to our American aggression Tim and Pete get the tickets and get us on the bus first and we some how get to skip the whole boarding line. We get expressed straight to the back of the bus...and then 10 minutes after we get on the bus other people have finally figured out the rules and start boarding.
When I first get on the charter I see a sign that tells all passengers that the bus has the occupancy for something like 63 people I think. After all of the seats are full the aisle then starts to fill up with 20 or 30 more people that will continue to stand for the next 6 hours! Zambians and apparently Malawians have an incredible talent for being able to sit or stand in really tight squeezing places for literally hours without moving or so much as shifting their weight. INCREDIBLE!
Now it is 13:00 and the bus is finally taking off. And we are on our way to the beautiful Lake Malawi. I have officially survived the worst part of traveling when it comes to traveling in Africa....the transport. We arrive at the bay at about 19:00 or 20:00 that night and then I get us into trouble with another mini bus driver. As the others were peeing and smoking and watching bags I was in charge of negotiation with a mini bus to take us straight to our lodge for a decent price. I did it...I thought. We all load our stuff onto a bus that is going to take us straight to our lodge. Right as the bus is about to take off we once again ask if we are all on the same page with the price. The driver looks at us like we are out of our minds and tells us that it must have been a drunken bystander that told me that price. The negotiation starts all over again....this time with 7 tired frustrated and hungry Americans all involved and 3 Malawians. Just for your information it is impossible to solve an argument with 10 people all yelling at the same time. You would think that in times like this you would remember shit like that from your 4th grade conflict management class...but you don't. Finally Tim and Pete start yelling louder than the rest of us so we shut up and they take it from there. Don't worry we made it and no one got in trouble or violent or shot. :)
Travel stories from the way back to Zambia are a little more limited. We got on the 1st bus we saw with no problems...however that bus' engine has seen better days and at times we were sort of going backwards when traveling uphill. It also got a flat tire, which took about 30 minutes to change. And it also happened to be a mini bus so it stopped what seemed like every 5K. Then we took the word of a fellow traveler who told us that the border closes at 18:00 or 19:00. A few of us think that this is funny because the people at the lodge told us that it was a 24-hour border. But not willing to be stranded over night at the border with no where to sleep we get a guest house and crash there for the night. Upon arriving at the border the next morning we ask when they open and close and they tell us that it is a 24-hour border. "Well fuck!" Tim, Peter, Fischer and I say to each other. (We are the 4 most relaxed travelers at this point) "Lets not tell the others” We all say in unison. :)
In the interim of the traveling we stayed at an incredible Njaya Lodge with a beach house right on the shore. I feel asleep listening to the waves and woke up to them as well. The water was crystal clear and the beer was cold. There were fish swimming at your feet and in between your toes. I got sand in parts of my body I have long forgotten about. Due to some misguided directions from a bartender I was forced to pee in a urinal...desperate times call for desperate measures. I went the first 3 days in the lake with my bikini top on wrong...in constant worry that things were about to be exposed and wondering what I was doing wrong. It was totally life changing when I figured out I had been doing it wrong. Every morning I had a banana smoothie that was totally life changing. And I did not get sun burnt! Life is good and I can't wait until my next travel adventure here in Africa.
"Got my toes in the water, ass in the sand, not a worry in the world a cold beer in my hand, life is good today....life is good today" ~Zac Brown Band, Toes
So we reach the border at 6:45 am I get out my passport and feel instantly nervous. I blame the American media and all of the shit that they always talk about concerning "the border". But no worries we made it through the border no problems...it is when we get into Malawi that the traveling mayhem begins. We crawl into two cabs that take us to the border town so that we can buy out a mini bus. Mini busses are the worst way to travel as far as I am concerned. They are small busses that are assorted colors. They seat 16 or 17 people properly...but it isn't that uncommon to find about 20 people crammed into on. They are also home to a whole host of smells that you would much rather wear without. We are American's with shit to do...so instead of waiting for the bus to fill up (which could take hours) we decide to buy out the whole thing and bargain with them on the price of 16 people when there are only 7 of us. We tell them that if we buy out the whole bus there can be no stopping for other people...they stop of 3 people and a huge argument ensues...they no longer stop after we throw down with them.
The mini bus takes us to the Bus Station that is an hour and a half away. I think these bus station situations are the reasons why they say it takes a certain kind of traveler to travel Africa....nothing in my American existence could have prepared me for this. As an American you expect that there will be a bus schedule...but since I have been in Africa for 7 months now I expected that there might be a schedule that would more than likely run 2 or 3 hours behind schedule. NOPE! Wrong! Upon arrival we immediately find a schedule that appears to be older than motorized transportation itself telling us that the next bus in Nkhata Bay will leave at 11:00. It is currently 10:00 and we have to do all of the things that travelers have to do in between points A, B, and C: pee/find the bathrooms, find an ATM to get Malawian money, and maybe try to find some food and if I am really lucky a Pepsi. Tim has been here before so he sets off to find out how the bus mess is going to pan out. The rest of the boys go out to find the ATM, "cash box" and the girls split the duty of finding the bathrooms and watching the bags. Meanwhile you are constantly being pushed and pulled around by fellow travelers and taxi drivers and other mini bus drivers trying to make a kwacha (money) are asking you where you are going and if you want to take a taxi/bus. As you are telling them no, they have already started bargaining the price with you...they don't listen.
Nat buys me a Pepsi which takes care of that so the girls and I head of to the cash box to get money for the rest of the trip. We've been told that the ATM offers us the best exchange rate from Zambian kwacha to Malawian kwacha. We find the cash box about 800 meters from the bus station next to a beautiful Mosque I put in my PC debit card to take out the kwacha I have been saving for this trip only to find that my card isn't working and due to a PC glitch in the pay roll system I did not get paid this month. Well, this is inconvenient, I think to myself, I guess until I get this straightened out I will have to use my US ATM Card. The machine then tells me some message I no longer remember because I've never seen a message like that on an ATM. Well fuck! I guess I am going to have to borrow money for a bit until I get this figured out. (As I write this it has been a week and 3 days since I figured this out and the PC glitch has still not been taken care of. Oh well)
We get back to the bus station and Tim tells us the stall in which our bus will come through and you buy tickets as you board the bus so now all we can do is wait until a bus pulls up that says Nkhata Bay on the windshield. This seemed easy enough to me. WRONG again! Every time a bus pulls up into this stall complete chaos happens for about 20 minutes until it is decided where the bus is going. When the poor bus driver gets to the station he himself does not know where he is going next, he has to wait until he gets word from his boss about his next stop. Until this is decided all people in the stall waiting to go somewhere crowd around the bus knocking over fellow travelers...including women and children...with no sympathy for anyone or anything you might be carrying. I am doing all of this with a walking boot on due to a recent stress fracture I have acquired and I am pretty sure that I am going to some how hurt my knee because I am being knocked every which way with no way to compensate for my movements. There are people 5 or 6 at a time trying to all fit themselves through a charter bus door at once including their luggage. We do this routine a few times all for no reason because the bus was never going where we needed it to go. "Thank God," I think to myself, "all of my fellow PC travel buddies are laid back individuals!" No of us loose our cool or our patients. And as I write this a week later I am happy to say that we are all still friends. :)
Finally we are standing in line for a possible bus when another in a totally different stall pulls up and people start yelling that this new bus is for sure going to Nkhata Bay. We sprint over there...yes I fucking sprint with my huge pack on my back and a boot. Now it is a whole new kind of chaos because this company and these drivers are trying to create some sort of system on these unorganized people. This makes matters completely worse. People are yelling...no screaming that they want on the bus. The driver and his crew are yelling and screaming back that in order to buy a ticket you have to get in a line on the other side of the bus and then after you purchase your ticket you go and form a line starting at the door of the bus. And then when all of the tickets are sold people will board the bus in an organized fashion. Then they have to tell at us...the white travelers in English everything they just said because Tim and Peter, our two loudest men, are screaming questions at the crew. By some crazy miracle that I am attributing to our American aggression Tim and Pete get the tickets and get us on the bus first and we some how get to skip the whole boarding line. We get expressed straight to the back of the bus...and then 10 minutes after we get on the bus other people have finally figured out the rules and start boarding.
When I first get on the charter I see a sign that tells all passengers that the bus has the occupancy for something like 63 people I think. After all of the seats are full the aisle then starts to fill up with 20 or 30 more people that will continue to stand for the next 6 hours! Zambians and apparently Malawians have an incredible talent for being able to sit or stand in really tight squeezing places for literally hours without moving or so much as shifting their weight. INCREDIBLE!
Now it is 13:00 and the bus is finally taking off. And we are on our way to the beautiful Lake Malawi. I have officially survived the worst part of traveling when it comes to traveling in Africa....the transport. We arrive at the bay at about 19:00 or 20:00 that night and then I get us into trouble with another mini bus driver. As the others were peeing and smoking and watching bags I was in charge of negotiation with a mini bus to take us straight to our lodge for a decent price. I did it...I thought. We all load our stuff onto a bus that is going to take us straight to our lodge. Right as the bus is about to take off we once again ask if we are all on the same page with the price. The driver looks at us like we are out of our minds and tells us that it must have been a drunken bystander that told me that price. The negotiation starts all over again....this time with 7 tired frustrated and hungry Americans all involved and 3 Malawians. Just for your information it is impossible to solve an argument with 10 people all yelling at the same time. You would think that in times like this you would remember shit like that from your 4th grade conflict management class...but you don't. Finally Tim and Pete start yelling louder than the rest of us so we shut up and they take it from there. Don't worry we made it and no one got in trouble or violent or shot. :)
Travel stories from the way back to Zambia are a little more limited. We got on the 1st bus we saw with no problems...however that bus' engine has seen better days and at times we were sort of going backwards when traveling uphill. It also got a flat tire, which took about 30 minutes to change. And it also happened to be a mini bus so it stopped what seemed like every 5K. Then we took the word of a fellow traveler who told us that the border closes at 18:00 or 19:00. A few of us think that this is funny because the people at the lodge told us that it was a 24-hour border. But not willing to be stranded over night at the border with no where to sleep we get a guest house and crash there for the night. Upon arriving at the border the next morning we ask when they open and close and they tell us that it is a 24-hour border. "Well fuck!" Tim, Peter, Fischer and I say to each other. (We are the 4 most relaxed travelers at this point) "Lets not tell the others” We all say in unison. :)
In the interim of the traveling we stayed at an incredible Njaya Lodge with a beach house right on the shore. I feel asleep listening to the waves and woke up to them as well. The water was crystal clear and the beer was cold. There were fish swimming at your feet and in between your toes. I got sand in parts of my body I have long forgotten about. Due to some misguided directions from a bartender I was forced to pee in a urinal...desperate times call for desperate measures. I went the first 3 days in the lake with my bikini top on wrong...in constant worry that things were about to be exposed and wondering what I was doing wrong. It was totally life changing when I figured out I had been doing it wrong. Every morning I had a banana smoothie that was totally life changing. And I did not get sun burnt! Life is good and I can't wait until my next travel adventure here in Africa.
"Got my toes in the water, ass in the sand, not a worry in the world a cold beer in my hand, life is good today....life is good today" ~Zac Brown Band, Toes
September 4, 2010
Ignorance is Bliss...Sometimes
Being in Zambia is a complete and total learning experience...every day I learn something new about myself, life, people and the world. That alone makes these 27 months totally worth it. I have been in Zambia for 6 months now and I have learned a lot as you can imagine, so in the spirit of my recent posts which consist mostly of lists I have decided to contribute yet another list!
Things I Never Knew...in No Particular Order
1. I never knew that you could actually use all of the ink in one pen. For real...did you know that it was possible that for a person to totally write a pen dry? I did not know this until my main method of communication was from the 1800s...pen and paper only. And for those of you that know me from my American life know that I generally have a lot to say...at least I think so...which means that I have nothing to say at all. So what I am saying is...I have completely and totally used up a number of pens since being in country. Weird.
2. And playing off of writing....did you know you could actually use up whole notebooks? I am sure lots of people do that in school when they are taking notes and stuff. But well in college that requires showing up to class and giving a shit...which were two things that hardly ever happened simultaneously...sorry mom and dad. But now that I do care about all of these people back home I fill up notebooks with letters quite quickly and it is pretty insane. And if you are reading this and have not gotten a letter from me...write me punk and I will write back.
Maggie Henton
P.O. Box 560059
Petauke Zambia
Africa
Write Air Mail and Par Avion on the envelope.
3. I did not know that I could be so in tuned with what my Vagina was thinking. (Mom, Grandma and Aunties sorry in advance) So in PC Zambia you have to ride your bike quite a bit...quite a bit. It happens to be my main means of transportation which is kind of fun. I have always liked exercise and doing it here in Zambia is not always easy....so anyway...back to my Vagina (Vagina with a capital V) As soon as I mount Black Betty (the name of my bike) Vagina is begging me to get the hell off....of the bike...not to "get off" actually. In fact when on Black Betty I am pretty sure Vagina is worried that too much more time atop the bike is going to impair my ability to ever be able to get off ever. So I guess...I never knew that something could spend that much time next to Vagina, and thing and Vagina could not work out some sort of agreement or compromise...but alas it is a hate relationship. My cushy bike seat is in the mail...
Thanks Momma Julie, Love Maggie's Vagina
4. When I first got posted to my village I thought that coming to the city and enjoying the comforts of AmericaLand type things would always excite me....but as it turns out...AmericaLand type things don't ever really work so well in American hardly ever work in Zambian cities. So though running water is exciting...it is even more exciting if it is hot...a luxury that doesn't often happen in Zambia. Recently I spent two weeks in the country capital in a hotel type setting...even if water is falling from the sky I would rather be in back in my hut where the water is hot and falling from the cup that is being held in my hand.
5. I did not know that you could watch porn and drive a semi truck at the same time...well you can. Probably not really safe...but it is possible.
6. I never knew that I could sleep so hard so many nights in a row. That has never happened to me in America....like waking up at 6am after going to sleep at 8pm in a puddle of your own drool night after night. Never did that in America
7. I never really knew that music was so important to me. I mean I did, but if my iPod were dead in the village it might be a rough couple of days for the villagers as grumpy Maggie tried to soldier on without her daily dose of Jason Mraz...yeah I am still obsessed with him.
8. Sometimes in the village there is really NOTHING to do. Nothing...I've washed a single pair of socks before just to do something. So I guess I didn't know that a world existed where you could sit all afternoon on your ass and read a book and feel zero guilt for doing so. ZERO! I've done it...and loved it.
9. I did not know that it was possible to put so much shit on the back of a bike. Like whole sheets of tin on the back of a bike. I've seen it being biked 18K on the windiest of days. The people in this country can put more things on a bike than you could ever imagine. Like 4 people. Yup, its possible, no American could ever do it...but a Zambian can...and they can bike though 6 inches of sand while doing it.
10. I did not know that it was physically possible for any human anywhere to put the weight of their body on top on their head in the form of firewood and walk many kilometers home just to start that wood on fire to cook for their families....oh and these women do it with a baby on their back...I've seen it. Zambian women are further proof that women are the superior of the two sexes...and Zambian women are the most superior of them all. These women kick ass.
11. Did you know that you could fit 10 people in a car? I am sure people that have lived in the days of drive in movie theaters did know this...but I didn't. I did some stupid shit in High School...but 10 people in a car...never happened. And generally there is a bit of a smell followed by them.
12. I never knew that it was possible for any population of human beings to listen to the SAME FUCKING SONG on repeat for hours and hours on end as loud as the stereo can go. Further more I didn't know that if you were in a neighboring population of people who did not want to hear the SAME FUCKING SONG over and over again on sonic boom for never ending hours from the other side of the village that it would never ever cross your mind to ask them to turn it the fuck off.
13. Being a farm kid in America I've pist outside the comforts of a toilet many times...I feel like that sort of helped me prepare for Peace Corps. But what I never knew being a farm kid in America secretly prepping myself for this life of PC that I should have been trying to aim where I was peeing. Once again men have it all to easy! They can aim where things go...with their hands...fuck they can write their names in the snow if they wanted...or here in Zambia in the sand. But as a female who has to squat in Zambia...I've learned a lot. This might go into being in tuned to what my Vagina is thinking...except this is one of those things we can't seem to agree on together. Here in Zambia you often have to piss into holes that are dug into the ground strictly for that purpose. But there is no standardizing of Chimbudzies (pit latrines) here in Zambia...the pee holes come in all different shapes and sizes so every time I pee in a Chimbudzi hole other than my own it is a guarantee that I am going to piss on my feet...guarantee! And furthermore it is guaranteed that the hole is more of a ball park estimate as I generally get quite a bit of urine on the ground surrounding the hole..and I'll never know how much goes down the actual hole. So what I am saying is...I guess I never really knew/paid attention to how much my pee stream changes trajectory over the course of a bathroom session...and the more you have to go the worse it is going to be. So ladies the next time you are pissing in a field because your dad is having you help cut wood or move cows and you need to pee...take a little time and try to see if you can keep it all in one spot. Good luck!
Don't piss into the wind. ~Unknown
Things I Never Knew...in No Particular Order
1. I never knew that you could actually use all of the ink in one pen. For real...did you know that it was possible that for a person to totally write a pen dry? I did not know this until my main method of communication was from the 1800s...pen and paper only. And for those of you that know me from my American life know that I generally have a lot to say...at least I think so...which means that I have nothing to say at all. So what I am saying is...I have completely and totally used up a number of pens since being in country. Weird.
2. And playing off of writing....did you know you could actually use up whole notebooks? I am sure lots of people do that in school when they are taking notes and stuff. But well in college that requires showing up to class and giving a shit...which were two things that hardly ever happened simultaneously...sorry mom and dad. But now that I do care about all of these people back home I fill up notebooks with letters quite quickly and it is pretty insane. And if you are reading this and have not gotten a letter from me...write me punk and I will write back.
Maggie Henton
P.O. Box 560059
Petauke Zambia
Africa
Write Air Mail and Par Avion on the envelope.
3. I did not know that I could be so in tuned with what my Vagina was thinking. (Mom, Grandma and Aunties sorry in advance) So in PC Zambia you have to ride your bike quite a bit...quite a bit. It happens to be my main means of transportation which is kind of fun. I have always liked exercise and doing it here in Zambia is not always easy....so anyway...back to my Vagina (Vagina with a capital V) As soon as I mount Black Betty (the name of my bike) Vagina is begging me to get the hell off....of the bike...not to "get off" actually. In fact when on Black Betty I am pretty sure Vagina is worried that too much more time atop the bike is going to impair my ability to ever be able to get off ever. So I guess...I never knew that something could spend that much time next to Vagina, and thing and Vagina could not work out some sort of agreement or compromise...but alas it is a hate relationship. My cushy bike seat is in the mail...
Thanks Momma Julie, Love Maggie's Vagina
4. When I first got posted to my village I thought that coming to the city and enjoying the comforts of AmericaLand type things would always excite me....but as it turns out...AmericaLand type things don't ever really work so well in American hardly ever work in Zambian cities. So though running water is exciting...it is even more exciting if it is hot...a luxury that doesn't often happen in Zambia. Recently I spent two weeks in the country capital in a hotel type setting...even if water is falling from the sky I would rather be in back in my hut where the water is hot and falling from the cup that is being held in my hand.
5. I did not know that you could watch porn and drive a semi truck at the same time...well you can. Probably not really safe...but it is possible.
6. I never knew that I could sleep so hard so many nights in a row. That has never happened to me in America....like waking up at 6am after going to sleep at 8pm in a puddle of your own drool night after night. Never did that in America
7. I never really knew that music was so important to me. I mean I did, but if my iPod were dead in the village it might be a rough couple of days for the villagers as grumpy Maggie tried to soldier on without her daily dose of Jason Mraz...yeah I am still obsessed with him.
8. Sometimes in the village there is really NOTHING to do. Nothing...I've washed a single pair of socks before just to do something. So I guess I didn't know that a world existed where you could sit all afternoon on your ass and read a book and feel zero guilt for doing so. ZERO! I've done it...and loved it.
9. I did not know that it was possible to put so much shit on the back of a bike. Like whole sheets of tin on the back of a bike. I've seen it being biked 18K on the windiest of days. The people in this country can put more things on a bike than you could ever imagine. Like 4 people. Yup, its possible, no American could ever do it...but a Zambian can...and they can bike though 6 inches of sand while doing it.
10. I did not know that it was physically possible for any human anywhere to put the weight of their body on top on their head in the form of firewood and walk many kilometers home just to start that wood on fire to cook for their families....oh and these women do it with a baby on their back...I've seen it. Zambian women are further proof that women are the superior of the two sexes...and Zambian women are the most superior of them all. These women kick ass.
11. Did you know that you could fit 10 people in a car? I am sure people that have lived in the days of drive in movie theaters did know this...but I didn't. I did some stupid shit in High School...but 10 people in a car...never happened. And generally there is a bit of a smell followed by them.
12. I never knew that it was possible for any population of human beings to listen to the SAME FUCKING SONG on repeat for hours and hours on end as loud as the stereo can go. Further more I didn't know that if you were in a neighboring population of people who did not want to hear the SAME FUCKING SONG over and over again on sonic boom for never ending hours from the other side of the village that it would never ever cross your mind to ask them to turn it the fuck off.
13. Being a farm kid in America I've pist outside the comforts of a toilet many times...I feel like that sort of helped me prepare for Peace Corps. But what I never knew being a farm kid in America secretly prepping myself for this life of PC that I should have been trying to aim where I was peeing. Once again men have it all to easy! They can aim where things go...with their hands...fuck they can write their names in the snow if they wanted...or here in Zambia in the sand. But as a female who has to squat in Zambia...I've learned a lot. This might go into being in tuned to what my Vagina is thinking...except this is one of those things we can't seem to agree on together. Here in Zambia you often have to piss into holes that are dug into the ground strictly for that purpose. But there is no standardizing of Chimbudzies (pit latrines) here in Zambia...the pee holes come in all different shapes and sizes so every time I pee in a Chimbudzi hole other than my own it is a guarantee that I am going to piss on my feet...guarantee! And furthermore it is guaranteed that the hole is more of a ball park estimate as I generally get quite a bit of urine on the ground surrounding the hole..and I'll never know how much goes down the actual hole. So what I am saying is...I guess I never really knew/paid attention to how much my pee stream changes trajectory over the course of a bathroom session...and the more you have to go the worse it is going to be. So ladies the next time you are pissing in a field because your dad is having you help cut wood or move cows and you need to pee...take a little time and try to see if you can keep it all in one spot. Good luck!
Don't piss into the wind. ~Unknown
August 23, 2010
Some Things Never Change
So my last post was about all of the differences between "Americaland" and Zambia...since then I have been trying to make myself very aware of the things that make me think..."this feels like home"
1. The "mom look." This is at the top of my list because I am a daughter that had many not so hot ideas in my day....therefore Momma Julie mastered this look from when I was a young age. At least I think that she must have mastered it when I was young otherwise I wouldn't be alive today...I feel like that look stopped me from making many bad decisions in my day.
But back to my point...this mom look transcends cultures...I have seen it in use in in the Village many times. It is the same look that I am sure has kept the Zambian population what it is today because without that look the little iwe minds would have gotten themselves killed. I too in fact have had the look used on me by my host mothers in the Village...I have two: my actual host mother, and my crazy neighbor that tried to rip my arm apart you will remember from a previous post.
What I am saying is I feel like this look comes the day you give birth and never really goes away. God bless the look for having the ability to stop me and many other immature thinkers across the world dead in our tracks!
2. Keeping on the mom theme....The whiny mom voice. My personal favorite way to utilize this voice has always been from my bed on a Saturday morning while my mom loudly throws dishes around to wake Zach and I up. I use it to get her to stop making so much damn noise at 10:00 in the morning...I mean for Christ sake we are trying to sleep!
The iwe in the village use the voice in much the same way though here it is pronounced "Ahhhhhhhmaaaaaaaiiiiiii" It makes me laugh every time because I can hear my own mother responding when their moms yell back "Ciani" (Chiani). Depending on the time of day that I choose to use this voice Momma Julie either responds gently (the 10am voice) "What Maggie?" Or later in the day when I am just saying it to hear myself talk...like when I need her to hand me the remote to the TV and it is just on the other couch within reach and she is in the other room. Come on...we've all done it :)
3. Now onto the men....apparently it does not matter what culture you are from...if something is broken and a bunch of men find themselves standing around said broken thing....things will get better before they get worse. IT HAPPENS EVERY TIME! Granted her in Zambia it gets much much worse before it get to be better...and better isn't really better it is just sort of good enough for now. And of course no woman could possibly know what the fuck she is talking about...especially the while girl, and I don't mean to toot my own horn (yes I do) but I am usually fucking right.
4. The sound of little kids laughing always always makes you feel better. Even if they were the ones that made you pist in the first place. Their giggles are magical and I wish there was a way we could use them to bring peace to the world.
5. No matter where you are in the world there is something very incredible about a beautiful day. I used to love waking up in August and September to the really crisp cool mornings...where the cold doesn't bite at you...instead it is just a gentle nibble before the heat comes. I am slowly kissing those mornings goodbye as the hot season rolls in...until next June beautiful days...I will be waiting. Lucky for me beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it was a quick lesson to learn that there are not really bad days when you are blessed enough to be in Africa!
6. I gave a shout out to mommies...so now for my daddy! A father only wanting the best for his daughter never seems to change either. For my whole life I watched how my dad sat back and let me do what I thought was best for me. He coached my softball team for many years, yelled at me when my grades were shit, snuck me money in handshakes goodbye before I used to leave for college so mom wouldn't know...the list goes on and on.
Here, my Zambian Atate sits for many hours and watches the builders as they build my new house making sure that the walls are straight and life is perfect for his daughter (though his english isn't 100% he sometimes calls me his son). He goes to meetings with me to try and make sure I am being understood, he runs all over the village to make sure my requests are met quickly, and he apologizes incessantly when Zambian Villlage promises and inevitably broken...just like my own Pappa Tom would do.
7. The mother daughter bond! Mothers and daughters sit for hours on end just talking in the comfort of a shade tree. They talk the afternoons away about what...I'll never know. But I understand it. My mom calls when I am here and we just talk and talk and talk. It would be the same when I used to come home on weekends from college, we would just sit in the kitchen and talk about nothing while she cooked a meal.
Another aspect of the mother daughter bond that extends cultures is how you can look at one another and know what you are each thinking...no words needed.
8. Home is where you lay your head. You know when you are on vacation and you have walked a million miles and all you want to do is go to the hotel that you call home and go to bed. Same feeling here....though my hut is not really home home....after being gone for 2 weeks at a training all I want to go is go to my hut and sleep in my tiny 2 meter by 3 meter love nest. I have committed to making that cave my home for the next 2 years.
9. Friends give you warm fuzzy feelings no matter what. It doesn't matter that we can't fully understand one another... hell, at times we can't understand a damn word we are saying...but the comfort is there. Because even when words aren't available...they still get you.
10. Being happy is all that really matters....ever.
My work is based on the assumption that clarity and consistency in our moral thinking is likely, in the long run, to lead us to hold better views on ethical issues. ~Peter Singer
1. The "mom look." This is at the top of my list because I am a daughter that had many not so hot ideas in my day....therefore Momma Julie mastered this look from when I was a young age. At least I think that she must have mastered it when I was young otherwise I wouldn't be alive today...I feel like that look stopped me from making many bad decisions in my day.
But back to my point...this mom look transcends cultures...I have seen it in use in in the Village many times. It is the same look that I am sure has kept the Zambian population what it is today because without that look the little iwe minds would have gotten themselves killed. I too in fact have had the look used on me by my host mothers in the Village...I have two: my actual host mother, and my crazy neighbor that tried to rip my arm apart you will remember from a previous post.
What I am saying is I feel like this look comes the day you give birth and never really goes away. God bless the look for having the ability to stop me and many other immature thinkers across the world dead in our tracks!
2. Keeping on the mom theme....The whiny mom voice. My personal favorite way to utilize this voice has always been from my bed on a Saturday morning while my mom loudly throws dishes around to wake Zach and I up. I use it to get her to stop making so much damn noise at 10:00 in the morning...I mean for Christ sake we are trying to sleep!
The iwe in the village use the voice in much the same way though here it is pronounced "Ahhhhhhhmaaaaaaaiiiiiii" It makes me laugh every time because I can hear my own mother responding when their moms yell back "Ciani" (Chiani). Depending on the time of day that I choose to use this voice Momma Julie either responds gently (the 10am voice) "What Maggie?" Or later in the day when I am just saying it to hear myself talk...like when I need her to hand me the remote to the TV and it is just on the other couch within reach and she is in the other room. Come on...we've all done it :)
3. Now onto the men....apparently it does not matter what culture you are from...if something is broken and a bunch of men find themselves standing around said broken thing....things will get better before they get worse. IT HAPPENS EVERY TIME! Granted her in Zambia it gets much much worse before it get to be better...and better isn't really better it is just sort of good enough for now. And of course no woman could possibly know what the fuck she is talking about...especially the while girl, and I don't mean to toot my own horn (yes I do) but I am usually fucking right.
4. The sound of little kids laughing always always makes you feel better. Even if they were the ones that made you pist in the first place. Their giggles are magical and I wish there was a way we could use them to bring peace to the world.
5. No matter where you are in the world there is something very incredible about a beautiful day. I used to love waking up in August and September to the really crisp cool mornings...where the cold doesn't bite at you...instead it is just a gentle nibble before the heat comes. I am slowly kissing those mornings goodbye as the hot season rolls in...until next June beautiful days...I will be waiting. Lucky for me beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it was a quick lesson to learn that there are not really bad days when you are blessed enough to be in Africa!
6. I gave a shout out to mommies...so now for my daddy! A father only wanting the best for his daughter never seems to change either. For my whole life I watched how my dad sat back and let me do what I thought was best for me. He coached my softball team for many years, yelled at me when my grades were shit, snuck me money in handshakes goodbye before I used to leave for college so mom wouldn't know...the list goes on and on.
Here, my Zambian Atate sits for many hours and watches the builders as they build my new house making sure that the walls are straight and life is perfect for his daughter (though his english isn't 100% he sometimes calls me his son). He goes to meetings with me to try and make sure I am being understood, he runs all over the village to make sure my requests are met quickly, and he apologizes incessantly when Zambian Villlage promises and inevitably broken...just like my own Pappa Tom would do.
7. The mother daughter bond! Mothers and daughters sit for hours on end just talking in the comfort of a shade tree. They talk the afternoons away about what...I'll never know. But I understand it. My mom calls when I am here and we just talk and talk and talk. It would be the same when I used to come home on weekends from college, we would just sit in the kitchen and talk about nothing while she cooked a meal.
Another aspect of the mother daughter bond that extends cultures is how you can look at one another and know what you are each thinking...no words needed.
8. Home is where you lay your head. You know when you are on vacation and you have walked a million miles and all you want to do is go to the hotel that you call home and go to bed. Same feeling here....though my hut is not really home home....after being gone for 2 weeks at a training all I want to go is go to my hut and sleep in my tiny 2 meter by 3 meter love nest. I have committed to making that cave my home for the next 2 years.
9. Friends give you warm fuzzy feelings no matter what. It doesn't matter that we can't fully understand one another... hell, at times we can't understand a damn word we are saying...but the comfort is there. Because even when words aren't available...they still get you.
10. Being happy is all that really matters....ever.
My work is based on the assumption that clarity and consistency in our moral thinking is likely, in the long run, to lead us to hold better views on ethical issues. ~Peter Singer
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