23 December 2007
30 November 2007
HOLIDAY... CELEBRATE!!!
if we took a holiday… doo doo doo doo doo doo… took some time to celebrate… doo wee ooo… just one day out of life… (ho-li-daaaay)… it would be, it would be so nice…
Oh sorry, I’ve had that song in my head for about a week now…
So, in the last month, there’s been a lot of celebration going on around here. First, Independence Day, then Halloween (which was apparently only being celebrated in our flat), Karla’s birthday, Annie’s going-away (though I guess that doesn’t count as celebrating since none of us wanted her to leave), and Thanksgiving. The celebrations were nice breaks from my current routine of sleep, work, go home and watch old episodes of The Office or a movie we’ve already seen, start over again. Is it possible to be in a rut after only six weeks? Anyway, when it comes to holidays, this is how we roll…
INDEPENDENCE DAY
***WARNING – Reading this part of my entry may result in learning something.***
Zambia celebrates its Independence Day on 24 October – this year was number 43. For those of you who don’t know, the British claimed and occupied the area now known as Zambia, naming it the protectorate of Northern Rhodesia in the late 1800s. On 24 October 1964, the protectorate gained independence, through largely peaceful internal pressure, and took the name Zambia from the Zambezi River that flows through the country. And one other random fact: the period right before independence was called “ChaChaCha” – I haven’t been able to find out why yet, but I do know there is a road and a backpackers hostel in Lusaka that now bear that name. (And I think that name has also been applied to Beth and Bogie’s kids…)
As far as I could tell, Zambia celebrates its independence pretty much like a lot of other countries – take the day off work, wear the nation’s colors (though I did not see one shirt that said “These colors don’t run”), maybe have a ceremony or speeches by the nation’s leaders, and have a picnic. I joined in most of these activities this year, though I did unfortunately sleep through the speeches, and I didn’t have much in the way of Zambian colors to wear.
We went out to Dream Valley, which despite its name, does not appear to be in much of a valley, though, after two weeks in dusty, brown, quiet Lusaka, all the grass, trees, and people made it somewhat like a dream. DV is really just a park with a couple swimming pools, owned by a lodge. On Independence Day, though, it seemed like most of Lusaka was there. Music pumped through the air, teenagers danced, kids splashed, and bra’ais (bbqs) cooked. It was nice just to be part of all the excitement.
THANKSGIVING
Another holiday not celebrated in Zambia, though there’s no diatribe for this one. We didn’t have turkey – there’s a funny story about that, but I promised someone I wouldn’t share it here. Instead, we roasted a chicken, which I originally thought still included its feet and head, but, thankfully, those were actually in a plastic bag, so I didn’t have to touch them and could toss them with minimum fuss. It was sad to be away from family for the holiday, since I’m used to a big get-together, but much like when I celebrated Thanksgiving in New Zealand, it was wonderful to share these traditions with people from another culture, as I am learning at the same time from them. And I think Kondwani may have called this the third time we Americans have judged correctly!
Oh sorry, I’ve had that song in my head for about a week now…
So, in the last month, there’s been a lot of celebration going on around here. First, Independence Day, then Halloween (which was apparently only being celebrated in our flat), Karla’s birthday, Annie’s going-away (though I guess that doesn’t count as celebrating since none of us wanted her to leave), and Thanksgiving. The celebrations were nice breaks from my current routine of sleep, work, go home and watch old episodes of The Office or a movie we’ve already seen, start over again. Is it possible to be in a rut after only six weeks? Anyway, when it comes to holidays, this is how we roll…
INDEPENDENCE DAY
***WARNING – Reading this part of my entry may result in learning something.***
Zambia celebrates its Independence Day on 24 October – this year was number 43. For those of you who don’t know, the British claimed and occupied the area now known as Zambia, naming it the protectorate of Northern Rhodesia in the late 1800s. On 24 October 1964, the protectorate gained independence, through largely peaceful internal pressure, and took the name Zambia from the Zambezi River that flows through the country. And one other random fact: the period right before independence was called “ChaChaCha” – I haven’t been able to find out why yet, but I do know there is a road and a backpackers hostel in Lusaka that now bear that name. (And I think that name has also been applied to Beth and Bogie’s kids…)
As far as I could tell, Zambia celebrates its independence pretty much like a lot of other countries – take the day off work, wear the nation’s colors (though I did not see one shirt that said “These colors don’t run”), maybe have a ceremony or speeches by the nation’s leaders, and have a picnic. I joined in most of these activities this year, though I did unfortunately sleep through the speeches, and I didn’t have much in the way of Zambian colors to wear.
We went out to Dream Valley, which despite its name, does not appear to be in much of a valley, though, after two weeks in dusty, brown, quiet Lusaka, all the grass, trees, and people made it somewhat like a dream. DV is really just a park with a couple swimming pools, owned by a lodge. On Independence Day, though, it seemed like most of Lusaka was there. Music pumped through the air, teenagers danced, kids splashed, and bra’ais (bbqs) cooked. It was nice just to be part of all the excitement.
HALLOWEEN
So Zambians don’t really celebrate Halloween. (I originally included something here about American vs. Zambian thoughts on this subject, but it was starting to sound like a diatribe, so I’ve decided to cut it… but if you really want to know, e-mail me and I’ll send you my thoughts.)
Anyway, despite the lack of costumed trick-or-treaters, orange pumpkins, and wax-paper-wrapped peanut butter toffees, Mason and Annie decided we still had to make the most of the day. We dressed in silly costumes (Annie came up with my costume as a bottle of Castle beer, since I really did not want to think creatively… yes, I was being a spoil-sport.), carved pumpkins (or watermelons and small green gourds, but whatever), ate roasted pumpkin seeds (real pumpkin seeds!) and candy corn (smuggled into the country by Mason), drank green witch’s brew (don’t ask), and bewildered our Zambian guests (though I think Kondwani decided this may have been the second time in our whole lives that Americans had judged correctly on something).
So Zambians don’t really celebrate Halloween. (I originally included something here about American vs. Zambian thoughts on this subject, but it was starting to sound like a diatribe, so I’ve decided to cut it… but if you really want to know, e-mail me and I’ll send you my thoughts.)
Anyway, despite the lack of costumed trick-or-treaters, orange pumpkins, and wax-paper-wrapped peanut butter toffees, Mason and Annie decided we still had to make the most of the day. We dressed in silly costumes (Annie came up with my costume as a bottle of Castle beer, since I really did not want to think creatively… yes, I was being a spoil-sport.), carved pumpkins (or watermelons and small green gourds, but whatever), ate roasted pumpkin seeds (real pumpkin seeds!) and candy corn (smuggled into the country by Mason), drank green witch’s brew (don’t ask), and bewildered our Zambian guests (though I think Kondwani decided this may have been the second time in our whole lives that Americans had judged correctly on something).
ANNIE’S GOING AWAY
I’m not going to write much here because Annie’s leaving was very sad. *sniff sniff* But I did want to share a picture.
I’m not going to write much here because Annie’s leaving was very sad. *sniff sniff* But I did want to share a picture.
THANKSGIVING
Another holiday not celebrated in Zambia, though there’s no diatribe for this one. We didn’t have turkey – there’s a funny story about that, but I promised someone I wouldn’t share it here. Instead, we roasted a chicken, which I originally thought still included its feet and head, but, thankfully, those were actually in a plastic bag, so I didn’t have to touch them and could toss them with minimum fuss. It was sad to be away from family for the holiday, since I’m used to a big get-together, but much like when I celebrated Thanksgiving in New Zealand, it was wonderful to share these traditions with people from another culture, as I am learning at the same time from them. And I think Kondwani may have called this the third time we Americans have judged correctly!
28 October 2007
Every Which Way but Lusaka
(The title has nothing to do with the entry; it’s just something amusing Mike said before I left…)
Now that I have been in Lusaka for two weeks, I think I can finally write about it. It’s not an easy process summing up a neighborhood, let alone a city or country, and I’m sure my perspective will change quite a bit over the next year. This entry will be a hodge-podge of different stories and observations to maybe give a little perspective of what my life is like in Zambia.
Arriving in Zambia and “Breakin’ the Law, Breakin’ the Law”
I arrived in Zambia on Thursday, 12 October at about 6:30 a.m. Lusaka Airport is very small, has no “real” gates, per se, just one door that leads out onto the tarmac, and one luggage carousel. It took about an hour to get through customs, and I think I might have gotten the wrong stamp in my passport, but oh well. Thankfully, both of my bags had arrived, and, even more thankfully, I had a ride, because there were no luggage carts to be found.
I was met at the airport by someone who shall remain nameless for the sake of this story. We made our way out of the airport and straight into a police checkpoint. Alas, my driver had “forgotten” to put his or her seatbelt on, and netted a 65,000 kwacha ticket (US$16.25). I was deliriously tired, so I’m not sure what was going on, but apparently, we were supposed to pay in cash on the spot before we would be allowed to go. He or she didn’t have much money, and I certainly didn’t, having just arrived in country. But, somehow, we were allowed to leave having paid out only Kw16,000. Probably because the police officer took pity on us, right? Or that’s at least what I’m going to think, since it was most definitely not a bribe.
Home, Sweet Ho
me
From the airport, we went to the flat that will be my home for the next year (or at least I hope so). Our two-bedroom flat, which I share with two coworkers, Karla and Mason, is located in a neighborhood known as Rhodes Park, only about a ten-minute walk from our office.
We live on a road that is rumored to be known as “Prostitute Road” because the bar across the street is known to have higher-scale prostitutes. (Don’t worry; we have a security guard and a very large gate, and all sorts of security measures – and we never walk around after dark… and seriously, is this any different than most of the neighborhoods in Chicago?!) And the bar across the street is actually pretty nice, despite the reputation, and it provides us with entertainment on Friday and Saturday nights by playing dance music – American and Zambian – loudly enough to sound like it’s being piped from a stereo in our kitchen. Fun times…
And we live a stone’s throw away from a really large Anglican cathedral… it’s an eclectic neighborhood.
The flat is much nicer than I expected (even if we don’t always have water on Saturdays) with a full kitchen and a living room downstairs and the two bedrooms and bathroom upstairs. We also have a very tiny balcony, though with the bars covering it, it does feel a little like we’re watching the world from jail. Somebody send me a tin cup to bang on the bars!
It’s just like ‘Friends’ (if Phoebe lived with Rachel and Monica), but without the scripted dialogue
As I mentioned above, I have two flatmates – Karla and Mason. Since I didn’t know what to say about them, I asked Mason what she would like me to write about her. So she told me to write:
Mason is very pretty and very nice and a very excellent cook… even though she had to ask me how to cook chicken the other day. (Okay that last part wasn’t from Mason…)
Then Mason said that I should write:
Karla is very pretty and very nice and an excellent cook. (Not "very excellent," you’ll notice, because apparently, the fact that Karla is the only one of us who actually cooks wonderful meals pretty much every day does not rate “very excellent” in Mason’s book.)
But seriously, my flatmates are great, and we’ve made it two weeks without killing each other, which counts as a success in my book. Of course, I’ve already taken to hiding from Mason the fact that there has been a gecko in our room for four days, but whatever it takes to survive, right?
Climate, Flora, and Fauna
It’s summer here, I guess, or at least the hottest time of the year. The temperature has gone up to 92∞F/34∞C a few days, but for the most part, it’s about 85∞F/28∞C during the day
and cooler at night. Now, that might not seem that hot, but the biggest issue is the lack of aircon; some days there is just no relief from the heat. And since it’s the dry season, it’s really dusty; dust gets on and in everything. But they say the rains are coming…
One benefit of the warm weather is the beautiful flora that is blooming in the city, specifically the flame trees (red one) and the jacaranda trees (purple).
And then there are the ubiquitous geckos and the odd iguana sunning itself on the roof outside our bedroom window. No lions or giraffes yet, though.
There’s much more to say about this city and this country, and I promise to share more later. Now I need to get home.
Now that I have been in Lusaka for two weeks, I think I can finally write about it. It’s not an easy process summing up a neighborhood, let alone a city or country, and I’m sure my perspective will change quite a bit over the next year. This entry will be a hodge-podge of different stories and observations to maybe give a little perspective of what my life is like in Zambia.
Arriving in Zambia and “Breakin’ the Law, Breakin’ the Law”
I arrived in Zambia on Thursday, 12 October at about 6:30 a.m. Lusaka Airport is very small, has no “real” gates, per se, just one door that leads out onto the tarmac, and one luggage carousel. It took about an hour to get through customs, and I think I might have gotten the wrong stamp in my passport, but oh well. Thankfully, both of my bags had arrived, and, even more thankfully, I had a ride, because there were no luggage carts to be found.
I was met at the airport by someone who shall remain nameless for the sake of this story. We made our way out of the airport and straight into a police checkpoint. Alas, my driver had “forgotten” to put his or her seatbelt on, and netted a 65,000 kwacha ticket (US$16.25). I was deliriously tired, so I’m not sure what was going on, but apparently, we were supposed to pay in cash on the spot before we would be allowed to go. He or she didn’t have much money, and I certainly didn’t, having just arrived in country. But, somehow, we were allowed to leave having paid out only Kw16,000. Probably because the police officer took pity on us, right? Or that’s at least what I’m going to think, since it was most definitely not a bribe.
Home, Sweet Ho
meFrom the airport, we went to the flat that will be my home for the next year (or at least I hope so). Our two-bedroom flat, which I share with two coworkers, Karla and Mason, is located in a neighborhood known as Rhodes Park, only about a ten-minute walk from our office.
We live on a road that is rumored to be known as “Prostitute Road” because the bar across the street is known to have higher-scale prostitutes. (Don’t worry; we have a security guard and a very large gate, and all sorts of security measures – and we never walk around after dark… and seriously, is this any different than most of the neighborhoods in Chicago?!) And the bar across the street is actually pretty nice, despite the reputation, and it provides us with entertainment on Friday and Saturday nights by playing dance music – American and Zambian – loudly enough to sound like it’s being piped from a stereo in our kitchen. Fun times…
And we live a stone’s throw away from a really large Anglican cathedral… it’s an eclectic neighborhood.
The flat is much nicer than I expected (even if we don’t always have water on Saturdays) with a full kitchen and a living room downstairs and the two bedrooms and bathroom upstairs. We also have a very tiny balcony, though with the bars covering it, it does feel a little like we’re watching the world from jail. Somebody send me a tin cup to bang on the bars!
It’s just like ‘Friends’ (if Phoebe lived with Rachel and Monica), but without the scripted dialogue
As I mentioned above, I have two flatmates – Karla and Mason. Since I didn’t know what to say about them, I asked Mason what she would like me to write about her. So she told me to write:
Mason is very pretty and very nice and a very excellent cook… even though she had to ask me how to cook chicken the other day. (Okay that last part wasn’t from Mason…)
Then Mason said that I should write:
Karla is very pretty and very nice and an excellent cook. (Not "very excellent," you’ll notice, because apparently, the fact that Karla is the only one of us who actually cooks wonderful meals pretty much every day does not rate “very excellent” in Mason’s book.)
But seriously, my flatmates are great, and we’ve made it two weeks without killing each other, which counts as a success in my book. Of course, I’ve already taken to hiding from Mason the fact that there has been a gecko in our room for four days, but whatever it takes to survive, right?
Climate, Flora, and Fauna
It’s summer here, I guess, or at least the hottest time of the year. The temperature has gone up to 92∞F/34∞C a few days, but for the most part, it’s about 85∞F/28∞C during the day
and cooler at night. Now, that might not seem that hot, but the biggest issue is the lack of aircon; some days there is just no relief from the heat. And since it’s the dry season, it’s really dusty; dust gets on and in everything. But they say the rains are coming…One benefit of the warm weather is the beautiful flora that is blooming in the city, specifically the flame trees (red one) and the jacaranda trees (purple).
And then there are the ubiquitous geckos and the odd iguana sunning itself on the roof outside our bedroom window. No lions or giraffes yet, though.There’s much more to say about this city and this country, and I promise to share more later. Now I need to get home.
21 October 2007
Wot's all this then?!
The actual flying part of my trip to Zambia took only (!!) 17 hours, but of course, there is the requisite, painfully long layover. My options – 8 hours in Jo’burg, 13 hours in Addis Ababa, or 10 hours in London. I went with London because of the opportunity to once again see my long-lost, New Zealand sister Esther (there she is in the picture to the right).
After an hour and a half on the tube (should that have a capital T?), during which I fell asleep and woke up to find an older gentlemen sitting across from me and staring like his life depended on it, I met up with Esther at her workplace. Esther works at some big French bank, which has two imposing security people in double-breasted suits standing just inside the entrance, but was able to take two hours from her very important job to eat Italian food with me.
I was able to stay awake on the trip back to Heathrow due to the copious amounts of sugar in my Marks & Spencer custard roll (mmm… yummy) and arrived with only four hours to spare before my flight to Lusaka. Thankfully, I made the flight (on which every seat had on-demand entertainment and 13 channels of movies, TV, and music videos!) and arrived in Lusaka at 0615 the next morning.
And finally, my Real Africa adventure began…
12 October 2007
What to do before going to Zambia...
Annoy your dog by taking silly pictures of her.
Have a last dinner at an American restaurant with your husband.
Pack your bags. (Are you freakin' kidding me, British Airways??!! Only two bags, and only 50 pounds each?! I bet you don't impose these limits on Angelina...)
Stare longingly at all the stuff you had to pull out of your bags to meet the weight limit.
Say goodbye to husband and dog... sniff, sniff...The Story (or How I Lost My Mind and Ended Up in Africa)
(Written at O'Hare airport on 9 October 2007)
I know a lot of people have heard my story but for those who haven't, here goes...
In 1998, I was a college senior with big dreams of becoming an international correspondent for CNN or some other news outlet that would allow me to travel to exotic places. Then I was convinced by a friend to attend a conference for a human rights organization, and by the end of the day, I was ready to throw away my globe-trotting, journalism aspirations and go to law school to become a social justice do-gooder.
I went to Northwestern law school, worked a lot of internships at legal aid clinics and NGOs, and amassed an amazing amount of debt. (Which I can only manage because my husband, Mike, actually enjoys working with computers and therefore makes a lot more money than me... usually.) At the end of it all, I found myself working at the Office of the Public Guardian in Chicago, representing children in abuse and neglect cases. The work was hard but rewarding, and I met some amazing kids that I cared about heaps. But after about a year and a half, I realized that this work wasn't exactly what I wanted to do -- my heart wanted to do international work.
So I left the PG's office and moved to Rotary International, spending two years as the Youth Exchange supervisor. This position definitely gave me a chance to do international work; I interacted with people all over the world on a daily basis and learned about so many different places and cultures.
Around May of this year, as the end of a major project that took up most of my two years at RI seemed finally in sight, I took stock of where I was going and my plans for the future. I had gone to law school to practice international human rights law -- and I had done the law part and the international part. What was left was adding it all together with human rights work to finally reach my original goal.
About this time, I learned about a fellowship opportunity with a human rights organization I had worked for in law school. After some encouragement from Mike, I applied, and three months later, they made me an offer -- one year in Zambia (unpaid but with three weeks vacation!). After some hemming and hawing, I finally said yes.
I can't really remember what happened after that. Like the title says, at times I think I've lost my mind, but I guess the rest of this year will be the proof.
I know a lot of people have heard my story but for those who haven't, here goes...
In 1998, I was a college senior with big dreams of becoming an international correspondent for CNN or some other news outlet that would allow me to travel to exotic places. Then I was convinced by a friend to attend a conference for a human rights organization, and by the end of the day, I was ready to throw away my globe-trotting, journalism aspirations and go to law school to become a social justice do-gooder.
I went to Northwestern law school, worked a lot of internships at legal aid clinics and NGOs, and amassed an amazing amount of debt. (Which I can only manage because my husband, Mike, actually enjoys working with computers and therefore makes a lot more money than me... usually.) At the end of it all, I found myself working at the Office of the Public Guardian in Chicago, representing children in abuse and neglect cases. The work was hard but rewarding, and I met some amazing kids that I cared about heaps. But after about a year and a half, I realized that this work wasn't exactly what I wanted to do -- my heart wanted to do international work.
So I left the PG's office and moved to Rotary International, spending two years as the Youth Exchange supervisor. This position definitely gave me a chance to do international work; I interacted with people all over the world on a daily basis and learned about so many different places and cultures.
Around May of this year, as the end of a major project that took up most of my two years at RI seemed finally in sight, I took stock of where I was going and my plans for the future. I had gone to law school to practice international human rights law -- and I had done the law part and the international part. What was left was adding it all together with human rights work to finally reach my original goal.
About this time, I learned about a fellowship opportunity with a human rights organization I had worked for in law school. After some encouragement from Mike, I applied, and three months later, they made me an offer -- one year in Zambia (unpaid but with three weeks vacation!). After some hemming and hawing, I finally said yes.
I can't really remember what happened after that. Like the title says, at times I think I've lost my mind, but I guess the rest of this year will be the proof.
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